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Amelie walked through the woods at a snail’s pace. She was, right then, in no hurry. She had nothing really to fear and nothing much to rush her. The day was yet young, the sun not very high in the sky, and the warmth that spilled from it was - as yet - calm. It washed over the crooks and folds of a dress of purple and danced along the high slits along its flanks, almost caressing the slips of thigh she bared with each step.
It was function and form, in her mind. Her dress hugged the figure and swept around her curves, highlighting her in all the best ways to help sell her dark, dangerous majesty. It was cut in choice ways to show skin, but it was for a very practical set of reasons. One could not take a walk through the woods in a gown down to their ankles and neither ride a horse with something so stiff around the legs, so she made liberal - and perhaps unladylike - alterations to all her fine dresses.
Some would scoff and baulk at such untoward manners of dress. She, however, put such pitiable concerns behind her. Her entire being revolved around suspicion at the best of times and threat at the worst, and it would be an amusing day when the way she dressed brought more concern to the people around her than her nature itself. She was, after all, a Witch, and it was rare for people to look upon her kind as anything but wary.
Life was not hard for her, though. Suspicious, yes, but hard, no. She had the forest to herself, the woods were hers, and people rarely bothered her. Magic and knowledge like hers were a rare service, and people understood the value of keeping a Witch on one’s side. No one else quite knew herbal remedies like her, no one else had the depth of her surgical knowledge, and fewer still could tell the difference between medicinal plants and poisonous roots.
Amelie dipped the wide brim of her conical hat as she passed through a patch of sunlight swishing through the canopy. Her feet moved over roots and branches, easing her way through the depths of the forest. She had strayed far from her usual route, but the woods were her domain; she was unafraid. Even if she did not know it like the back of her hand, navigating it was not a trial. It was simply a way to experience new things, and that was what she did.
Vials of ingredients were collected, a basket was filled with plants, and various fluids were tucked away in little jars. She collected things for her experiments and for her medicinal remedies, and even if only half of it found a purpose, it would be worth the time it took to collect them - both in self-satisfaction and the coin it would garner from the nearby townfolk.
Amelie took a brief pause by the shallow dip of a river branch - so small of a trickle that it barely constituted a river in the slightest, and was a little better than a stream for baby animals to drink from. She found a plant growing there, soft, small, and vulnerable; the kind of rare river fern that was said to glow at the right time of day and could be used as a base for any sort of medicine. Smiling at her luck, she knelt there in the dirt, her stockings collecting detritus from the soil, and began to scoop the plant up in her fingerless gloves.
“You,” she told the plant, “you, I’ll plant by my pond. You’ll make plenty of other baby plants just like yourself, and I won’t have to trek half a kilometer at a time to find one of you.”
The plant, of course, did not respond as she scooped both it and loose soil into a jar at her waist. There she secured it, bound it in a holster of leather, and set the bandolier around her ample waistline. She did not mind the busy work or the dirty work; hands were made for work, her clothing was made to get dirty, and plants like that would go forgotten if the average townsfolk was left to it.
She looked up. It was, perhaps, chance that led her there, or maybe a quirk of good fortune; she was a Witch, and so had plenty of that. She doubted anyone else would have been in such a place and in such a position to see the body set against the far end of the river bend, a dark thing laid out flat by the low-edged bank. A hand was stuck partway in the water, perhaps there to draw up water, or perhaps because it had rolled there after its owner collapsed on the dark soil.
Amelie stood up. Caution was thrown to the wind in a heartbeat. Though she was no medical practitioner by education, she most certainly was by trade; she could more than easily tell the body was heavily injured and in need of help. She did not know if the person was alive, but she certainly knew that, if they were, there was no chance of them getting better by their lonesome.
The human Witch walked over without caution and reluctance. She had already begun to scan the area long before she got close, and she saw quite easily the scratch marks across the ground, the faint depressions of crawling, the paw-like imprints of someone hauling themselves across the soil, as well as speckles and spatters of blood. More clear still were the fletchings of discarded arrow hafts, some torn, some broken, all ruined, all wet with red.
It was only when she got close that she really began to slow. The body took shape, and it was clear in a heartbeat that it was not a human body at all. Their skin was a shade of black unlike anything she had seen before: an oily charcoal colour that resembled the cooled remains of smouldering embers. The shape of their body was tough and powerful from top to bottom, with broad shoulders, strong biceps, and a frame packed with tight muscle; the body of a warrior, well-trained and well-worked. Old, faded scars marked dark skin, showing a life that had been hard-fought and hard-earned.
That was about the end of the human similarities. The dark mass of a furry tail jutting out from their lower back was most certainly inhuman, and the canine ears set on top of a wild mane of pitch-black hair made it clear just what kind of breed the creature was. She did not even have to roll the beast over to identify it, and that, briefly, made her take a pause.
It was a Hellhound. The ears, the tail, the shade of the skin, it was all too clear. The wounded humanoid was a Hellhound, and no reasonable person could take such knowledge and not be flat-footed by it. Not all monster-human hybrids carried negative reputations, but Hellhounds were not known for their civilized natures or kind, calmly demeanours. Battle-hardened raiders, rough, vicious warrior breeds, it was hard to find a pack that did not rape, pillage, and take fire to whatever human settlement they could find and overrun.
They weren't good creatures, that was for certain. Their reputation preceded them in even the most scummy circles, and it didn't get better from there. They were like wild-eyed berserkers with a love for fiery conflict, and vicious, greedy intent all but drooled from their fangs – or, at least, so the stories went. Amelia knew the tales, but she had never met one of the creatures in the flesh. They did not often range into her region, and she was too secluded to have ever encountered one.
Right then, all she saw was a wounded monster in need of help. She bent herself over and knelt beside the head, then, gingerly, looked over its spine. She could see the spots where it had torn out the discarded arrows just a ways past; it had been shot in the back no less than four times, and three of the arrowheads were still stuck inside. Amelia licked her lips and looked it over, judging the depth of the damage and how far it went, then directed her attention back down.
She was thankful the creature had nothing on but a pair of shorts – or something like it, something designed for war – and a bandolier around the chest, because that made an examination easy. It also gave her other gender-based suspicions, but she held those off. Setting her lips into a line, she pushed her fingers under the wild mane of hair and pressed the tips against her neck. Her skin felt clammy to the touch, almost slick and warm, but she slipped along with determination.
Her eyes widened when she felt a pulse. Faint, very faint, but real. She licked her lips in concern, then, slowly, moved back; she judged her spot for a moment, then pressed hands against a broad shoulder and across a wide waistline. She gently eased the monster over, rolling it from front to back as gingerly as she could. It was a risk for the wounds in its back, but she had to see what she was working with. It was on death's doorstep, and her options were limited.
It hit the soil with nary a sound, and for a moment, Amelia feasted her eyes on the creature true and proper. It was distinctly female, that was for sure. Her chest was large and pronounced, pushing against a top that only seemed to barely secure her breasts by looping around her collarbones. Beyond her shorts, the rest of her was all nude, presenting a strong, fit body of pure warrior athleticism and surprising femininity combined.
Hips were wide, and a waistline curved inward neatly toward a chest of lush proportion. It was all trimmed out with muscle, however, a dense layer of it that pushed beneath the skin like hills. Her abs were strong and tight, a washboard of strength that was utterly unmistakable, and her flanks were sculpted as if by a chisel. Her biceps were big enough to be daunting and her thighs strong and tight, meant to propel her at high speeds.
Tattoos marked dark skin in lines of white, curling across arms and leg and her right flank like tribal knots. They were sharp and angular, painting a picture of cultural tradition that Amelia did not understand whatsoever. The crest poking up from atop her right breast matched the one on her left arm, but she had no clue what any of it meant. All she did know was that the Hellhound was a marked warrior through and through, and it made the story of how it came to be there all the more curious.
Yet, the Witch was not there to ogle. She could see, even then, the other injuries she had sustained: slashes across her stomach and arm, one over her shoulder, and one down along her thighs. Some were nicks, some were deeper, uglier gashes. Another arrowhead was seemingly embedded above her breast, but it had bit shallowly into the skin. Ugly red had spread across her chiseled muscles, and if nothing else, Amilia knew the monstergirl would bleed out in less than a day if her wounds weren't bound right.
I'll need tourniquets, she thought. Lots of bandages, too. This cut here would kill her without pressure, and this one – oh, geez.
She licked her lips. She did not know what had happened to the creature, and she did not understand how it came to be there. The arrows were not of any recognizable human design, which meant that they weren't the standard issue she had seen so many times from the army or the militia. Bandits, raiders, mercenaries, any of those were options, as well as other monster races. She did not detect any poison, thankfully, but whatever had attacked the monstergirl had been vicious indeed.
Maybe it had been personal, and maybe it had been self-defence. Amelia did not know, and she did not care. She set her lips into a line, stared her over, and shook her wide-brimmed hat left and right. Hellhounds were dangerous, deadly beasts, but she would not leave a soul in need to die on the bank of some tiny little river. She was a Witch, but she was not cold and callous. She wasn't heartless, like so many said.
She let a brief sigh leave her lips. “How am I going to get you back home, big girl?”
The Hellhound did not respond.
Amelia shook her head. “If you get blood on my dress I'm going to be very cross with you.”
She had a long, long walk back ahead of her.
“I thought I told you not to sit up,” Amelia said playfully as she entered the bedroom, her long-slitted dress swishing around naked thighs. She cradled the hot bowl of soup in her hand, and she set it down on the nightstand before doing anything else. It was too warm to hold for long, and the fresh-baked bread she had beside it would go bad if left out for too long.
She directed a look at the monstergirl on her bed. She had sat up straight in defiance of Amelia's orders, but she had been half-lucid when they were given; she doubted the creature could even understand it at that time. Hell, she still looked lost: her big red eyes swivelled left and right without understanding and her ears were pressed down close to her skull in a clearly fearful, doubtful gesture. Her jaw worked with visible twitches, almost grinding teeth together, while nostrils flared to take in a dozen new scents at once.
Her torso was swaddled in bandages from chest to waist, and her arms were similarly – if to a lesser degree – wrapped up. Ointments had been applied to her skin to successfully stymie bleeding, and in some places it still shined like glazing. It could have just been the natural shimmer across the Hellhound's skin, however, as had been revealed to Amelia over the course of some cursory reading. With inner body temperatures much hotter than her own, their metabolisms ran hot and left their skin flushed as if with sweat almost constantly.
She didn't mind, though.
“Who... Who are you?” The Hellhound asked at length, affixing the Witch with her piercing red gaze. She did not quite glare, but it was close enough. She judged her just as much as she measured her, but Amelia did not let it take her back. She smiled kindly as she pulled a chair up to the edge of the bed and took a seat, offering a gentle, motherly presence.
“Amelia,” she replied, “Lockewood. I'm a Witch of the wilds.”
The Hellhound's nostrils flared. “That sounds like a fake name.”
Amelia blinked and raised her dark brows nearly into her hairline. “That's the first time I've ever heard that.”
The Hellhound looked around again. “...A Witch. Why am I with a Witch? I don't know you.”
Amelia licked her lips. She could already tell it was not going to be quite as easy as she wanted it to be, and she tried to keep her patience. “You were wounded when I found you. Severely wounded, in fact. I brought you back to my home to heal you.”
“Huh.” The Hellhound sounded unimpressed. “Out of the kindness of your heart, huh?”
She said the words with a scornful scoff, but Amelia just smiled and nodded. “That's right.”
The Monstergirl shuffled on the bed. Her dark skin was so covered in wrappings that she looked like a mummy, and it clearly bothered her. “I will not be in the debt to a Witch.”
“That's good,” Amelia joked, “Because I daresay you have nothing worth indebting yourself for.”
“I – Nnngh .” The Hellhound growled dismissively. Her nostrils flared again, then again, before her nose twitched. “What is this place? It smells so... so... dead.”
“Another interesting way to put it,” the Witch drawled. She was distinctly aware that the soup she had brought in was going to go cold, but she indulged her patient's curiosity for a bit. “It's a sterile room for healing. A cut above the average field hospital, I'd wager.”
The Hellhound's nose shuffled. Her ears twitched too, and it made her look the furthest thing possible from a fearsome raider. “A Witch and a surgeon?”
“A doctor more like,” Amelia replied with a faint chuckle buried in her words. “The townsfolk come around for remedies and injuries. I have several sanitised rooms available for more serious injuries.”
“What?”
Amelia raised a brow. “Was that not clear -”
“I don't understand that word,” the Hellhound growled. “What is a sanitized ?”
“Oh.” Amelia blinked once to understand, then blinked twice as the words took hold. She smiled and shook her head, then laughed a bit. “It means – let's say it means to be clean. It's a clean room for you.”
“It smells bad,” the Hellhound huffed.
“Then that means it's working,” the Witch laughed gently. Then, a pause. She regarded the Hellhound the same that the beast did to her, and red eyes constantly, readily scanned across the length of her shapely frame. It was hard to say if she was judging her as a threat or not, but nothing had happened yet. “Might I ask why I found you on the cusp of death?”
The Hellhound shrugged. It was a surprisingly powerful motion that sent muscles flexing, and Amelia could not help but admire it. “I fought. I lost. Nothing to it.”
“It seemed like a lot more than that,” Amelia probed.
The Hellhound shrugged for a second time. “It's not. There was a battle, and my pack lost. It was the only one left, so they hunted me down. What does it matter?”
“Generally, I like to know how a Hellhound comes to be lying face-first in the dirt with arrows sticking out of her back,” Amelia pointed out. “...Your pack?”
A third, and final, shrug. “Leave it at that, woman.”
The Witch snorted. “It's still Amelia, fake though it may sound. Use it, please.”
The Hellhound raised a brow. “What, do Witches have fire in them?”
“I don't know what that's supposed to mean, but I'm the one that's keeping you from dying,” she pointed out, and the Hellhound shut her mouth. “You really were almost dead. Two arrows nearly nicked arteries that would see you dead twice over. One almost got at your valv – er, heart. You had enough cuts along to bleed to death without any of the rest. So, please, show me the respect your life deserves.”
The Hellhound, surprisingly, dipped her head and sent her ears flush against her skull. “You're right. I am sorry. My life... is in your hands.”
Amelia was taken back by the sudden change in demeanour, but she swallowed and cocked her chin up so as not to let it show. “That's right. Now, accordingly, you're going to have to take it easy for a while. Rest up and heal, that sort of thing.”
