by E M Beastly
Once she was fully exposed, the dark beast rammed her with his snout. Not only did he push her back onto her bed, but he also drove his wicked tongue into a new place. Her reaction was to grab him and clench her legs. She tried with all her might to pry him out of her body, but he was something far greater than she was.
She felt him go deep, his tongue licking at the entrance of her uterus. The fatness of it filled her in ways she never thought a woman could or should be. Admittedly, she was rather inexperienced in these sorts of things, but she doubted any human man could do it the same way. What few boys she had laid with never elicited these physical sensations. Yes, she could not admit that this was her first time. She was eighteen and sex was fun, but she was just an inexperienced woman who played with inexperienced boys that just wanted to get their jollies off. After all, if she was going to write about it then she should know about it firsthand.
This, however, was different. Her monstrous assailant was some sort of torturer who replaced pain with pleasure. Genie never knew what a true female orgasm was, nor did she know that her body held such naughtily sensitive areas. This monster tongue insisted on rubbing one of these intense areas. It was not long before an intense but unfamiliar sensation made her want to push from her pelvic floor. She was squirting liquids out of her body and the beast drank them readily. Her body shook and her eyes rolled back. She could not believe that her body could produce a sensation so powerful.
She hated it. It felt so good, but she hated it because she was not supposed to feel something like that from a monster. She hated that he kept on doing it. He would not stop, and she found herself doing it again and again. Each time her body grew weaker. She found herself tired and wanting to relax rather than fight after each intense and blissful spasm.
Five times he made her body do these things. She felt like he was drinking her essence. He was so greedily slurping it up that the excess was sloppily spilling onto her bedroom floor.
When he finally finished, he placed himself back over her on top her bed, and firmly placing his front hooves to either side of her head like he first did. As expected, and as foreseen upon the wall, he readied himself. His black cock was a monstrous thing; that much Genie already knew. She had already both seen and touched it. It slowly pushed itself out of the black mass of his body. His body is a suffocating darkness that stood out more than any other shadow in her room, or even under the shadow of night. Even the meek light coming in from her window could not dismiss him. His substance had grown thicker and darker just for this moment. His excitement pumped like blood into his growing monstrous cock, making it thick and heavy while she felt the weight of it rest on her pelvis while it grew.
His mouth and tongue came down again to suffocate and distract her. She would not get to see it stiffen and ready itself, nor would she get to see it pierce her. She felt it though. Even with his tongue invading her lips she felt it. It was like a club or a baseball bat had been rammed into her body. Yet, it was successful in penetrating her in full. As soon as it hit her, the beast ripped his slobbering tongue from her lips as her body sprung up from the pressure. She made a long a gargled moan that was almost as monstrous as his ghastly roar. She had wrapped her arms around his body when she lunged up from the surprising sensation, and found herself hugging him tightly. The strange sensation of his touch encased her naked flesh, but it did not compare to what was inside her young pussy.
She let herself drop back down to her bed. He had yet to start any kind of thrusting, and she hurried to see if she could pull the monstrosity out of her. What was inside of her was beyond anything her imagination could comprehend. She had to grab the girth of the monstrosity with both hands just to fully hold onto it. It was stuck. The wall and lips of her sex swelled and stretched to such a degree that she feared that if it were removed she would be left with a permanent chasm that no human man could fill to satisfy.
"Your body is already adapting to me." The creature said in his hollowed voice. "You form around me, and your body suckles on me. Your body accepts what it is and wants to join us. Only one of us could take my length so easily. It does not hurt you, I can see you fighting the sensation of lustrous pleasure your mind is not used to, but your body has always yearned."
He makes short bursting thrusts, and her pussy gurgles with wet gargles. Her juices churn and bubble up around it; he struck that same intense area his tongue had. She lets go of him to flail her arms and arch her back to this new orgasmic spasm. She felt full like she had to piss, but it was only her female ejaculate wanting to escape. She felt fuller because of it. With his cock and her cum, she had a warm, comfortable fullness that wanted to sprout throbbing pleasure up her spine and through her belly.
"What is happening to me?" she whined. "Why does it feel like this? Why can't my body stop cumming?"
"Did you ever meet your father?" was his response to her question. His body bucked and jerked faster, and his dick slid deeper and deeper with each new thrust. When he pushed, her cum sprayed out and hit both his balls and the inside of his thighs.
"Do you know why you never knew him? You are one of us. Your body was never meant for the pleasure of mortals, nor can they truly pleasure you. Let me show you want your really are!"
All she could do was cry and moan from the physical and spiritual experience. It was all so overwhelming for her. She wanted to resist, but her body only wanted to swallow more of him.
"My seed will transform you and make you whole!" He roared.
"No! No, please don't do it! Don't cum inside me." She cried while using the last bit of her strength to pull him out of her womb.
