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In the gilded age of the late nineteenth century, trans-oceanic travel matured from a slow, dangerous undertaking via wooden hull and cloth sail into a comfortable and speedy endeavor thanks to the power of steam and the strength of steel. New Atlantic crossing records on the busiest, most profitable routes were being set annually.

Less heavily traveled runs like the Booth Line from Liverpool to the Amazon River port of Manaus were slower, but Estelle McMasters and Reginald Devon-Eisenhower made the crossing in an astoundingly short sixty days in reasonable luxury. When they arrived, however, they found that civilization in Brazil was little more than a thin veneer hugging the coast and river margins of a vast, relatively unexplored wilderness of tropical rain forest. Clearing land for profitable plantations, the rubber barons had only just begun making a dent in the impenetrable canopy.

As if transported back to an earlier age of European exploration, a primitive, more dangerous passage confronted the adventurers beyond the limits of the boomtown metropolis. Hundreds of miles by dugout canoe through the labyrinthine channels of the Amazon's tangled tributaries preceded weeks on foot bushwhacking a path through steamy undergrowth to the roots of the eastern Andes.

An expedition that at its peak comprised over forty furs of foreign and native South American birth was completed by just the two elderly and exhausted British canines. Drowning, snake bite, the snap of crocodile jaws, jaguars pouncing in the night, tropical fever, aboriginal attack, and ancient, but ingenious, traps designed to deter even the most dauntless pilgrim from reaching what our heroes now beheld eliminated much of their contingent. The remainder, overcome by fear and superstition, simply deserted by fading into the forest never to be seen again.

What lunatic compulsion goaded two scholarly scions of the Empire's gentry into abandoning their accustomed life of ease for peril and privation? The answer lay just a few halting strides before the open toes of their worn out boots; it was the long anticipated end of a lifetime quest.

The outrageous implausibility of two golden furred and silver streaked labradors being the lone survivors to reach this spot imbued them with gratitude towards whatever luck-granting supernatural power had interceded to reward their steadfast perseverance. Holding paws, they doffed their pith helmets, reverently tucked their ears backwards against the tops of their heads, stilled their excited tails, and muttered prayers for the souls of those who sacrificed so much to deliver them to this nexus of promise and infinite possibilities.

Enhancing the solemnity of the moment and injecting an aura of disquietude was the unearthly lack of the usual trills, shrieks, howls, grunts, and incessant buzzing that comprised the jungle's typical ambiance. The enforcer of the stifling silence was an ominous, open air altar of carved granite surrounded by a circular patio of interlocking flat stones of similar origin.

Despite its great age, no vegetation touched the artificial construction. Trees desperate for scarce nutrients, and undergrowth competing for sunlight, feared and respected its boundaries.

Not a single paver was dislodged by wandering roots. No moss or ferns grew on naked rock. Even the constant rain of leaf litter was absent from its surface as if it had been recently and reverently swept by guardian spirits.

Its unnatural pristine condition was truly curious considering that the explorers had witnessed no evidence of native occupation during their last fortnight of travel. This was an exceptionally remote and difficult to reach locale surrounded by hundreds of square miles of uninhabited wilderness. Estelle and Reginald were convinced that no earthly paw dwelled close enough to tend the shrine.

Needing no further evidence that a divine force inhabited and protected this place, faith in their quest was forged adamant. After nearly half a century of pursuit, they beheld with weary, yet utterly convinced eyes, the fabled Fountain of Youth.

What had begun in 1865 during their early adulthood as an academic exercise in the study of a fanciful legend, gradually evolved into a mutual passion and ultimately an all-consuming compulsion. Synchronous with the shortening years of their mortal existence and the resultant impetus to believe legend as fact, came a coincident mountain of evidence supporting the story's veracity. The serendipity of being heirs to separate, but substantial family fortunes provided the financial means to pursue the tantalizing dream of postponing death's reaping scythe.

Acquired at tremendous effort and substantial cost, every scrap of text they painstakingly translated and cross checked with each fragment of map and snippet of oral history fueled their growing obsession, though the last and most critical details were not discovered until after their arrival in Manaus.

A Catholic missionary's diary, sequestered in his grave for nearly three hundred years, provided a wealth of detail and the last, crucial answers to the sphinxian riddle that had teased them through the latter half of their lives. Brother Maynard, the journal's sixteenth century author, had died in a fever induced delirium upon returning from the jungle after more than twenty years of proselytizing and ministering to the natives. If not for Reginald and Estelle's dogged persistence pursuing every lead no matter how obscure or difficult to acquire, the account would have languished in-situ until its ink faded and parchment rotted in the author's crypt.

On this occasion the researchers struck Spanish gold worth more than any hoard of buried pirate's doubloons. The clue that led them to it, uncovered in Madrid's royal archives, seemed a trivial cliche and all too familiar story, but no lead had ever been allowed to escape their dogged pursuit.

At his death, Brother Maynard had been an elderly priest of nearly sixty decades, but the Mission of Manaus' deacon had sent word to the bereaved family in Spain that their kin, despite the disease that killed him, seemed strangely hale and youthful as if he were a mere twenty year old. Assuming that there was an error and that the mystery corpse was not their lost relative, the family refused to claim it. The unaffiliated deceased was thus reverently interred in the mission's small crypt, instead of buried, in case his identity was ever discovered, and his wandering bones repatriated at last to his home country. All his worldly possessions joined him in eternity, including the diary.

