WILEY COYOTE: THE WAY IT SHOULD BE


Posted by C on February 02, 2001 at 07:15:44:

Here are the Coyote stories I posted on the WE board.
If they appeal to anybody, please let me know.

WILEY COYOTE: THE WAY IT SHOULD BE
By C

In the western mesa-lands of Mythica, there lives
a clever, shrewd, indeed wily Coyote. He has lived
long and fairly well by using his wits--plus products
generously donated by the Acme Company, for which he
is principal spokesbeast.

He'll eat almost anything, but his favorite food
is female roadrunner. In Mythica, this is not the
scrawny, ill-tempered bird that you and I know in the
land of Dismal-Realia. Here, she is a beautiful,
cinnamon-skinned woman with full breasts, hips,
thighs, and belly--and an ample bottom. Her legs are
the best kind: big and very long. Instead of hair,
her head sports a crest of white feathers that reach
down her back. Her rear is framed by a lovely
feather-fan of the same color. In front she has a
pubic patch of the softest white down. She is
entirely naked, except for a pair of magic silver high
heels, which are fused to her feet and make her the
fastest creature in Mythica. Instead of a harsh
squawk, her voice is soft and seductively musical,
especially when she is caught and begging for her
life. Many a seasoned hunter has let her go at the
last moment, and she knows she has a chance
almost to the end. You can see, I hope, why Coyote
loves her so.

One day, Coyote was resting in a gulch not far
from Route 666, when he lifted his nose and caught the
delicate scent of not one, but three roadrunner slits.
He fixed coordinates and determined that they were
coming down the road from the north. They were taking
their time, which was good news for Coyote, because he
knew he could never catch them in full flight. He
crept up to a boulder adjoining the highway and
sniffed again. These ladies are looking to be bedded,
he thought. Pity I'm the only male in these parts.
Another whiff determined that one was older than the
other two and leading the way by a short distance.
The younger ones had the faint, barely detectable
scent of unbroken cunt. Coyote shuddered with
anticipatory pleasure.

It wasn't long before they came into view: a
maturely beautiful roadrunner hen and what were
obviously her daughters, just arrived at the ripeness
of lovely adulthood. Looking for love in all the
wrong places, thought Coyote, and got ready to pounce.
Closer, closer, and . . . now! He shot out from
behind the boulder and bore down on them. Being this
close, surely he'd bag one.

When they saw him, they gave little gasps of
dismay and zoomed off in the opposite direction.
Never had he seen roadrunners react so fast. He came
within six feet of them, and then they were gone. All
he could do was stare at their quickly receding tail
fans and choke on the sand kicked up by their
glimmering heels. Looking at them speed out into the
desert, he decided that he wanted, and would capture,
all three.

Four more times he set an ambush for them. Once,
he came within inches of bringing down one of the
daughters. But they were always too fast. Always
they left him gasping and wheezing in the dust.

But that was all right. He was learning a lot
about them. Blessed with incredible speed, even for
roadrunners, they were confident and careless.
Instead of scattering, they always stayed in a close
group no matter what. The direction they took was
always the exact opposite of his line of attack. And
they never zigzagged, but relied solely (and with some
justification) on their speed. Thus it was easy to
predict where they would go in the next several
seconds after he jumped out at them. For Coyote, this
ease of prediction meant that all three would be
turning up their toes before much longer.

Coyote now got in touch with the Acme Company and
rush-ordered their Combination Ice Rink and Desert
Hologram. He installed this on the eastern side of a
nice open stretch of Route 666. He then switched on
the hologram and was very impressed: it looked just
like real desert. He now got out a vial of
honey-scented roadrunner spunk, which he'd taken from
the last boy he'd bagged. "You'll finally get some
girls," he said, "but not in quite the way you hoped."
He smeared the liquid over a five-foot square space
of road, about midway along the hologram. Then he
buried himself in the sand along the western side of
the road, right next to the spunk-salted patch. He
was now using his patented Acme
Sand-Snorkel-and-Periscope to keep in touch with the
world above.

After a few hours, a routine sweep with the
periscope confirmed that the lovely trio were coming
up 666 from the south. They entered the five-foot
square space and began sniffing the air. Coyote could
hear the mother's clear, musical voice: "He's been
here, but where is he now?"

Then came a higher voice: "Oh momma, if this
goes on much longer, I'm gonna burst . . . . I don't
think I could get any more juicy."

"Patience, sweeties," said Momma. "I've a
feeling our luck's about to change. In fact, I bet
you we'll all be on our backs before sundown."

"You really think so?" asked the other girl.

"You know those feelings I get," said Momma.
"I'm just about sure of it."

Coyote wanted them as relaxed as possible. He
waited until he heard a few trills of their tinkling
laughter, and then he emerged from his hiding place.

When they saw him, true to form they turned tail
feathers and darted out onto what looked like an
expanse of sand. But it only looked like sand. In
fact, it was ice, which gave no purchase to their
magic pumps. Their feet shot out from beneath them
and they landed, hard, on their rears. They struggled
to get up and fell yet again. Coyote, who could run
on ice, was now upon them, and they shrieked
again and again as his terrible teeth found
their breasts, their bottoms, their bellies--and, best of
all, their damp, quivering slits.