The Hellhound licked her teeth. “How long?”
“It's too early to tell,” Amelia replied. “A week before I'd get you out of bed. Another week or so of rest, perhaps. Maybe two, because you had a fractured arm that needs mending. After that, we'll see.”
The Monstergirl looked down at the sheets. She chewed on her thoughts, jaw working, teeth grinding. “...I obey.”
Amelia chuckled. She reached off to the side to grab the bowl of soup and bread she'd brought, then hefted it around. “You don't have to put it so strongly, but sure, that works fine. Now, here. I want you to eat up, get that metabolism going.”
“What?” The Hellhound stared as the bowl was plopped into her lap. “What is this?”
“Soup.”
“I mean – It smells -” A grumble. “Where's the meat?”
Amelia smiled. “The meat?”
“Yes, the – there should be meat in this. Or on the side. Where is it?”
The Hellhound appeared lost, visibly confused, and befuddled, and Amelia found it absolutely amusing. Adorable too, in its own way. “I think you're talking about stew, and no, there's no meat. Not yet. Right now, you just need liquids and the like. We'll get to meat later.”
The monstergirl made a noise from deep in her throat; something like a canine whine and a strangled breath. “I can't even have meat? What kind of Witchy thing is this?”
Amelia, brows still raised in amusement, reached for the bowl. “If you don't want it...”
The Hellhound tugged it toward her. “No. I'm hungry.”
“Then eat,” she said, “and don't complain about the Witch-doctor's orders.”
The canine monstergirl grumbled, sniffed, and lowered her head. “Fine.”
Amelia watched her for a moment. Then, slowly, she rose from the edge of the bed, knowing well that she did not have endless time to watch her patient sit there. She had plenty of work to do and little time to do it if she wanted to hit her marks, so she began to take her leave.
“I'm going to go,” she told her, “so eat up and leave it off to the side. If you need anything, call me, please. I'll hear.”
The Hellhound watched her move. Her eyes raked across the flash of thigh left bare each time the slit of her dress parted, and Amelia was not sure whether to be flattered or indignant by the clearly focused stare. “Alright.”
Amelia paused by the doorframe. She remembered, idly, that she had not, in fact, ever gotten her patient's name, and so turned back to face her. “I'd almost forgotten. Do I get the fair lady's name?”
The Hellhound scowled. “You're teasing.”
The Witch laughed off the accusation. “I'm asking.”
The dark-furred monstergirl worked the word around in her mouth. “Merle.”
“Merle. Northern name, isn't it?” Amelia dipped her head when she saw Merle nod. “Far from home, no?”
A shrug. “I go where the wind takes me.”
“A wanderer?”
“All Hellhounds are wanderers,” she replied. “We roam the breadth of the world. What does it matter?”
“It doesn't,” Amelia said casually. Then, a bit shyly, offered a wink. “It just makes it lucky that you happened to go to die around my home, no?”
Merle licked her lips, looked like she was going to rebuke her, and then cocked her head. “I... guess so?”
Amelia did not expect the forthright answer, but it made her laugh brightly. And, as she left the room, and later, when she was in the midst of mixing ingredients into medicinal pastes and remedies of strange-smelling liquids, she could only muse on how her first interaction with a Hellhound had been far more pleasant than any of the stories indicated.
The Witch’s hut was nothing like a hut at all. It was a misnomer from the people in the towns around her. To them, it only made sense that a Witch lived in a rundown hut in the middle of swampy woods. It was an image as old as time, something they would not divorce themselves from in the slightest. It was, of course, totally false, but Amelia enjoyed the surprise on the faces of the townfolk when they saw it first-hand for themselves.
It was more like a cottage out in a gorgeous set of woodland area: not quite forested, rather just off the beaten track and surrounded by stout trees. Several rows of gardens surrounded the plot of land, and between the well-irrigated locks were little streams of water set in a ritualistic pattern. Behind her home was a pond filled with bright fish and watery plants, and in front were bright streamers strung between lantern posts of a paper-thin wood design.
It was a home with two wings; one for her research, and the other for her patients. She got many visitors seeking healing, and so she needed lots of space on-hand to take care of them. The other end was strictly for her work, and as such was filled with equipment and books such that would boggle the mind. The main area was but a simple home, meant for little more than leisure, rest, and comfort.
She had inherited the manse from her predecessor; the woman that had trained her and taught her. The Old Witch had shown her everything she knew and left everything to her as an inheritance before she passed at a very respectable three centuries of age, leaving it to Amelia to pick up where she left off - which was really just tending to the land, helping out townsfolk that treated her superstitiously, and researching things that might find their way to a court mage one day.
There was more than enough space for her to do her business and enjoy it. There was just enough space, too, for her patients, and even the most wild-hearted of them could enjoy their stay in comfort - even if comfort was something that naturally chafed at their sensibilities. Amelia, however, had never had to host a Hellhound before, so such considerations were a learning experience for her just as much as they were for her charge.
It had been about six days since the Hellhound had arrived at her home, and she had made some rather serious progress in healing since then. Though a normal human would be bedridden for far longer, monstergirls such as Merle seemed to be better at healing their bodies - and further, the Hellhound’s metabolism ran hotter than others. Though it was not a cure-all, she took to the potions and remedies far better than most would. Her body healed fast, and even if most of it was superficial, she had the kind of biology that Amelia was very interested in examining.
Merle had to eat a lot, though, to keep it up, and when she wasn’t guzzling down food she was anxiously bouncing on her heels, annoyed that she had to wait to heal. Dealing with her was like nothing else Amelia had ever gone through: some mixture of working with a petulant child, a teenager with too much energy, and a puppy that sometimes acted like a wolf.
Even if others would have been too intimidated to give a Hellhound the same level of treatment as a human, the Witch was thoroughly unperturbed by it. She deserved it, so, once Amelia judged that she had healed enough to get out of bed and leave the house, she took her right into the back garden to begin their physical therapy - that was, to see if she was healing up nicely and back in shape.
“So…” Merle started, her red eyes squinting down at the paper in front of her. “You… just want me to work out?”
“I want you to do physical therapy, yes,” Amelia replied, casually seated as she was on the porch. “Training, if you’d prefer. Light things to see how you’re healing up.”
The Hellhound grunted. “How does this help?”
“It helps me see how you’re healing up,” she repeated with a laugh. “Sit ups, push-ups, the like. I just want to see how it’s going, if there’s anything that causes pain or discomfort or any sort of lethargic movement.”
“Uh… alright.” Merle sniffed and looked around at the empty greenery. “Right here?”
“Simply perform what is on the paper, please,” Amelia said easily, her fingers flicking out in a dismissive gesture. “I’ll simply watch.”
Watch, she did. The sun shone brightly in the sky, and the crispness of the light danced around Merle’s dark, oily skin, truly making it shine. Glisten, almost, like she had been oiled up for some lurid dance, and Amelia was all for it. Most of the bandages were gone, leaving bare the rough-chiseled lines of her body: all sheer, strong muscle, hard biceps, and a fit, washboard-like stomach that danced as she moved.
Her chest, large and full, bobbed gently no matter what she did, and the curve of her waist danced appetizingly each time she moved. The clothing she wore - such that it was - wrapped snugly around her curves, and it laid bare everything from bulge to chest in all the best of ways. Her muscles rippled all across her lean, cut frame as she performed sit-ups, her tits almost squishing against her knees on each stark rise, and the way they swung when she did her push-ups was almost as attractive as how her biceps bulged and curled.
Merle was, in a word, hot, and though Amelia would hate to admit something like that about her patient, she absolutely did not shy away from the absolute delight that was watching a total stud work out in her back garden. The Hellhound was pure eye-candy, and the Witch could not stop herself from biting and nibbling on her lower lip as she watched her bend and contort her body around with toe-curling flexibility.
Sunlight washed over a body of dark charcoal and rushed across her skin in lines, making her look like she had just stepped out of a shower. Her muscles danced beneath the skin as she crunched and curled her body up and down, bringing herself around with the utmost flexibility - her strength, even then, unmistakable. Amelia would not have been surprised if Merle could do push-ups with her sitting on her back, such was her visible power.
Amelia, despite herself, raked eyes over her again and again. She had her notebook open in front of her, however, and ostensibly, she wrote notes down - taking notation about how well she did, how fast she moved, any twitches she saw or lethargic activities, and other things of that nature. She examined wounds for breakage or irritation, stared at sharp eyes to find flickers of pain, and marked it all down in clear, crisp handwriting. It was idle, though, mere second-thought, a clear lack of concentration in her movements.
At some point, Merle stood up. She rose to her feet and stretched arms above her head, making her biceps dance and her plump chest bounce up along her lean frame. Muscles rippled all along her stomach, abdominals flexing into a life that glistened in the sharp light of day. Sharp and pronounced, each one was like a little delicious hill for Amelia to run her eyes over and bite her lip in appreciation of; the scars, scratches, and lines that marred her skin only made it even more delicious to her.
“So?”
Amelia blinked three times and tore her eyes away from her patient’s abs before bringing them up to that curious red. “Bed par - Beg your pardon? ”
“Was that what you wanted?” The Hellhound asked, seemingly nonplussed. Her red eyes were bright as burning embers, and though Amelia would not say she found them the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen - not even close - they were, in a word, captivating.
That’s what you get for leering! Her better half chastised. Next time, pay attention!
I was paying attention, her not-as-better half replied. Definitely paying attention to all that eye candy.
“Uh…. yes,” Amelia said slowly, her head nodding to the beat of her own thoughts. “No, that’s, uh, great so far. I can… really see that you’ve been healing nicely.”
“Mhm,” Merle grunted in assent. “I feel better. Less sore.”
“Yeah,” Amelia agreed, her eyes again falling upon that lean, hard-cut frame. “That’s… good, yes, but the last thing I’d want you to do is to strain yourself.”
Merle raised a brow. “Strain myself?”
“Mhm,” the Witch said agreable. She brought her hand up to tuck a lock of luscious black behind her ear, then offered a smile at the Hellhound. “I need to make sure everything’s working fine.”
She stood up, then. She, as ever, was distinctly aware that the Hellhound had almost a head of height on her, but she simply found the contrast to be delicious. She stepped up to her, moving around her in a way that drew curious eyes, then settled in at her side. She reached out and tentatively set her palm on her strong stomach, and as abs flexed beneath her skin, she felt a quiver run along her spine.
“Just breathe for me,” Amelia told her charge. “Nice and deep so I can get a… feel… for it. Okay?”
The Hellhound shrugged. “‘Kay.”
She breathed in deeply, making her stomach hollow inward. Her abs flexed against her palm, and Amelia resisted the urge to bite down on her lip at the amazing sensation. Just keeping an eye out on her, she told herself as the Hellhound breathed and sent her muscles into flutters, not ogling her or feeling her up. I’m ensuring she remains healthy, nothing more.
Totally.
“Is it okay?”
Amelia blinked to clear her thoughts, then offered another smile. “Yes. I can see that you’re… breathing very nicely, and your scars aren’t causing any… difficulties.”
If Merle noticed her halting words, she did not comment. “That’s good, right?”
“Yes, but - but there’s some tightness here,” Amelia said at length, patting the abdominals in full. Gosh, they feel so hard. Where do women like this come from? It’s almost crazy. “So I think we’ll need to stretch it out a bit, see where we stand there.”
“Stretch?” Merle frowned and shrugged off-handedly. “I mean, sure, if you think so.”
“I absolutely do,” the Witch replied with a wink and a dip of her head. Her wide-brimmed hat almost flopped comically in the process.
Merle looked at her. “Are you going to keep your hands on me, or…?”
“Hm?” Amelia licked her lips. “Of course. I certainly need to, hm, help prevent any aggravation of your injuries.”
“...Sure.”
Merle went along with it all to a surprisingly earnest degree. Very earnest, in fact, and Amelia just licked her lips as she began to help her patient stretch. Slow, gentle movements, the flick of an arm, the raising of a leg, the bend and twist of a bicep, urging her around and into the kind of stretching positions that she needed. She went through basic therapy poses one by one, and though she could never hope to manhandle a monstergirl such as her, she definitely edged toward it.
It’s just to keep an eye on her, she told herself, to make sure my patient remains healthy.
That didn’t stop her from enjoying the way that the monstergirl’s bicep felt against her hand, though, nor how her abs fluttered at the touch. The way her spine felt as she curled against Amelia was a lip-biting sensation, and the strength that she displayed with each easy movement was almost blinding.
Amelia had never had such a gorgeous woman as her patient before, and right then, she was very willing to make the most of the limited time they had together.
“Am I doing well?” Merle asked her at some point, half-startling her out of her thoughts. “How do I feel?”
“Oh, yes,” Amelia replied shakily, “you feel great. ”
The tension was so thick in the room that Amelia could have cut it open with a knife. She could have taken a surgical utensil and sliced through the fear and suspicion that clogged the air, that was how oppressive it all was. The fact that it came from two people alone was almost hilarious to her, but mostly she found it disturbing that it happened at all.
She looked at Merle. Her face was tight, almost drawn, and her lips set into a near omnipresent snarl. The corners of her mouth twitched and her nose moved left and right as she stared at the other person in the room, red eyes almost burning holes into them. Everything about her was tight, speaking of a desire to pounce; the fact that she didn’t spoke of incredible self-control despite her inherent capacity for violence.
The Hellhound looked better than she did a week ago during their preliminary physical examinations. In fact, she looked better by every measurably metric thanks to her monstergirl biology, and beside the fact that she threatened to eat Amelia out of house and home to compensate for her metabolism, she was doing well. Still, despite her apparent quick recovery, the Witch had her wear her bandages to be safe and kept compression wraps around her sore limbs, just because she said so.
Amelia smiled at her. That was almost enough to - briefly - distract Merle from her glaring. “Merle, be a darling and fetch me that spoon there, would you? The- yes, the small one.”
Merle huffed, looked over the counter, and shrugged. “Fine.”
The broad-shouldered Hellhound pushed herself back in her chair, spun it around, and moved to grab the spoon from the counter. In that span of time, Amelia directed her attention back to her patient - to her newest patient, a poor soul from the neighbouring village who was suffering from something that he called a ‘hex’. Plain-looking, vaguely handsome in an off-hand sort of way, he didn’t seem old enough to be married or to have had much in the way of life experiences.
