Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters
Page 52
Her dress was ruined. As she stood up, Beauty surveyed the damage – it was filthy and torn, wet from the cave floor, with a large sticky puddle in the center. Wordlessly, the beast unclipped his cloak from around his shoulders and laid it over her. It dragged on the ground, but at least it was enough for her to cover herself.
“Thank you,” she said.
They went on until dark, until they’d passed through the cave, and slept in the shadow of the mountain. In the morning, as they reached the foothills, Beauty looked over the horizon and thought she saw the spires of a great castle somewhere in the distance, far below them.
She urged André on.
As they finally crested the last hill, more of the castle came into view. It was all deep black and jagged edges, growing larger and larger as they went on, surrounded by a huge moat. There was no question in her mind that this was the witch’s lair. A sense of dread crept over her as they drew closer and closer, and by the time they approached the massive stone bridge that led to the doors, she felt numb with fear.
But she had come this far – there was nothing that would make her turn back now.
There were two figures on either side of the doorway; men with the heads of bulls. Beauty had heard of such creatures in stories from old books, but she had never supposed them to be real. She looked at them curiously. They were watching Beauty and the beast as they approached, but not moving a muscle. Each was wearing only a pair of tight-fitted leather trousers, and Beauty found her eyes wandering over the intricate muscles of their bare chests. They also held long spears, clutched tightly on their huge, strong hands.
Their faces, of course, were the most notable parts of them – their ears, horns, and muzzles all fully animal, but their eyes strangely human. Beauty began to think they would not move or react at all, until she was within mere feet of the massive wooden doors. As if pulled by some invisible thread, the minotaurs crossed their spears in front of the door.
The beast crouched, snarling.
“What is your business here?” the one on the left spoke, his voice deep and dark.
“I request an audience with the lady of the castle,” said Beauty, forcing her voice not to quiver.
Neither of the guards reacted to her words. Beauty was beginning to wonder if they’d heard her at all, when finally she heard a faint noise from deep within the castle. Beneath her feet, the bridge began to shake slightly.
Suddenly, the doors flew open.
Another minotaur was standing inside, with a gold chain around his neck.
“Come,” he said.
Beauty and the beast followed.
André’s hooves clacked on the stone floors as they made their way through the great hall, lined with flickering torches high on either side. Many stone gargoyles sneered down at them as they passed.
Finally, they reached a doorway.
“Dismount,” said the minotaur, and Beauty obeyed, trying to hold the cloak closed around her naked body as she stepped off of André. She walked forward, the beast and the minotaur following close behind.
They were in a throne room. At first glance, Beauty thought that the walls were lined with decorative suits of armor – then, she realized it was more minotaurs, more than she could count, fully outfitted and armed, side by side by side. She swallowed hard and kept walking forward.
The witch was sitting in a throne at the end of the hall, lounging, as if she were always meant to be there. Beauty wondered if she’d had this castle built for her, or if she had used some trickery to take it for her own.
As they came closer, the witch began to laugh. Softly, but deeply, each chuckle shaking her lithe body. She was wearing a black gown that clung to every curve and contour, and Beauty felt a stab of jealousy in her chest. Even before she was pregnant, she never looked like that.
“Harland,” she said, her voice echoing through the hall. “And you brought your sweetheart.”
“I came of my own accord,” said Beauty, loudly.
The witch raised her eyebrows. “Oh, dear. Do you love this creature?”
“Yes,” she said without thinking, and she was only mildly surprised when she realized that it was true. “I am here to ask that you lift the curse you have unfairly placed upon him. He suffered for many years, and then broke free, according to the rules that you yourself put in place. What right do you have to punish him further?”
Beauty’s heart was thudding in her ears, but her body felt strangely calm. The witch smiled as she listened, tapping her index finger against her lips, thoughtfully.
“I may do what I wish, whenever I wish,” she said. “But that’s no matter. You wish for me to lift the curse? I might choose to oblige you, but I will require something in return.”
“Anything that is within my power to give,” said Beauty.
“Well,” said the witch. “That is quite a promise.”
She smiled, her eyes drifting over the massive hall.
“I trust you have met some of my wonderful soldiers? They are the best army I could ask for, but I fear I have not been as good to them as I ought to have been. They have grown restless. You see, none of them have mates. They desire the same things that men desire, but their strange appearance…well, I suppose I needn’t explain that to you.” Her eyes flicked over to the beast. “It has been…difficult to procure any sort of companionship for them. But now that you are here…perhaps we can come to an agreement.”
Beauty smiled.
“Perhaps we can,” she said.
The witch looked her up and down. “Take off your cloak, if you please.”
Beauty let the garment fall, standing naked before the queen. There as a slight chill in the hall, despite the many fireplaces roaring, and her nipples stiffened quickly when they were exposed to the air.
“Oh my goodness,” said the witch. “Look at you. Have you been riding naked all this way?”
“I had to leave my dress behind in the troll’s cave,” said Beauty. “It was ruined.”
“I have no doubt of that,” said the witch. She raised her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle; within minutes, the hall had filled with minotaur soldiers. They snorted nervously, scraping their hooves against the ground.
