The guttering tallow of the melting candles set within the clay lamps spilled their ruddy glow out through the roughly carved hole in the old log. Outside, Baltha watched the shimmering of the night rains, like so many glittering jewels pattering onto the placid waters of the swamp. The clouds had masked the smiling face of the silver moon, bathing the sleeping land in utter blackness. Leaning upon the window, his fur the color of algae, the swamp creature continued to cast his luminous gaze towards the night. As he stood there, his thoughts turned inward, a slim, clawed hand came to rest on his back. Roused by the gentle touch of those delicate fingers, he turned from the rain, finding before him a creature of exquisite beauty. It is said though, that beauty is so often in the eye of the beholder. Her shaggy fur was the same color as his, a dull, grey-green, like the lichens which grew in thick clumps from the walls of their home. Clad in a simple garment of sack-cloth, colored here and there with once bright patches, she extended her lithe arms to her love, closing her slender, grey hands around his corded neck. 

Baltha took her into his arms, drawing the shivering creature to him, so that the copious swell of her ripe breasts, all six of them, did press into his chest and stomach. Beneath the rough trousers, his manhood would stir as he felt the firmness of those erect buds, rubbing so deliciously beneath her dress. 

“You’ve been quiet this evening,” said she. Her gaze turned up to her love and she would lay a clawed hand upon his cheek. 

“My wife,” said Baltha. “I was just thinking of how we needed to pick swamp moss, but the rains have come early.” He motioned towards the dripping window where there pattered the incessant fall of the rain. 

His wife, her arms still around her husband, leaned to the side, peering over his shoulder. “So they have. And they will continue to fall for another three days without stopping. Oh, what are we to do?”

“Nothing,” said he. “We will simply have to wait until they stop.”

A smile crept over the face of his wife, curling the plush, black lips that glistened so wetly in the guttering light of those flickering candles. 

“Then, my love,” said the she-creature. “I believe that we must find something else to do.” 

“Like what?” Baltha turned his luminous gaze to the creature in his arms. His cock strained within his trousers, pressing into his wife’s belly so that the swamp woman bit her lower lip and giggled. 

“Mmm, it’s so warm in here,” she said. “So cozy. The sounds of the rain are so soothing, do you not agree?” She pushed herself back, taking a step away from him, her arms suddenly drawing behind her. “Should we not spend this time together? Why not revel in the joys of each other’s arms?” 

Baltha watched her step away, turning from him so that his eyes did fall to the swell of her wide hips, to the roundness of her buttocks. Her sack-cloth dress fell just above the bottom of her cheeks, allowing him to gaze fully on those fat, grey mounds. Like he, she had no fur on her butt, nor on her belly and chest. Her slender tail curled behind her back, her claws clicking on the wooden floor as she slipped around the crudely carved table to come lift a knee at the edge of their bed. Drawing back the thin blanket, she would place her leg upon the rough moss stuffed mattress. 

“Come to bed, my love,” said the creature. She extended a lithe arm, her palm turned upwards. “There is no joy to be had at that lonesome window.”

Baltha gulped, swallowing back the tightness which was growing in his throat. He could do nothing, though, about the tightness growing in his trousers as he followed the fullness of her thigh, rising up her flat belly to ascend the many peaks of her breasts, climbing to meet the volcanic gaze of his wife. 

“Salama,” said he. “I--”

“Come,” she said. “I want you with me.”

Slowly did Baltha trek across their simple abode, his feet scuffing the wooden floor, dappled with the wet globs of lichen and the tiny mushrooms with their caps of red and white which decorated their home. Salama let the blanket fall to the floor, her slim claws tugging the sack-cloth from her shapely form, laying bare the beauty of the swamp woman. Her breasts were of the same grey as her belly, each wobbling peak crowned with a glistening gem of ebony that shimmering softly, reflecting the warm orange glow of the candles. Six blooming flowers, each begging for his touch. Baltha seized his trousers, tearing his clothing from him to stand naked before his wife. His bare stomach swelled in a slight, soft pooch that made the creature bring her claws to her lips, giggling softly.

“My,” she said, placing a hand on her husband’s belly. “Perhaps I should not bake you so many fungal pies.” Her fingers spread across his stomach, making Baltha’s tail wag. 

Taking her hand in his he, brought her fingers to his lips, kissing the small knuckles. “But I adore your cooking, dear. It’s why I married you.”

“Oh,” she replied. “And here I thought it was for my grace and wit.”

Salama squealed as her husband caught her up in his burly arms. Her nipples rubbed against his chest, their flesh so firm and hard with her arousal. 

“Ah, there’s that too, I suppose,” said he. 

