SEVEN BRIDES FOR ONE COYOTE

Posted by C on February 02, 2001 at 07:37:09:

SEVEN BRIDES FOR ONE COYOTE, or
CATCH THE GIRLS AND MAKE THEM CRY

By C

Part I

One day, Coyote was passing through the town of Tumbleweed, when he decided to call on his old friend, Marshal Matt Basterson. Basterson's headquarters abutted on the town square. Its windows gave an excellent view of the courthouse, across the square, and the town gallows, right in the middle. While he sat in Basterson's waiting room, Coyote looked out toward the gallows, but was disappointed to see that nothing was happening today. "Ho hum," he said, and started rooting through the magazines.

Suddenly the door to the Marshal's office opened, and there he stood: a big, hearty, smiling man with a black handlebar mustache and a silver star on his shirt. He strode up to Coyote and gave him a crushing pawshake. "Hey, Coyote, you ol' varmint!" How you doin'?"

"Just fine, Matt. Was passing through, and thought I should say hello. How are things?"

Basterson's smile vanished. "Well . . . ." he said, "to be entirely honest, they been better. Whyntcha come on into my office?" He led Coyote into the room from which he'd just emerged and showed him to a comfortable chair. He then sat down behind his desk.

"What's up, old friend?" asked Coyote.

"Take a look at that wanted poster," said Basterson, pointing to a big sheet of paper taped to the wall behind him. Coyote got up and gave it a quick skim. It was like most wanted posters in Mythica, except that instead of one or two pictures, it had seven. Seven exceptionally pretty women, with the same long black hair, the same alabaster skin, and the same impudent expressions, stared out at him. "OK," said Coyote, "the Sultry Sisters. You've never had much trouble bagging bad girls before. What's so special about these ladies?"

"Well," said Basterson. "They're human-sized land fairies . . . ."

"So catching them should be a cinch."

"They seem to be a new–a new mutation. They got about ten times the seductive powers of your regular land fairy, to judge from survivors' reports. I've sent three posses out after 'em, and none have come back. None. I can't risk more men, Coyote. I'm at a total loss here."

"Hmmm," said Coyote. "Like other land fairies, but even more seductive. If they expect any male who comes up against them to just drop his trousers, they may be over-confident."

"So far, they got every right to be over-confident. You plannin' to stick around awhile? 'Cause anythin' you cook up in that furry little noggin o' yours would surely help."

"My noggin's heating up," said Coyote. "Let's see what pops out."

After sleeping on it at the Silver Dollar Hotel (also adjacent to the town square), Coyote had a plan. He explained it to Basterson during breakfast in the hotel restaurant. When he'd finished, he said; "So that's it: I'll either bring them to justice, or I'll die trying."

"Sounds mighty dangerous," said the Marshal. "I'd hate for 'em to tack your hide to the wall, Coyote."

"If I know fays," said Coyote, "I've got a decent chance. Even without a special mutation, girl fays are the vainest critters alive. What I've cooked up here goes right to their vanity."

"And that new stuff from the Acme Corporation? It's been tested a zillion times by now, I reckon?"

"Uh, not quite. But the folks who made it haven't let me down so far."

"Well," said the Marshal, "good luck, little pardner."

Coyote looked out the restaurant window at the gallows, which was only forty feet away. "How about a friendly wager, Matt? In less than two full days, all seven'll be noosed and kicking--or I owe you thirty bucks."

"You little rascal! If'n you lose, I can't collect! Just be careful."

Part II

Right after breakfast, Coyote set out alone, armed only with his backpack. Where to find the Sultry Sisters was no mystery: they'd very publicly set up house at the old Mission near the town of Dry Gulch. They had been heard to say more than once: "No man'll ever take us in!" Apparently, they'd given no thought to coyotes.

The Mission looked deserted. Coyote came closer. He was about thirty yards away when a feminine voice called out: "Stop right there!" He looked up and saw them all standing on the roof: seven buxom brunettes, clad in white mini-dresses and matching high heels, and armed with bows and arrows. Seven arrows were pointed straight at his chitlins.

One of the girls leapt from the roof and floated, ever so gently, down to the ground. As she did, her hem flew up, revealing white panties. When she reached the ground, she unselfconsciously put her clothing back in order and advanced on Coyote. All the while, she kept her arrow at the ready. She was very pretty, with thick black hair that went all the way to her rear end, skin of the palest white, achingly full breasts, and nicely upholstered hips.

"Good golly," she said, "You're the Coyote!"

"That's correct, Miss, and good morning to you."

"Look girls, they sent the Coyote! We're celebrity outlaws! Well, Mr. Coyote, with all due respect, I think we got you covered!"

"So you do," said Coyote. "Something of a reversal of fortune, I'd say."

