Tamed by the Yeti

by Clea Kinderton

  I’m not going to give in, I thought in a panic.

  I was terrified that I would do something that would encourage the beast to take our intimacy further. I didn’t know what I would do if it tried to put its cock inside of me. Worse, I was afraid that I would enjoy it. If I let this ape-man have his way with me, and I took pleasure in it, what did it say about me?

  The yeti continued to lick my genitals, passing his long, wet tongue all the way from the crevice of my buttocks to my clit. The creature’s hot, damp breath and the slight roughness of it’s moist tongue only seemed to intensify the sensations. It caressed the hood of my clit, rolling over the sensitive skin in surprisingly deft little circles, alternating its teasing arcs with long, lingering strokes that encompassed the length of my slit. This wasn’t an animal’s licking, but a knowing, intentional effort to arouse me. The more that it licked, the more I became convinced that it knew its way around female anatomy. Was it possible that yetis engaged in such activities in the wild? It wasn’t impossible. Even apes engaged in oral activities on occasion, and it certainly seemed to have some experience in such matters.

  As it licked, I spread my fingers through the soft fur on its head, feeling the size and solidity of its skull. In response, the yeti tightened its grip on my hips, its fingers holding me in place as firmly as steel clamps. On one hand, the sheer size and strength of the beast was terrifying; on the other, its gentleness was reassuring. If it was capable of showing this much restraint, it had to be capable of some degree of thoughtfulness and consideration. Though direct communication seemed like an impossibility, having no shared language or experience, I felt as though there was yet some hope, that I was in the presence of a creature with a mind and a personality.

  As I had these thoughts, the yeti continued to lick. Long, slow, agonizingly sweet strokes of its agile tongue sent shivers of delight coursing through me. Its tongue wriggled between my swollen lips and penetrated me, curling as it did so so that it felt like a slippery tube.

  My thoughts became scattered. I tried to focus on keeping a level head, and planning my next move, but the constant, slow stroking, the heavy breathing, the feeling of being overpowered, the scent of its musk, was too intense. I caught myself moaning and forced myself to stop. Then I caught myself moaning again. I bit my lip, but it didn’t help.

  Waves of pleasure shivered through my body, making my thighs tremble, my toes curl, my nipples harden. I dug my fingers into the yeti’s scalp, feeling its silky soft fur, and then I came.

  I clamped my thighs around the beast’s head and arched my back, writhing as my cunt clenched and pulsated with deliciously sweet bursts of pleasure. The ape-man lapped up my juices like a dog lapping at a bowl of water while my moans rang from the walls of the cavern.

  When I was finished, the beast-man rose and crawled up beside me on the mattress. Though I was still flush with heat and throbbing in the afterglow, I was terrified that he’d decide to mate with me. It was too strange, too unnatural, and the size of his appendage intimidated me.

  He laid down on the furs beside me and draped his arm over my chest, grabbing me by the shoulder and pulling me toward him until I was pressed firmly against his warm, furry body. He rested his chin on the top of my head and made small sighing and smacking sounds with his lips. He shifted once or twice, and then he began to snore.

  I lay there in the darkness, confused by the emotions swirling through my body. On the one hand, the creature still terrified me. On the other, I sensed that his actions were being governed by some sort of protective instinct. He’d fished me out of the river and brought me back to life; fed me and watered me; and now attended to my sexual needs without asking for anything in return.

  Is he lonely? I wondered. Is he simply looking for a mate?

  I stroked the soft fur on his arm, amazed by the texture, and let myself be carried off to sleep.

  I slept like a baby.

  When I opened my eyes, the yeti was gone.

  A faint yellow light flickered against the wall of the cave, which meant that he’d been up long enough to start a fire.

  It was impossible to track time in the cave, but it felt like several hours had passed. My lips were parched, and I needed to relieve myself. I could at least find out whether it was day or night when I went to the little cave with the running water.

