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To celebrate the e-publication of In Medias Res, a collection of no-holds-barred erotic stories (about 10K each) told in the second person, here's an excerpt from my story Yan, Tan, Tethera Methera. And in case you are wondering what the hell that title means, it's a very old way of counting sheep. It exists - or existed - in many dialect variations across Northern England, but the rhyme I've used goes...
Yan, Tan, Tethera, Methera, Pip,
Sethera, Lethera, Hovera, Dovera, Dick.
This is quite a lot of Dick in my story as it is all about trolls who keep humans as sex-pets. And trolls are not small.
... And not vegetarian.
This story is pretty damn dark. We're definitely in erotic horror territory. When a human male comes into Methera's life and challenges all her old assumptions, things get very dicey. I wanted to write about the terrible dangers of love, as well as about good old-fashioned monster-fucking 😉
Here's a little taste:
Xanto carries you home over one broad shoulder; he moves much more swiftly at his own crouching lope than when he’s letting you set the pace. When he drops down into the cluster of chambers that make up the nest, he’s surrounded at once by your fellow yows, vying to welcome him back. Draped ass-up over his well-padded back, you can hear all and catch glimpses of the others and the caresses they lavish upon him. Pip is literally dancing about in circles, swinging her long, dark braid.
For a while, he puts up with the effusiveness of the welcome, but then he growls, “Enough!”
Everyone scatters, abashed.
As Xanto drops you to the floor in front of him, you feel their eyes upon you, curious, but your own attention is, of course, on him. Myriad hands caressing his thighs have had their effect, and his pizzle is swinging heavily between his ankles. You touch it, feeling the ridged silk of the skin and the incredible weight and heat and girth of him. He’s aroused enough for the first exudate to appear at the tip, a clear and slippery gel that creates a blessed natural lube for troll penetration, and you use both hands to smear it back over the cock’s blunt head, hearing his rumble of approval. Grateful tears swell your throat.
“I don’t want to mate with the tup,” you whisper, working his cock. “I just want you, Papa Xanto. Don’t make me mate with the human, Papa. I love you! You are the only one I want!”
His growl is so deep that it’s almost below the threshold of hearing. “Turn around.”
You obey, dropping to knees and elbows, tail lifted high, and you feel the heat of his huge body as he squats carefully behind you. “Please, Papa!”
“Methera, little one,” he says, as he lays one hand between your shoulder blades. You can feel the tips of his claws. “This is foolishness. Are you seeing Yan or any of the others make such a fuss about their tuppings?”
Yan is watching you darkly from the margin of the cave.
“No,” you admit.
Xanto draws his claws softly down the smooth skin of your back, while his other hand strokes the ivory stem of your tail, stirring the thick plug within your ass, awakening the dark ripples of readiness that surge through your insides. “Tell me who it is you belong to, little one.”
You groan as the shifting plug works its secret magic. You’re aware of its presence at all times. How could you not be? But when it is in motion, it overwhelms all else. “I belong to you, Papa Xanto.”
“That you do. I own your mother before you. Four times I have her tupped, and four beautiful babies she lambs for me in her time. But you are the most beautiful, Methera, and the only one I keep for myself. I love you, little one. I am not wanting to hurt you.”
“I love you, Papa,” you whimper. “Please.”
“Then do not irritate me like this. Do as I tell you. If you anger me, Methera, I am eating you in two bites. Is that what you are wanting?”
The thought of his huge jaws closing about your body, his fangs piecing your sweet flesh, combine with the churning of the tail-plug in your ass to make your sex juices gush. But you answer, “No, Papa,” because you are not stupid.
“Good girl,” he growls. The clench of your rear is loose with surrender now, and the plug slithers out half-way, stretching your sphincter around the fullest point of its girth. Xanto gives it another pump and a wriggle for good measure, and you groan. “You are my good girl,” he says, a little breathless, popping the tail clear. “I know you are being good.”
For a moment, you experience the terrible ache of an empty hole—a void that seems vast and unbearable in its hollowness. Your muscles spasm hungrily. You drop your shoulder to the floor and, with one hand, strum your clit-chain.
Then Xanto presses the tip of his cock to that needy clench and pushes, stretching that gape to its greatest extent. “Ah,” he grunts, drawing his hand down your back and scouring you with his claws.
You spasm with orgasm, squealing, and though his bluntly pointed tip is as big as your own clenched fist, your ass all but sucks it in. Through the rush of blood in your head, you feel him moving within you, magnificent and careful. He’s far, far too big to sheathe himself full length in your meager human hole, but as he pushes in and pulls out at the entrance, the slippery squeeze on the sensitized tip of his prod is enough to provoke him. With a deep “Uh,” that makes your ears buzz, he spurts, filling your ass with scalding hot troll cream. It squirts out around his shaft as he keeps pushing, in and out, and that slop is enough to set you off again, crying out in abandon.
The other yows glare and play with their clit-chains, aroused and envious.
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