It wasn't long before the venom in his teeth
subdued them. All they could do now was kick to no
purpose and, of course, cry, cry, cry with the shock,
pain, and shame of their capture. Now that he was
sure they were his, he took hold of their crests and
pulled them wailing back to the side of the road,
where he lined them up, groin next to groin, with
Momma in the middle. "Your magic slippers won't take
you home this time," said Coyote.

After awhile, Momma composed herself with some
difficulty and spoke. (As she talked, her daughters
looked on with agonized expectation.) "Oh wise and
wily hunter," she said in her most mellifluous voice,
"you sure bagged us poor babes."

"Ma'am," said Coyote, remaining wily and wary,
"I'm sort of busy, so unless you have something really
important to tell me, I'd like to get on with lunch,
if you know what I mean."

"Of course, oh great and glorious victor in
today's contest. I'm just trying to bring to your
attention that you've caught three magical beings."

"Everyone in this country is magical," said
Coyote. He knew where this was headed.

"To be sure, clever one, but can everyone give
you three wishes?"

"Wishes?" said Coyote. "What sort of wishes
would these be?"

"Anything you like, oh peerless predator," said
Momma, smiling her most winning smile. "Say, for
example, that you wanted an unlimited food supply
. . . we can do that."

"Sounds good. What would I have to do in
return?"

"Just let us go," said Momma, beaming
brilliantly. Her daughters beamed, too.

"Oh darnitall!" said Coyote. "I can't do that."

"Can't . . . can't . . . why not?" (Momma's
smile and those of her daughters vanished as quickly
as they'd appeared.)

"Because then I'd be the biggest fool in the
desert, and pretty obviously I'm not."

At this the two girls began to cry all over
again, until their mother gently but firmly hushed
them. "Oh dear," said Momma after she'd calmed them
down. "Oh dear. I guess I'd better try a new tack.
I was hoping to save us all, but well . . . . It's
like this, Mr. Coyote. We've been looking for a nice
dominant male to take us in, and, well, take us.
Now I've had a full life . . . I've kicked up my
heels, you might say. But my girls . . . they've
never been bedded. Could you please let them go
and be satisfied . . . with me?"

"Oh you poor dears," said Coyote. "You really
have come to the wrong place. I don=t know
whether he was dominant or not, but I
caught the last roadrunner male in these parts about
six months ago. He cried just like one of you when I
nipped his pouch. I used the last of his love-honey
for my bait today." (When he said this, his three
victims groaned with dismay.) "Now I'd like to grant
such a noble, selfless request . . . but I can't. I
mean, look at me: I'm skin and bones as it is. I
don't stay alive by tossing back what I catch. I'm
afraid you're all keepers." (He thought, but didn't
say, that if he picked and chose today, he was
definitely keeping tight-pussies one and two.)

The two girls began their wailing
once again. "Momma! Momma!" cried one of them.
"What's all this about? Make him let us go!"

"Oh my dears, my sweet dears," said Momma,
yielding at last to despair. "It's time to
be brave. We blew it; we got caught with our
pants down, and now it's over."

"Momma," said the other girl, "we don't wear
pants!"

"Stop being so literal-minded! What I'm saying
is: I can't make this gentleman do anything. We're
done for!"

Her daughters were a little dim, but at last it
sank in. "Oh God, God, God, we're really done for!" they
cried. "We're caught! We're bagged! Our pretty
feathers! Our pretty pussies! Oh it hurts to be
caught, oh God it hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Momma it
hurts!"

"Yes dears, it certainly does," said Momma
through her tears. "My pussy's been poached the same
as yours; it hurts like a bitch."

Coyote let them go on for awhile. Then it was
time to finish this part of the game. "It's not as
bad as all that," he said. "I can give you a lot
of what you came here for." As he said this, his
tongue began to extend and stiffen, while the captured
women looked on in wide-eyed fright. "Thath mush
bether," he said, and then he went to work.

The screams and wails before were nothing
compared to now. His tongue was longer, thicker, and
stiffer than anything a male roadrunner could offer.
He started with the girls, and though he didn't try to
be cruel, the sand beneath their bottoms was soaked
with blood before he finished. They kicked madly, but
he held their thighs back against their stomachs, so
that the only thing their sharp heels cut was air.
Soon the venom did its merciful magic, and to
the pain was joined a pleasure like nothing they'd
ever before experienced. They groaned with a terrible
ecstasy, as orgasm after orgasm shook their bodies.
When they at last died, their mother was
ready to play her part. She bled and shrieked less
than her virgin daughters; but, if anything, she
kicked even harder when the tremors of pleasure began.

At last it was over. Coyote surveyed his work.
The three women were open-eyed, staring at nothing.
The downy patches on their fronts were now scarlet.
The hot sun glinted off their silver heels.

"I wish I could bring you back," said Coyote.
"Of course, I'd just kill you all over again. Well,
time to eat."

With these words, his jaws opened, wider and
wider, till he could now swallow them whole.
(Remember, he's a Mythic Coyote!) The only hold-up
was their well-padded hips, but with a little work he
got past these.

"Delicious," he said, then found a shady place to
take his nap.

THE END