Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters (45 page)

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I am Native American. I am a Storyteller with many
Stories. Some are best told by Day. Some are best told by Night.

Please
visit my website at:
http://www:SkyeEagleday.blogspot.com
to
keep track of my upcoming publications and events.

If you
enjoyed
Alien Sex Monster:
Ravished by the Rainbow
, you might
want to check out
Prick of Power: A Native American Story of Supernatural
Futanari Revenge and Destiny
.

After discovering her village destroyed,
C’hiim’s dark destiny leads her to the forest of the
Steeyaha
—one
of the supernatural beings White people will later name “Stick Indians.” The
Steeyaha
recognizes her as a
Whakla
—“neither man nor woman.” For a price,
C’hiim can claim the Power she needs to confront the War Leader who
exterminated her people. Will the War Leader see her as an avenging avatar of
his Goddess—or a fool who has returned to die? (A story of
Futanari/Two-Spirit revenge, containing a sexual supernatural exchange of
power, Shamanic rule, and domination.)

Here’s an Excerpt:

…When the sun set and there had been time enough for her to
sing to herself four evening songs four times, she stood, hoping the strong
drink the raiders had found in various homes had been potent enough to pull
their attention away from any sounds she might make. Leaving, she caught sight
of the enemy’s Shaman, a toad like woman with a hunched back. That one would
not be drinking. C’hiim journeyed north, gauging her direction from the hint of
the rising moon. The woods were thick and she needed her full attention not to
cause too much noise, or to trip over unseen branches.

Sixteen songs later she found the River and followed it,
greatly picking up her speed. By the time the moon was directly above her, she
chose a place beneath a cedar tree to rest. She fingered a piece of the broken
pottery she had within the deerskin purse tied to her belt. It was from one of
the last pieces her mother had made. By the light of the moon she stared at the
bird design that had been a signature of her mother. Her mother would make no
more magic from clay. Only ashes would remain of her by now. C’hiim rubbed the
jagged edges of this last connection to her family.

“What do you seek?” asked a harsh voice above her. Terrified
she had been tracked, C’hiim jerked her head up, at first seeing nothing but
the tree’s spreading branches. “I haven’t got all night.”

This time she caught a movement with the voice and spied a
small figure sitting impatiently on a lower limb. A
Steeyaha
had found
her. She would need to be careful. These beings were dangerously unpredictable
towards humans. It was a good sign it had addressed her directly. It would have
been more likely to have lured her away into the darkness, losing sight of the
River. They were more mischievous than evil, but when it comes to mischief and
mistreatment--the results are often the same

“My village was raided,” C’hiim called up into the tree, her
voice deep and strong. “I am the only survivor. I am on my way to Tambala,
where I will ask for asylum, and to let them know the Quimavi have moved into
our territory.”

“Oh, you want revenge,” the
Steeyaha
concluded. It
used the tone of a digger stating C’hiim was there to buy a sack of bitterroot.
Climbing down like an enormous spider, the creature drew close enough to stare
into her brown eyes. Up close, the
Steeyaha
was clad in bits of smoked
buckskin. Its skin was pebbled and slightly darker than C’hiim’s own. Its shape
was human enough, although a third the size of the shortest of C’hiim’s
village. She corrected herself, remembering there no longer
was
a
village. Its hair was tangled with leaves and Pyam flowers.

The
Steeyaha
roughly touched her, or perhaps it was
just the texture of its flesh that felt rough. Its eyes were large and were
curious, rather than unkind. “
Whakla
,” it concluded, sounding very
satisfied. “Neither man nor woman.”

“I know what it means,” C’hiim said coldly.

“I know even more what it means, child of The People.” It
sat on a broken branch and twirled its shadowed hair with its fingers. “True
Whakalas
among your people are rare. I haven’t seen one like you since I was a child
myself, when the world was young and the sun still shone without
embarrassment.” The
Steeyaha
leaned closer and smelled faintly of cedar
and earth. “Show me,” it whispered, “and I will show you more than you know.”

Empty, C’hiim stood, towering over the
Steeyaha
just
as she towered over the other women of her village—as she
used
to
tower over the women of her village. Gracefully, numbly, she stripped away her
clothing, the cool night air gently caressing her exposed flesh. Her body
responded on its own to the cedar scented breeze. Her nipples hardened, as did
her dick.

“I can teach you much,” the
Steeyaha
said, examining
her with sharp inquisitive fingers. “The question is if you have heart enough
to learn. Tonight you choose, child of The People. Be broken as that piece of
clay you hold or grasp Power. The
Steeyaha
offer but once.”

C’hiim stood as if she were cedar herself. The legends said
the
Steeyaha
could grant great Power to those they favored. The breeze
picked up and swirled between her legs. The
Steeyaha
circled around her
in a counter-clockwise way. When it had made a full circle, C’hiim nodded her
head once. The creature smiled, showing teeth sharper than its fingers. A
smiling
Steeyaha
looked very dangerous.

