Monster Sex Stories

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This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, incidents, locations and
places are solely the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons,
living or dead, including events, organizations, companies, locales,
areas and situations is entirely coincidental. All sexually active
characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
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It
contains substantial sexually explicit scenes, graphic language and
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The
village was celebrating. There were tables loaded down with food fit
for a feast, and a feast it was. She stood beside one table, trying
to decide which she wanted to eat first—succulent roast
chickens, the crisped haunch of venison, the creamy white cheese or
the array of farm fresh vegetables cooked in a myriad of ways. There
were pies: kidney and steak, pigeon and of course the sweet berry
pies that always graced the tables during the spring and summer
harvests and were longed for all winter through.

Around
the huge pole in the center of the green women were dancing, trailing
garlands of flowers behind them as they wound around the tall and
heavy wooden pole. The scent of flowers came through the air: heavy
and sweet. Children screamed and dashed past, intent on the games
that they were allowed to play all day long while men wrestled or
shot arrows at targets. The old ones sat around telling the legends
to the ones who would listen and a few people played on the lute or
through the pipes to give the dancing women music to move to.

Some
couples danced as well but nobody asked her to dance. She didn’t
mind. The birthmark on the side of her face, though not very large,
often drew stares from those who traveled through the hinterlands.
She knew that the mark kept her from marriage but she didn’t
care, she didn’t want to get married yet anyway.

A
traveling jester had joined the festivities. He wore a comical hat
and could tumble quite well, his facial contortions scared some of
the younger children and some of his stories were a bit too bawdy for
her liking but it had been years since the village had seen a jester
so nobody complained, living on the farthest stretches of the kingdom
meant that they were often left in peace but they were also rarely
treated to things those who lived closer to the castle of the king
took for granted.

In
this land the people were still simple. Legends still held sway
despite their constant retelling. The wood nymphs, forest folk and
gods were given their due every year, even if it meant a family had
to stretch their winter provisions a little further and more tightly
than they would have liked. That had always been the way of things
and nobody complained, and why would they?

It
was a gorgeous early summer day. The sky was a high blue bowl
overhead and the big river roared and tumbled, bringing fish and
clean water to the villagers. The crops grew steady and high in the
fields, game roamed in plentitude and only the oldest and frailest
had slid into the other world over the cruel moons of winter. There
was nothing to complain about, there was only the need to celebrate a
wedding and a holiday all at once.

The
jester drew them all close, standing on the outskirts of the crowd
she stuffed a juicy drumstick into her mouth and laughed along with
the others as he crouched low, his stumpy little body looking even
more ridiculous due to the shortness of his trousers and the gaudy
coloring of his blouse, almost hidden below a coat far too long and
ornate for him. The bells on his hat trembled as he began to sing a
song in a high trembling voice.

The
words made gooseflesh rise on her arms, she had never heard them but
somehow they seemed terribly powerful and wrong, they felt dark and
secretive. She didn’t dare sing along either, not with a mouth
filled with food, her mother would slap her for bad manners. Looking
around she saw faces going slack and mouths opening as people began
to take up the song.

“
Spell
caught,” was her only thought and terror sent cold fingers into
her very bowels. She reached out a hand to her mother but she didn’t
respond to the poke of her daughter’s fingers at all, which
scared her even more. Her mother was always attentive. She felt her
mouth move to take up the song and she reacted the in the only way
she could think of, she jammed the fowl’s bone deeply into her
mouth, her teeth tearing at the flesh. Even so her tongue tried
desperately to force its way through that barrier to form those
words.

Horror
overcame her, something was wrong, something black and terrible was
coming…

Before
she could think of what to do the ground trembled beneath her feet.
Some of the younger children toppled to the ground and the centaurs
appeared. There were six of them: glorious creatures with the upper
bodies of humans and the lower body of a horse. Their hooves struck
fire from the ground and the crowd fell silent in awe. None of them
had ever seen a centaur though they had long heard the stories that
they lived in the deepest of the woods above the village.

“
Who
dares summon us?”

The
centaur was obviously a royal. His hair was a long and deep chestnut,
his broad upper body rippled with muscle and on his back was a bow
and arrow made of the rarest of woods: woods from the heart of an
ancient tree that no longer existed, the glow tree.

His
eyes found hers and she swallowed her food. Her fingers trembled as
she raised them to the jester, who somehow managed to grow even as
she stared at him. His squat body grew taller; his colorful clothes
vanished, replaced by a cloak embroidered with dark constellations
and strangely shaped stars.

“
I
summon you!” He cried, “As did they!”