Her efforts relieved the pressure and intensity inside of her, but it did not stop his climax. Holding his massive pulsing phallus in her hand led him to spray his juices all over her naked body. A thick inky substance plastered her. It did not come out in ropes but as a splattering spray; something akin to what comes out of a garden hose when there are air bubbles in the line to interrupt the flow. It even made a similar gurgling and churning sound as it burst all over her in five big spurts. She shut her eyes as it blasted and gasped for air between each shot. It covered her breasts and her stomach; thick gobs even hit her face and hung off her chin. It had the consistency of thick jelly. When she placed her hand on her stomach to try to wipe it off, she swore her fingers sunk at least an inch into the sauce.
She was paralyzed and blinded by the surprise. She did not want to touch it but it was all over her. It took her quite a while to move or react enough to wipe it off her face so that she could dare open her eyes. The gooey cum felt weird, it was akin to peppermint oil, but that did not feel like the appropriate description.
"Oh god, what is it doing to me? I can feel it doing something to me." she said with shaking voice.
She had no time to do more. Her assailant plunged himself back into her again. She cried out as his dick slammed into her sensitive insides. That part of her that enjoyed this sensation made her cum again. In fact, she could not stop cumming. The sensation of his dick inside her somehow reacted with the cum that covered her. It made her entire body feel like it had been covered in a blanket of extreme pleasure. It felt weird and unnatural, as if it was changing her body physically.
She shook and groaned like someone possessed. She heard the creature say something to her but she could not make it out. She was far too focused on trying to control her own body. She was failing. The monstrous cock was now very much at home bucking inside her tight chasm to make all her juices churn out of her. He had a nice hard rhythm now, and he was not going to stop until he filled her womb with a second cumming of his monstrous essence.
The ritual was already accomplished. She was changing and it was only a matter of time before she joined her real family. Even if he stopped now, she could not leave this place. Her body felt awkward and heavy. She wanted to look into a mirror to see what had been done, but it would not matter. She knew she would not see her old self there. She was a monster now, just like
him. She should be upset, and she wanted to be. Yet, the pleasure of this union screamed through her body louder than her despair, and it was only getting more pleasurable with each thrust.
He suddenly stopped. His cock throbbed as more of his dark essence rushed out. She could feel it filling her. The darkness coating her insides like it had covered her outsides. It had overtaken her through and through. The pressure was intense, and it made her cum again until both their fluids were bursting from the seams.
The house got darker, much darker, until the scene faded from any kind of view. The house in the forest was now satisfied as she loomed menacingly in her forest home. Another story of lusty and carnal desire fulfilled. Another ghost story told. The house got what it wanted, and so did her victim. Sometimes they do not know it until the lights dim and darkness falls. It is then the curtains are lifted on something new.
The Temptress
In the
Night Steeds Garden
* * *
Alpine is a queer little mountain town, I learned that quickly after moving here. You wouldn't expect it with its scenic beauty surrounded by the high Rocky Mountains of the American West. It was this beauty that attracted me to live here. For it with its many valleys, meadows, canyons and high mountain peaks provided endless material for me to paint. I love the fantastic vistas of inspiration for my art, where I transform already wonderful geographical shapes of nature into something new, profound and only found in dreams. I am a fantasy artist who has long studies the works of Frazetta, Roy Krenkel and J. Allen St. John. I must say, that no matter how much I borrow my ideas from the hard curves and savage splendor that these ancient mountains provide, I will never be able to match them with my brush, no matter how much creativity I place behind it.
It is worth noting that my creativity has led to many calling me sexist. That is until they realize I am a woman. Can't a woman also like the scantly clad warriors heaving their heavy swords against their monstrous enemies? A woman can appreciate the fine hard curves of naked flesh just as much as any man can. I see the savage world of 'sword and sorcery' to be rather quite progressive - in its lust driven way. When I depict it on my canvas, it fulfills such primal fantasies that both men and woman can enjoy; something we all secretly do anyway while in private. I just provide the catalyst that begins those grand imaginings, while also bringing to them dark subtleties of forbidden suggestion of otherworldly pleasures of the flesh.
Alpine has its dark little corners to help with that too. However, I am a crafter of savage fantasy and not a weaver of subtle and unsettling horror that creeps throughout this place. Alpine's shadow is of a likeness of which I haven't seen since my days in New England, or my time admiring the old castle ruins of Europe. It's hard to explain, but in the corners and cracks there is this ever present malignancy. It is as if this place holds a terrible secret that does not belong to either humankind or nature. I feel that it is always watching with a mischievous or devilish grimace. I have found myself marrying the exciting and violent, such as in the works of Robert E. Howard, with the macabre and dark mysterious of the weird tales of Lovecraft the more I spend time working in this place. It really isn't that hard to find the inspiration here.
Not far from my new home in this small town is a cemetery at the base of a wooded hill. Surrounding it is a rusting fence with iron bars. It's not maintained; many of the iron bars are missing or are overgrown with weeds and hop vines. Entire sections of the old fence are gone. I it wasn't for what is still there it would be rather difficult to know that there are graves hiding in the nigh chest-high weeds and grass. Yet, there is one grave or series of graves, if that is what they are, that make the place stand out.
