This work depicts acts of a (somewhat) sexual nature between members of different species - those unable to endure such should delete this file now!

However, should you read this piece and have any comments, please let me know. I always like hearing what people think of my work.

Night Shift By Rochndil

A few passers-by hurried down the windy street, flurries of snow chasing them along. Shrunken from the cold dry air, the frosty windows rattled in their frames, startling Harriet out of her reverie.

She looked enviously at those people out there, almost always together. With all the children gone, the old place echoed emptily, the building itself almost seeming to mourn their absence. It would be a lonely Yule this year.

For nearly a century, the "Shade Tree" orphanage had been caring for and raising children of all sorts, and some of them, like Harriet, had never left, becoming first helpers, and eventually staff. Thirty years she had been here, practically every day in her life had been spent within these walls. Thoudsands of children had been in her care, and grown before her eyes. Even her own child, dear Stephen, had been born here, and he still came back from his work several times a year to visit.

It was Stephen, in fact, who was responsible for the present emptiness of the old building. As an engineer and architect, on his last visit in the summer he had commented on the sagging bearing walls, and distressed timbers supporting the great roof. Repairs were badly needed, or the building might fall, so all the children were moved to temporary homes, but the repair crew had been stranded downriver by an early storm, and traveling overland with all their equipment would take weeks. So, for the holiday, she had the place all to herself, since she had volunteered to keep the buiding herself during the work. "Heck," she thought, "if she could handle 50 or more children of varying ages, all at once, how hard could a work crew be?"

She stepped away from the window, and walked slowly down the long central hall, cold now that the fires had been banked. No sense keeping the whole place warm when they'd just be taking parts of the roof off! Fortunately, she personally was well equipped for the cold, both from her considerable size, and her Scottish heritage, which lent her a much longer and thicker coat than was usual for a bovine.

Passing a dark window, which faced onto the inner courtyard, her single candle cast a reflection on the frosty glass, and she smiled at herself, the first company she had seen today!

"Here then, Harriet, how be ye this chilly day?"

Winking warmly at herself, she took a moment to adjust her garments. "After all, a lady must keep up her appearance." She could tell that she was tired, the last few days had been extremely hectic. Still, despite the slight droop about her eyes, she was still quite a handsome cow. Her knuckle-long golden fur, a real blessing in this weather, she kept carefully combed. With the warmth of her coat to protect her, and no little "insulation" beneath it (she patted her gently curved stomach proudly), she was able to be comfortable in only her long homespun woolen dress.

She loved this dress especially, not because it was warm, and dyed to complement her fur, or even because of the way it was cut to cling to and emphasize the plush shape of her body, but because it was mas made for her, from beginning to end, by her oldest friend, the ewe Jennifer.

Running her hands over the folds of her russet dress, she hefted and re-settled her heavy breasts, as a cow they were her pride and joy, though, with a wince, they protested the lack of any hungry babes to feed, and she knew that she must again resort to the cold-mouthed machine to relieve the pressure.

With a finaly twitch of her tail as she settled her heavy knit shawl about her bare shoulders, she turned once more toward her room.

The dark hall passed around her small island of light, small features and marks upon the walls and floor jumping out as her light fell upon them, and then vanishing once more into the gloom.

An old hole in the pine paneled wall caught her eye again, as it had for so many years. In what seemed almost another lifetime, she herself had put that mark there, as a young heifer, while trying to gore the life out of poor old William, the billy. "Just as well I missed ye then, ya daft old fool. Could have gotten myself thrown out on the street by that! Saints preserve me, I was as much a fool as you then." Shaking her head, she ran her fingers over the old scar, and then continued on.

Finally, she passed the last of the classrooms, and the few administrative offices, and reached the staff's residency wing, located conveniently close to the kitchen.

Like the rest of the building, the kitchen was unnaturally quiet, and cold. Only the smallest baking oven showed any sign of life, and before she checked on her supper, she warmed her hands upon the permanently smoke-stained stones. Carefully putting on a protective mitt, she opened the iron door and scraped the coals off the clay pot she had set there earlier. Blown clean of ashes, the top steamed gently, releasing hot spicy smells into the dry air.

Her timing was just about right, for it was nearly done. Taking a small loaf of crusty black bread and a wooden spoon, along with her hot casserole, she banked the coals and walked quickly back to her room. The casserole, now lidless, went into the edge of her hearthfire to brown, and as she tore the tough bread into chunks, she realized that she had forgotten to get any water to go with her supper! Fortunately, at just that moment her breasts began to ache, almost on cue, and inspiration struck. "Wheel, it's a little odd, but with no other body here, I s'pose I might as well not let it go to waste!"

She sat down in her massive old rocker, and pulled the infernal milking machine close. Pulling aside her shawl, she released the concealed button on the left side of her dress, and bared her insistently over-full breast. The milking machine had a silver nipple-cup and a specially-made pump chamber, brought all the way from the capital by her son. She was still a bit uncertain about this "technology" he was so proud of, but it did work. Stroking her fingers slowly down her nipple, she encouraged her milk to let down, helped, as always, by recalling her own baby's first feeding. When she was ready, she took the pump in one hand, and placed the silver cup over her nipple...and screamed a half-bitten curse as the chill metal nearly took her skin off!

The pump fell to the floor, and the soft crunching noise it made did not bode well. When she recovered and picked it up, while it appeared to be intact, nothing happened when she squeezed the lever. "Drat and conflagrations," she fumed, "now don't that beat all. Just when I needed the suffering thing, indeed!"

"Wheel girl, there's nothing for it but to do it the old fashioned way." So saying, kneeled upon her hearth rug and leaned her head into the cushion of her chair. Placing a large bowl upon the floor, she began to manually milk herself, the rhythmic feel and sound of such an accustomed action soothing her jangled nerves. Somewhat releived, she wiped off and buttoned herself back up, and sat down again to eat her supper.