Cognizant that the church would not approve their request to disturb the monk's rest over a quest as quixotic as the promise of life eternal, the desperate Brits surreptitiously hired a disreputable trio of expatriate hyenas for some midnight grave robbing. It was a desperate act, more likely to reward them with time in a local prison than answers, but the true magnitude of their sacrilegious act revealed itself gradually over the next several days with each page Estelle translated. The fountain's precise location, details about traps and pitfalls, and even the uncertainty regarding how much water to consume to achieve a desired reversal of years were all documented within its paw scrawled pages.

At last, they possessed the final, definitive piece of the puzzle. Only the details of organizing an expedition, months of arduous travel, and heroic hardships aplenty lay between them and the culmination of their lifelong dream.

During their grueling trek, two deductions from Maynard's writings dominated their thoughts, fostering many campfire debates. First, and most important, was the inescapable conclusion that the imbiber of the sacred waters had only one opportunity to enjoy the bounty of its magic. Though many of Brother Maynard's party had taken multiple draughts to increase their youthfulness, no further consumption beyond the initial regressed them a single day. The second conclusion was the most unsettling; the quantity required to turn back a particular number of years varied randomly with the individual and species.

Maynard's personal experience with a full cup of the silvery clear liquid shaved forty decades from his aged frame, giving him the forgotten vigor of his colthood. Others in his party had shed just a few years, and a select few had regressed so far as to become mewling kits and cubs. Maynard could make no sense of the pattern and neither could Reginald or Estelle. Only the intrepid adventurers' personal test of its restorative waters would reveal if they guessed right or wrong.

With nothing further to lose other than their tenuous hold on life, the pair of khaki clad canines approached the source of water gurgling from a hole in the altar's central plinth. Splashing wastefully on the surrounding patio, the beckoning, magical moisture disappeared through the joints between the surrounding paver stones. More traps possibly lay in those final few yards of seemingly benign open space, but Estelle and Reginald were too exhausted to care.

Fear could not dissuade them. If a bottomless pit, explosion, or fusillade of poison darts didn't kill them, then the return journey certainly would; yet despite their resignation and bold tenacity, as they neared the water, their paws trembled and claws rattled against the tin cups held mere inches from the enchanted fall of clear, sparkling liquid.

"Reggie, wait," protested Estelle. "I know that we've had collie shangles over this more times than I care to count, but I wonder if we should exercise caution, and take less than we agreed. Isn't it enough to delight in reclaiming even a mere decade, rather than risk becoming infants?"

Her mate appeared equally apprehensive at first, cowed by the sheer audacity of what they were about to do, but then his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched in the steadfast determination that had built an empire upon which the sun never set.

"Nonsense, Stella. It's all or nothing now. A decade won't get us home. I cannot repeat that trek without being fifty years younger. Even then, I think our odds of escaping this wilderness are slim. If we regress too far, I want my final days with you to abound with the delirious pleasure of youth, even if we are too young to survive long or even enjoy romantic intimacy. With luck we shall achieve both."

Estelle sighed wistfully and nodded, sharing the same desire to live a second life and simultaneously rekindle lost moments of fiery passion.

"I want that, too, dear, but should I really imbibe more than you? It seems risky."

"You are nearly eighty, my love, and I am but seventy-one. All our lives, we existed with that gap between us. It mattered little until this last decade when the thought of you going first became unbearable to me."

"But the uncertainty..."

"Is a risk worth taking. The amounts of water we have calculated for you and for me gives us the best shot at a physical age in our early twenties. We have endured pain and privation beyond the ken of most mortals to get here. Let's not lose courage now."

"You are right, of course, my love," answered Estelle, grateful for the stiff upper lippedness of her mate. "I thought this journey was too much too late, but you were there every step of the way to keep me going, practically carrying me the last few miles. Only your infinite love sustained me. I will place all my trust in that to carry me through this final moment."

Without another word or second thought, the lovers immersed their battered vessels in the water's flow, feeling its cool refreshing texture wash over their paws and penetrate their fur. Upon acquiring the requisite volume, they simultaneously consumed the contents in a single gulp.

Tense seconds passed with no visible change. Stella stared at Reggie, and her anxious observation was mimicked in his eyes. The delay was to be expected based on Brother Maynard's notes, but the exhausted couple suffered a fleeting crisis of faith nevertheless. Had their belief in the delusions of a mad man, bolstered by a common desire found among all mortals to cheat death, led them to throw away their few remaining years of life on a fool's errand?

All trepidation vanished, however, once the wonder's transformational effects began. Wrinkles were smoothed away as sagging pelts tightened under the expansion of long lost musculature. Stiff, gray hairs recovered their supple, blonde hue. Palsied and trembling paws steadied, then opened and closed testing their remembered strength. Long endured aches and pains ceased to nettle and nag. Eyesight sharpened allowing each to observe their morphing partner with perfect clarity.

Reginald grew taller as his time-worn and hunched spine expanded, recovering nearly two inches of lost height. From Estelle's perspective, he seemed to soar beyond any stature she could remember.

For Reginald, clothes that had moments before been baggy, grew snug, but the opposite befell his mate. Not until the miracle ceased its rewinding of time's cumulative damage did it become clear to him why. He gasped aloud, but Estelle remained oblivious to her predicament.

"Oh, Reggie. Just look at you!" she exclaimed with delight, craning her neck to meet his lofty eyes. "You can't be physically more than twenty. I had forgotten how handsome you were...and how tall...?"