He had been glared at Merle ever since he’d stepped inside her home. He had with him the usual donations for her services: a basket of goods, some foodstuffs, some offerings, coin; standard fare. He had been met with the face of the Hellhound and nearly turned tail immediately, fearing that the ‘beast’ had killed the Witch and taken over her home.
Or something like that. It had taken a bit to calm the individual down, and even then, as he sat there in her ‘examination room’ - the living room, really - he appeared nervous as fuck. He stared at the Hellhound just as much as she did in turn, thickening the atmosphere with mistrust. Though Amelia tried to diffuse the situation with smiles, it didn’t quite seem to work.
“Here,” said Merle, announcing herself as she handed a small, silver spoon off to Amelia.
“Thank you, darling,” Amelia hummed. She winked at the Hellhound, then watched as red eyes dilated with interest - but she did not focus long enough to appreciate the reaction. She turned to her patient, saw his nerves, and smiled in a rough attempt to reassure him. “Now…”
The man’s eyes flicked backward and forward. “Uhm…”
Amelia brought the spoon down. Smiling patiently, she asked, “is something wrong, mister Aberforth?”
The man looked askance. “No, Ms. Witch.”
The Witch set her lips into a fond line. “Mister Aberforth, Merle here is a patient here, much like yourself. There isn’t any need for concern; she’s suffered serious injury and is under my care and protection until such a time that she can leave. There is nothing to fear.”
Merle sniffed. Aberforth, instead, looked aside and scratch his cheek, almost tentative. He coughed about a second later into his fist - a dry, scratchy sort of noise that wheezed off. “...But she’s a Hellhound.”
Merle bristled.
“She’s a patient,” replied Amelia. “And there’s no cause for concern.”
“She doesn’t look sick,” he said. “What if she’s cast a wyrd on you?”
“Do you even know what that is?” She asked with a musical chuckle.
“Yes, well, of course, it’s, well,” the man said, stumbling over his words. “It's…. bad luck. It’s bad - it’s a charm.”
“Well, I assure you that none of that has happened,” she dismissed with the same sort of rolling, rumbling laugh, “and that she is a patient here such as any other. You will afford her the same respect you afford me, because those are the rules of my house.”
The man tilted his chin up. “If ya say so, ma’am.”
“I do. And now I say: open your mouth, sir.”
She pointed with the spoon. The man obeyed and opened his mouth at her dictation, though his eyes did not quite leave Merle - but that was fine. She did not need his attention, merely his obedience. Her work - her diagnostic, her check-up - was straightforward, well-practiced. She pushed the spoon onto his tongue to look down his throat, and she used the simple charm set upon the silver hollow to offer her a closer view of the tunnel beyond.
She removed it a minute later, set it down to be cleaned, and then moved to set her hands on his throat. Her gloves danced in place as she felt up certain spots with her fingertips, looking for swelling and pronounced sections of flesh. She moved without saying anything, little more than a hum on her lips, and she supposed that was part of why everyone in town thought she was some mysterious figure - she had never mastered communication with people that thought so superstitiously about everything.
“Cough for me,” she said, hand on the man’s chest, and he coughed. She hummed to herself, nodded twice, and moved her hands around. “Alright, does it hurt when I do this?”
She pressed down on certain places to evoke specific responses, and it all helped build up her diagnosis. The man looked at her oddly, but nowhere near as much as he did the Hellhound - but Amelia brushed it aside as she worked with what she had, all smiles and softness. She tried to make idle conversation through it - how he was, how the town was, and simple things like that - and the more she spoke, the looser he seemed to be, the calmer he eventually became.
“Merle,” Amelia called out, “Might you fetch a few stems of the green leaves from the third cupboard on the right? They'll be the only things in there. And grab me one of the purple vials right there as well, yes, thank you.”
The Hellhound acquiesced with little more than a nod and a huff, perfectly obedient in the best of ways. Amelia only spared her a glance, though, and returned her attention to the man, her smile focused and steady. “Well, mister Aberforth, I can guarantee that you have not been hexed.”
“Ah – is that so?” The man shuffled in his seat. “What is it, then?”
“You've got some swollen glands and a bit of strep throat,” she told him. “Not quite an infection, but it could get worse.”
Merle returned to her with everything she asked for: a stem of leaves that looked nicely crisp and a potion bottle filled with syrupy purple liquid. She smiled, thanked her, and turned back to her patient, all calm and gentle. “Now, here's what you need to do. Take a spoonful from this vial twice a day, morning and night, for five days. It should then all feel better by the seventh day. If it does not, you can return here.”
The man opened his mouth to speak.
She cut him off. “If you feel discomfort or pain during the treatment, take one of these leaves -” She held up the stem “-and crush it into hot water or tea, then drink it. It will soothe the pain. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Aberforth replied. “I understand.” He still looked uncertain. “...What's in the potion?”
“A remedy,” she replied off-handedly, knowing well that he would never understand the ingredients. “if you don't trust me, feel free to leave without it – but we both know that's not the case here, yes?”
The man did not reply, but rather took the vial and the leaves and bowed his head. “Many thanks, ma'am.”
“Wonderful.” She smiled curtly. “Would you be needing anything else?”
“That'd be doin' it,” he said, and that was that. “I won't be takin' anymore of your time.”
“Let me see you to the door,” she said anyhow, and just a few moments later she was watching him leave down the pathway of her home, moving away from her so-called hut in the woods and back into town. It made her chuckle and shake her head, but that was that; just another day in the life as a Witch of the Wilds, it seemed.
When she returned to the living room, she saw Merle sprawled out on her couch, arms behind her head and her bushy tail waving at her side. She wore little, as usual. Just a bandolier across her chest and those small shorts, leaving most of her skin bare – and despite her best intentions, Amelia did not stop herself from all but leering at the woman. She was too curvy, too muscled, a visual treat, as if the gods had decided to grant her a sculpture of living flesh to fawn over.
“What was that?” Merle asked as she walked past, and her voice had a sharp, wary ring to it.
“What was what?” Amelia replied softly.
“That. I dunno.” The Hellhound made a face. “People just come here?”
“I have many patients in need of treating,” she said with a laugh. She spun on her heel and planted her hands on her hips, and she watched as eyes trailed along the curve of her waist. “An entire town's worth, basically. I'm the only person for leagues around who can do anything worth a damn.”
“And you just... help them?” Merle questioned, sounding almost baffled. “He didn't even give you anything of worth.”
“On the contrary,” she laughed. “I got a nice basket and some goods.”
She waved her hand at the basket that she had left on the table. She bent at the waist and bent over to start rummaging through it, almost making a show of it – ostensibly to prove a point and not because the way she bent offered Merle even more of a show than usual. She was staring right then, and the Witch knew it – and savored it, despite herself.
“Preserved fruits, jam, salted pork – a veritable prize, I'd say,” she chuckled. “Some coin here, too. Oh, and look: cloth for sewing. How nice.”
Merle wrinkled her nose. “I've gotten better in shitty bandit raids.”
Amelia hummed and chortled. “It's not about the reward, dear Merle. I take what I need and what they offer, and I charge for my services on an as-needs basis. That's all.”
“Then why do it at all?”
“I don't need a reason to help people,” Amelia pointed out. “That's all there is to it, dear.”
The Hellhound affixed her with her red gaze for a long moment of consideration, almost as if wrangling the thought around in her head. “Well, it seems stupid not to get rewarded for your work. You do a lot. He wasn't even nice to you.”
“I'm a Witch, it comes with the territory.” Then, on a whim, she winked at her. “It's why I appreciate good company all the more.”
The Hellhound pulled a face. “I'm not gonna stand for shit like that.”
Amelia smiled. “I appreciate that, Merle. It's very kind, but don't worry: I'm used to it.”
A shrug. “You shouldn't be.” The Hellhound flicked her head around. “You're too kind for your own good.”
A smile played at her lips while her heart warmed at the words she heard. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Merle said flatly. “You shouldn't just take a Hellhound into your home. The man knew.”
“As I said, your company has been a rather precious thing to me over these weeks,” she said casually. She finally took a seat for herself directly across from Merle, and let her eyes rake over that lean, hard-muscled body. “I like having someone around the house.”
The Hellhound almost – almost – appeared lost for words. She grunted to cover it up, scratched her cheek, and stretched arms behind her back in a wonderful display of rippling muscle and bouncing breasts. “Yeah, well, I don't wanna be a burden for longer. You've already kept me around for a long time, and I feel fine. So... So yeah.”
Amelia let out a tiny, halting laugh at that, almost nervous in her demeanour. “Now, now. I'm only keeping you around as long as you need to heal. You might seem okay, but I assure you, you've yet to fully heal.”
Merle frowned. “Really?”
“Yes,” Amelia lied. “Really. So don't fret: I don't mind having you around.”
“I... don't want to be a burden -”
Amelia snapped her fingers, drawing attention to her in a heartbeat. “Are you worried about not paying me back, dear Merle?”
“I – no,” the Hellhound snorted. Then, belatedly, with a sniff, “...Yes.”
Amelia laughed; a smooth, crystal-clear note of amusement. “That's nothing to worry about, darling.”
Merle grumbled and shrugged. “It really is.”
There were a lot of things Amelia could have replied to that. Instead, she stared, watching her face – then her abs, her muscles, her chest, and the too-large bulge in her shorts. Up and down again, looking at the stud on her couch with honest appreciation. She admired a face that was hard-edge, flat-planed, and yet round at the same time, a haughty and cute face that always made her smile. It was a gorgeous face, really.
“What?” Merle grumbled again. “Is there something on my face?”
“No,” Amelia said quickly, her lips pulling into a smile. “If you wish to pay me back for my services, Merle, maybe we can work something out.”
Merle frowned, her dark brows drawn. “Really?”
“Mhm,” Amelia chortled. “I've need of someone to do some heavy lifting for me when I go into town tomorrow.”
“T-town?” Merle stumbled over her words. “That's the last place I want to be. No one would be happy to see me.”
“Of course they would be,” Amelia assured, and though she wasn't sure why she did, she did. “It'll be good exercise for you, and it shouldn't be much of a strain.”
“They wouldn't be happy,” warned Merle.
“But you'd be with me, and I wouldn't care.”
The Hellhound stared. Then, slowly, she dipped her head. “Alright, then. If that's what you want.”
Amelia smiled to herself. She really is too cute for her own good.
The third time they went out into town was much the same as the first. Merle was suspicious, her nose twitching, her tail swishing, and ears moving around rapidly, and the villagers and townsfolk - depending on their location - would stare at her with a mixture of consternation and concern. Mostly worry, given that she was a Hellhound and most of them knew to be dangerous even without ever having directly met one. Such prejudices were, unfortunately, hard to dissuade, especially when most of them were true.
Still, like every other time, Merle followed closely at her side as she went out. Over the last two weeks of the ‘healing process', they had gone out for various supplies in the nearby town or otherwise visited the little villages that dotted the landscape. Here and there were hunting villages of four or five hovels, and down a ways away was the solitary ‘major’ town that people lived in. Further still, some hour away, was the hamlet where the local duke reigned, but the Witch rarely visited it.
She had all she needed in the nearby towns and villages, and that was enough for her. She went for supply runs, mostly, but it was where she did the majority of her shopping for clothes and other fine resources that would be impossible to get out in the wild - and she had some nice, fanciful tastes, that was for sure. Going in and out of town was a requirement, even if it was rare enough that people would give her odd looks here and there.
“People are staring again,” Merle grumbled at her side, but Amelia just winked, nudged into her side, and wrapped her arm around a stronger, fitter bicep.
“Don’t worry,” Amelia hummed, “they’re just… interested! ”
“That’s not what it is,” the Hellhound said flatly. “How can you handle all these… looks?”
“I don’t mind them anymore,” she said with a wink. “It’s just how people are. They don’t mean ill, and besides, we can’t judge everyone that looks at us weird.”
Merle grumbled. They walked along at a steady pace, moving their way along the street and taking in stares and glares everywhere they moved. Such things were natural; they were a Witch and a Hellhound, and it made for one hell of a weird pair. Absolutely strange, totally at-odds, utterly bizarre. It was the kind of thing people didn't expect to see, and so their eyes looked them over at every time and place.
Amelia hardly cared, though, and she kept her arm wrapped around Merle's strong bicep as they walked to the general store. The conversation between them was sparse, but such was to be expected. The Hellhound was, as always, terse, her attitude thin, and quite clearly not suited for the casual rigours of basic civilized life. Amelia did not mind it, even if everyone else around did. She simply found the expressions on her face to be rather cute, all told.
They stepped into the general store with a crisp breath. The air was just as warm inside as it was outside, but Amelia did not mind. She dipped her head with a bright, if obscure, smile, grabbed the rim of her poofy hat, and dipped it down in respect. The owner took it with a nod and a greeting that Amelia found rather reassuring: he wasn't as stiff as he had been the last time.
Maybe he was getting used to it.
Merle dutifully followed her through the store. She did not say much and she commented on little as Amelia grabbed supplies that she could not procure out in nature or make for herself, but her red eyes scanned everything and anything for danger. Her natural standoffish nature simply made her even cuter in the Witch's eyes, and she enjoyed peering at her out from under her wide-brimmed hat.
“What?” Merle asked at one point. “Is there something on my face?”
“Not at all,” she replied, all easy and smooth. “Is there anything you want?”
“Huh? No.” The Hellhound furrowed her brow and shook her head stubbornly. “There's nothing I would want here.”
“But if there was,” Amelia pressed, “You would tell me, right?”
A shrug. “Don't bother wasting things on me.”
Amelia chuckled. “There it is. If I say it's fine, it's fine. If there's something you want, point it out.”
Merle grumbled and scratched her cheek shyly. “I – I dunno. I wouldn't want anything. But -”
“-But?-”
“-If they had any of that cocoa powder, you know, it wouldn't be... bad... to buy it.”
Amelia smiled. “Then that's what we'll do.”
By the time they made it to the shopkeep's counter to lay out their goods, their basket was full. It was all calmly, evenly laid out, judged for price, and then put back in the basket, there to be scooped up by Merle. She did the heavy lifting while the Witch bartered with the man ahead of her, knocking off a few coins here and there on account of her prior services.
The man was a fairly kindly fellow: older, round, almost jolly in appearance. He peered down at Amelia and had to look a smidge up to look properly at Merle, but freely did both. “You're looking better, Merle. Taking to the healin', are ya?”
“Uh... Yeah.” Merle scrunched up her nose and wriggled her ears. “I feel a lot better.”