“Power comes in Song,” it said, circling a second time.
“Power comes from Life. That might be paid in blood. It might be paid in
tears.” The
Steeyaha
circled a third time. “It might be paid in—other
fluids of the body.” It circled a fourth and final time and stood in front of
C’hiim, saying, “You’ve already agreed to do as I say. Now we simply bargain
with the details of payment. You called me with your tears and the emptiness of
your heart. Now is the time to fill you with Power.”

The
Steeyaha
painted her face with red ochre, and
then its red fingers traced lines between C’hiim’s legs, symbolic of the blood
that would never be there. She expected the creature’s touch would be cold, but
it was feverishly hot. It traced the shaft of her cock, which grew engorged and
thick. She closed her eyes and then jerked involuntarily as she felt its mouth
and sharp teeth surround her cock. She suddenly realized what body fluid would
be used to pay for the Power…

You can find the entire story at:
Prick of Power: A
Native American Story of Supernatural Futanari Revenge and Destiny

By

Giselle Renarde

Chapter One

It wasn’t exactly a marriage of convenience—in
fact, it wasn’t a marriage at all.  Call it a move-in of convenience.  Artemis
did, in her head.  She didn’t tell Budd, of course.  It would have hurt his
feelings.  For a big, hulking, muscular guy, he was surprisingly gooey in
love. 

When Artemis got notice that her tiny apartment complex
was being torn down to make way for a high-density monolith, Budd came to her
rescue like a knight in shining armour.  Only, instead of swooping up on his
trusty steed, he put her on the back of his motorcycle.

What would her mother say?

Stupid question.  Artemis’s mother reminded her at
every turn that it was a little early in the relationship to move in with
this
guy
, but, hell, her mother’s disapproval probably made the option more
attractive.  Budd and his eighteen-year-old son Vincent lived in a gorgeous old
house. Way too much space for only two people, or even three. But that was just
as well, since Vincent didn’t seem interested in ever being in the same room
with her.

And who could blame him?  Budd’s last girlfriend had
taken off a few weeks after moving in. Vincent’s mother had fled the scene
years before.  How could Artemis expect the young man to trust another woman? 
She couldn’t.

“I was thinking you could set up this room for your
art,” Budd said, guiding her into a cluttered but brightly lit space.  “Set
your easel by the window, paint the neighbourhood.  I know you paint pets, but
I’ve always liked that tree out front.”

“It’s a nice tree,” Artemis agreed, hugging Budd around
his thick biker neck.  “Aww, you’re so sensitive.”

He grabbed her ass and shrugged.  “A man’s gotta
respect nature.  My dad taught me that.”

“You Native people have a way better connection with
the earth than us white devils,” Artemis said, laughing.

“We should, but not always. Especially younger people. 
Well, some do.  Depends what they’ve been taught and what they’ve been
through.”

Artemis nodded, though she wasn’t sure exactly what he
meant.  All she could think to do, to lift his spirits, was stand on her
tiptoes and kiss him.

That did the trick, and then some!  Budd’s grip
tightened on her ass.  When he lifted her off the ground, she wrapped her legs
around his waist and kissed him deeply.  His body was so big, so brawny and
delicious that she wanted him all the time.  He definitely didn’t look old
enough to have an 18-year-old son, no matter how young he and his first wife
were when Vincent was born.

“You smell good,” he said, his breath hot on her ear.

“So do you.”  She inhaled deeply, taking in his musky
aroma.  Mmm… salt and leather.  Her mouth watered, and she dove back at his
mouth, kissing him like crazy. “God, I want you!”

“Right here?”  He set her ass down on the wooden window
seat.

“Right here.”  She zealously pulled at the button and
zipper of his jeans while he ran his calloused hands down the front of her
shirt.  “Anywhere.  Everywhere.”

His lips found hers as she pulled his cock out the V of
his pants.  He was hard already. His thick shaft throbbed in her eager hands.
Warm pre-cum dripped from his tip onto her forearm while she stroked his impressive
length.

“Put it in me,” she begged, parting her legs. Her tight
skirt rolled up her thighs.  “Fuck me hard.”

“Anything you say.”  He closed in on her crotch as she
pulled her panties to one side.  “I just want my woman to be happy.”

“Then fuck me.”  She arched to let him gain entry. “And
never stop.”

“I never will.”

Budd growled as he drove his cock between her legs. 
She was always wet for his big body, but that didn’t mean he slid right in. 
Oh, no.  His dick was huge, the biggest she’d ever fucked, and it always took a
little time to ease beyond her opening.

His cock carefully stretched her open as he thrust,
slowly building speed.  He was the sort of guy who wouldn’t ever harm her. 
That’s why she felt good about moving in with him so soon.