Unlike her outburst of ecstatic rapture, Reginald wore a worried expression.

"I'm pretty sure it's not my height alone that confounds your memory."

"Why do you say that, and why the anxious look? Did the water not work for me?"

"Oh it worked. Perhaps too well." Fishing in the largest pocket of his vest, Reginald produced a mirror and placed it in her diminutive paw. "See for yourself."

Stella held the mirror before her snout and barely recognized the person gazing confusedly back. Her left paw roamed across the contours of her face to ensure the reflection mimicked reality.

"Dear God! I'm a pup. How old?"

"I...I don't know...," sputtered Reginald in confusion, "...maybe...gad! This is tragic...," but Estelle wasn't listening.

Hurriedly shoving the looking glass back at her mate, she tore off her over-sized jacket, vest, shirt, and impeding undergarments until her upper body was fully exposed. Cupping nascent breasts barely protruding from her otherwise flat chest, she scoured her childhood memories. The awkward transition towards adulthood brought back a flood of long dormant sensations.

"Twelve," she exclaimed. "I was no older than that when this change started. Bloody hell! How unchancy."

"Twelve?" mused Reggie. "For those randy Americans that's considered within the age of consent, but damn me for a pervert if you aren't only a child. We're going to have to get home and wait a few years after all it seems..."

The dismal pall of unfulfilled physical love hung in the air, and despite Reginald's protestations to the contrary, he could not set his longing aside so easily. Along with all the vigor and vitality of life, his libido was manifesting itself as lusty thoughts and tentative stirrings in his loins. So long subdued were such feelings, he barely remembered how to control them. Honestly, he possessed no desire for restraint. Fortunately, it was Estelle who freed his conscience and seized the role as the sexual aggressor.

"Too young," she scoffed. "I guess we'll just have to make do. At least I'll get to enjoy you're body in its prime even if you have to make do with my cub-like inadequacies."

"Please don't say that. I mean...coming from a pup...this is so confusing and...immoral."

"What do you mean? We've made love hundreds of times before. Nothing fundamental has changed."

"Nothing funda...You're twelve, for bloody sake. I could not live with myself doing...that..."

"Bah. Pure twaddle. Physically, I'm twelve; true, but inside I'm a mature and experienced woman fully cognizant of the carnal arts. This body is more fully capable of enjoying sex than the one I inhabited but a few minutes ago."

Estelle paused for a moment, mustering her argument before continuing.

"Listen, Reggie. I bore in good measure the label of cradle robber when I married you. Now, our roles are switched. So what? I have an adult mind and conscience. Physical age is immaterial. I can use this form however I want."

"You're not saying that just to ease my guilt and satisfy my lust?"

"Of course not," she assured him as she kicked off her over-sized boots, wiggled out of her drooping pants and remaining ill-fitting undergarments to stand before him glowing with naked, pubescent glory. "Besides, I have an itch down below that needs scratching. I do believe that I'm reliving my first heat. Take a deep breath and smell for yourself."

Inhaling, Reginald confirmed that Estelle's rejuvenated body was indeed advertising its readiness to abandon childhood innocence for the mysteries and secret delights of adulthood.

"Bloody beautiful," he whispered covering his groin with his paws to conceal his growing erection.

Reginald's most primal sexual urges were tempted by her unspoiled freshness and the nascent, visual hints of future development. Delicate domes of firm but small, spongy flesh protruded from her chest. The white oval of fur extending from the base of her neck to just below her belly ended unceremoniously above her unvanquished sex, lacking the plush tuft destined to one day crown that glorious portal. Attempting to push aside the madness of raging desire, Reginald shook his head to clear his sex addled brain.

"You can't be ready for this, though," he protested feebly. "You're so small...and I'm so big."

"Are you bragging?" she teased while staring brazenly at his paws. "Because if you are, it just makes me want you more."

"I might hurt you..."

"We just have to be careful and do things a bit differently," she said dismissing his concerns in her hurry to begin. "I'll have to be on top."

"On top?" he gulped. The novel, exotic possibility of any position other than that of missionary, imposed by the limits of Victorian morality, heightened his arousal.

"Oh yes," she declared eagerly. "We have many such positions to explore. I stumbled upon an interesting book a few years back, but set it aside thinking what a pity to discover it too late."

"Book?" he wondered. Unchecked hormones rampaging through his nervous system made concentration impossible. "Too late for what?"

"Sex. That's what we're talking about. I swear, you're as thick as any young lad in love." Her paws balled into fists to rest upon her slender hips. "The 'Kama Sutra' the Hindus call it...the book that is. As to the name of the position it is called 'Rider', or_' C owgir__l'_according to the Yanks."

Reginald remained frozen while Estelle pushed his paws aside, fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, and removed his underwear. The rest of his body may have been unresponsive as she undressed him, but his manhood shot out of its prison to joyfully smack against the side of her snout.

"Now that's the randy, young dog I remember from long ago," she growled.

Grasping its base with one little paw, she discovered her juvenile foredigits and thumb were unable to meet around its girth.

"Definitely me on top," she added before her tongue began a long, slow journey up his shaft ending at it's chisel shaped tip, which then disappeared between her lips.

"Dear god!" gasped Reginald at the unexpected, yet luscious, embrace.

After his single, brief exclamation, he could do little more than huff and groan as she introduced him to the pleasures of oral gratification. It was a delight unlike any other he had ever experienced, but his mind was still failing to resolve the cognitive disconnect between the child going down him and the adult mind instigating the novel act.