“A tribute to you,” the witch cried out. “My loyal army. This girl is yours to use until each of you is spent. Once for each of you, please, and do be civilized about it.”
Beauty turned to look at them.
The one with the gold chain came forward first. She could already see him growing hard inside his trousers, and she felt an answering wetness and tingling between her legs. Her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. Letting her eyes drift over the rest of them, she saw many growing stiff with anticipation already, stripping off their trousers and fondling themselves excitedly. Their eagerness awakened a hunger inside of her. She knelt down on the carpet below the throne, situating herself on all fours as the first minotaur approached her. He snorted as he knelt behind her, smacking his manhood against her backside before pushing it deep inside her in one vicious stroke.
Before she even had time to react, another was approaching her from the front, pushing his stiff, leaking member against her lips. She opened her mouth wide for him, cradling him with her tongue, tasting him, the flavor of salt and earth, and hearing him groan so loud and deep as she swirled her tongue in circles around his cockhead.
Their desperation was evident. Beauty wondered how long it had been since any of them had taken a mate. The first minotaur was already losing his rhythm, and she could hear his harsh breaths as his climax approached. The head of the other’s manhood was swelling in her mouth. She let out a muffled sound and suckled him harder, clenching her inner muscles around the other at the same time. They groaned almost in unison, long and shaky, both shooting her full of their seed at the same time. She did her best to swallow what was in her mouth, and almost before she had time to breathe, another pair was on her.
With throbbing members filling her from both e
nds, Beauty simply closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation, in the heady feeling of being so important and so desired to so many. It was over quickly with this pair as well, two more loads of hot seed deposited in her ripe body before she had time to think.
Next, a group of three approached her. One laid out flat on the rug, his rod jutting up from his body, absurdly hard and swollen. Beauty climbed astride him, and soon another was behind her, his hardness pressed against her spine. As she slowly slid up and down the minotaur beneath her, the one behind put his fingers in the cleft of her backside, pressing against her twitching hole. She whimpered, but she had no right to protest. This was their bargain.
Another was in her mouth in a moment, muffling the small noises she made as the other minotaur’s fingers forced their way inside of her, stretching her open until she was able to accept him. She was still absolutely certain that it would not fit, but it somehow did, and the feeling of being so thoroughly stuffed in all her holes was completely overwhelming. The minotaur sheathed in the tight pucker of her backside finished first, and she felt it acutely – the way he swelled and pulsed inside of her, filling her there for the very first time.
It would not be the last.
The next group of three took their cues from the last, taking her all at once until they were spent. During a moment’s lull, Beauty’s eyes drifted to the witch on her throne. Her eyes were glassy, her lips slightly parted, and she’d pushed her dress out of the way and spread her legs to touch herself as she watched the proceedings. Her fingers glistened with her own wetness as Beauty swallowed yet another mouthful of a minotaur’s seed, only to prepare herself for more. Beauty wondered if she had ever given herself to them like this, or if she considered herself too proud, too grand. Would her army ever follow her orders again if they saw her like this?
The beast was watching, silently, from somewhere in the crowd. Beauty felt his presence in a way she couldn’t quite explain, knowing that he was watching her, knowing that he would not let anything truly bad happen to her.
Beauty had lost count of how many minotaurs she’d pleasured when she saw the beast stalk slowly towards the throne, his tail swinging behind him. The witch’s eyes went wide as he drew closer, his member long and stiff between his haunches.
“Is this what you want?” he growled. “One last time?”
Beauty didn’t quite understand what she was seeing – only that the beast was about to mate with the witch, and the witch was spreading her legs even further, moaning eagerly, seemingly on the verge of climax just from the thought of it. She expected to feel the slightest bit jealous – even if she had no right to – but instead, the sight sent a thrill of arousal through her. She had never been able to see the beast like this, to actually watch him during the act, from a distance. She moaned around the minotaur that was currently in her mouth and felt herself begin to clench and shudder around the one inside of her womanhood. Beauty took a deep breath, forcing herself to hold it back. She didn’t want to climax until all the whole army was done with her.
The witch was screaming with pleasure, impaled on the beast’s throbbing hardness, and Beauty found herself wondering, for the first time, why the witch had transformed him into a beast in the first place. Could it be? Had she made a prince into a monster simply to gratify her own needs? Did she, in her own dark and twisted way, love the beast?
Beauty was breathless from the energy of trying to hold off her own climax, dripping from every possible place, and there were still more minotaurs that had yet to be satisfied. When the next group of three situated themselves inside of her, she gestured for two more, and a few came running eagerly, thrusting their hot, stiff members into her hands. She stroked them in time with the movements of the others, until they sprayed her chest with their jism.
When the last group finally took their positions, Beauty finally relaxed, letting the pleasure spiral inside of her, feeling every nerve go numb as her climax drew closer and closer. On the throne, the witch was reaching her own peak, spasming and clenching around the beast’s manhood. She threw her head back and let out a scream that echoed deafeningly through the hall.