It would have taken me many more months to know the existence of this place if it wasn't for my first friend in my newfound home. Kalina Whales is the resident owner of the sole house upon the hill overlooking both the town and this old cemetery. I met her shortly after moving here. It was a chance meeting, but she was very interested in my art. When she discovered that I could use a studio, she was more than willing to offer up one of the many rooms of her lofty estate. I was quite happy to take up her offer as my current place of residents was a tiny one room apartment; the only thing I could afford. However, though it was nice to have a bigger place to store my canvases and supplies, or to have an office of sorts. I was not comfortable living in Kalina's home. The sometimes daily walk was enough of a chilling experience for me to handle, as her home had its own stories to tell, and I wasn't so sure I liked them. I honestly could not understand how Kalina chose to live there alone. I could write a whole other story on her place of residence and the mysteries it held, but it was my cemetery walk leading to her place that events would shape me and my work forever.
The old cemetery was the shortest and most direct route up the hill to Kalina's place. I remember the first day clearly when Kalina took me up the path. We gathered at the nearby tavern where we first met, and from there she led the way on foot. Not that uncommon, as this small town was easily traversable by foot no matter where you wanted to go, nor was it uncommon to travel down rural wooded roads to get there. Yet, that cemetery was something else. When she pointed out the first hidden grave to me under the overgrowth, I was instantly overcome with a spooky chill that I think anyone would feel after realizing they were treading in a place where the dead lay just beneath their feet. Neither the oldness of the gravestones with their chips and weathered surfaces, nor the sickly gnarled masses of vegetation, helped with the perception. Kalina then laughed at me as she reassured me the dead don't bite.
"They have been here a hundred years or more, Victoria. I doubt they will be disturbed this eve by us simply walking across their dirt and weed bed sheets as they sleep another hundred or so years," she said to me as she led me deeper into those hallowed grounds.
"Why hasn't this place been better taken care of?" was of course something anyone naturally had to ask.
"Because the people of Alpine dislike those who were buried here, and so don't care about it. And also," she added before I would have naturally asked anyway, "they are too afraid of this place to tear it up. So here it stays rotting away. At least you are willing to travel through it with me. So I better not tell you anything more about it that might scare you away."
Thus, the matter was dropped, and she kept her word of not saying another word about the place. Not that it helped much. It left me with an awful mystery, which made that place feel only that much more suspenseful. For the longest time I preferred to walk the longer route to Kalina's. I would drive, but for whatever reason the only road going to her house was in severe disrepair. I don't think my old car could make it even on the best of days. Only on the days that I met up with Kalina at the nearby 'Mountain Wild' tavern would it be insisted that we take this shorter road.
Moreover, every time we would go past that one grave together, the one that stood out amongst all the rest. We had to go pretty far in and past a few big willow trees to see it. It stood out not because it was one grave, nor was it the graves themselves that were so important. It was the monolithic headstone which crowned them all, that was so damnable. It is a statue; one suitable for being showcased in a park, or maybe in front of an important landmark. It is a splendid life-size carving of a magnificent stallion rearing up on his hind legs in a menacing and most detailed pose. The stone used in his creation is most unusual. He must be made of some semi-precious stone, because the luster is beyond what a regular polish should produce. He also has a strange glazy translucence, kind of like glass. And yes, he is a he. The artist who carved this beast wanted to fully emphasize the masculinity of this stallion far beyond just making this creation anatomically accurate. For whatever reason, the beast's massive phallic limb is fully emerged from what would normally just be a suggestive sheath and hanging scrotum in other such works of art. The head of the impressive appendage is big and flaring, resembling an obsidian colored mushroom cap. It definitely distracts from the magni
ficent artwork of the rest of the body. That is, until I change the viewing angle and the perception of the horse seems to take on the illusion of being a man. At those moments he is akin to Michelangelo's David, only without the conservatively small penis size. The trickery upon the eyes is troublesomely fascinating, and I am always disturbed with myself for taking the time to be amused by it every time a pass near this it.
Surrounding him are many small tombstones. They are unremarkably familiar to what you should find in a cemetery, yet, they are strangely clustered. In fact, they seem intentionally stacked next to each other without regard to the size of the burials they were supposed to mark. They had no dates or descriptions of those buried there, just names. Clearly most of the gravestones were placed down in the nineteenth century. I deducted this by how worn down and pitted each of their intricate designed faces had become with time, or how much moss obscured the hand chiseled lettering.
I had to ask,”What about that one, Kalina? I heard in the cities they sometimes have such ornate statues like that one in their cemeteries. I have never seen one myself, but something like that has to have some importance or significance."
'Oh, I can't tell you much," Kalina replied in earnest. "A lot of the history has been forgotten, and intentionally so by the people of this town. As for the rest, well, I told you I wouldn't scare you. It is better you just admire it as we go along and nothing more."
"No really, tell me," I replied. "You know that it's only going to continue to peak my curiosity if we keep coming by it like this."
"Well, if you really think you can handle it. There are some old legends surrounding it that keep people from coming into this place."
"So you're saying that statue is responsible for why this place has seen better days?" I interrupted.