The vines grew into the side of the villa, coming up from the rose garden my mother kept.  Like long green fingers, they grasped at it, clinging.  I wondered to what purpose, what reason those vines clung as they did.  My eyes wandered up over the top of my book, towards where she worked now, partially hidden by the simple wooden post fence, toiling away in the rich, loamy soil between vivid red flowers.  Her work dress, faded blue with simple floral print barely legible under the splattering of dirt, made her stand out nicely against the cream colored, green streaked stucco walls behind.  
	She looked up smiling, at where I sat reading Le Mort de Arthur for tomorrows French lessons, and sipping a glass of lemonade, fresh squeezed by her that morning.  The long angular muzzle was russet with a tiny black stripe to either side of her nose and cream beneath, the  markings of our species.  Setting down the garden trowel, she raised her paw and waved in greeting.  Setting aside the story, I waved back.
	For a time, I watched as she tossed weeds into a bucket over her shoulder, and clipped dead stems.  Steadily, she worked her way towards the back of the garden, and I lost sight of her among the bushes.  Attention wandering, I looked over the sloping, manicured lawn and rolling hills that blended seamlessly into our holdings.  Dark clouds in the distance threatened an evening storm, but for now, it was safe to be out and about.  Low, loose rock walls crisscrossed the country side, as far as the eye could see.  Small walking paths beside, dotted here and there by the farmers that tilled our lands, traveling between crops of waving, golden wheat.  Here and there, lone trees and small groups of sheep out to pasture wandered.  I returned my gaze to home, heart set upon my adoring mother.
	Rising from where I reclined by the pool, I crossed the mosaic granite tile.  It was warm beneath my paws, heated in the bright afternoon sun that shone over our estate.  I trotted over to the garden gate, a distance away, and sought Mother in the semi-seclusion afforded her by the roses.  Near the back row, she knelt, aerating the soil about the roots of her plants.  Catching sight of me, she put down her tools and rose to her knees.  She was still a few inches taller than I, for I was both young, and short for my eight years.  All the better, for she could still envelope me with her strong, yet delicate arms, smothering me into her bosom.  
	I shivered contentedly, happy to feel her about me, the warm mustiness of the soiled cloth and fragrant flowers that bloomed by her own dedicated hand surrounding.  I told Mother I loved her, and she leaned back from me, taking my muzzle into her hand.  Looking into my eyes, as if searching my soul for something, she studied me.  For the life of me, I could never figure out what it was that she searched for, but I always knew what came when she found it.  
	Warm features softening further, finding whatever it was that she sought after, and rolled onto her back, long luxurious tail curling about my paws and sweeping them playfully out from under me.  I laughed, falling with her.  Now it was my turn, almost as if a ritual needing completion.  Taking her broad muzzle in both of mine, I stared into her eyes.  I looked, if only for the joy of seeing her large, soft brown orbs staring back at me, flecked with gold, hints of green, and filled with the intelligence and richness of life.  They were the most incredible jewels I would ever know.
	I could feel Mother's hand grab my tail by the base, yanking, startling me.  I yelped, rubbing at my backside while she chuckled.  I pouted, but she told me not to fret, for she had only been playing.  Of that I was sure, but it was consoling to hear confirmed.  Sourness banished, I leaned forward and placed my lips to hers, letting her know that I forgave her, tails twining together affectionately.  I slipped my tongue into her muzzle, wrestling with hers passionately.
	Within my trousers, I felt a stirring, one that went not unnoticed by my beloved matriarch, her fingers ruffling my fur, gliding down my unclad chest to zipper.  The sound of them coming undone forever etched into my mind as one that heralded the greatest of wonders and pleasures, always sought within this vixen for whom I cared so deeply.
	A passing cloud obscured the sun momentarily, casting god rays over the villa and the fields that surrounded, and a tear squeezed its way from the corner of one of those precious orbs.  I wiped it tenderly away without asking, knowing that it had something to do with my late father.  I could do nothing else but place a loving kiss to her forehead.  Mother thanked me, and took one hand to place to upon her breast, and laid fully on the ground.  A great sigh passed her lips, lids drooping shut.  I wriggled my trousers down, and kicked them free of my paws, finishing her work, and leaned fully into her.  Her dress tickled my sheath as I moved forward to reach her collar, and I unbuttoned her dress.  