“I don't even see any bandages, eh?” The man pressed his hands flat against the counter. “You lot really do heal fast, don't you?”
“I guess,” the Hellhound said dismissively, her powerful shoulders rippling in a shrug. “Amelia is a good healer.”
“She is doing a lot better, thanks for asking,” Amelia hummed, interjecting out of a near-compulsion to do so. The shopkeep was not the only to notice that Merle seemed much more healed than before, and that she was, by most standards, good as new. “She's still got some... underlying issues that need fixing, but she's going to be in tip-top shape soon enough.”
“Well, you've got the eye for these things, Ms. Witch,” said the shopkeep respectfully. “That's why we all go to you.”
“And don't you forget it,” Amelia joked kindly, but shot a glance at Merle. The Hellhound did look good as new, and the fact that it was so obvious to people that wouldn't know better concerned her.
“You're right,” Merle stated rather flatly, “She does know these things. I don't get half of what she says, I just like listening to her speak.”
Amelia glanced, again, at Merle, her brow piqued up and her cheeks a bit more pink. After a second she chuckled, shook her head, nudged the Hellhound's side, and made a gesture with her hand. “Well, thank you, Caulfield. We'll be on our way, now. See you in... perhaps a week or so.”
The man nodded. “Sure, sure. Take care of y'all.”
Merle grunted and nodded in parting, and otherwise followed Amelia out. Her hands held the basket easily, ignoring any weight it might have possessed, and swung herself around behind her like a loyal puppy. For a long moment, she did not even say anything. She simply stepped in behind the Witch and moved with her like a shadow.
Only later did she speak. “This isn't the way out of town.”
“No,” Amelia agreed, “it's not. However, I think you and I deserve a drink, and the only place we're getting brandy worth a damn is at the tavern, so that's our stop.”
“Bar – drink?” Merle raised her brow in surprise. “I thought you said I wasn't healthy enough to drink.”
Oh . Amelia had said that. Her lips twitched; it was becoming difficult to remember all of her lies. She had said many as she dictated to Merle why she wasn't healthy enough to leave the house yet, even though, by all metrics, all she had left was soreness and some muscle pain.
She licked her lips. “You seem to be handling everything well, Merle, so I think you deserve a treat.”
Merle frowned again. “Wouldn't that slow the healing?”
Amelia laughed to dismiss her concerns. “Don't you want to go drinking with me, darling?”
The Hellhound looked away and scratched her cheek. “W-well, of course I do, but -”
“So?” Amelia wrapped her arm around Merle and leaned in – really leaned in. It was a motion that pressed her chest up against a strong bicep and sent it squishing down pleasurably. She knew Merle felt it; the Hellhound's sudden intake of breath was clear.
“O-okay,” Merle allowed, “if those are the doctor's orders.”
“They are,” Amelia quipped, and only felt half-bad for lying about it. As long as the end result was worth it, she liked to think, it didn't matter how she got there. Only that she did.
“So?” Merle asked her pointedly. “How do I look?”
“Mhm, mhm,” Amelia hummed, making a show of it. She moved a stethoscope around and pressed on sections of hard, sculpted flesh with her fingers, moving across abs and biceps and thighs and pretty much every muscle that existed on the Hellhound's way-too-built form with self-satisfaction. It was all done under the guise of a medical check-up to see if she could dismiss the Hellhound or not, and it was a lie from the start.
There was no need for a check-up. Merle had healed nicely in the six or so weeks she had spent there. Already, Amelia was seriously pushing her limits as a doctor and a Witch to keep a patient around for so long; a human, it might have made sense for, but a Hellhound? It was ludicrous. There was nothing tangibly wrong with Merle despite some lethargic activity in her muscles, but beyond that, she was good as new.
So, she lied.
“You look good,” she told her, “but you're clearly not fully healed yet.”
“Clearly?” Merle frowned and puffed out a cheek. Her big tail swished behind her, beating at the air like a paddle. “Oh.”
Amelia smiled thinly. “What I mean to say is, while you're entirely capable of leaving under your own power should you wish it, but there are a few more physical tests I'd like to perform first. Some observations, that is, to make sure you're going to leave her safe and not fall over on your face at the first opportunity.”
Merle rolled her eyes and scoffed fondly. “As if.”
Amelia kept on smiling. “I'm just making sure.”
Merle grunted. “The other patients and stuff don't seem to like it, though. They're already accusing you of using me as a Familiar.”
Amelia laughed; it was one of the sillier things she'd heard recently. “They don't know what a Familiar is if it bit them on the ass, and a Hellhound cannot be one anyhow. So, no, it's quite fine.
“That's not the point, though,” Merle said. “They don't like seeing a Hellhound take up all your time and share your home and stuff. It makes them uncomfortable.”
Amelia shrugged. “Does it seem like I care?”
“I... think you should?”
Amelia shook her head again. She knew where the worry was coming from, and that was part of her problem – as always. “It's simply – I am a Witch of the Wilds. Neutral in all respects: conflict, healing, etcetera. I do not take sides or make favours with one set of people or another. So... the townsfolk and villagers see you around and grow suspicious, is all. It's quite fine.”
Merle started up. “But -”
Amelia raised her hand. “As long as you're a patient here, it's fine. As long as I have a way to say you need healing and need to be around, they wouldn't actually say anything beyond rumour.”
It was the most honest she had been so far, and she practically pleaded with her for understanding: urged her to comprehend that she needed an excuse to keep her around. She was a Witch, but that did not mean she could do whatever she wanted. She prided herself on her neutrality, her ability to be a perfectly passive party in any conflict, dispute, or argument. Keeping someone around - a Hellhound - was hardly seen as a good thing.
As long as Merle was her patient, she could lie. If she wasn’t, she would be obligated to kick her out.
It was as simple as that.
Merle licked her lips. “That sounds lonely.”
It was not the response she was expecting. Amelia shuffled. “Well, darling, it’s not that bad. Besides, my neutrality only extends to patients. If I found myself a spouse, no one would bat a lash.”
She said it with a teasing lilt and a little laugh - and a rubbing of her fingers along Merle’s knee. The dark-skinned beauty looked at her, stared at her hand, and shuffled, her lips pressed tight. “I see.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Merle nodded crisply, and when she looked into Amelia’s eyes, she practically burned holes into her. “If you think I need more tests, Witch-Doctor, then sure. Whatever you say.”
Amelia swallowed and smiled. “Thank you, Merle.”
The Hellhound grunted in assent. She continued to eye her, however, staring at her as if seeing through her, and that made the Witch shiver in far too many ways for comfort.
Another week and a half, and another day where she was standing in the study, working her magic on a cauldron. As much of a doctor as she was, she was, as ever, a Witch. Her potions, remedies, and solutions all required a great deal of attention. She could only break things down in the most precise of ways, mix them together in the most exacting of measures, with the right amount of heating, temperatures, and mixing to make it all work.
She had to pay careful attention to replicate any one of her formulas, always measuring out the right amount of spins in the pot, the right speed to mix it, the correct heat and timing; alchemy was, as ever, an utterly exacting process, far unlike the more common ways of making medicines. A mistake would end in failure, not a diminished product. She had to be focused with it, and thankfully, she was always careful.
Merle, not so much. She was like a giant in the human-sized study, hitting tables with her bulk and slapping shelves with her tail. She had grace outside, but indoors, she was like a big dog that had never learned how to handle itself in tight areas. It was almost laughable, in a way. Amelia could not bear to send her away, however, despite the troubles she caused for her.
Merle wanted to help, and Amelia wanted to let her.
“Merle, darling, might you fetch me that tin on the shelf there?” She asked. She pointed at the other end of the room with one finger, highlighting a section of lined-up jars, containers, and tins of metal. “The third on the left.”
“Okay,” said Merle, and as she spun, she smacked Amelia across the back with her bushy tail. The Witch snorted and shook her head around to stare at her, a grin on her lips.
“And stop whacking me!”
“Stop being in the way of my tail,” The Hellhound chuckled in turn, her voice low and throaty.
“Oi,” the Witch scolded, “See who gets extra portions of dinner tonight.”
“I’ll just steal it off your plate,” Merle hummed, her voice thick. Amelia laughed and almost off-handedly watched Merle move, grab the tin, and bring it over to her. She mixed the cauldron around with careful twitches of her wrist, shuffling the current set of ingredients inside until the liquid became a murky sort of blue - like dirty water, almost.
“Thank you, darling,” the Witch said with a bright grin. “Now, please watch the potion for me. If it starts to bubble or do anything weird, let me know.”
“M’kay.”
Amelia opened the tin to reveal a clove of little white buds. She plucked up two of them carefully, set them in the mortar, and closed the tin. She secured it before reaching out to grab a few fronds and branches from little cylinders set before her, then, carefully, pulled them apart and dropped them in the mortar. One by one she broke them up, pushed them down, and applied her pestle to it, mixing the ingredients around into a fine dust.
“...What are you doing?” Merle asked as she watched her move.
“First,” Amelia replied. “I’m putting this in the potion.”
She poured the first helping of dust into the soupy mixture, and immediately it hissed, bubbled, and took on a more turquoise shade.
“Next,” she continued, “I’m going to mix the powder reagent that will serve as a base for the potion.”
“I don’t understand,” said Merle, her face blank.
Amelia smiled at her. “The potion is quite toxic without a base to neutralize it. That’s what I’m making right now.”
As she spoke, she crushed an obscure type of nut, squeezed citrus, and spilled in powder. She almost created a sort of sponge-like dough, something like a sponge cake itself, with slow, careful movements. She pressed it down, worked it with her hands, and filled the mortar with it; then she brought it out, crunched it up, and pushed it down into what would be the potion bottle - there to rest, cure, and dissolve once the potion was added in.
“I still don’t understand,” Merle said, to which Amelia laughed.
“Do you want me to go over the finer points of alchemy with you?” She teased.
“Sure? I mean, we’ve got time.” Merle made a gesture with her shoulders. “I don’t care.”
Amelia looked at her, smiled, and shook her head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Merle watched her grind more ingredients down in the mortar. Her keen eyes focused on her hands and on her body, admiring just as much as she observed. She was absorbing everything that was shown to her, and Amelia found that sort of dedication to be adorable. She admired the woman to her right for a long, full moment, almost distracted by the way she looked, and let her lips curl up into a self-satisfied smirk.
“And now,” Amelia said, “we’re going to mix it riiiiight into the potion.”
“Can I try?” Merle asked abruptly, her voice cutting through the Witch’s thoughts.
“Try… to mix it?” Amelia raised a brow at her. She noted the cute determination on her face and grinned. “Well, sure. I’d have to guide you, though. It needs to be very precise.”
Merle nodded. “Okay.”
Amelia moved over and let Merle stand in front of the cauldron. The woman took the spoon and pushed it inside, and at the same time, the Witch moved in behind her. She wrapped arms around a broad, trim waist, and earned herself a gasp for her efforts. A tail waggled and a head turned to stare at her in profile, but the smaller, shorter Witch dismissed her curiosity with a click of the tongue.
“I’m going to show you first,” she told her, and wrapped her hands around dark wrists. “Just follow my lead, alright?”
“Okay,” Merle agreed, her voice curt. She stared as Amelia began to move her arms around, gently nudging them while sinking into place behind her; she almost cradled her from behind, hugging her as she showed her how to move her arms just right, almost - almost - manhandling her into the right sorts of movements.
“Counter-clockwise just like this,” Amelia told her smoothly. Her chin could just barely reach and fit into the crook of Merle’s shoulder, and for some reason, that soothed her. “One rotation per heartbeat, that’s your count. Seven heartbeats, switch directions. Slow, steady, precise.”
“Mhm,” Merle rumbled, and the sound came from deep in her chest. It was a rumble that made Amelia’s body vibrate, and she resisted the urge to just sink down and enjoy the warmth it brought her. “I got it.”
“You got it?” Amelia made to pull away. “I’ll be watching -”
“I mean, I understand,” Merle said quickly. “I understand what you mean. You can - you can keep guiding me. If you like. Please.”
The Witch licked her lips. “Don’t mind a Witch holding you?”
Merle shot her a look. “You said it a long time ago, but neither of us like being lonely.”
Amelia’s lips twitched. She had to cough to clear her throat before she could speak. “Well, fancy that: a Witch and a Hellhound of the same mind.”
“What’s there to fancy? I’ve never met a Witch before.” Merle made a face. “Is it that weird?”
“I… wouldn't know either,” she laughed dismissively. “I suppose I meant it as a turn of phrase.”
“Oh.” Merle puffed out a cheek and flicked her ears around. “I guess I don’t like it so much. I think we get along really good.”
There was some meaning buried in her words, or, maybe, her gaze, that took Amelia back, but she smiled past it and actually licked her lips. “I’d like to think so too, Merle.”
The Hellhound hummed, and Amelia was not ashamed to think about how pleasant it felt washing through her.
It took Amelia a while before she found Merle. She was in the bedroom, sulking, perhaps, by the open window, the light of the open moon shining down on her. She wore characteristic little clothing as always, and it made the white light shine across her muscles like a statue of dark marble. She looked good, and it was palpable in every way that she moved. Even the slightest of motions made her skin ripple, and the Witch definitely enjoyed it.
She wet her lips. “There you are. I haven’t seen you for hours, darling. What’s gotten into you?”
Merle made a noise like a huff. “I wasn’t hiding or anything. You knew where I’d be.”
Amelia did. She did not say that she had been offering her space after she stormed out earlier; she just let it slide. “What’s wrong? You’re never quite this moody.”
The Hellhound stared out the window as if brooding. Maybe she was, in her own way. The light of the moon and stars offered a pale sheen to her stomach, and the faint marks of now-healed scars were gently flashed to the eyes. She looked good, though, pristine and unharmed, healed in every single way.
“I told you people would notice,” Merle said, her voice carefully soft.
Amelia just sort of sighed through her nose. “What, are you worried about what that man said earlier? There’s really nothing to be bothered by. People will talk.”
Merle shrugged. She did not unfold herself from the windowsill, and she did not look away. “He was right, though. I’ve been here for a long time. Longer than any of your other patients. People are going to talk. Do you really need the town… people… to get mad at you?”
“For taking care of a patient?” Amelia laughed and shook her head. “As I’ve said repeatedly, I don’t care about small talk. They don’t need to press their nose into my business just because they come around and see a Hellhound.”
“They’re scared of me. You’re getting less business.”
“That’s not true,” Amelia argued.
“An Adventurer came by to inspect the rumours that I’m holding you hostage,” Merle pointed out.