Beauty came then, unable to hold it off for any longer. Long, powerful waves of ecstasy ran through her, making her tighten around two of the minotaurs so much that they were done for as well, finishing inside of her with deep groans. The other three weren’t far behind. Sagging and spent in her throne, the witch jerked her head vaguely in the beast’s direction, and just like that, he began his transformation.
Beauty jumped to her feet, running towards him where he lay on the ground – naked, sticky, and completely and utterly human. The minotaurs were beginning to shuffle quietly from the hall.
“Leave before I change my mind,” said the queen, quietly. The prince struggled to his feet, and only just remembered to fetch the cloak from the floor before they fled across the moat, André hot on their heels.
Once they reached the end of the bridge, they stopped to catch their breath. Beauty had so many questions, so many things she wanted to say to him – but somehow, the only thing that came out of her mouth was:
“You’ve returned.”
The prince smiled, his eyes full of wonder and relief. He’d seen so much on their journey – so much of her that he hadn’t known existed, so much that she hadn’t known. And he looked at her differently, now. There was a quiet respect there, a subtle acknowledgement of her power. Beauty glowed. He said: “Are you sure this is how you prefer me to be?”
Beauty hadn’t expected that question. She actually considered it for a moment, but the answer was so self-evident she hardly needed to.
“Yes,” she said. “I believe I have had enough of monsters to last me a lifetime.”
The Demon’s Plaything
By
Natalie Deschain
Chapter One
“You need to get out more.”
I knew it was true, since I was saying it to myself. I thought it would be enough of a change to move my laptop from my office down to my kitchen table and work while I sipped some coffee and listened to the bird songs in my back yard. I was putting the finishing touches on my latest story, and would publish that afternoon. When I started writing erotica, I mostly wrote vanilla stuff, and I didn’t publish half of what I wrote. The more and more I sold, though, the bolder I got. This morning, I was smiling to myself while I wrote the climax of my new werewolf story. Some people like to write werewolves as aggressive men. I like something a little different.
He pushed me to the ground and rolled me onto my side. I felt his claws on my skin, dragging over the soft flesh of my shoulder, just enough for me to feel it without drawing blood. The weight of his hairy hand on my side pinned me while he curled around me, lunging with his enormous, powerfully muscled body. I trembled and tried not to cry out as I realized what was happening. His muscular belly, covered in soft fur, undulated against my back, and I felt the tip of his cock, hot and throbbing, press against my pussy.
“Gentle,” I murmured, my eyes stinging with tears. “Please.”
My boyfriend was in there somewhere, inside this beast that was half man and half monster. I knew he loved me, even as he opened his mouth, his wide muzzle spreading. I felt hot drool on my neck as his teeth pressed into my skin, not hard enough to sink into my flesh, but almost. He was holding me in place with his clawed hands and his enormous fangs, and a deep rumble came from his chest.
He thrust. I screamed. My body arched, my legs shivered as I drew them up, opening myself to him. He split me open, filled me, the girth of it unbelievable. I’d only had a finger inside me before, nothing like this. I dully realized I was screaming and I wasn’t sure if it was from the pain or the irresistible tide of sensation that quickly washed over and overwhelmed it. I felt so full, so used. This ravenous beast had taken my virginity, and I moaned like a whore, thrusting my ass into his furry body, urging him deeper, harder, to punish me for my crime.
I sat back from t
he computer, panting. I swallowed against my dry throat and took a sip of coffee, trembling. My stomach clenched, and I could feel my panties clinging to my skin. I leaned back, setting the cup down, and slipped my fingers under the waistband, down over my soft lips and traced the cleft of my pussy, and shivered. I sunk down a little more, pitching my hips forward, and started to dig in, slipping the tip of my finger in while I nudged my clit. With my other hand I managed to save the file before I got up, my hand stuffed down my pants, and stumbled into the living room. I landed on the big recliner, threw one leg over one of the arms, and melted into position, my head lolling as I leaned on the other arm, twisting and writhing.
The scene continued in my head. I thought about the huge cock tearing into my heroine, into me, diving and filling me. I imagine hot breath on my neck and teeth touching my throat as the werewolf claimed me for its bitch. My pace grew more frantic, in time with my imaginary beast’s massive cock plowing in and out, in and out, until it slowed, the creature reaching his peak. I imagined it thrust inside me, the tip pushing into my belly as the base began to swell, tying us together, trapping me with a cock in my cunt.
I came explosively. My body jerked, I screamed, and I nearly flopped off the damned recliner. My foot brushed a lamp and knocked on the floor. As the climax surged through me, I curled up on myself, drawing my legs up, crushing my hand between my thighs. When it was over, I lay panting, sideways on the chair, curled up on myself. After a while I managed to get up and walk shakily to the bathroom.
I had a meeting with an agent today- I was writing a “real” book, and I had a shot at getting it published. I’d shopped it around and an agent was interested. This was a dream come true. I headed into the bathroom, stripped, and ended up standing under the water for a good ten minutes while I waited for my legs to stop shaking. I quickly showered, toweled off, and did my hair up in a conservative bun. With my thick-rimmed glasses and conservative pantsuit, I looked like a TV commentator. I stood in front of the mirror, tugging on my jacket, and practiced looking professional.