  I found the fur I’d been using as a cloak and wrapped it around my shoulders. I needed to find some way to pin it closed before I did anything else. I couldn’t very well hold it closed with my hand while I crawled through the caves, especially if I was carrying a torch.

  For some reason, the thought of leaving reminded me of the night before. I remembered the way the yeti’s tongue had felt against my sex, the strength of his body, the scent of his musk, and I started to tingle.

  Stop it, Joanna. There’s no time to think about that.

  I placed my feet on the cold stone floor and shivered. My first instinct was to pull my feet back onto the bed but I forced myself to keep them there, feeling the icy stone with my soles. The cold made me feel more awake and alert.

  There were some serious problems with my plan. For one, I couldn’t very well wander around the mountains of Tibet in bare feet. I’d have frostbite before I made it a mile. I could try to find my clothing but I had no idea where to look and the caves could run for miles. There were plenty of animal skins I could use to make clothing, but I didn’t exactly have a needle and thread. I could probably make a needle from a fragment of bone — there were plenty around the fire — but I had no idea how I was going to make thread. Perhaps I could make laces of some sort from long strips of leather.

  I forced myself to stand up and made my way over to the fire expecting to find the yeti, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

  As I crossed the cave, I realized with some distress that I had to move my bowels and that I didn’t have any toilet paper.

  Oh God, this is going to be awful, I thought, walking quickly down the side passage to the small chamber we used as a lavatory.

  I half-expected to find the yeti here, too, since I hadn’t seen him anywhere else, but the chamber was empty. With the amount that he ate, he probably spent a great deal of his time hunting. Doubly so now that he had to feed me as well.

  I dropped my cloak on the floor a few paces from the stream and squatted over the water, cringing. I finished my business as quickly as I could, using the fast flowing water to thoroughly clean myself. The water was ice cold and made me shiver from head to toe. I couldn’t wait to get back into my cloak.

  I dried my hands on the edge of the cloak and wrapped it around myself. My stomach had started to growl.

  I took a drink from the waterfall and then made my way back to the fire pit, looking around for something to eat. The remains of the deer had been cleared away and at first I thought I was going to have to go hungry. A more careful examination of the cave revealed a sort of pit off to the side covered with a hide held down by stones. Inside the pit, which was about as big as a bathtub, was an assortment of meats in a bed of some white, crystalline substance.

  Salt, I realized with a shock. I picked up a crystal and tasted it. I’ll be dammed, the creature knows how to preserve meat. Cooked and salted meat could last a long time. A separate depression beside the salt basin held what appeared to be dried fruit. There was enough food here to last me weeks if I took some of it with me. I’d just have to figure out some way to fashion a sack.

  I took one of the dried fruits, which appeared to be some sort of pear, and found a small drum of meat. I replaced the hide cover and carried my prize to the fire pit. Seating myself on the ledge, I started to eat. The meat was so salty it was almost difficult to swallow, but it filled my belly.

  The yeti returned before I was finished. He was carrying a hare. I watched in fascination as he used a sharp stone to skin it and then deftly spit it. He placed it over the fire to cook and then paused to look at me.

  There was intelligence in those
eyes and I suddenly knew that it was thinking. It wasn’t a mere brute acting on instinct, but appeared to be capable of at least some degree of rational thought. It seemed to be struggling with some sort of internal debate.

  It stood up and waved its hand toward its own chest. The resemblance of the gesture to the human gesture for ‘come hither’ was uncanny.

  I stood up, clutching my fur cloak somewhat anxiously, and took a step in its direction.

  The yeti turned and began to walk to the far passage leading toward the lavatory. I followed at a safe distance, wondering what it was up to.

  Instead of turning down the narrow passage to the water chamber, it led me further into the passage to a second tunnel. It took me by the hand and led me to what appeared to be some sort of rough slope leading up to a hole dimly lit by sunlight. It began to climb, pulling me after by the hand.

  “I can’t,” I said, pulling back. “I can’t climb up there.”

  It grunted and climbed back down. Then it climbed back up to where it had originally stopped and then climbed back down again.