His lips quested then for that black mouth, to seize upon those wet, glistening lips. They met in a kiss that stole the breath from their lungs, the wet crackle of their saliva popping over the sounds of the falling rain. Salama’s lips parted, her husband darting between her crooked fangs to slither into her mouth. The taste of fungus and swampwater played on his tongue, the scent of her breath like the mildew which clung to the corners of their rotting home. She tasted of the swamp and that was the greatest taste of all for such a creature as Baltha. His nimble tongue leaped to explore the red gums, to curl along the ridges of her palate. Salama slung her arms around her husband, her nostrils puffing as she slid beneath his tongue to enter his mouth. Baltha’s cheek began to swell, distending with the movement of his wife’s tongue as she slipped along his fangs. They parted, tongues twining in the open air like the gruesome serpents that hung limp from the gnarled branches of the crooked trees, twirling endlessly as the swamp woman’s fingers crept down her husband’s hips. There, she sought the rigid pole that jutted forth from the tangle of his algae-colored pubic fur. His cock, erect and swollen, thrust itself mightily into her quivering stomach, painting her lower belly with the first glimmer of his pungent dew. 

Like a precious gem, Baltha’s precum shimmered from his gaping urethra, a tempting treasure for the wet, hungry lips of his love. Her fingers closed around his cock, making Baltha suddenly give a shudder as his wife would stroke. The swamp man’s eyes fell closed, his lips peeling back in a grimace as he would moan softly. 

“Oh… O-Oh…” Such were the rumblings of his elation as his arms began to lose their strength. 

His claws slid down Salama’s curving back, following the indent of her spine to close upon her ripe buttocks. His fingers sank deep into the wanting flesh, prying apart those hefty, dimpled loaves, revealing the fragrant blossom that opened between her spreading thighs. A gasp from his wife, a tilt of her hips and her top breasts thrusting under his chin as he felt himself toppling forwards. Together, they crashed down upon the bed, the creaking frame shaking beneath them. Salama, never taking her hand from Baltha’s manhood, brought her lips to her husband’s throat, tracing the curve of his neck to the hollow of his collarbone. 

“Let us have a child,” said she. “The swamp has been far too empty without the laughter of little ones.”

Her fingers slid up his cock, her thumb coming to work slowly around his spongy glans. Baltha’s balls churned, fat and heavy within the grey skin of his scrotum. His hands slipped from her rump, coming to her hips as he turned them both to lay upon the bed. 

“Shall we?” he asked. His hand came to her lower belly, the muscles clenching beneath his fingertips. “My love, like the blossoms of the mallow tree. How would love to create another life with you.”

Her eyes glitter like uncut stones, glistening with the crystalline tears as Salama’s lower lip would tremble. Her lips came to his mouth, a single kiss before she then slung a leg over him. 

“My husband, let us do this,” she said. 

She straddled Baltha, her breasts hanging like the ripened fruits of the pallar vines. Her nipples, blacker than the night sky, were perched above him and Baltha brought his hands to those buds, letting his fingers play upon each swollen mound. Giving a shudder, Salama stroked his throbbing cock, her claws peeling back the foreskin to reveal the darker flesh of his tip. Sitting herself back, her nipples grazed the skin of his belly, sliding backwards so that her lips did plant their kisses down his stomach until her mouth found the fragrant weave of her husband’s pubic fur. His scent, the odor of musk and sweat, of the decay of the swamp outside. A perfume that stoked the fires in her belly and compelled the creature to seize upon his member, her lips closing around his cock so that she plunged down into that algae-colored nest. Rising, she clamped her lips tighter, sliding up the veined pillar to let her tongue swirl around his tip. Baltha groaned, his claws coming to take hold of his wife’s head, guiding her back down his rod. His balls were screaming, demanding release, but the swamp man would not allow himself to erupt just yet. 

“Ah, my love,” said he. “I fear that I cannot take any more. I may not last this night, much less another two.”

Plucking her lips from his manhood, Salama then said, “So my husband is unmanned so easily?” Her fingers closed around his tip, stroking quickly. “Oh, how sad this is. That I have married a mouse instead of the man I knew.”

Baltha was not to fall for his wife’s cunning tricks, instead taking hold of her, crushing her to his arms so that he would push off from the bed with his mighty legs. The pair rolled, the mattress groaning in protest as Salama now found herself beneath her husband. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, opening to allow him to slide back. Between the inviting thighs of his love, Baltha sought the treasure which bloomed so fragrant. Her thick pussy lips smacked wetly, succulently to his mouth as he kissed her, tearing the breath from Salama’s lungs in a shriek that reverberated across the tepid waters of the swamp. Her back arching, she flung her arms out, her elation a song that shook the walls. His arms around her thighs, Baltha joined in that chorus, singing to her, his tongue swirling and lapping, plunging ever deeper to caress her molten core. The syrupy honey of her lust gushed into his mouth, spilling to shimmer down his chin as he drank from that holy chalice. 

“O-Oh,” came the wails of his beloved. 