Guilt and shame warred with baser instincts, but the latter triumphed as they frequently did despite what a cooler mind might assume in a more rational state. Barely a minute passed before Reggie lost control and exploded violently down her throat.

Gagging on the unexpected rush, Estelle forgot she was holding a fire hose and pulled back. Secondary streams of white goo shot across her snout and face.

"Uhhh...uhh...s...sss....sorry, love," huffed Reginald. "Oh, my. I was not ready for that."

"Don't apologize," chided Estelle, making sacrilegious use of the water from the fountain to wash the sticky mess from the fur of her brow and muzzle. "It seems that in my excitement, I was a bit too enthusiastic."

His shiny, red rod seemed to Estelle as firm as ever, and the bulbous knot at the base was beginning to swell, but she worried her haste had doomed her lover to a lengthy down time.

"Have I spent you too soon?"

"Not bloody likely," he bragged without exaggeration. "Plenty of stamina left. God! I feel like I could make love to you all night long. You are the jammiest bit of jams, and the scent of your heat is irresistible."

Batting her coquettish eyes, she licked the last of his cum from the sides of her muzzle.

"How would you like a taste?"

Puzzled, Reginald searched fruitlessly for the meaning behind her mischievous grin.

"Taste? I...I don't..."

"Isn't it obvious? By returning the favor I just did for you. Lick me right here," she demanded spreading her pink labia apart with her claws.

"What? Lick you...there? Oh, my...that's...that's...I've never..."

"It's a simple request. What has you so darned fuddled?"

"It's you, dear; the way you look, your size, your age. A voice in my head keeps telling me this is wrong. You look, sound, and even smell like forbidden fruit."

"Ah. I see. Well, we're just going to have to overcome your inhibitions. How about we make it fun with a little role play?"

"You mean like pretending to be someone else while...?"

"Exactly. That way it's not you doing the dastardly deed. Enjoy it through a pervert's eyes."

"Aren't games for children? I mean..."

"I'm a child again, and you're barely an adult."

"You're right I keep forgetting. It's hard to believe my body is so young when my mind is still old."

"I've got it!" exclaimed Estelle moving on to keep her mate from dwelling on the restrictive morality beaten into him so thoroughly by a puritanical society. "You're the savage Norseman intent upon rape and pillage, but mostly rape, and I'm the not so innocent little village girl secretly eager to surrender her virginity to her virile captor."

"Ooh. I'm a sword wielding Viking? I like that." Her ploy was working to distract him. "Let me see if I can get into this character."

Reginald removed his shirt and fastened it around his waist like a kilt. Using his cravat, he tied his long hair into a loose ponytail. Puffing out his chest, he flexed the muscles on his arms and deepened his voice, adding a ridiculous accent, more Scottish than Scandinavian.

"Come here ya wee, bonny lass. Feel the wrath o' the tunder gods, and learn what 'tis to be a woman."

"Yip!"

Estelle's pup-like squeal was only half feigned as her lover lunged forward, grabbed her tightly about the waist, and with the strength aplenty, hefted her high in the air.

Overcoming her shock by remembering her role, she cried "Oh, help! I am but a child."

"Your scent belies your protests, little one," he countered and placed his snout between her thighs, inhaling deeply. "Ripe for the plunder, that you are."

"Not there," she protested, playfully slapping at his arms and kicking her hindpaws against his chest and stomach. As his tongue began exploring the nubile, virgin folds of her sex, her mock protestations became increasingly feeble. Soon stilled, only her forepaws exhibited any life, clutching the fur behind his ears, urging his snout in deeper against her trembling clitoris.

Electric shocks raced across her mental synapses generating high voltage balls of ecstasy at the core of her brain. Multiple, body wracking orgasms radiated from the pulsing spheres of energy. When sensation threatened to override all else, she pushed his head away lest she pass beyond all reason.

"You...you...m...mmm...monster." Panting from the quivering delight still plucking taught nerves like a mad fiddler's strings, her objections carried little conviction. "You have violated my sacred person. I am deflowered. Can I be more debased?"

"Aye. That you can, lassie. I got more'n my tongue ta' pleasure your wet, little hole."

Placing one paw under her belly, he held her aloft while he untied his makeshift skirt and tossed it aside. With both paws encircling her tiny waist, he lowered her towards his stiff member.

Earlier, Estelle had beheld his cock with her adult eyes. Looking down between her scrawny legs, she was gripped by genuine concern regarding its size.

"Ah!" she squeaked in her childish voice. "It's much too big. You'll tear me apart for sure."

Reginald was not so deep in his character to ignore the genuine panic underlying her acting."

"Don't fret, lassie. I'll break you in easy, but break you in I shall."

Sitting down upon the moist stone work, he chose a spot to rest his back against the altar free from the flowing sacred water. Able to support her weight on her hind paws, Estelle relaxed and resumed control. After a great deal of grunting, stretching of flesh, and an internal tear accompanied by a whine and a trickle of blood, she paused.

"Are you all right, dearest?" inquired Reginald, breaking character.

"Yes. I'm reliving a lot of first times; some less pleasant than others."

Estelle's pain gradually subsided, sinking to the bottom an ocean of pleasure. Pounding her fists on Reginald's chest, she revived her victim persona.

"I'm sure harming me won't stop a brutish barbarian like you."

