Posted by C on December 01, 2002 at 10:24:14:
The three travelers salvaged what they could from their wrecked canoe and made their way as best they could on foot. Before long, they had come to a deep, dark wood.
“If my map is correct,” said Coyote, “This is the Forest of Fingal, also known as the Lair of the Three.”
“And why might that be?” said Catgirl with an irritated sigh. She knew she was in for an explanation, whether she wanted it or not.
“Because,” said Coyote with a smirk, “it’s home to three particularly powerful forest fays: Marcella, Drusilla, and Latifah. Very few travelers ever survive a trip through their forest-or so legend has it.”
“Bummer,” said Thief, ‘cause it’s the shortest route to where we want to go. Well, since I’m an immortal and all, why don’t you guys take a safe detour, and I’ll trek through alone.”
“And cheat us out of our award at the other end?” said Catgirl. “Good try, dog face.”
“Grrrrrr,” said Thief.
“Would both of you kindly shut up?” said Coyote. “I mean: are we the best hunters alive or not? And what a match-up: three against three! I can’t get over the serendipity. I propose we take the opportunity we’ve been given and go kick some fairy bootay. It’ll make us look that much better to the folks in New Gotham.”
“If we survive,” said Catgirl. “Just what do you know about these three bad bitches?”
“Not much,” said Coyote. They are bad, and they’ve killed more than one hunter who tried to separate them from their panties. It should be fun.”
Catgirl sighed again. “Okay, okay. If you’re going after them, so am I. Not that I have anything to prove, of course.”
“Oh no,” said Thief.
“Certainly not,” said Coyote.
“Fuck both of you,” Catgirl retorted. “Now how do you want to do this?”
“Division of labor and a little competition,” said Coyote. “Let’s each pick a girl and go after her alone. The one who bags a babe first will win . . . oh, I don’t know . . . .”
“I do,” said Catgirl. “If I win, you two lazy male good-for-nothings can do all the cleanup for a week.”
“A week?” said Thief.
“You haven’t done any yet!” Catgirl snapped. “What are you complaining about?”
“Oh nothing.” (Thief had already been scratched by Catgirl once.) “Sounds fine. I assume that if I win . . . .”
“Yes of course: Coyote and I do a week of scut work, and so on and so forth.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Coyote. “Now let’s figure out who goes after which girl. I suggest we draw lots.” With those words, he pulled three sticks from behind his back.
“Wait a minute,” Catgirl said. “You’ve already made lots? Just what are you up to?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Coyote with a look of aggrieved innocence on his face. “I knew we’d be coming this way, so I did some preparing.”
“What kind of shell game is this?!” shouted Catgirl. “I’ll bet there’s something funny about those sticks!”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Coyote. “We have to assign three hunters to three fays. These are just three sticks of equal length, each with the name of one of the fays written on it. Here, I’ll shuffle them.” (And he did.) “Do you want to inspect them?”
“No,” Catgirl sighed. “I must be getting a little paranoid in my old age. After all, what difference could it make?” She walked up to Coyote, took a stick, and read the name scribbled on it. “Latifah. Fine.”
Next, Thief took a stick. He got Drusilla.
“That leaves me with Marcella,” said Coyote. “All right. Marcella, I’m told, lives due east of here. Drusilla is south of us. And Latifah is somewhere to the north. See that oak tree over there? That’s where we’ll all meet up with whatever we’ve caught. The first one back with a properly bagged babe is the winner. Oh, and one other thing: weapons don’t work in this forest. Besides our teeth and claws, rope is the only thing we can use.”
“Now you tell us!” snarled Thief.
“Hey, I forgot.”
“Whatever,” said Catgirl. “I’m getting tired of jawing. Let’s go.” And so they did.
As she made her way north, Catgirl thought: That mangy coyote knows more than he’s letting on. But what? Then she concentrated on the path in front of her, for the surrounding woods were getting darker and more tangled by the minute. After about an hour, she came to a glen. A little carelessly, she walked straight into it, and there, at the far end, was Latifah.