Amelia shuffled. “A misunderstanding.”
Merle grunted. “I’ve been here for four months. One-third of a year. That’s a long time, and I’ve got no discernable issues. Why are you keeping me here?”
The Witch faltered. Really, truly faltered, her breath leaving her and her knees knocking together. “You could… leave at any time.”
Merle turned to look at her, finally. The light threw the sharp planes of her face into even sharper relief. “You aren’t really letting me leave.”
Amelia swallowed and smiled weakly. “You’re not really trying to, either.”
Merle grunted again. “Yeah. Makes me wonder.”
Amelia chewed on the inside of her cheek. Suddenly, she found that she couldn’t meet Merle’s eyes, and so turned away from her to face the other end of the room. She brushed black hair behind her ear and half-smiled toward nothing in particular, all to steady her nerves.
“I’m making sure you’re fine,” Amelia said to the wall. “Because so long as you’re a patient here, I can justify my actions to adventurers and townsfolk.”
Merle said nothing.
“A Witch prides herself on neutrality, you see,” Amelia explained. “I’ve said this before, but much like a real doctor, we don’t take sides. At least, those of us that live out alone in the wild. That’s how we avoid being drafted to court and being shackled, or, at least, put under watch. Totally neutral parties.”
She wrung her hands around, then, her nerves taking hold. “Of course, such things are… uncertain. We live in a big world in an isolated house. It shouldn’t matter, but you’ve seen how it is. I can dismiss criticism with excuses, but you’re… you make it hard, given that you’re physically adept in every way.”
She licked her lips. “So… yes, maybe I’ve kept you here for longer than would be necessary, Merle, but because I’m not supposed to make covens, or alliances, or pacts, I get lonely. I miss company, and I miss having someone around I enjoy… or find attractive. Yes, my excuses to keep you here are paper-thin, and yes, people notice, but I can, at least, bury my head in the sand and pretend otherwise.”
A cough, a shuffle, a tilting of her head and hat. “Is that so wrong? There is no other way I can keep you around, after all. That was the only avenue open to me, and you know it as well as I. It is a sham, but you’ve stayed here just as willingly despite knowing that. You could leave, but have chosen to stay. I - I wish I had some reason I could keep you here, but there really isn’t. So…”
She turned back around - and almost leaped backward. Merle was right there, right there in front of her, towering over her like a giant, solid slab - a mountain of muscle, curves, and dark skin. She stared down at her with flared nostrils and bright red eyes, and the sheer proximity was almost cloying. Amelia felt like she couldn’t even more, and she shivered there in paralytic uncertainty.
“So?” Merle asked, her voice little more than a throaty, grinding drawl. She stared her down with hungry intensity, her eyes almost burning. She looked for all the world like she was about to jump Amelia’s bones, and it left her gulping. “So what?”
“S-so… so…” Amelia licked her lips. “I’m trying to - I mean -”
“If you want to keep me around,” the Hellhound said in a gruff, gravelly tone of voice, “just tell me. Ask me.”
“You’re the one complaining that people are acting weird about it,” Amelia breathed. Everything about the Hellhound spoke of action, a promise of motion. It was like she barely restrained herself from movement, and the Witch was left to swallow hard. “We know I’m making excuses about it all, so - so -”
“You’re not asking the right questions,” Merle stated flatly, her voice growling away. She grabbed Amelia by the chin, then, and tilted her head up. “You’re keeping me here as a patient. We both know that won’t work. So let’s make it work. ”
“I - w-what?” Amelia asked, all in a fluster. “I’m saying, ah - well. That, uh - “
The Hellhound pressed the thumb of one hand against the corner of her mouth to play with it, making Amelia quiver. With the other she flipped her Witch’s hat right off her dark head of hair and sent it tumbling down to the ground in a heap.
“What?” Merle grumbled. “Just say what you want to do, Amelia. Drop the pretenses. I’m not sick.”
“I - I know, that’s not what I…” Amelia wet her mouth, face red, eyes blown wide. The Hellhound leaned into her with such cloying intensity that it was intoxicating, and she just couldn’t breathe.
“If you want me to stay, tell me,” Merle said.
“That’s not -”
“If you need a patient, I’ll leave,” said the Hellhound, “and if you need more, I’ll give you more. If you ask…” she brought her one hand down to pat Amelia’s stomach “...I’ll put a couple of pups in this fine stomach, Amelia, and make a family with you.”
Amelia’s breath caught in her throat, fear, arousal, and lust all but pummeling her veins. “Y-you…”
“Is that what you want?” Merle’s eyes were piercing, and Amelia could not look away. “Because you just have to say so.”
“F-fuck,” Amelia whimpered, her eyes wide and shining. “I - oh, goodness, do you mean - ”
“It wouldn’t take much at all,” the Hellhound positively husked, her words leaving her lips in a rough growl, “to make a family with someone as gorgeous as you. By the end of the night, I wouldn’t have to leave your home.”
Amelia’s heart skipped a beat, and an eager, lustful breath left her throat. “Oh, goodness, gods, yes, fuck, yes. If that’s what it - no, I want that to be what it takes. I want you to knock me up, Merle, so I can keep you around -”
“-You don’t have to tell me twice,” Merle husked, her breath and voice lowering. “If you’ll have me, I will take you.”
Amelia could not believe what she was hearing, and she also could. It was something she’d wanted to hear for a while, even if she never actually put words to the thoughts. She wanted it with husky, drooling intent, her body shivering already in the face of that broad-shouldered, powerful monstergirl. She wanted to take her, have her, and turn her into a mother, all under the pretext of being able to stay with her as her spouse - such a thin situation that could have been worked around with some open discussion but was overturned by their desires.
“Take me,” Amelia breathed. “I want you so bad, Merle. You’re someone I could love. I do love. If you don’t knock me up I think I’d be damn well offended -”
“Then why am I waiting?” The Hellhound husked, and she just grabbed her. Several things happened all at once: she tilted her chin up and smashed their mouths together in a hot, lustful kiss, all grinding, smooshing lips all together, and with the other hand began to pull on her dress with reckless intensity.
Amelia whined into her mouth as she was so suddenly, recklessly kissed, their lips smooshed together with rough intensity and mouth-watering force. They pressed into one another, squashing down flat, grinding in place as she so hungrily made out with her - and at the same time, worked at her purple dress with lustful tugs. She grabbed it, hefted it up around her waistline, and hiked it all up in a heartbeat. Fast enough to shock her, and brusque enough to make her whine deep in her throat.
There was no point in making sounds, though, because they all came out in a muffled whine. The Hellhound roughly kissed her full on the lips and tilted her head to better fit into lace against her mouth, making sure they all squished and squeezed down in place. She hungrily made out with her while pulling her long dress up her flat stomach, baring inches of smooth skin all at once. She went up past her navel before realizing that there were laces keeping it in place, causing a growl to build in her throat.
She did not stop, however. The fingers of one hand moved to recklessly pluck at the laces tucked around her bodice, pulling them free in quick, rough tugs. The other hand moved to mid-back and pulled at those laces too, drawing them out and away with feverish movements. It was all rough, all fast, and all without remorse, facilitating one single thing: a quick and speedy strip-down. Nothing else mattered, and Amelia wholeheartedly embraced it.
She groaned as her dress was drawn up around her neck, then lifted her arms to let the Hellhound pull it right up over her head. The kiss had to break briefly for that, but that was it: brief. Immediately, she was locked right up into a hot, ferocious kiss, their lips pressed down so tight it was hard to move. Hands grabbed her body, pulled on her brassiere, and just ripped it aside. She tore it asunder in an instant, and large, fluffy breasts spilled free in a bounce: large, weighty D-cups laid bare in a heartbeat.
Immediately, Merle grabbed them and hefted them up, bringing them into her palms with a squish. She dug her fingers into the smoothness of the flesh and pressed into the doughy mounds, bending it around and shifting it with the strength of her hands. She bent her breasts out of shape with a lustful press and growled against her mouth, but kept her locked into that feverish kiss; never quite separating and only husking against her lips.
She fondled and kneaded her chest around as she so wished, easily hefting around the heavy mounds with her easy strength, drawing moans from Amelia’s lips. She shuddered, her spine quivering, at the rough touch, and found it better than she had expected. It was all the sorts of things she wanted, and she moaned into that hot, hard kiss as she felt it. Her own hand moved out a little more tentatively before sending palms flat against the chiseled flesh ahead of her, setting them down flat across the bumpy expanse of her abs.
Hands left her chest to move along her hourglass waistline, raking along the curves of it as if committing it to memory. She pressed down on her wide hips and squeezed, drawing out another soft groan from her lips. Shuddering, Amelia pressed her hands against her abs, moving along the bumpy expanse of her stomach with lust - but any initiative she had was far less significant than what the Hellhound could offer her.
Her kiss was rough, and when she pulled her lower lip into her mouth and suckled, Amelia just whined. She whined even more when hands moved around to cup her ass, digging into the soft meat of it with a lustful touch; palming it easily, covering the white curve with her dark hands, and pressed up. She bent it out of shape, squishing into it with fervent force, and squished. The Witch shivered at her touch, spine tingling with satisfaction, lost in the Hellhound’s arms.
“I have to have you,” the Hellhound growled as she pulled back from her lips. She tilted her head forward and smacked foreheads together, and given her serious height advantage, she almost had to hunch. Her hands, though, continued to squeeze her ass, playing with the soft flesh like it was bread dough: bending, kneading, and squishing with lustful abandon.
“Take me,” Amelia all but begged. “Take me right fucking now, Merle -”
Merle grunted. She pressed her forward, almost shoving her toward the bed, and at the same time, yanked on her undergarments. She stripped her down with rough touches that almost left marks in the skin, but it hardly mattered. The heat of the moment buoyed Amelia up like nothing else before it, filling her mind and leaving it clouded. She couldn’t think about anything more than what was about to happen, and she sought nothing else.
She was pushed down against the edge of the bed. Merle stood back while Amelia watched her, eyes drinking in the sight of her proud, chiseled body - running over lines and scars and curves she had memorized a long while before. Right then, though, she had the Hellhound grabbing at the cloth surrounding her chest and tugging it away in a violent fit, tearing it right off and letting her breasts spill free; a new sight for Amelia to feast upon.
Large, heavy, and far more firm than Amelia's doughy mounds of breastflesh, they were dark mountain peaks that drew the eyes. They, too, had scars on them, some mixture of small and large - she had, though, seen them before, back when she’d treated her the first few times. They caught her attention for a long, lurid motion, but then Merle worked at her shorts - and everything came to a head.
Her cock spilled free. A veritable truncheon of a dick sprung out and flopped forward like a spear, a giant log, a wrist-thick slab of meat some nine inches or so long and of a size that would make anyone baulk. Amelia’s mouth went dry in an instant as she saw the weapon that the Hellhound had been hiding for so long, and she struggled to wet it as she stared. Her eyes were wider than ever as that big, thick thing flopped down in front of her, almost staring back.
It was so big, so thick, that it took her back - and she just knew that would be the dick that pumped a child into her. It would fuck her silly and knock her right up, and she would savour every last inch of it. She wanted it more than she could understand, and judging by just how stiff it was, so, too, did Merle. It took Amelia a moment to act out on that, though, and she directed her hand forward hesitantly to grab it.
“You’re so hard, ” she breathed, her fingers circling the hard shaft. She felt it pulsate against her fingers in a dim heart-beat sort of way, and that made her lick her lips even more. “You’re -”
Merle was not waiting. Not at all. She grabbed her by the hips and hefted her right up, lifting her an inch from the bed - then pushing her down without a care. She pushed her flat on her back right by the headboard and pinned her shoulders down before sweeping above her, dominantly mounting her like she was her mate. Breasts swung down under the effects of gravity and dark hair spilled over equally dark shoulders, but Amelia only had focus for the red eyes above her.
She swallowed hard. “Hey -”
“I’m going to have you, now,” the Hellhound husked, and steam practically wafted from between her sharp teeth. “Alright?”
“Alright -” Amelia squeaked, but that was all she got out. Merle dove forward to kiss her full on the lips once more, and easily, almost effortlessly, adjusted her stance at the same time. She planted one hand beside her head and brought the other down to grab her dick. The Witch could only whine as the hard shaft was sent swinging against her core, the bulbous tip smooshing down against her slit, and whimpered.
Merle kissed her full on the lips as she aligned herself, pressing the head of her dick right up against her sodden folds. It would take nothing at all to pierce her and stuff her full, and the Witch could hardly wait. She wanted it more than she could admit, a craving that could not be easily shoved down, and she groaned into her mouth with throaty anticipation.
Merle’s lips pulled away, then. She drew back, her arms hoisting herself upright, almost as if doing a push-up. She stared down at her with lustful intent, but there was still a question poised on her lips.
“Alright?”
Amelia let out an eager groan. “Hurry up and fuck me, Merle -”
Merle's first thrust was slow and steady, a long, deep push into her insides that made Amelia's toes curl and fingers flutter. She whined and pushed fingers into the steely-strong biceps that held the magnificent stud upright, a massive, clear display of power that the Witch absolutely adored. The Hellhound was just so strong, her body tough and powerful in all the best ways, combined with a feminine lushness that she so desired.
Her abs were a washboard above her, biceps pillars of smooth hardness. She was not bulky in any definable sense, but just strong all across her body, top to bottom. Chiseled lines stood out stark and pride as she flexed her strength and pushed down, driving her long, thick log of a dick forward like the spear that it was: a big, hard log of meat that looked like it had been designed by nature to fill women up and leave them moaning.
Of course, that could have just been her mind speaking, but she absolutely indulged in it. She whined for it as Merle rolled herself and speared forward, driving that thick, turgid slab of meat down into her hot, textured insides right then and there: no waiting, no delay, just smooth, downward motion. She all but swept into her, sending her thick log of meat into her pussy at a rolling pace. The dark haft split petals out wide and pressed into the pink beyond with an ease that was eye-watering, and Amelia could not help but whine.
“Oh, fuck,” she groaned pleasantly, her fingers stabbing deep into dark skin. “Fuck, Merle. You're actually so big, darling.”
It was the only thing she could really say as those magnificently wide, muscle-lined hips propelled forward and drove that dick down into her silken furrow. Inches of it pressed into her, guided by that bulbous, rubbery tip, and found purchase in her soft folds all too quickly. The softness of her skin was ground down and shoved apart around her length, and before she knew it she had thick Hellhound cock ramming into her.