"If you please me, I may let you live and bear my pups," he answered in his gruff, raider voice.

Estelle responded by grinding her hips, gradually sliding lower with each down-stroke. The experience was exquisite, and she spent many long minutes enjoying the response of her re-energized flesh. Bereft of the aches and infirmities of old age, pleasure re-conquered lost territory.

Reginald was also awash in his own euphoria, but Estelle realized she was unable to take his knot. Bearing down as far as she dared, her fleshy lips barely kissed the bulbous obstruction. Inside, his staff filled her so completely, her tiny stomach bulged with each down stroke.

"Mr. Barbarian, sir," she uttered, interrupting his delirious revelry.

"What, wench?"

"Thou art too big for me, especially at the base."

She gave his knot a gentle squeeze as she spoke.

"Oh, well," he conceded sans accent. "That's unimportant. What you are doing now is fine."

"But I must please thee or be killed." Leaning inward, she touched the tip of her nose to his and stared intently into his eyes. She had an idea portending mischief and novelty. "I know another way. Another, deeper avenue of desire."

Reginald's eyes crossed as he tried to focus upon hers.

"I...I...I don't...," he stuttered as she stood up. His slippery erection flopped out, but she caught it and slid it along her taint. The plush tickle of sensitive flesh on fur distracted him until she halted the rapturous glide at the tight portal just beneath her tail.

"Ah. That way," he said, uncertain. "Are you sure?"

Her lecherous grin and a determined push of her hips answered his question. Her back door was more constrictive than the front, requiring increased grunting and stretching, but the goal of full penetration proved achievable. Still, his knot was huge, and her sphincter protested its intrusion. Her body weight alone was inadequate to overcome the instinct to repel the unnatural invader.

"Pull down, good sir. I am too young and weak to take you on my own. Batter down my gates and enter therein."

"Breakin' the siege be my specialty, miss."

Bearing down on her narrow waist with both paws, Reginald forced her against his groin. Millimeter by millimeter his knot's equator approached her spasming circular gate. Estelle's face became a contorted paradox of pain and ecstasy, but she bore it well until the full circumference accelerated beyond the constriction and nothing remained to resist its forward progress. With an audible pop, he was in, and Estelle's buttocks slapped against his thighs.

The firm squeezing of his cock's sensitive base made Reginald cum again. Warm jizz filled Estelle's insides.

"Oh. Oh. Oh. That was intense," she panted. "I want you to cum in me again and again a hundred times, but in different positions. Are you capable of more?"

"I think so," wheezed Reginald. He was young, but not immune to fatigue. "I mean, we're tied now, so I'm not going anywhere for a while unless you want to attempt that again in reverse?"

"Heavens no. I can feel it swelling still. You'd rip me apart backing out now. We'll keep ourselves like this, but don't worry, the Kama Sutra has a nearly endless offering of poses."

"I'm a lucky bloke to have a mate who can translate so many languages."

"You're lucky to have me at all, mister. The next position is also known as feral style. Your turn to be on top."

"You mean like animals?"

"Precisely."

"That is so dirty..."

"Please don't say how immoral it is."

"I wasn't," said Reginald petulantly. "I was going to add '...and so exiting'."

"That's my boy. Sunder the shackles of conscience and be free forever. Ready to move?"

Canine penises are wonderfully flexible. Reginald and Estelle were well aware of this, but had heretofore never had to contest with the ages old maxim 'size matters'. The tight fit made internal rotation nearly impossible. Like, twisting a cork out of a champagne bottle, ample torque was required. Grunts and squeals accompanied the acrobatic exercise, but perseverance prevailed, ending with Estelle's small body kneeling under Reginald's bulk.

"Don't thrust too hard, now, dear. You have lots of leverage and precious little room to spare."

"I'll be gentle," he growled, "except for some biting."

His jaws clamped upon the scruff of her neck, not so hard as to puncture her pelt, but with enough force that he could control the position of her head. Pushing downward until her snout nearly touched the ground, he began rocking his hips.

The sensuous delirium that ensued was piteously brief, and the long list of positions Estelle had planned were compelled to wait for another day.

No longer alone, the sex-locked pair trembled to behold four fearsome feline warriors of grim expression standing at the edge of the stone circle. Shiny black of pelt, the group of males stood still as trees with javelin-like spears in their paws and short bows slung across their bare torsos. Their only concessions to clothing were a pair of sandals woven from plant fiber and a tight wrapping of animal skin to house their genitals in a bulging pouch.

Reginald's revolver was still in its holster in a pile of clothing well out of reach, leaving him helpless and in fear for their lives. Estelle was equally terrified, but she was blessed with good sense and had absorbed enough of the sundry native dialogues to attempt diplomacy rather than fight.

Her first words were halting and uncertain, but she found she was able to understand the lead cat's response well enough. The more she and he talked, the easier it became for her to decipher the scowling cat's intent.

Reginald marveled at the unintelligible conversation. Not one single word of it could he decipher, but languages had never been his forte. Estelle was the expert linguist. Reginald's contributions to their team were his keen ability to piece disparate facts together logically and his excellent geographical intuition.

Taking his cue from the silent trio of warriors, Reginald kept his mouth shut and concentrated on observing their appearance and mannerisms. At first, his biased eyes saw only foreigners so alike in appearance as to be indistinguishable from each other. Every hair covering their bodies was a midnight black, and they all had the lean physiques of exceptional athletes. Taught muscles rippled with sinuous grace under their pelts whenever they shifted their posture.