	Mothers only response was a quiet word of encouragement, calling me her little man, a call to take care of her.  I worked my way down slowly, having trouble with some of the many buttons, my small hands fumbling them and the dirty fabric.  She waited for me, the embodiment of patience.  Whereupon finishing, I threw aside the dress, revealing that she was free of her brassier.  
	Looking at me, she pulled me to her chest again, face now buried into her breasts.  With tentative fingers, I kneaded the heavy flesh on one side, thumbing the aureole as she had taught me, and licking the other.  She allowed me to continue for only so long, telling me she wanted me inside.  I could feel my blood heat, penis throbbing in response to her crude request, and I let my hands fall along her belly, across the many smaller teats there.  A sigh escaped her with each touch, but I tarried little.  
	Mother wore no underwear either, I discovered, my fingers coming to a rest over her vulva.  Swollen, protruding more so than usual, it radiated intense heat.  She was wetter than normal too, slicking my hand, matting the fur rapidly in her sweet nectar.  Gently, I rubbed around the edges, but she bade me not to tease.  I slid my index and middle finger into her, penetrating with two to start, but she was so wet, I immediately added my ring finger.  The sounds I heard were unladylike, but her arduous profession of her love for me as I curled my fingers into those spots I knew excited her most led me to not care.  
	Bit by bit, my penis worked its way free of its home, pressing against her leg, leaving sticky wet trails of precum as I fondled her spade.  When Mother could take no more, she grabbed my proud erection, holding almost its entirety within her palm, and led me forward until its tip pressed her entrance.  She asked me to make love to her and I obeyed enthusiastically, sinking myself in one smooth motion into a hot, humid world of pleasure just for me.
	It was always the most incredible feeling, sliding my little prick as deeply as I could reach.  I immediately set about thrusting, penis twitching excitedly.  I leaned my whole body into her, positioned betwixt her legs, knees pressed uncomfortably into the dirt.  Mother embraced me about the middle, vocalizing pleasure.  I needed no more encouragement, pistoning into her,  barely able to comprehend the sensations that my immature body and mind were being assaulted with.  But I continued, sheath and testicles slapping wetly against her vulva, knot swelling and popping directly from me and into her, but I was too small to tie.  I was addicted to the desire to make my mother happy, the top priority, my own ecstasy merely a bonus.
	It came upon me as quickly as it did her, surprising me, for I normally had to work Mother over with both fingers and muzzle before she would cum.  This time, as I felt the rush of my semen leaving me, she spasmed, quivering muscles massaging me, and moaning in the most wonderful, beautiful, musically undignified ways.  My hips stilled, empting myself into her.  Panting, I wrapped my lips around a rubbery lower nipple, suckling to quiet my own moans.  
	Gently, Mother patted my head, and leaned in, telling me that I had done well, how much she loved me, and of the sibling I would soon have.  I didn't understand, but I was excited nonetheless.  A brother or a sister to play with!  I kissed mother, and thanked her, and she chuckled at my exuberance, my lack of understanding of the significance of her words.
	Panting, I collapsed on her, and she pulled me up to her chest to cuddle me, my penis slurping lewdly from her.  Long strings of semen trailed across her belly, almost indistinguishable from her creamy fur.  There we laid upon the ground, rubbing, petting, and kissing, locked in embrace and tongues circling.  For a long time, long past when my knot went down we cuddled.  When only the very tip remained protruding, she placed her lips to it, kissing and nuzzling, sucking on it, enticing me back to hardness.  I whimpered, still sensitive.  But I was eager for more, my youthful energy and desire to please Mother spurring me.  
	She nursed on it, tongue caressing the whole of it, bathing my penis in warmth.  I laid back in her arms and let her have her way, eyes rolling, unable to keep myself from moaning.  The over-sensitivity made me quick to ejaculate, and she swallowed it unhesitatingly, like a refreshing sip of milk.  Her tongue continued to lap at my swollen base soothingly afterward, guiding it back into my sheath.  
	Above her, I looked at the ivy bound walls of the villa, unable to see her eyes while she continued to nurse at my little erection.  The green vines clutching at the walls above, wrapping it in an embrace that suddenly seemed as loving and enduring.  It occurred to me that the vines must have great love for the house, to clutch as they did.  Running my fingers through Mother's auburn tresses, I thrust into her mouth needily, hoping that she would never let me go, much as I knew the vines would never release our home.