It pierced her pleasantly, rolling through her tunnel at the smooth behest of those skilled hips, showing a woman that had a lot of experience behind her -or maybe that was Amelia's sparing experience talking, but she did not care or mind. She gasped pleasantly, her voice spilling out in a misty puff, and then bit down on her lower lip as a shudder of pleasure ran through her. She'd never taken, nor felt, something so big inside of her before, and right then and there she got all of it in glorious relief.
“Fuck,” she whined again, seeking something – anything – to say right then. “Oh, fuck. You feel – shit -”
“You're so beautiful,” Merle grunted, her voice thick and throaty with effort. She held herself up as if doing her push-ups and rolled her cock down with far too much skill, spearing into her with effortless ease. Inches of her dick ground down against the walls of her pussy and pushed them out around her, filling and squishing in equal measure. The way she moved was intoxicating, and the feeling of it was blindingly intense.
Amelia groaned, her spine quivering, as Merle pressed down into her. She filled her up with inches of cock in the same time it took to breathe, easing it down like nothing else before it. The rubbery head scraped against her inner walls while the rest of her dark bulk stretched her out, filling her just nicely. It was a powerful pressing sensation that made walls squish with effort, and the Witch took it with a loving gasp.
“I've wanted you underneath me for so long,” Merle admitted in a husky timbre, her voice rolling out from between her fangs. “You're way too beautiful to be without a mate.”
“Witches don't mate,” Amelia huffed, but it was a tiny bit hard to formulate words when she was being so stuffed up with thick dick. Each moment of movement fit more into her, jamming her walls out more than they had ever been and filling her pussy nearly up to the brim with that dark-fleshed length. It drove into her silken furrow such as nothing else before it, and it made her eyes water already – a pleasant feeling to be sure, but most certainly one that was overwhelming.
“I don't care,” Merle told her with a huff. “With you, I will.”
The gorgeous stud rolled her hips and crawled to a stop, filling Amelia up with just over half of her amazing length – and it was a sensation that hit her in all the right ways. Her fingers curled, her breath whined out, and her toes stabbed inward simply because of how it felt lodged inside of her. It was so big and thick it didn't seem logical, and even if that in and of itself wasn't some amazing, incredible thing, the way that pressed against all of her at the same time was just pleasant.
Even better – and the thing that attracted her the most – was that it was Merle doing it. She was on top of her, filling her up, settled there like some god of war. Her scar-lined perfection rippled in the moonlight, and her amazing chest swung down beneath its own weight to flop toward her own fleshy mountain peaks. Dark skin roiled with power as the Hellhound adjusted herself, and it was a sight that Amelia could drink up for hours, days, and years.
“You're so hot,” Amelia groaned up at her, fingers grabbing at strong arm muscles. “I want you to take me so badly, Merle, and just put a baby into me.”
She was barely aware of what she said, but she meant it all. She wanted it more than she could quite easily express, and every word that left her lips was done with loving intensity. She wanted it in every way: wanted the Hellhound to put a baby in her stomach, fill her up with a child, and make her a mate. That would ensure that she could keep Merle around and make a family with her, dispel any suspicions from the townsfolk, and give an excuse why she kept her around.
In a way, Amelia was aware that such considerations were, at best, ridiculous. She did not need to make an excuse to get her to stay, and she did not have to justify herself in such ways. Yet, it felt too right to let the Hellhound breed her, and she wanted it far more than she could easily express. She gripped her arms and groaned up at her as a skillful roll of the hips stabbed that dick in pleasantly deeply, dragging it against walls and folds and pressing in all the right ways to leave her whimpering, then rolled back with equal strength.
“Why stop at one?” Merle chuckled throatily, while hips drew backward with agonizing skill. “This beautiful body deserves so much more.”
“Fuck!” Amelia groaned as the shaft drew back, grinding out of her with the same eye-watering intensity that it had pushed into her. It pulled in a way that made the pink of her walls squish and dip and saw her petals ripple around it in a fitful tug. She could almost see the way that her lower folds stuck to the cock as it withdrew, the pink of skin contrasting with the sharp black of her dick, but Amelia honestly paid little attention to that.
She had a gorgeous, studly body on top of her flexing with motion, and that was all that mattered. She watched abs ripple and a pair of large tits bounce, and it had her thoroughly distracted. She wet her dry mouth and soaked in the sheer perfection on top of her; part of her mind adoring it in a way that was almost lizard-like in its primal desire, and another part simply relished having such a strong mate on top of her. The thoughts were, in a way, almost silly, but she savoured them with lewd intensity.
“Fuck,” the Witch groaned as the cock powered right back down, jamming itself into her tunnel with a smooth, easy press of the hips. She rutted her shaft into her with a cunt-filling stroke, jamming walls out around her in a sweep and conquering the length of her in the same time it took to breathe. The way the monstergirl handled her hips was magnificent, and the human could only savour the depth of her sexual skill right then. “Fuck, Merle, you're so fucking big -”
She cursed freely, almost as if liberated. It felt great, and the groaning pleasure washed through her teeth in a shudder of pure pleasure. She whined, whimpered, and sighed at her touch, fingers clawing at the skin of her arms, while the Hellhound sent her cock jamming down. She pushed it through her pink folds and speared out the length of her cunt around her, using her natural girth to peel her apart and stuff her up with gorgeous hardness.
“So thick,” Amelia moaned, “So deep - !”
Merle grunted and groaned as she sent her hips stabbing downward, filling up her snatch with inches and inches of rock-hard meat. It felt so deliciously stiff inside of her, a veritable log jammed down into her soft snatch. It was an incredible sensation to be sure, and one that the Witch savoured for more reason than one. It felt great , but the fact that it was happening , and the fact that the actions would invariably make her a mother, hit her just right.
She was on a one-way track to being a mother, and she was all for it.
“So hot,” she praised, only for Merle to grunt and cut her off.
“No, you,” she accused, her red eyes bright and her lips parted with bare fangs. “You're so gorgeous, Amelia. From the start; an angel.”
She jammed her hips down, rolled her waistline, and, with muscles flexing and breasts bouncing, stabbed her dick in deeply. She ground walls against her in a powerful, remorseless stroke, shifting out the fluttering pink with eye-watering intensity, before pulling back with a wet sweep and a fit of motion. The way she moved was incredible, and Amelia could only moan to feel it.
“I knew I wanted you,” Merle told her, voice scratchy and throaty. “At first, as a prize. I had to fuck you. Later, as a mate, because I'd be worse without you.”
Her hips yanked back and drew out another thick moan. Inches of her thick dick retracted from the tight grip of her snatch, leaving walls roiling around her length. She pulled herself almost all the way free, more than seemed logical or feasible, yet the Hellhound handled with unparalleled finesse. Her muscles all rippled as she moved, a fluttering washboard of strength, and Amelia drank it right up. It looked amazing, and it felt even better; she wanted nothing more.
“So now,” the Hellhound husked, “I'm going to make you mine.”
Her words were a promise, and her actions were the reality. She sent her hips thrusting down with just a bit more force, her dick spearing into her with just a bit more friction, and filled Amelia up at a faster, more intoxicating pace. Inch after inch shoved into her readily, stretching her out with incredible passion and making the Witch feel more full than ever. The Hellhound stuffed her with one long, enthusiastic thrust of motion, and it only picked up from there.
“Do it,” Amelia groaned happily, “make me yours!”
Merle did not wait for permission, though. Her hips spread down fast and smooth, snugly fitting cockmeat deep into her pliant snatch. Walls folded her up and wrapped tightly around her like a glove, moulding to the length of her big dick far too easily. Her insides almost hungrily gobbled up the many hard inches of dick that were shoved into her, but there was still plenty left to stretch her out with. The size the Hellhound packed was enough to give most envy, and it was all for Amelia.
She damn well enjoyed it, that was for sure. She moaned for the big, hard dick that pushed into her, and she whined as the hardness hammered down. It thrust into her with increasing force and power by the moment, swinging into her sodden core to impale, stretch, and conquer. There was nothing left untouched by that massive truncheon of dick, and there was no bit of her not split open by that rock-hard length. It hit everything each time it moved, and the sensation was blinding.
The Hellhound lowered over her more and more, her entire body shifting as she hammered into her hot snatch. She sent her cock crashing down with ever-increasing force and power, ramming away at her with long, deep strokes – hard, pronounced, and strong, filling her up with each swinging stroke of action. She nailed her like nothing else before it, and left Amelia wheezing with each deep push. It was a sensation that almost overwhelmed her, but the Witch took it happily.
“Fuck, Merle,” she groaned, “Fuck, fuck , fuck me, fuck - “
It was all incoherent groaning, but that was fine by her. The words left her lips in breathless rushes while her hands scratched and scrabbled at that hard, defined body, working between the clefts and crooks of rippling abdominals and along the hardness of arms. She squeezed and pressed down, trying to find purchase against that shiny, slick black skin, but failed to no matter how hard she clawed, scraped, or tried.
She whined as the Hellhound fucked her, eyes drinking up the magnificent sight of it. All that strength put to the solitary task of plowing her into the bed, all that curviness sent wobbling and bouncing with each deep stroke of her hips. Her torso barely moved as her hips spun and worked with incredible muscular finesse, and the sheer intensity of it sent her tits bouncing away. Her hair fluttered a bit more passively, but it still moved in rhythm to the rest of it all.
“Fuck,” Amelia groaned, “fuck -”
The Hellhound dove down, then. She lowered her magnificent body on her arms, and, with her torso and her hips still propped up and moving, craned her neck forward. Shoulders dropped to bring faces together, and a second later they were kissing - a hard, near-bruising kiss, all rough and hungry, with no room offered beyond the lock of lips. Merle kissed her with sudden, rough passion, and it was more than enough to make her whine.
Hips pushed forward at a never-ending beat, sending thick dickmeat ramming into her at a rapid-fire pace. She sawed into her, plunging forward with roughshod intensity, filling her aching cleft up with the many throbbing inches of her dick. Time and time again she pushed, bringing herself around in long, deep arcs of motion, crashing down and conquering her as if it was the easiest thing in the world. She made it all seem simple, and even if it wasn't, Amelia damn well enjoyed it.
She moaned into her mouth, and felt the Hellhound moan in turn. Their lips connected in a lusty liplock that constantly moved and wriggled. Heads tilted left and right to make contact with one another and they moved in to fit into the crooks of lips, always seeking just that right angle to lock down tight. They would find them for seconds at a time, press in moan, and then pull back again, moving carelessly.
Merle held herself down and up at the same time: head lowered, body upraised, meshing a reckless kiss together with a feral fuck-session. She made out with her lips while rutting into her at a rapid-fire pace, sheathing her shaft inside with ever-increasing force and power – bringing herself around in deep, crashing arcs that filled Amelia with burning adoration. She moaned for it and sent her hands scratching and caressing along the flexing planes of muscle and curves, doing anything and everything she could to – well, she did not know, but touching seemed appropriate right then.
And still, Merle was going harder, her breath growling and her muscles tensing. She kissed her harder and more passionately, lips peeling hers apart and forcing a tongue inside with a reckless sweep. She locked her up into a lusty make-out session that the Witch could never hope to pull away from. Merle slurped at her mouth with lustful abandon, conquering the cavern just as surely as she did her pussy – and that, too, was never given a break.
Hands moved along her curves, finding her tits in the gap of their bodies. She squeezed at the Witch's soft, doughy mounds, bending them around with a rough push and kneading the skin until it bulged between her fingers. It was a delicious display of skin contrast that Amelia would have indulged in had she not been engaged in some hot and heavy tongue action. As it was, she could not do anything but groan for it.
Her thighs kicked out, her feet hitting the bed, and her toes curled. Fingers scratched and scrabbled, but her movements did not matter. She felt Merle arching her spine and pushing down, and she felt her body lowering just moments later. She adjusted to the shape of her as she got down, mounting her a little more thoroughly, and sent her hands sweeping along the curves of her plush hourglass body to make it all a bit easier.
She peeled her legs apart, spreading her thighs as if it meant nothing. Her hips kept on pushing, driving her thick slab of a dick down into her sodden snatch with ever-increasing force, cramming it into her body with truly eye-watering intensity. She hammered into her like a nail as she pulled on her legs, lifting them up as if that, too, meant nothing – and Amelia just went with it, drinking in the way that she was manhandled along with glee.
She was only barely conscious of it when her legs were thrown around that trim, curvy, muscle-laden waistline. It only hit her even more belatedly that she was being pushed into a mating press, but she did not care. She ignored it in favor of wrapping her arms around Merle's backside and clawing at the strength she felt there. She moaned out her enjoyment with each feverish sweep of the hips and prod of the tongue. Her enthusiasm only grew when the creature mounted her entirely, finally pinning her beneath her curvy bulk.
Tits squished together in heaps of black and white, meshing and squishing into place all too nicely. Stomachs went taut as Merle settled herself in place, allowing Amelia to really feel all that washboard strength against her. It was a good sensation, but it was all utterly dimmed by the pillar-length of dickmeat that was sent crashing down into her snatch again and again and again . It rammed into her, pummeling her soft pussy like a hammer against a nail, always moving, always fucking.
The mating press only made it easier for Merle to do it, and she fucked her with power – real power, a real fucking, not something soft like before. Her hips moved and arced with unconscious skill and rammed down with all the power her body could muster in that position, and she sent so much dick into Amelia right then that it made her brain feel like goo. She mewled into her mouth as it happened, her voice spilling out with lust, only for the Hellhound to enthusiastically drink it up.
Merle's hips were never-ending in their motion. She rammed her hardness down into her soft, tight snatch, pummeling her walls out wide and filling them up with rock-hard meat. Pink folds were stretched to the brim and utterly stuffed with thick dick, so much, so fast, that it defied belief. The fluttering silkiness of her insides squished into place as the cock hammered down into her deepest spots, sending a rubbery head thudding against the fleshy barrier at the very back – a solid, drumming impact that had Amelia seeing stars. She whined for it, her spine arcing and her toes curling, showing the Hellhound with praise that couldn't quite be understood.
She doubted it mattered. She groaned into the mouth kissing her, shivering as a rough tongue swept across the contours of her mouth with dominant ease. It swirled and pressed around, tasing everything: teeth, cheeks, palate, and tongue, then sparred with her tongue. It wrestled her down with ease, made a mockery of her tongue, and then plunged down so deep it felt like he was licking her tonsils – then did it again, and again, and again, working with feverish passion.