Setting aside his cultural prejudices and fears, individual characteristics gradually became manifest. Reginald even gave them secret names to match their distinctive physical traits. Stilts was the tallest of the quartet, nearly a head higher than the shortest, whom Reginald named Dwarf. The third member of the quiet trio he dubbed Scar for a ragged, sinuous track of naked, swarthy flesh crossing the length of his left thigh. Gored by some jungle boar in years past, Reginald theorized.

The leader was the most noteworthy of the lot, expressing polydactyly. Each of his forepaws had six digits, and both hindpaws had seven. That trait earned him the moniker, Polly. It was a relatively common affliction among felines believed, wrongly, by many in the West to be the result of degenerate incest and inbreeding of the New World peoples.

The process of categorizing and naming helped calm Reginald's anxious mind, but all his demons of doubt returned when Polly's voice rose in volume, and Estelle gasped and fell silent. Certain that negotiations had failed, he feared the worst.

"We've desecrated their temple, haven't we, and now they're going to sacrifice us to some horrible pagan god?"

No reply from his mate was forthcoming. She simply stared at Polly in disbelief.

"Don't try to spare me the grim truth," persisted Reginald. "I can take it."

As if recovering from a spell, Estelle blinked her eyes and craned her neck to focus on Reginald's face. She had forgotten he was still joined at her rear.

"What? Oh, no. That's not it at all. Tlol'klanthlolotl is pleased that we are here and with what we have done. He and his brothers believe that we have opened a window into the spirit world that they wish to explore. They have no intention of killing us."

So certain had Reginald been regarding their imminent execution, he had unconsciously held his breath. Releasing the oxygen starved air trapped in his lungs like a dying man's last cough, he needed a moment to recover.

"Thank God for small miracles. I was certain that..."

"They wish to join with us," she said interrupting him.

"Join? Wait. What?" Reginald laughed nervously. "By join you mean travel with us on our return to civilization, certainly."

"Well...yes. They promise to help us reach Manaus..."

"That's a relief and jolly good luck to boot. I'm embarrassed to say what I thought you meant..."

"...after the six of us make love together as one," she added grimly.

Reginald froze in the icy embrace of irony.

"Bloody hell. That's just what I... Are you sure? Maybe you missed some nuance of their primitive syntax."

"Reggie," she scolded. "Don't be a bigot. They're language is not primitive. It's quite complex actually, but Tlol'klanthlolotl made himself quite clear."

"Tlotkl...uh Tolkanthor...oh bother. Is that his name? That's got my tongue tied in knots. How do you understand any of it?"

"I'm not really sure. There are some similarities with other Meso-American dialects I have encountered, but it should have taken me much longer to learn his. Some magic is at work here."

"Well the spell's not working on me. I can't glean a bloody thing that passes his lips, and as for his name, I like the one I gave him better."

"You gave him a name?"

"Yeah. Polly. See the extra fingers and toes?"

"Yes, but what does that...oh! I see. Clever dear, but don't address him by anything but his given name or he may just take offense and kill us after all."

Reginald had moved beyond fear of death to a new anxiety. Counting the cats again, he came to the disturbing mathematical realization that four available canine receptacles awaited an equal number of feline cocks.

"Death may be preferable," he grumbled.

"You can't be serious," said Estelle having failed to fully assess the physical implications of Polly's proposal.

"Let's just say I experienced something similar with a group of older boys in public school. That feeling up your arse right now? That's my near term fate, I fear."

"Oh, my. I hadn't thought of that. Let me ask him for clarification."

Estelle and Polly exchanged a few sentences before she spoke to Reginald again.

"You are correct, dear. Two for me and two for you. I'm actually a bit excited at the prospect. It's going to be a proper orgy."

"Temper your enthusiasm, Stella. I've heard locker room stories about what's hidden in those cat's loincloths."

"Oh? Are they especially well endowed like horses?"

"Not that I know of."

"Then what?"

"Everything I know on this subject is hearsay, so I wont ruin your surprise. In fact, I'm downright curious enough myself to throw caution to the wind. I accept their offer if you do. Go ahead and tell Polly, or whatever his name is, to get on with it."

Estelle nodded her head to Tlol'klanthlolotl and uttered a single word that must have meant "We accept" in their language. The four warriors shed their loin cloths. Estelle examined them for obvious differences. Size wise, they were equivalent to dogs, but with their blooming erections came a startling revelation. Rings of fleshy spines girdled the circumference of their pink poles.

"Ah! The stories are true then," said Reginald with stoic acceptance. "Bugger me with a cactus. Now I understand why cat queens are reputed to scream during lovemaking."

"Do they hurt?" fretted Estelle.

"We're about to find out. Personally, I'm hoping those barbs are flexible and blunt, adding an extra tickle at most."

Polly and his warrior brothers advanced.

"The controversy will soon be put to rest," quipped Reginald nervously.

Scar, clearly intending that Estelle take his weaponized tool in her mouth, stood before her. Oral sex was one of many taboos among the Victorian elite, relegated with anal sex to the realm of sodomy and hence, a grievous sin. Having already broken those cultural barriers, multiple partners of another race seemed a mild additional transgression.

Estelle gaped at the novel organ, and her mouth formed a silent "O". Scar interpreted the expression as an invitation, entering therein and nearly made her gag.