“Yes, Budd.”  She threw herself at him while he lifted
her off the window seat.  Holding her aloft, he fucked her so hard his metal
zipper bit her ass cheek.  “God, that’s good.”

“You’re so tight.”  He slammed her against the wall,
probably harder than he’d intended. The impact rattled her spine.  “I love your
tight snatch.”

“I love your fat cock!”

His heavy stubble scratched her skin as he buried his
face in her neck and his cock in her cunt. She clung to him harder, trying
desperately not to slide down the wall.  The room hadn’t felt so hot before,
but now that they were deep into it, Artemis sweated through her top. She
clutched Budd’s damp T-shirt. Although she was pinned against the wall, Artemis
thrust her hips against his with whatever leverage she could muster.

“I think I’m gonna come,” he groaned.

“Not without me!”

Artemis hooked her chin over Budd’s shoulder, and
that’s when she saw Vincent storming in from the hallway and grabbing at the
open door. 

Budd’s son looked her straight in the eye and glowered. 
“If you’re gonna screw each other like a pair of animals, you could at least
shut the door!”

“Damn it. Artie, I gotta handle this.  I’ll make it up
to you later, okay?”  Budd hastily pulled out, even though Artemis was so close
she could taste the orgasm on her tongue.

“Wait, can’t we just…?”

Too late.  By the time her feet hit the ground, he’d
already tucked his dick back inside his jeans and gone chasing after his son,
apologizing profusely.

Artemis slid down the wall until her butt met the old
wooden floor.  Her pussy ached from Budd’s big cock, and ached from missing
it.  All well and good that he cared about his son, but what about her cunt? 
Didn’t he care about that, too?

Rolling her skirt down her thighs, Artemis sighed and
looked around the room.  Plaster ceilings, crown moulding, wainscoting, and
dark wooden floors.  Budd must be secretly rolling in dough if he could afford
a joint like this.  And he was right—the light would be perfect for
painting.  She could have clients around to her “office” instead of meeting
them in the park.  That would lend her a brand new respectability, wouldn’t it?

Closing her eyes, Artemis rested against the wall,
listening to Budd and Vincent’s deep voices somewhere in the house.  She
couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was obviously about her.  Sometimes
she felt like she’d never be wanted anywhere she ended up.

That thought was pushed from her mind by a voice even
deeper even than Budd’s. Growling, violently, it said, “You’re mine now.” 

Artemis jumped up from the floor, looking all around
the room.  She felt like somebody was in there with her, but she couldn’t see
anyone.  Tentatively, she opened the large wooden wardrobe, half expecting one
of Vincent’s squirrelly friends to jump out at her.  It was empty, except for a
little wooden box with strange words carved all around the sides.  Curiosity
erased the tension of the moment, but as she lifted the lid, shivers ran down
her spine. The dread returned, even though the box was empty.

Something was in the room with her, watching her. She
was sure of it.  Something
disturbing and malevolent.  The hair
stood up all along her arms.  She felt like she’d been licked up and down her
neck by a dirty old man, and she wiped it with the sleeve of her shirt, again
and again, convinced she was removing someone’s saliva from her skin.

The bedroom door squealed open, and she screamed.

Budd chuckled.  “Jumpy, jumpy!”

“Sorry, I thought I… heard something.” Artemis shook
her head, then pressed the ill-fitting lid back on the wooden box.  “I don’t
know.”

“Vincent and I had a little talk. He’d like to
apologize for the way he spoke to you. He showed no respect.”

“Well, we’re just as bad,” she said, realistically. 
“Leaving the door open while we’re in here, going at it?  That was pretty
stupid.”

“Yeah, true.”  Budd cocked his head and looked deep
into her eyes.  “You okay?”

Could he see her lips twitching as she plastered on a
phoney smile?  “Fine.  Yeah.  Sure.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at her
as she fiddled with the carved box.  “You’d tell me, eh?  You’d tell me if
something was wrong?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“The last woman who came to live with me ran off
without a word.  Vince’s mother, too. Never told me what I’d done wrong.  Just
didn’t seem fair.  I was good to them.”  He sighed.  “You make sure to tell me
if you’re pissed about something I done, okay?”

“I will.” 

“Is that a promise?”

She nodded eagerly.  Too eagerly?  “Cross my heart,
hope to die.” The memory of the shiver returned.

He took her in his arms, and the moment her cheek met
his chest, tears poured out of her like Niagara Falls.

“Hey, hey,” he said, softly.  “What’s wrong now?”

She wasn’t sure.  She made something up.  “Just, moving
out of my own place.  I’m used to living alone. It’s hard.”

“Yeah, but don’t think of it that way.”  He rocked her
gently.  “Think of it like you’ve got a family now.  You, me, Vincent?  We’re
here for each other, us three.  Through thick and thin.”

“You’re right,” she said.  “I’m being silly. 
Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Famous last words.