“
Not
you though.” The words came from a young centaur whose black
hair and green eyes were complimented by his deeply tanned skin. His
hooves danced across the ground as he drew closer to her, “Why
were you not spellbound? Why did you not speak the words that would
enchant us forth and bring us to your world?”

“
You
shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.” It was all she
could think of to say, he was so handsome her very heart ached at the
sight of him. If he thought her statement odd it didn’t show on
his face.

Lightning
flashed from the sky. She stared upwards, stunned by the bright
silver flash and fat raindrops leaked into her face. She watched,
frozen, as the centaurs were captured in a magical net woven of
lightning and bad magic.

One
tumbled free though, his body hitting the earth so hard that it
shook. Blood splattered the grass and a terrible scream of agony rose
into the air. Her body trembled and she ran, ran to the side of the
thrashing and wounded centaur.

The
centaur king was angry at his people’s capture; he knew they
would not live long in the hands of the evil sorcerer. He shouted out
to her, a curse that she heard all the way down to her bones even as
the people of her village fell over, turned to statues for their
crime, unintentional though it was…

***

Lindsey
Souris jerked awake. Rain tapped at the sides of her tent and she
groaned as she realized that it had infiltrated the supposedly
waterproof thing and turned her sleeping bag and other supplies into
a sodden mass.

The
cooler of food was protected but she was frozen. Getting out of the
bedroll was hard, it clung to her and she cursed a few times before
she could manage to extricate herself. She held up her fingers to the
roof, it was wet but no moisture dotted her fingertips. Lindsey
frowned and repeated the procedure at the walls and all of the seams,
the same thing happened. That left only one possibility.

The
campground has assured her that the concrete slabs for tents were
high enough to avoid all but the worst floods, apparently it was
either flooding outside the walls of her tent or they had lied. Given
the ridiculously cheap price she had paid she was willing to bet it
was the latter. Given the way the woman had looked at her face then
away and then muttered that they didn’t have any room, a lie
Lindsey had not hesitated to point out, it didn’t surprise her
to wake up to disaster. Unzipping the tent slightly she peered out
into the dreary night.

It
was just as Lindsey had suspected, the concrete slabs were basically
underwater. Hers was one of five tents perched on those slabs but it
seemed she was getting the worst of the flowing water, which,
coincidentally seemed to be funneled right into her tent thanks to a
chunk of broken cement that sat at the edge of the slab.

“
Son
of a bitch!”

Yanking
her things together into was difficult but she managed then she went
outside and snatched the entire tent up at one time. Her back creaked
in protest and her arms strained but she didn’t care, she had
to get off the watery edge or risk drowning or pneumonia or any other
number of dire consequences, all of which she ticked off as she
struggled across the concrete, her blue eyes narrowed down to slits
and her full mouth pressed into a narrow line.

Once
on the other side of the slab the river flowing below it ceased for
the most part. The floor was still soaked and she knew there was
nothing to be done about that other than drying it in the strong
sunlight that she hoped would follow the storm.

Lindsey
squeezed as much water as she could from her curly blonde hair. She
found a towel and rubbed it mostly dry, knowing that it would be an
impossibly frizzy mess the next day but unable to let it stay wet.
Next she tucked the cooler near one wall, wrapped herself in whatever
she could find that was mostly dry and half-laid, half-sat on the
cooler. The rain beat down even faster and she sighed, sure she would
never go back to sleep in that incredibly uncomfortable position.

Her
brow creased as she remembered the strange dream she had been having
about half-man half-horse creatures, their hooves rattling the ground
below her feet. There was another billowing gust of wind and the rain
hit like bullets on the sides of her tent, she could hear laughter
coming from one of the other slabs and shook her head, chagrined and
pleased all at once that at least someone had a sense of humor about
the bad situation.

Lindsey
had known being a graduate student who studied mythology would not be
easy, she had never thought that the course of her studies would take
her to a tiny village rumored to have been the center of a curse from
the gods, although at that moment she was seriously inclined to
believe the place was indeed cursed.

At
twenty-nine she had hoped to pass her dissertation board smoothly but
had met resistance so severe it had left her wounded and floundering.
She had waited a year and went back over her dissertation piece by
piece, looking at every hole they had poked into her arguments and
determined to give them something they could not argue against.

Somehow
or another that had translated into her discovering this village and
its odd history and legends and now she was stuck in a soggy tent
listening to rain beat the hell out of the world. A yawn cracked her
face and she snuggled tighter into her covers, hoping the chill would
subside somewhat. She drifted back off to sleep thinking that the
steady beat of rain did sound like horse’s hooves…