Reflexively her mouth closed upon the foreign object. Discovering that the fearsome appearing armament was indeed flexible and designed to stimulate, not injure, she explored the barbs with her tongue and teeth.

Reginald experienced a similar jungle greeting. Stilts filled his mouth, and Dwarf prodded his aft. Futilely, Reginald clenched his buttocks and tucked his tail between his legs, but Dwarf handed the canine's tail to his taller companion, then used his paws to spread the truculent gluteal muscles apart. To Reginald's great relief, the shortest of the warriors began by caressing the puckered portal with his tongue. The sensation was not altogether unpleasant, allaying his anxiety and relaxing tense muscles.

Pausing for breath, Reginald stroked the purring Stilts with one forepaw and quipped to Estelle, "At least these savages are affording us the courtesy of foreplay before the ultimate violation."

Estelle let Scar slip out of her mouth and sucked in a few ragged breaths.

"These 'savages' as you label them seem to know as much or more about pleasure than we do. The Kama Sutra is proof that we are more backwards in many ways than civilizations towards which we consider ourselves superior."

"I shall attempt to set aside racial hubris and learn from the masters then. This isn't half bad."

"I expect it will get better," she added. "Perhaps even sublime."

"What do mean by that?"

"The visions. Haven't you experienced anything odd yet when you close your eyes?"

"No, but I haven't shut them except to blink. Trying to watch two of these blimey buggers at once takes all my attention."

"Try it," Estelle insisted.

Shrugging in resignation, Reginald opened his mouth again for Stilts and shut his eyes. Dwarf seized the opportunity to substitute his raspy tongue with his spiked cock. Too distracted to care, Reginald barely flinched.

At the edge of the blackness danced specters of indeterminate form. Definition draped their ethereal outlines as they moved across his shuttered lids. They were canine and wore clothing recognizable from the recent and distant past. Faces gradually emerged from within blank ovals, acquiring identifiable features. He recognized his parents first, then siblings, aunts, uncles, and distant cousins. Some he had never met before their deaths, but he matched them to portraits of ancestors that hung on the walls of his ancient family manor. Though the sequence had the texture and feel of a dream, lucid qualities tempted him to interact with the ghosts.

Estelle experienced a similar phenomenon including frustration when she spoke to or tried to touch members of her departed family. Desperate paws longing for contact passed through the bodies of her parents. Shouts of recognition were ignored. Flailing about in torment, Estelle wondered if this was the spirit world to which Tlol'klanthlolotl had alluded. Convinced that he could help guide her through its mysteries, she opened her eyes.

Scar's cock slipped out of her mouth, but he didn't seem to care. He swayed on his hindpaws in a deep trance with his eyes closed and his snout pointing towards the heavens.

Polly stood eyes wide open intoning a series of rhythmic syllables that contained no linguistic meaning that Estelle could discern, but reverberated with awesome power nonetheless. Never missing a syllable, he gripped his massive erection in one paw and locked eyes with hers.

His gaze attempted to hold her in a powerful compulsion, but she was drawn away to gape in fear at his spine covered member. She cringed at its resemblance to the mace of a medieval knight, seemingly too large and terrible to pass her soft, velvet gates without damage.

Through an emphatic connection Polly imparted the need for her to accept. Magic incredibly profound was at play helping to banish her concerns as the cat leader lay along side her, lifted her arm and leg, slid beneath her tiny frame, and inserted all ten inches with minimal resistance despite competing for space alongside Reginald's swollen bulb.

Her belly distended further, and yet the sensation was neither painful nor uncomfortable; it was oddly fulfilling. Instead of agony, the added caress of Polly's penile spines brought her increasing pleasure and greater spiritual clarity. When she re-introduced Scar to her mouth, it was if an electric circuit was completed. Bright light filled the dream world banishing shadow and haze. Ghostly apparitions assumed solidity and detail akin to everyday reality.

Though experiencing separate visions, all six mortals hovered upon the boundary of the physical and spiritual realms, fully able to experience both. The duality of existence was astounding. Sensual, erotic pleasure titillated their primal selves, while their higher consciousnesses were free to touch, hear, smell, and speak to the dead.

The poignant reunion brought Estelle and Reginald both great joy and deep melancholy. Interacting with close family and distant, previously unmet ancestors was a boon and a promise of the delights of an afterlife to come, but it simultaneously revealed the extraordinary price that they owed their maker for their newfound youth. Their increased time on earth meant that more than a pawful of decades separated this rapturous reunion from the paradise that awaited.

To Estelle, Reginald was beside her in spirit as sharp and solid as if on the material plane, but she could not see with whom he interacted. Some sixth sense told her that the cats were somewhere beyond her sight experiencing their own private mysteries, but in the physical realm, her connection to her feline orgy mates was tangible and clear. Every spiny tickle, muscular squeeze, caress of tongue, and tugging of her husband's knot were shared as if part of one linked libido to be savored with feral abandon.

Longing to endure the ecstatic agony forever, the end of Estelle's spirit journey would have brought disappointment if not for the totality of pure rapture contained within the violent, nerve shattering, energy exhausting, conclusive orgasm. Drained of all endurance, physical awareness faded like a desert mirage, and the spiritual connection dissolved with it.

Estelle was the first to awaken amid a pile of sweat soaked bodies. Musk hung heavy in the humid air. Dappled sunlight pierced the high canopy. The sun's position was not long past noon, indicating that she had slept no more than an hour or two. Or had an entire day passed? She had no way of knowing.