Latifah was a beautiful, buxom black fay with a snub nose, full red lips, skin the color of milk chocolate, and thick dark hair corkscrewing down to her shoulders. Her breasts, big and heavy, were scarcely contained by a dazzling white blouse. Her ample bottom and plump pussy were covered by tight white panties. Her powerful, curvaceous legs were accentuated by white pumps. She was sitting on the trunk of a long-dead tree, but when she saw Catgirl, she stood up. Catgirl estimated her height at about ten feet.
Latifah spoke: “What do you want, you little furry bitch?”
“Oh, uh, nothing,” Catgirl replied, then turned and ran for all she was worth into what looked like the thickest part of the forest.
“You’d best be running, Miss fuzzy thing!” Latifah called after her.
When she was sure she was not being pursued, Catgirl stopped and spent the next several minutes cursing Coyote under her breath. Then, when she had regained some of her composure, she found her way back to the path that had taken her into the glen. This time she did a better job of reconnoitering, and she made sure, without being detected, that Latifah had not left her spot.
Now Catgirl got to work. She picked a suitable part of the path, not far from the glen. Then she pulled a length of rope from her backpack, muttered an ensnarement spell over it, and made herself a nice, big noose. She attached the other end of the rope to a sapling and pulled it as far back as it could go. Her ensnarement magic then secured the noose to the ground, right in the middle of the path. She finished up by memorizing exactly where her trap lay and covering it with detritus from the forest. Since everything seemed to be in order, she went back into the glen.
Latifah was seated again on her tree trunk. “I thought I sent you on your way,” she said when she saw the little huntress.
“Well I came back. I think you’re too fat for your panties. I’m here to take them down.”
Latifah shrieked with rage and sprung up from her seat. Catgirl waited till the last possible moment; then she turned and ran back the way she’d come. Latifah went pounding after her. Catgirl began a series of leaps-both to put more space between her and her pursuer and to clear the noose without arousing any suspicion. Her last jump brought her down just inches in front of her trap. Latifah, of course, was too heavy for leaping. When her right foot landed within the noose, Catgirl’s magic released it. The sapling to which it was tied snapped back into place, the noose caught Latifah by the ankle, and she was yanked sideways. She fell, hard, to the ground. The noose had tightened around her ankle, and she made the mistake of attempting two things at once: getting up and freeing her leg. As she thrashed and floundered, Catgirl darted up to her and scratched her on her right thigh. Latifah shrieked, and tried to grab Catgirl in her powerful arms, but the little huntress was too quick. Latifah struggled to her feet; whereupon Catgirl grabbed the rope still attached to her leg and gave it a vicious tug. The fay fell to the ground once again, and Catgirl was able to dash in and score her shoulder. Latifah shrieked once more, this time as much from fear as from rage.
And so it went. Catgirl closed with her quarry just long enough to draw blood, and then she withdrew, looking for another target. She scratched Latifah’s left thigh, then hurt her right thigh a second time, then got behind her and bit one of her calves. It took a while, but the venom in Catgirl’s claws and teeth began its work. Before much longer, Latifah was staggering and swaying.
“Stop! Oh dear God, please stop!” she cried.
“Not a chance,” said the huntress. “I told you, I’m here to take your panties down!”
Knowing how gravely she had weakened the big fay, Catgirl grabbed the rope once again and pulled it so that this time Latifah fell on her back. Then she boldly jumped on top of her victim and bit one of her breasts, right at the nipple. Latifah screamed and tried to lift her arms, but could not. When she saw the fay’s hands fluttering helplessly at her sides, Catgirl twisted around, forced her head between Latifah’s madly kicking legs, and sank her teeth into the plump swell of her pussy. She held on tight as her prey let out a long, shrill, heartbroken scream. Knowing she’d won, Catgirl withdrew again to await the inevitable conclusion.
It wasn’t long in coming. Latifah squealed, and sobbed, and kicked frantically for several minutes. At last (as many fays must when the time has come for surrender and despair), she drew her splendid legs up and back, so that her pumps pointed tremblingly skyward. Her breasts and lower lip were trembling, too. Catgirl undid the noose that still encumbered Latifa’s right ankle, then pushed the fay onto her side and used the rope to bind her wrists behind her. (No harm in making absolutely sure of things.). Then she put Latifah on her back once again and took hold of her now torn and blood-spotted panties. The fairy shuddered and fell into new spasms of weeping and kicking as these were pulled to her knees.