  Stairs, I thought. I hadn’t noticed them in the darkness. Once again I was impressed by the yeti’s ability to understand my dilemmas and provide solutions for them.

  I felt around in the dark with my hands and feet until I found where the stairs began. They appeared to be naturally formed but worn smooth with long use. It suddenly occurred to me that yetis may have been dwelling in these caverns for thousands of years.

  Cautiously, I climbed up the steps using my free hand for support until I came to the high passage. It was much colder up here and very close to the surface. A narrow fissure in the ceiling allowed in ample amounts of sunlight. The yeti led me into a large chamber attached to the passage. The cavern was filled with large mounds of stone resembling cairns. We passed several of the cairns and came to the back of the chamber. The final cairn was covered with dried flowers.

  The yeti looked at me sadly and then began to pick at the flowers, trying to straighten them. Many of them crumbled to dust between his fingers. A soft keening emerged from its throat.

  I felt my breath hitch and my hand went to my mouth.

  It’s a grave.

  The yeti’s soft snuffles brought tears to my eyes. I looked around, numbering the graves. There were dozens of them. But this one — this one in particular — was important to him. Beneath these stones and flowers lay someone he’d loved.

  Some impulse that went beyond mere humanity, that rose from our shared creaturehood, impelled me to go to him. I wrapped my arms around his soft, furry side and hugged him as fiercely as I could.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, tears flowing freely from my eyes. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  The yeti was all alone.

  After a time, the yeti roused itself and led me back to the cave with the fire pit. The rabbit was burned to a crisp on one side but he simply rotated the spit and continued to cook it.

  While the yeti attended to dinner, I began digging through the bones around the edge of the pit, looking for something I could use for a needle. My companion watched me with curiosity, no doubt intrigued by my actions.

  “I can’t run around naked all the time,” I said, talking to make myself feel better. “I’m not like you. I don’t have a thick fur coat.”

  The yeti grunted and poked at the hare with a twig.

  I found a small splinter of bone with a sharp point and a thick, round, knobby end around which I could tie a bit of string. I still had no idea what I was going to use as a thread, but I was going to cross that bridge when I came to it. Before I could sew anything together, I needed some fabric.

  Taking a small, burning branch from the fire to use as a torch, I went to the nest of fur hides and searched through them until I found something that looked like it might make for good boots. I dragged the thick skin back over to the fire pit and spread it out on the floor.

  The yeti’s eyes followed me intently, clearly intrigued by my actions. In a moment that amazed even myself, I smiled at him. He was no longer a terrifying creature of nightmare to me, but a solemn, silent companion sharing a brief portion of my journey through life.

  The yeti made a face, clumsily baring its teeth. At first I thought it was angry, then I realized it was trying to imitate me.

  “Yes!” I said, laughing. “It’s a smile.” I pointed at my mouth and smiled again.

  The yeti grunted and returned to his implacable observation.

  Walking around behind him, I found a small cache of sharp stones that he used for skinning and carving the meat. I took one with a keen edge that fit comfortably in my hand and I went back to the laid out hide.

  I took a burnt piece of wood from the fire and drew a charcoal outline of the pieces of material I would require for my boots.

  I guess all that time I spent learning how to sew when I was a kid is finally going to pay off! I thought with satisfaction.

  With the rough outlines completed, I picked up the sharp stone and began hacking my way through the hide.

  I immediately encountered a problem. I had to push down hard on the stone and drag it back and forth over the same spot for several seconds to rip a hole through the skin, but it was almost impossible to apply the necessary force with one hand in a sitting position. I leaned over the hide to brace my left hand on the cave floor, but the moment I moved my cutting arm, my cloak began to slip off my shoulders. If I was going to do this, I was going to have to do it naked. I had to lose the cloak.