Merle's hips rammed down all the while, her spine arching to send her ass up and down. She worked the many thick inches of her dick down into her softness without a care, and she pummeled the tight tunnel of her snatch around her rock-hard length time and time again. She swung forward, penetrating her, stuffing her up to the brim, and pulled back with effortless ease. Her pace was relentless, and her hunger was palpable. She wanted one thing, and it was so overwhelming that Amelia could barely handle it.
The Witch moaned into her mouth and struggled to kiss back, despite being overpowered at every turn. Her fingers curled and scratched at that muscle-laden backside while a strong stomach ground down against her belly, showing the power that the Hellhound could bring to bear. The monstergirl could have left her at any time, and her choice to stay had never been clearer. She could have taken Amelia however, and whenever, she wanted. She could do anything she felt like, because her motto was simply survival of the fittest – and she was the fittest.
She didn't. She had chosen to stay, and chosen to treat her tenderly. She wanted to be there just as much as Amelia wanted her to stay, and even if that was simply her mind making up a story, it was a damn good story. It was an idea she moaned enthusiastically for, her breath whining out, puffing into mouth with a lustful gasp. Her pelvis bucked, only to be fucked down in the tight lock of the mating press. She could not move, could not shift, and the woman took full control of her at all times.
Merle simply took her, and Amelia was all for it. She loved feeling that strength rippling across her soft, pale curves, and she loved how her breasts squished against that awesome weight. She adored how it all felt beneath her fingers, and how unbearably stuffed she was at every single point. The way that Merle moved was overwhelmingly intense, and the way that she brought her hips down and around in such reckless, feral arcs of motion almost left her drooling.
The dick hammered into her deepest spots, filled them up to the very brim, then yanked back, all hard, fast, and reckless. She worked her thick rod of meat in and out of her at a rapid-fire pace, all but pummeling the length of her snatch each time she moved. It was unbearably intense, and her bed frame agreed – not only was the mattress sinking beneath the weight of sex, but the headboard had also begun to smash into the wall hard enough to dent it. Normally, she would mind. Right then, she did not.
Nothing mattered but the sex, nothing mattered but getting bred. Merle was going to make a family with her, and she damn well acted out on it each time she moved. She worked her long, thick rod in and out of her with mouth-watering skill, rutting it down in feral slams that brought pelvises together ether in claps. As she buried herself into Amelia's steaming depths and brought fizzling pleasure to her nervous system, she sent balls swinging forward to thump against her juice-sodden folds.
They were big, and she could just about imagine what it would be like when they were pumping a baby into her. It was something that she knew would be soon to come, and she kept on moaning into her mouth, tongues feverishly dancing, as it happened. Her tongue, occasionally, pushed into Merle's mouth to dance around her sharp teeth and fangs, but it was brief before she had her throat practically slurped on. Her body was pinned beneath that thick weight, her curves squished in place, and she adored it.
Amelia whined and groaned as the bed squeaked and creaked, always moving Merle grunted into her as she hammered down, bringing their pelvises together with thick thuds and claps and turning skin gently red under the repetitions. Hard and fast she went at her, slamming down with full-bodied lust, growling away with feral passion as she hammered a beautiful Witch absolutely silly around the length of her dick – then moved on to do it again.
And again, and again. She was a wild animal in those moments, something that could not be contained but just survived, and that was all there was to it. Hard and fast the monster girl went at her, sheathing her thick prick inside in long, deep strokes, cramming them into her and stuffing her to the brim before moving away again. Each rutting stroke was so intense that it left Amelia gasping, and when it pushed down just far enough, trembles of orgasmic sensation fluttered through her system and left her a wheezing, eye-watering mess.
She scratched at her backside while throwing legs around her waist, holding fast to those moving curves. She hooked calves around the small of her back and locked her ankles together just above her ass, all but ensuring that the woman could never hope to pull out – her body almost instinctively making it easier for herself to get bred. She knew it wouldn't matter, that the Hellhound could quite literally do what she wanted, but she enjoyed it all the same.
She moaned all the more enthusiastically as Merle's thrusting grew deeper, more pronounced, her strength faltering as she hammered down into her. Her stamina – briefly – began to flag, worked down by the repetitiveness of the sex. Even so, each movement was more than enough to send the bedframe into the wall, the wood thumping and crunching and filling the room with squeaks. None of it mattered, and each thrust brought them closer to the final edge.
Amelia eagerly anticipated it. She kissed feverishly, trading spit and saliva without a care, their tongues rolling and grinding as that hard dick swung down. Her hands clawed and scrambled while her feet locked tight, trying to hold the Hellhound down even as it brought her to toe-curling bliss. The hard shaft throbbed more and more as it swung down and cored her out, treating her pussy like a sheath for those final moments of sexual activity.
Merle was going to breed her, and the Witch knew that. It would take mere seconds for it to happen, and once it was done, she would be on her way to motherhood. There was no denying it, and each ball-slapping, skin-thumping slam brought them closer to it. There was no denying that it would happen, and she wholeheartedly embraced that lewdness. Just a bit more, her mind knew, and she would be mated to the Hellhound.
Just a bit more...
Merle swung down hard, and that was that. No more left to give, nothing left to go, and she hilted herself deep inside. Her dick was lodged in up to the very deepest limits, her balls flush with her folds, pelvises grinding. For a moment, all her dick did was throb, pressing against walls and swelling out just that much more. Still the Hellhound kissed her, growling into their tongue-session, her hips jerking -
The next moment was all heat. Lush, gorgeous heat that plowed into her insides at a rapid-fire pace. Cum shot out and was jammed into her as if nothing else mattered, and the way the dick unloaded it was like nothing Amelia had ever felt before. It was a hot, gooey rush of thickness that stained every crevice it touched all at once, and she felt it pooling inside of her like syrup - dense, sticky, and delicious in all the right ways.
She moaned into Merle’s mouth, dug nails into her spine, and hooked legs behind her, refusing to let go as she was hosed down with seed. Delicious heat bloomed inside of her as she was all but smothered in cum as fast as the eye could blink, a blinding, sticky wave of the stuff just smothering her. It rushed out at a rapid-fire pace, unloaded with each twitch of the dick, and Amelia could really feel it: feel that thickness throbbing and unloading itself however it so wished.
Merle grunted and held herself down as she pumped out her release directly into her deepest spots, smothering her womb in white thickness. There was so much, moving so fast, that Amelia could only whimper as she felt the stuff splash into her womb. It practically drowned the baby-making chamber in mere seconds, hosing it down with a veritable deluge of baby-batter, and ensured that it was stuffed to the very aching brim.
Amelia clung to her with orgasmic glee the entire time. She enjoyed it, savoured it, and moaned for it, her eyes practically rolling up as she was utterly stuffed with thick Hellhound cum. The virile stuff painted her pussy over in white and smothered every nook and cranny with its thickness, plastering her with such intensity that she’d never felt more full in her entire life. It was absolutely going to knock her up, and she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Merle happily made her a mother, and she held herself down for seconds, for minutes, just hosing her pussy down in white-hot release until every last drop was pumped out. She was totally, utterly creampied by her dick, stuffed to the brim, and jammed-pack of life-giving Hellhound seed. By that point, pregnancy was a foregone conclusion; Amelia merely had to consider how many children she would need to deal with in the future.
By the time mouths pulled back, Amelia was still groaning. “F-fuck, fuck, Merle, there’s so - so much - ”
“There’s plenty more where that came from,” the Hellhound husked, her body arching and her waist pushing forward to grind thick dickmeat inside of her. “Now that I have you, I’m not letting go until there’s a litter of pups in that pretty belly.”
“I don’t know if that’s incredibly hot or laughable,” Amelia groaned, her breath misting out in front of her. “F-fuck…I’ve never felt so full befo - I guess I’m going to need to start thinking of baby names, huh?”
“No,” Merle stated with a chuckle. “You’ve got the entire night to think about that, my pretty little mate.”
“Y-yeah?” Amelia asked, her voice a shaky sigh. She stared up at the pretty Hellhound with barely contained attraction, then wet her lips. “Just don’t strain yourself, darling. We wouldn't want you to pull anything.”
Merle laughed. “Oh? Are those the doctor’s orders?”
“The doctor’s orders are to fuck me good, ” Amelia panted, “so consider that a suggestion. ”
“Mmmmm…” Merle husked, her head lowering and her hands pulling on Amelia’s curvy body. “I’d be glad to, Amelia.”
Amelia shuddered. “You’re a good patient, Merle, and you’ll make an even better wife.”
The sun hit her reclining body and made Amelia shuffle. She had been awake for some time, but it was only when the light thickened that she really stirred - not much, though. Sheets shifted around her buxom frame, sliding across her shoulders and down along the curves of her swollen breasts. Larger than before, they were almost a pain on her shoulders; but only almost. As she laid there on her back they simply splayed outward like milky bags, almost proudly.
She sighed. The heat beside her was almost unbearable, and yet also oh-so-soothing. It made her feel warm and fuzzy no matter the time of year, from the cool of winter to the smoothness of the spring. It was the kind of sensation one could fall into a deep sleep to, and she had many, many times before. Right then, she simply indulged in the comforting warmth, content with just the slight skin contact.
Then, a fidget and a noise; a bumping sensation that made her bite down on her lower lip softly and whine. Slight, though, something she could contain, but still very much clear to the eyes. It made her huff from deep in her throat and shivered from top to bottom, and she didn’t know if the sensation was annoying or made her horny as fuck. She bit her lip and brought her shoulders up, letting sheets slip further down the rotund protrusion of her stomach.
Her pregnancy stood up stark even in spite of the sheets, and when she removed them it was simply a bulge of her midsection the size of a ball. With eight months for a pair of Hellhounds to cook inside of her, she was close to term - and the little pups were all too eagerly wriggling around. At least, if they were Hellhounds. She didn’t know, and she had chosen not to use magic to find out. It could be any combination of human and monstergirl in there, but all she knew was that they were getting a smidge active.
She set a hand on her stomach, bit her lip, sighed, and used a tiny bit of magic to calm her body down. Any bumps and kicks faded into obscurity, allowing her to lay her pregnant body back and sigh in the morning light. She tilted her head back against the pillow and cradled her pregnant belly, almost fondling it, while musing on just how far she’d come with them. Work wasn’t easy when she was pregnant, but having another pair of hands around the house simplified things.
Almost as if on queue, one of those hands reached up, around, and planted itself on her stomach. The darkness of fingers contrasted with the paleness of her skin, to her smiling delight. “Are they bothering you?”
“No,” Amelia said with a fond smile. She turned her head to the left and stared at her wife, who was, even then, blinking her way into wakefulness, red eyes glimmering beneath heavy lids. “Not really bothering. ”
“I told you,” said Merle, her body shifting and casting off the sheets like it was nothing, “hellhound pups kick a lot. They’re very… excitable.”
“That’s your only basis for assuming they are pups,” Amelia laughed fondly. She remained on her back while Merle woke on her side, leaning into her from her previous spooning position. “They might not be.”
“And we’ll find out soon,” Merle breathed, her voice low. “Not long now.”
Amelia laughed. “That’s true enough.”
Amelia watched her wife blink herself into wakefulness. Hellhounds were not light sleepers, she had learned, and it took several minutes for her to become fully awake and coherent. It was a time of blinking lids, sharpening red eyes, and flicking ears, which was to say nothing of a steadily wagging tail. Eventually, Merle grunted, brought herself up from the sheets, and lifted her arms above her head to stretch.
Muscles flexed, scars danced, and her large breasts bobbed appetizingly. It was a treat for the early morning eyes, and one that Amelia was happy to feast upon. She wet her dry mouth, never one to pass up a good opportunity to ogle, and found herself amazed - as always - that Merle could be so insanely hot after over a year of living together. was a damned feast, and the Witch loved it.
“Did you decide on any good baby names yet?” Merle asked, her voice cutting through the morning silence.
Amelia smiled. “Darling, the point is for us to decide together. ”
A shrug. “I don’t mind if you name the first pair, I mean, you have better names than me.”
“That’s not -”
“I’ll name the second pups traditionally, you name the first… or something. I’m bad at names.” Merle squinted. “Indecisive.”
“Wait, wait,” Amelia laughed as she playfully swatted an iron-hard bicep. “A second set? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your next pregnancy,” Merle chuckled. She spun around and set herself on her side, propped up by one single elbow- a vision of dark, hard skin and bountiful breasts. “What else?”
“Planning that far ahead, are you?”
“I can’t help but want to make a family with my mate,” Merle replied, her hand snaking out to caress her eight-month baby-bulge. “I’m a Hellhound, it’s in my nature.”
Amelia laughed and swatted her again. “Let’s focus on these ones, first. We still have a lot to do before we’re ready to take care of more.”
“I dunno - I’ve almost finished the baby room, I’ve scouted out some good, solid wood in the forest to build a house extension - what else?”
“First, we don’t need an extension to a house meant for like, fifteen patients,” Amelia chuckled, “Second, what do you mean almost finished? You haven’t even painted the room, yet.”
“I did. Sorta.” The Hellhound shrugged. “Look, I’ll get someone from the town to do the work. I can’t paint for shit.”
Amelia grinned. “Going for help now, are we?”
The Hellhound flushed and looked aside. “Briefly.”
“You are just so adorable,” the Witch said fondly, her hand reaching out to caress her wife’s cheek. “Did you know that?”
In return, or, perhaps, in a mirror, Merle sent her hand sweeping out to caress her hair; brushing a black lock away from the planes of her face and tucking it behind an ear. She smiled at her fondly, her expression one of pure adoration, and hummed.
“And you’re beautiful,” she said in turn.
Amelia shook her head - but still nuzzled into her palm. “You always say that in the morning, though.”
“Once a day,” Merle agreed. “I simply must, lest you forget it.”
“ Lest? You’re not a knight, darling.”
“I’d rather not be, if it takes me away from you -”
Amelia snorted. “Stop.”
The Hellhound hummed. “I haven’t said I love you yet, have I?”
Amelia raised a brow.
Merle cupped her chin. “I love you, Amelia.”
She kissed her on the mouth: soft, tender, and smooth, but no less eager for it. It was ridiculously sappy, but Amelia was all for it. She would never have expected the big, bad Hellhound to be such a sap, but she was. She was like a puppy dog in love, and the Witch adored it.
“You’re so sappy,” she told her with a laugh, but accepted everything she offered wholeheartedly.