“Oh my panties, my panties, oh God you got my panties!” Latifah wailed.
“I got more than those,” Catgirl said, and inspected what she had uncovered: a succulent mons veneris, with a muff of thick black hair surmounting a vulva all red and inflamed from her venom. She breathed in the musky aroma and purred. “Now it’s time to show you off to the others.” Like most fays, Latifah was lighter than she looked, but that wasn’t saying a great deal. Using dead branches and other underbrush, Catgirl rigged up a crude travois and wrestled her victim onto it. Then she pulled the weeping fay back down the path, toward the oak the hunters had picked for their rendezvous.
Coyote got to the oak tree first. He had Marcella with him, slung face down and bottom foremost over his right shoulder. She was a flying fay (or she had been), and her white butterfly wings still trembled. Otherwise she was quite still. She was about four feet in height, a milky-skinned blonde in pale green chemise, panties, and heels. Her wrists were bound behind her with rope. Her panties were at her knees; and Coyote used his prehensile tongue from time to time to dab up the blood that dripped from her pussy. He laid the unconscious girl out on her back, as close to the oak as he could put her. Then he waited.
Thief arrived next. He looked as if he had been through a Cuisinart. His face was scratched and bleeding, and clumps of fur had been torn out of his hide in several places. He carried Drusilla over his shoulder. Much larger than Marcella, about as big as her captor in fact, she had alabaster skin and hair as black as coal. She wore a black boustier, black pumps, and black panties. The pants had been tugged down, just like Marcella’s. Her wrists were bound behind her as well, and her sharp red nails, still wet with Thief’s blood, were plain to see. Like Marcella, she was unconscious.
“Oh Goddammit,” said Thief when he saw that Coyote was already there. Then he got a good look at the size of Coyote’s victim. “What the . . . fucking fuck?!”
“Why, what’s the problem?” Coyote asked.
“I . . . I don’t know how you did it, but you rigged those sticks so you could get the easy one! This wager’s off!”
“Oh, you’re just a sore loser,” said Coyote.
“I’d blast you,” Thief snarled, “if I weren’t under a contractual obligation not to!” Scowling, he laid Drusilla out, face up, next to Marcella. Clearly, the larger girl’s puss had taken a good nipping, too.
Just then, cursing and gasping, Catgirl hauled her captured cargo into view. She deposited the still-weeping Latifah next to the others, then pulled the travois out from under her to make her more comfortable.
Latifah looked over at her companions in capture and cried: “Oh my God! I’m . . . in the bag with those two wimpy white girls! Who’d have thought it? Who’d have thought it?”
“Nothing to wonder at,” said Catgirl. “Sooner or later, even the biggest has to kick up her heels and cry, just like all the others.”
Latifah gazed up at her captor. “A . . . a witch woman once told me: only the . . . Queen of Hunters could tug my . . . panties to my knees. You must be the Queen, little cat lady, you . . . must be the Queen!” And she sobbed with renewed gusto.
Catgirl drew up as straight and tall as she could. She surveyed their trophy line for a moment, and then she spoke: “The little one’s Marcella, I presume?”
“Yup,” said Thief.
Catgirl strode over to Coyote and slapped him, hard, on his snout. He yipped and withdrew to a safe distance. “Here’s how it’s going to be,” she said. Thief and I are taking the week off from all chores: cooking, cleanup, you name it. It won’t be anything new for Thief, of course, but guess what’ll be different?”
“I’ll be doing it all?” said Coyote.
“You’ve got it.”
“Okay,” he said, still rubbing his nose.
“Now let’s eat.” Catgirl knelt down and took hold of Latifah’s thighs. Coyote and Thief prodded their victims into tearful wakefulness. When they came to, they obligingly raised their legs.
Marcella spoke now: “Oh Latifah! C-can’t you help us?”
“Yes!” cried Drusilla. “Help us, please!”
“Sorry, little sisters,” Latifah said. “It’s . . . kicky time for Latifah, too. The Queen of Hunters came and . . . just look at my panties! Just look at them! But here’s a trick: c-cry your hearts out and it won’t . . .won’t hurt so much.” So they all did.
Soon the hunters were sucking the juice from three punctured pussies. And who do you think had the best meal?