  Glancing nervously at the yeti, who was busy eating the recently cooked hare, I removed the cloak and set it to one side. The yeti watched me with his large, reflective eyes but made no move in my direction and continued to pick apart his food with his hands and his teeth. Once I’d gotten over my initial discomfort at being naked in the snowman’s presence, I turned my attention back to the task.

  It was slow and tedious work. I had to bend over on my elbows and knees and grip the hide firmly in one hand while I dragged the sharp stone with the other. Twenty minutes into the cutting, my shoulder was burning with fatigue and my hand had begun to cramp around the stone. I was so absorbed in my task that I hadn’t noticed that the yeti had finished eating.

  I heard a soft grunt behind me and the firm, gentle pressure of the yeti’s large hand closing around my buttock.

  I froze in fear and all of my original terror of the creature returned in full force.

  A wave of goosebumps pebbled my skin and all my senses became acutely alert. I was afraid to scream or make any sudden movement for fear that I might trigger some sort of primal, destructive impulse in the beast, the way running from a bear unleashes its instinct to kill. My fingers tightened around the sharp stone in my hand but I knew the gesture was meaningless; it was all I could do to cut a hole through a defenseless hide lying beneath me on the floor; what good would it do against an enraged yeti? My best defense, much as I hated to admit it, was to offer no resistance.

  Perhaps it’s merely curious, I reasoned as my heart thumped in my chest. It was as much animal as man, and it was still getting to know me.

  Moving cautiously, I pushed myself up from my elbows to support myself with my hands. This new position made me feel slightly less vulnerable and gave me some illusion of control. The yeti was still squeezing my buttock, like it was testing the firmness of a fruit.

  I glanced back over my shoulder and was once again impressed by the sheer size of the creature. Though leaner of build — more human in form — it was larger than a gorilla. Its ice blue eyes were staring intently at my exposed vagina, its face tense with concentration.

  The yeti leaned forward and began sniffing my anus, its hot breath tickling the little hairs down below. It opened its mouth, exposing its massive teeth, and its long, pink tongue unfurled like a dog’s. I felt something warm and wet slide over my asshole, leaving a cool layer of saliva.

  The sensation made me shiver. It was so crudely sensual, a primal act for which I had no basis for com
parison. It licked me again, sending another shiver through my body that made my arms and legs tremble. I never would have asked or wanted a man to do this for me, but I was forced to confront the fact that it felt oddly good. It was bizarrely intimate, and made me feel strangely accepted.

  As its tongue continued to caress my anus in long, slow, slippery strokes, I found myself moistening. Quite against my better judgment and reason, I found that my body was responding to the beast. If all it wanted was a repeat of the previous evening’s activities, I wasn’t about to complain. Or interfere.

  As moisture accumulated in my slit, the yeti shifted its attention away from my anus to my vagina. The slick, eager movements of its tongue made my labia tingle and soon my clit was engorged with excitement. Sensing this change in my arousal, perhaps alerted by my gentle moans and deep, rapid breathing, it began to concentrate its attention on my clitoris. Its broad, rough tongue lapped at my mound, rising up toward my slit as it applied pressure to the hood of my clit, demonstrating the same uncanny sensitivity that it had the previous evening. Less anxious than I had been the night before, it only took a few minutes for the beastman to bring me to orgasm.

  My core clenched sweetly as the first waves of pleasure rushed through me. I gasped and shivered, elbows buckling as I tried to hold myself up. Intrigued, perhaps, by the clenching of my vaginal muscles, the yeti suddenly pushed one of his thick fingers into my hole.

  The sudden stretching made me moan. I bit my lip, massively aroused by this unexpected penetration. Its thick finger was as large as an erect penis.

  The yeti massaged my clit with the pad of its thumb as it worked its finger in and out of my hole. It curled its finger and somehow found a sensitive spot just inside and to the front of my vagina. The sensation was indescribable and I soon found myself bucking back against the creature’s hand in the throes of a second orgasm.

  The beastman withdrew its finger, leaving my stretched opening feeling hollow and empty, and before I knew what was happening, he straightened up into a crouching position and prepared to mount me.