“Because I’m so in love with you,” the Hellhound replied, proving her point and melting her heart at the same time.
“Gosh,” the Witch hummed, “what am I going to do with you?”
“Stay with me forever, hopefully.”
“Mmmmm,” Amelia purred, “hopefully…”
She leaned in to return the kiss, to peck her on the lips, but it wasn’t easy with her pregnant stomach. The movement had the effect of brushing out her leg, and she hit what was, quite clearly, her wife’s morning wood. Being a Hellhound, Merle was almost always hard, always raring for action, like a primed magic spell waiting to go off.
“Oh?” Amelia purred, “is someone excited this morning?”
“You know how it is,” Merle husked. “I see a beautiful woman, see a nice, big belly, I get horny.”
“Maybe I should help you with that?” Amelia asked in a husky voice. Her hand slipped over to the side and grabbed the cock under the sheets, and when Merle’s face twitched, she grinned and pulled on it. “Start the day with a clear head?”
Merle stared at her with hungry eyes. “Are you okay with that?”
Amelia grinned. “The most aggravating thing about being pregnant with Hellhounds, Merle, is that it makes me so… horny. ”
Merle grinned. She grabbed her, then, but she did not pounce, nor tug, or do anything untoward at all. She overwhelmingly gently rolled her over onto her side, easing her from back to flank with a flex of her muscles, and pushed her with the utmost care. Hard, precise care, like one holding a baby bird, both flexible and rigid at the same time. She treated her like porcelain as she moved her, but Amelia was fine with it.
She bit her lip. “Is that a yes?”
“That’s a yes,” Merle husked as she leaned in behind her, spooning her with effortless ease; her bigger, stronger body just covering her, muscles scraping, breasts sliding, cock guided up. “Just let me do the work.”
“You don’t have to be that gentle,” Amelia husked, but she shuddered all the same as she felt those strong hands begin to slide along the curves of her body. She grabbed at her waist and moved along her milk-filled breasts, all while easing her into a spooning position on her side. “I can take it.”
“Shhhhh,” Merle husked, “don’t worry about it. Let me handle everything, darling girl. Nothing else.”
Her cock swept up with effortless ease and pressed against her sodden core, making Amelia gasp. She was never truly aware of how wet she was until those moments, but something about it all got her hot. Maybe it was being pregnant, maybe it was her wife, she did not know. All she did was that she was wet, ready for action, and horny as fuck, all of which Merle was in the perfect position to enjoy.
Enjoy she did. Merle leaned into her back, tits squishing, muscles rubbing, as she sent her dick up into her with an easy sweep of the hips. Not only was Amelia thoroughly soaked, they had done it so many times that it was just easy. The Hellhound barely had to try and thrust into her, and it was with ease that her shaft parted the glistening length of her lips and pierced her.
The hard, bulbous head slipped into her, driving past spongy pink lips and up into the tightness of her snatch. She thrust through her with liquid ease, rolling and dragging herself into her without difficulty. She easily bucked her hips, her muscles flexing, and working up into the hot length of her cunt. Up she went, her thick, glistening dick grinding along her inner walls, shoving them out wide and filling them right up with nothing but hardness.
It was easy for her. All the Hellhound had to do was arch her hips, press upward, and send her thick dick pressing through her walls. She sent the hardness cramming along her inner walls, making the glistening pink bulge, and working along her wetness with a vague churning noise. Muscles fluttered along her spine as she eased her way inside, drilling upward in a soft, brilliant sweep, and Amelia could only moan.
“Fuck, baby,” she groaned, “that’s it. You know what to do.”
Arms hugged her from behind, clutching her and palming her soft curves. One squeezed her breast while the other caressed her pregnant stomach, rolling over the swollen expanse. She patted her while rutting her thick dick upward, spearing into her hot snatch. She pierced her with careful ease, moving gently, easily, treating her with the utmost care, never trying to hurt her.
It did not really matter, not right then, not as she moved. Amelia moaned as the hardness slid up into her cunt, working along the length of her fluttering snatch with wet ease. She slipped along her fluttering walls, stretching them out and churning liquids around her, stuffing her up with a tender sweep. She moved with care and patience, easing her way inside, filling her snatch up with an attention that was groan-inducing.
“Fuck,” Amelia groaned again, her spine arching as she pressed herself against her wife. “You’re filling me up so much…”
The soft sound of approval filled the air. Merle leaned into her neck, husking against that soft curve, her lips running into the gaps of it and kissing gently. She ran her mouth along the entirety of her neck, planting kisses along the pale surface. She nuzzled into her flank, nose rubbing, hot air leaving her lips, applying more and more pressure to her body. Hands cupped her, squeezed at her chest, foundling naked skin around with tender relish - and it kept going.
She leaned into her, spooning her fully, hands on her soft stomach and across her chest. She held her, cupped her, and contained her in her strong arms like a vice. The rest of her was all tender care, a gentle pushing motion that had her dick disappear into her velvet snatch. She thrust up into her tightness with ease, driving through the wet length of it, making juices squelch and churn before rolling to a gentle stop.
“You feel so good inside of me,” the woman husked, easing her partner along - but she did not need to. The woman knew what she was doing, and she cradled her with tender ease. She carefully held her, holding her within her arms, keeping her steady while rolling her hips. “Ah… fuck… ”
Her partner said nothing as she kissed her neck and dusted it with marks. She nuzzled into that snowy curve and rolled her waist, churning juices around her throbbing bulk. She pressed up into her, working walls out around her, making her insides feel like paste before dragging back again with liquid ease. She eased herself out at the same time, dragging herself free, walls parting and squishing around her without trouble.
Everything the Hellhound did was easy. She knew how to move, where to move, and what kind of pressure to apply. She knew when and how to be rough, and she knew when and how to be soft. She eased her way out of her with grinding ease, walls bending and squishing around her, juices gently squelching. She moved out, her shaft grinding, before rotating, pushing, and slipping up into her, easing her way through her snatch with unconscious precision.
Amelia groaned as the hand palmed her stomach, rolling over the pregnant curve as if stroking the babies within. The other palms her chest, bending and kneading it around in her hand, fondling the bouncing flesh with lustful intensity. She carefully rolled her cock, peeling insides apart as she drove into her, filling her tight snatch with the bulk of her dick each time she moved. Soft, easy, and smooth, she never rushed herself and never moved recklessly, always carefully paced.
She actively tried not to hurt her or hurt the baby, and that level of care was heartwarming. Mostly, though, it was incredibly gratifying, and she moaned readily as the Hellhound pierced her hard slit and worked into her. She thrust, her cock grinding along her walls, the soft pink fluttering around her shaft as she worked herself in and out. Up she went, sliding into place against her ass, her pelvis just gently thudding against the pert flesh - before moving back again.
“Ah…” Amelia groaned, letting the pleasant sensations fill her up. Her insides sang with pleasure and her body tingled with desire as the hardness slid through her, dragging along the walls of her snatch in purely gratifying ways. She sighed happily as sensation flooding her nervous system because of her wife’s steady gyrations.
Merle drilled into her with the utmost care and precision, working her cock so as not to overwhelm Amelia's pregnant body, but it felt oh-so-good in spite of all that. It didn’t matter how soft or hard she went; she simply enjoyed it, taking pleasure in the hardness that filled her up and dragged through her. The filling weight of her hit her in all the right spots, and it sent sensation flooding her spine. She sighed against her, relishing it all, and loved every last second of it.
Amelia sighed and panted as she experienced it, but all her lover did was growl against her neck and plant kisses down upon it. She layered the curve up with wetness from shoulder to chin, moving across the entire expanse of softness with loving intensity. She nuzzled into her side and raked teeth along her shoulder at some points, then moved up to lick her jawline and grunt out hot breaths against her ear.
“You feel so good around me,” the Hellhound husked at length. “I love it.”
Back and forth she went, her hips pushing and pulling, rutting her large, thick dick in and out of her. She swept up, piercing her warm slit to the fullest, then dragging back with the same sort of groan-inducing intensity that made her whine and shudder. Her dick rolled through her, stuffing her up and dragging backward at the same time, walls shuddering fitfully around that throbbing bulk.
“You know what I like,” Amelia sighed, “Fuck me just like that… ”
“You’re so sexy,” Merle groaned softly, her voice spilling out in a husky rush. She pressed against her entire body, covering her backside with strong, flexing muscle and squishing breasts - but even that let Amelia feel how paced the Hellhound was. She moved with perfect self-control, pacing herself with careful diligence, easing in and out with precision.
In and out she went, working through her snatch with skilled precision, easing in and out with rough passion. She sawed through her snatch, walls bending and squeezing, filling her up with a sharp push and then tugging back with an even sharper tug. She drew out of her with a wet slurp, making insides squelch and squish with wet intensity. She yanked out of her, dick pulling up to the entrance of her slit, then back in again, rutting through the length of her with precise ease.
In and out, back and forward again, her pace perfectly measured with each movement she made. She eased into her tight snatch with easy precision, working through her tight cunt without pause. In and out, rutting through her, smooshing her soft snatch around her cock. Her dick dragged along her walls, squishing them down as if it meant nothing, but always careful, always easy. She showed so much care it was overwhelming, and Amelia loved it.
She whined and groaned for it more and more, her spine shuddering, tingling, as she was fucked in her arms. They captured her and held her firmly, making sure she couldn’t move while also making her feel awfully secure. Her breast was caressed in all the right ways and her swollen stomach was patted by a smooth palm, keeping her nice and reassured.
“I love this stomach,” Merle husked into her ear. “I love thinking we’re going to have a family together.
“Yes,” Amelia groaned, letting her eyelids loll down. “Absolutely - I - so much - ”
Amelia sung her praises as she was fucked in Merle’s arms, held, captured, and nailed just right. She bit down on her lip as the hard shaft drove into the slick heat of her snatch, stuffing her full in all the right ways again and again. Her pelvis thumped against her ass with dull thuds and made flesh compress downward, but it was gentle, easygoing, carefully paced in every single way.
“Fuck,” the Witch panted, “fuck -”
Everything about it felt great. The arms around her, the body against her, the spooning press, the tightness, it all pleasured her. She enjoyed how it felt and how secure it made her feel just as much as the hardness that thrust up into her. It drilled into her sopping snatch time and time again, hitting her in all the right ways, making walls bend and squish around her in all the best of ways.
She sighed and groaned, panting as the hardness ground against her walls; loving the tight press and shudder of sensation. Up and down, back and forth, a slick, steady repetition of thrusting that saw inches of thick dickmeat rut into her snatch. She pierced her full of meat time and time again, drilling through her sopping walls, making pink flesh ripple with effort each time she moved. Her clinging tightness accepted the dick just perfectly, and Merle made excellent use of it all.
Again and again, smooth and steady. Even if Amelia would have wanted it harder and faster, something rougher, she knew that Merle would not commit to it; she took what she could get, and savoured it for what it was. It was all still enough to make her whine, and she shivered with relish each time it happened. Tight inner walls gripped the dick just right, hugging it just perfectly, and she could feel Merle’s enjoyment of it each time she breathed.
She growled and purred against her neck, working at her and breathing out her passions. Her husky, growling breath washed out in puffs, showing just how terse and close she was - but she kept at it. She held her close, arms around her, hugging her against her broad chest, letting tits squish and muscles flex. She tightened up against her and rutted up into her soft snatch, almost pummeling it as she moved, but all at a careful pace.
“That’s it,” Amelia groaned, “That’s it - ”
Merle grunted. She held her tightly as she thrust, her cock throbbing more and more by the moment - swelling with each drilling stroke and making walls squish into place around her. She rutted up into her, drilling through the length of her snatch, filling her up time and time and time again. She pushed up, nailing her securely, jamming her to the brim, then pulling back to do it again. Smooth, endless cycling, backward and forward, but each movement got her closer, and closer, and closer.
She drilled into her, sheathing her thick prick inside, and held her tightly. Very, very tightly, holding her right up against her, pressing her in so close it was agonizing. Muscles scraped, breasts squished, and that big, thick dick just throbbed - and where one moment was all rolling action, the next was heat. Hot, gooey release spasmed into her soft snatch, a sudden surge, a wave, of raw heat - an enjoyable surge that left her drooling.
“Fuck!” Amelia whined, her body shivering within the tight cage of her arms. She whined as hot seed flowed into her, slurping along and rushing through her at a rapid-fire pace of pure heat: a hot, gooey load that stained the walls of her snatch and filled them up to the very brim once more. It was a thoroughly familiar feeling by then, but one that she enjoyed each and every time that she did it.
She groaned as the hot release flooded her and filled her up, sending orgasmic satisfaction rushing through her. She gasped and drooled as the weight of all that seed drowned her insides once more, seeking to ravenously claim her womb once more - an impossibility at that stage in the game, but the details of it did not matter. She did it anyhow, cramming her full of rich release, and she damn well savoured it.
Hot, gooey ropes of release spattered the length of her snatch, cramming in nice and gratifyingly deep - everything she could want and more. It hit her just right, making her moan in climactic glee. It felt so hot and thick and gooey and warm that she loved it, as she had come to love it after so many times of taking it. The rich, dense baby-batter slurped and churned along her snatch in all the best of ways, swooping and billowing out against her very deepest of points, and she moaned happily for it.
Amelia shuddered in her arms as she took the would-be impregnating load of cum for yet another time. She was held firmly the entire time, not really given leave to move, and could only quiver with self-satisfaction as a warm, gooey creampie filled her up to the brim. It stuffed her just right, making her feel so comfortable that it was moan-inducing. She bit her lip in toe-curling pleasure for moments at a time, savouring it for as long as she could.
Eventually, though, it came to a stop, and Merle settled in against her back with a low and throaty grunt. “...How was that, gorgeous?”
Amelia groaned out a laugh. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“No.”
She laughed anyhow. “It was good, darling. You know how I enjoy my morning pick-me up.”
“You know how much I enjoy you, ” Merle husked. As Amelia laughed she nuzzled into her neck, cradled her stomach, and grumbled behind her, a vague sort of purring movement that made her body quiver.
“The feeling is mutual,” Amelia told her with a happy breath. “More than mutual, darling Merle.”
“I know,” said the Hellhound, and Amelia could only smile.
Things had turned out a lot better than the Witch ever could have expected, and she could never have been happier for stumbling upon the Hellhound one day in the woods.
Fate, it seemed, worked out well even for Witches and Hellhounds.
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