His tongue curled back, sliding along the smooth, muscular walls of her vagina, licking the dew from the quivering lobes of her pussy. The firm nub that was her clit beckoned and the swamp bit, pinching so that his wife let out a scream of jubilation. Tears ran freely from her luminous eyes, seeping into her furry cheeks as she wept from the carnal bliss of her lover’s touch. His senses were enflamed, his need for her a hammer blow to his pounding temples, Baltha tore himself from her wet blossom, crawling now to take her by the waist. His mouth closed over a breast, his tongue leaping to circle her areola. The tang of her sweat, of the salty taste of her flesh, enthralled him, spurring his cock let forth the first shimmering strand of his spurting precum. 

“Ah, but there is no milk there yet,” said Salama, her fingers stroking his hair. “You must help me there. If you wish to make my breasts so fat with milk, then you must first make my belly fat with your seed.”

“Yes,” replied Baltha, his voice a dreamy slur. “So I must.” He smiled, his lips meeting hers. 

His cock slid between Salama’s spreading legs, the leaking tip pressing to her wet flower. Glimmering precum fell like droplets of molten wax to set the swamp woman to quake as each hot gush pattered upon her delicate flesh. Her belly hungered, within Salama, the gates of her woman were opening wide, ushering forth the coming flood of her husband’s essence. Slowly did Baltha begin to buck his hips, his belly sliding against the rigid stems of his wife’s nipples as he entered her. Salama winced, her pussy stretching with the hard, pulsing meat of her husband’s cock. His rod, grown fat and hard, slid against the quaking walls of her vagina, his leaking tip slamming into the gates of her womb, shattering that last bastion as he then pulled back. She closed around him, not daring to allow Baltha to escape as he circled and came in once more. The swamp man’s lips fell the curve of her throat, his hips never stopping as he climbed to the point of her slender chin. Precum spurted, painting her womb with the coming of that virile tide. Salama hooked her legs around her husband, her fingers clawing at his furry back as the creature continued to rock against her. 

“Ah… A-Ah, mmm… Baltha,” she moaned. 

“Ungh,” was the only reply he could muster in return. 

Slowly, Salama’s legs came free of her husband, the swamp man pulling back. His hands came to her hips, to gently turn her onto her stomach. Salama’s tail curled, her pelvis tilting so that her splitting cheeks were to her husband. His cock was slick with her shining juices as Baltha took his wife by the hips, entering once more. He fell atop her, his arms now around her belly. His fingers played at the rigid buds that were her nipples, his manhood thrusting deep. 

“You are going to be such a wonderful mother,” Baltha whispered to her. 

“And you,” she said in return, “will be a terrific father. But, my dear husband, we shall never know unless you finish.”

Smiling, Baltha sat back, his hands to her hips. His pace quicked, his pelvis crashing against his wife with the raw, wet slap of bare flesh. Her buttocks shook, quivering like gelatin as he rocked into her, thrusting deeper to smash through that final bastion. His balls could hold out no more and with a final cry, Baltha released. Hot, bubbling seed gushed forth in a torrent to flood the empty womb of his love. Salama gave a cry, her lower belly growing hot and full as her husband pumped another ropy strand deep. Her belly was swelling beneath her, fattening with the rich semen of her husband, her body already growing ready for the coming of their offspring. Strings of loose seed spurted from her bruised petals as Baltha plucked his softening cock from her, allowing her to fall back onto the bed. Her fur glistened in the guttering candlelight, her smile more radiant than the moon as he came to lay beside her. Baltha placed a hand on her belly, feeling the new warmth there, his mind turning to the life which would take root. Salama squeezed his hand, her eyes glittering. 

“It’s wonderful,” she said. “I’m so happy.”

“As am I,” said Baltha. 

Salama kissed him, then said, “But, my love, I do feel a little hungry. Could you fetch something for me?”

“Of course,” said he and rose from the bed. 

Baltha returned to her, a battered and much dented pewter bowl in his clawed hand. Salama was sitting up, her legs dangling over the side of the bed. Her eyes lit up as she took the offered bowl. 

“Oh, it’s a bowl of sponge fungus and lantern fruit with a little creamy scum. All floating in pond slime.” She smiled, bringing the bowl to her lips. “How did you know?”

Such a dish was customarily given to the wives of the swamp folk upon becoming pregnant. Salama tipped the mixture back, letting the putrid delicacy slide down her throat. 

Licking the scum from her lips, she set the bowl down. “It’s delicious. What a wonderful way to nourish our baby. Oh, but Baltha, the rains will not stop for another two days.”

“Then,” said her husband, “we should have to make good use of that time.”

Salama extended her clawed hands, her husband taking hold of her as the pair then fell together into the bed. Outside their ramshackle home of rotting logs and moss, the rains fell upon the sleeping swamp, chasing the life there back into its den. But inside, the candles continued to burn and the lives there would join in the celebration of love and the coming of new joys.