Hard dark bread quickly turned flavorful and sweet in the fresh warm milk, which also went well with the cracked corn and potato casserole she had started early this morning. When she had finished all traces of her supper, she took her candle and quickly slipped from her nice warm room back into the chilly kitchen to drop off her dishes. While there she satisfied her remaining thirst with a long draught of clear sweet water from the spring, one of the oldest parts of the hall. Summer and winter it always ran clear and cold, sweet and fresh.

On the way back to her room, on impulse, she grabbed a stein and a small bottle of mead, to take the chill from the evening, and help keep her company on such a lonely night.

A warm glass in her hand, she slowly re-read Stephen's latest letter, smiling as he rambled on, as usual, about all the exciting projects he was working on, and the interesting people he met. "A good lad, he is," she thought, "I only wish he were here."

Finally, a little mellowed and very tired, she banked the fire, stripped down to her linen shift, and climbed into bed, the chilly sheets warming quickly as she drifted off to sleep.

It seemed but a moment later when she awoke suddenly, but uncertain why. Everything seemed silent, and nothing was out of place. For a few moments she lay there, puzzled, but gradually sleep again began to overtake her, when she heard a faint noise.

Fully awake once more, she sat up, her ears swiveling about to try and catch that tiny scrap of sound once more. Something seemed to be scratching at the kitchen door! As close as she was, she could barely hear the faint noise.

Reluctantly stepping out once more into the cool air of her room, Harriet grabbed her woolen robe and shawl, and thus prepared lit her candle and headed down the hall. The night was as silent as only a heavy snowfall could make it, the only sounds those of her own hooves upon the stones.

No further sounds came, but when she reached the rear door, she carefully took up a heavy cudgel, set down her candle, and unbarred the door. Swinging it wide, she looked all about, but saw nothing. Just before she gave up entirely, she finally noticed a tiny bundle right at the base of the door. Bending down, she took a closer look, and was startled when she realized it was a nearly frozen otter!

Quickly grabbing the tiny body and holding it carefully with one arm, she re-fastened the door bolts, and quickly hurried back to her room, the candle flame dancing and guttering with her haste.

Back in the relative warmth of her small room, she quickly lit the lamps, and checked the condition of her small guest. It was a male, about average size. Though it was difficult to tell through his dense fur, he didn't seem to have suffered any frostbite, but he was deeply unconscious, abnormally thin, and very cold. Something bad had obviously happened to the poor little swimmer, and he had made it to her door on the very last of his energy.

"First things first, youngster. We need to get you warm again." Putting action to her words, she laid her woolen shawl across the fire screen to warm, and roughly massaged the little body, trying to aid his circulation. After a few minutes, she took the thin and still quite chilly body, and laid it against her heavy breasts, and then wrapped the shawl about both. Supporting him with one arm, in a well-practiced manner, she sat in her rocker, and slowly rocked him like a baby, slowly feeling her warmth thaw the cold mass of his body.

Before too long, as she had so often before, she fell asleep in her chair, the rocking motion coming gently to a rest.

For the second time that night, Harriet was awakened suddenly from a sound sleep. A little sleep fuddled, she couldn't remember why she was sitting in her chair, and not in bed, until she felt the babe squirm. Without any thought, her practiced hands moved of their own accord, reaching under the shawl to pull her shift aside, and put the babe to her painfully full breast. For a moment he was cranky, and fought with her, but soon he settled down and nursed like a good boy.

Happy once more, doing what she did best of all, she relaxed, switching the little one to the other side as the pressure grew too unequal, and then finally, as he passed once more into gentle slumber, stepping carefully back into her bed, still cradling the little one upon her chest. As she slipped back into sleep, for the third time this same night, she kissed his head goodnight, whispering, "Sweet dreams, little one."

***

The following morning, Harriet gradually awoke, and stretched beneath the covers of her large bed. Her slow movements reminded her of her small charge, who now lay curled in a warm furry lump upon her breast.

She was feeling rather warm herself, for having saved his life last night, until she began to remember something that might not have been a dream...

"Oh no, I couldn't have! Treating a grown male like a babe-in-arms," she thought to herself, but a careful manual examination of her breasts showed them to be only pleasantly full, not painfully swollen as they had been last night!

Unfortunately, her recent rescue chose that exact moment to awaken, leaving her no time to consider the matter further.

Carefully pulling the sheet and blankets down, and quickly tying her shift up, she watched her small charge awaken. He definitely looked much better than he had last night, the bleached look gone with the cold from his skin. He yawned slowly, and then opened his eyes.

Rennie slowly opened his eyes, and wondered if this was the afterlife. He had alwasys heard that when you fell asleep in the snow, and he certainly felt much warmer now than the last few days he could remember!

Slowly his vision cleared, but all he could see for the moment was white, and he seemed to be resting on a fluffy white cloud, fortunately, before he reached for his golden harp, he heard a deep voice, definitely not of the eternal variety, ask him, "How are ye feeling this morn, lad? I had almost given up on ye last night, half froze through as ye were."

Trying to crane his head up and back, he lost his balance upon the yielding surface and tumbled awkwardly down, his naturally nimble body responding poorly, leaving him in an awkward heap amidst what he now could see were the bedclothes.

Carefully stifling a giggle at the antics of her still weak friend, Harriet carefully lifted him up, setting him to one side of the bed, so that she could get out on the other.

Although still weak, Rennie was quite capable of being impressed by his savior. Although her hands and voice were gentle, she was huge (and, a long-neglected part of him prompted, very stacked), towering at least three times his height.

That's all...so far!

All characters, situations, and locations are copyright (c) Rochndil, 2003. All commercial rights reserved, anything else, ask me first! -:)