Sore muscles protested any attempt at movement, but her fur was matted and sticky especially around her loins. A quick shower held more allure than further rest and promised to clear her befuddled mind. Carefully disentangling herself from among the slumbering males, she tip-toed to crouch under the waterfall.

Not only cool and refreshing, the very smell of the supernatural liquid was a tonic that lightened her mood and rinsed away fatigue along with the orgy's residue. Drinking deeply to slake her thirst, she proved the assertion in Brother Maynard's journal that the enchanted water held no further effects for her other than a feeling of extraordinary wellness.

Thus lost in the sublime joy of bathing, Tlol'klanthlolotl's observation of her went unnoticed until he spoke. He used his native tongue, but every word was as clear as the king's English to her ears.

"Never in living memory has an outsider found this place, drunk of the water, and opened a path to the spirit world. I thank you and your mate for gifting us this opportunity to commune with our ancestors."

"Do you come here often to drink the water and speak with the dead?"

"No. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity for most of my people."

"How did you know we'd be here?"

"I didn't. It was just the spirit's will."

"I don't understand. Why did you come here then?"

"I had volunteered to drink the water so that the others could enter the land of the spirits. Their need was great, and I was willing to do that for them, especially because I am still young and have no mate."

"Pardon my rude contradiction, but that logic seems backwards. Shouldn't you wait to drink when you are old?"

"You are the one thinking backwards. Tell me, after seeing what awaits you after this life, are more mortal years worth its postponing?"

"Well..."

"And what if the age difference between you and your mate had become much greater? Would you still be happy with this choice?"

"Your questions squeeze my heart like a vice. I do feel that we may have made a mistake."

Tlol'klanthlolotl crawled over to sit by her side. Hefting her up, he placed her on his lap, wrapped his arms around her, and rocked her slowly like a kit.

"I am sorry if I caused you to regret, because it is so unnecessary. You did make the right choice. The proof is right here."

As he spoke, he placed his paws at the bottom of her small belly.

"What do you mean?"

"You are now with child."

"That's impossible. Reggie and I tried that for many years with no luck. One or both of us are infertile."

"Maybe you were, but not here. Not after drinking the water."

"Oh my God! Are you certain?"

"As sure as I can be about anything. I saw the union of his seed with your egg from the spirit world. A new soul was created at that moment for anyone with sight trained to see such things."

"You have this sight?"

"Today was not my first time crossing that barrier. There are other ways to do it than drinking this sacred water, though they be more difficult and more dangerous."

"Oh! Well, this is wonderful. Reggie and I always did want children. I can't wait to tell him."

Tlol'klanthlolotl placed his paw in front of her mouth to quiet her.

"Perhaps you might wish to let him sleep and tell him later," he whispered.

"Why?" she whispered back.

"Would you like to meet your new daughter before we leave?"

"Can we do that?"

"The way remains open for a while longer yet. We only need to join as mates once again."

Estelle glanced over at Reginald, who was sleeping comfortably between Scar and Dwarf. He appeared content. She told herself that she couldn't bear to disturb him, but truly, she wanted the handsome cat for herself.

"Yes," she agreed. "Let's do it."

Reaching down, she stroked Tlol'klanthlolotl's black sheath, guiding his growing erection towards her delicate sex. As if infinitely elastic, she found room for him again and closed her eyes.

A dark, but welcome and comforting place opened before her, the beating of her own heart resounding in her ears. Tlol'klanthlolotl was at her side, as was another. No image accompanied the third person's presence, but Estelle felt pure love emanate from it with a force that made her cry from the overwhelming assault.

"That is the essence of your daughter you feel," said Tlol'klanthlolotl. "She is too new and too full of life to enter here and be visible to us, but the intimate bond you two share makes rudimentary connection possible."

"Can she speak? Can I speak to her?"

Tlol'klanthlolotl laughed.

"She is not even yet born. Language must be learned. Our words mean nothing to her, but the emotion behind them can be felt. Go ahead. You are her mother. Speak as you would to any infant."

Estelle cooed and murmured nonsense to her daughter, who returned the communication with bursts of joy and affection stronger than any hug or embrace. The experience was like all moments of extreme bliss, too brief. Estelle fought to forestall her orgasm, but her body would not be denied, and the delicate thread between her and her daughter snapped.

"Goodbye, Elanor," she said mustering all the motherly comfort in her voice that she could.

Tlol'klanthlolotl's deep blue eyes were waiting when Estelle opened hers.

"Is that her name? Elanor?"

"Yes," whispered Estelle. "I don't know how, but she told me just before the end."

More tears drained unbidden from Estelle's eyes.

"It is a beautiful name," purred Tlol'klanthlolotl while stroking Estelle's back to comfort her. "Elanor is welcome to come here when she is ready, but she may only bring her mate when she does. You and Reginald are forbidden to return or to tell any but your daughter about this place."

"I understand and will obey your edict."

"I know you will. I have seen both of your souls. Honesty, integrity, and compassion; these qualities are present in abundance."

"Not to mention raw sexual vigor," interrupted Reginald.

He was sitting cross legged in a semi-circle with Scar, Dwarf, and Stilts. Stroking each other, the single canine and three feline penises all ejaculated at once.

"I'm afraid you have opened my eyes a bit too wide to new sexual possibilities, my dear," quipped Reginald. Placing his arms around the shoulders of his two nearest brothers, he added, "Can we take them home with us?"

[End of Story]