"That's for sure," said the girl. "The way I hear it told: you show up on the scene, and in two, three days tops, some poor fays are sayin' goodbye forever to their panties. 'He always gets his gal'; that's what they say."

"Substantially correct," said Coyote.

"But here you are, and we all got a bead on you. Why? I know you coulda been a lot sneakier."

"Perhaps I want something . . . different this time."

"Such as . . . ?" said the girl and took a step closer. As she did so, Coyote was suddenly overcome with such powerful longing for her that he fell to his knees. The scent of her body, the curve of her breasts, the insolent twist of her smile–he had to have it all.

"I see you're not immune," said the girl with a smirk.

"No, not in the least," said Coyote, "and that's a–a part of why I'm here. You see I'm tired . . . so very tired of it: hunting and catching beautiful ladies whom I have to dispatch as soon as I've caught them. It's a lonely, lonely life I'm condemned to, and I'm tired of it. I want . . . to end it. And I think you can help me end it. I've heard you're the most desirable fays in Mythica. You're the ones (the only ones) I want to help me end it."

"You mean," said the girl, "you want us to . . . . "

"Yes," said Coyote, "so that, before I die, I can be free from the terrible loneliness."

"We could just shoot you down where you stand. That'd end the loneliness. What's in it for us to do anythin' different?

"Well," said Coyote, "a few things. First, the not inconsiderable renown you'd win as the fays who seduced, bedded, and killed the great Coyote. Second, a whole host of benefits if we just happened to be . . . married when you did it."

"Married?" said the girl.

"Yes, married."

"Wow," said the girl.

"Exactly," said Coyote.

Part III

In the land of Mythica, a wife (even if widowed) enjoyed a whole package of privileges that might appeal to the Sultry Sisters:

First and foremost, she could not be executed for any crime, no matter how heinous, without her husband's consent. Even if she had murdered him, the authorities needed his say-so. In that case, it had to be determined by necromancy–an expensive, dangerous procedure which had killed more than one judge. As a result, a husband-killer could usually count on life–and a life-sentence gave a fay plenty of time to seduce her way out of prison. The no execution rule wouldn't protect the Sisters from private agents like Coyote; but you couldn't have everything, and they weren't too worried about the average fay hunter, anyway.

Furthermore, a widow automatically inherited all her husband's assets, even if she had killed him. (This rule was meant to give Mythican husbands a strong incentive to be nice to their wives. It usually worked.) It was well-known that the Acme Corporation had just awarded Coyote a substantial amount of stock in return for his many services. Even split seven ways, it was a handsome sum.

Finally, wives had a higher social status than any other females in Mythica. The only person a wife had to obey in everything was her husband. And if he was dead . . . .

"It's an interesting offer," said the fay. "Let me talk it over with the gals. By the way, my name is Sassy–Sassy Sultry."

"Charmed," said Coyote, and meant it. When she had withdrawn to the roof, he could once again stand up.

After some animated discussion, they all floated down from the roof (white-pantied, every one of them!) and came over to Coyote, their bows still drawn. They were virtually identical, and they all shared the same strange, overpowering magnetism. Coyote almost fainted. "Oh, sorry about that," said Sassy. "We can lower the volume." As she said this, he could suddenly breathe again, but the desire by no means disappeared.

"So let's get this straight," she said. "You're tired of living your lonely life. So you want to marry us, roll in the hay with us, and kick the bucket."

"That's about the size of it," said Coyote.

"I should warn you: we got such a case of the fay curse, that I doubt you'll make it through one of us, let alone seven."

"I'll just have to do my best."

"And it probably won't surprise you to hear that we trust you about as far as we can chuck you–no, not even that far. So if'n we marry you, your weddin' vows are goin' to have to be an especially strong kind of oath."

"I'll swear an oath to your Dark Master," said Coyote. When they heard this, the girls looked very impressed. "I'll bind myself as follows: to marry you all, be a good husband to you in every way, and to have sexual intercourse with as many of you as I can at the earliest opportunity. When I do, I won't wear a fay-foiler condom or any other protective device. I'm doing all this of my own free will; and, even if there's any doubt on that score, after I'm dead I will under no circumstances consent to your being executed for killing me, or for any other offense. May I be burned and blasted eternally if I go back on a single word of my oath. How's that sound?"

"Hallelujah!" said Sassy. "I think we're gonna get hitched!" She uttered a brief incantation, and the bows and arrows all disappeared. "Don't get any funny ideas, sweet cheeks. They'll be back in our hands in half a second if we need 'em. Now let's have some introductions: these are my sisters, Sally, Cindy, Sarah, Sukie, Sandra, and Suzie." Each fay curtsied like a little girl when her name was called; their leers, however, were anything but little-girlish. "What we need now," said Sassy, "is a preacher. We haven't killed Parson Brown yet, have we?"

"No, Sass," said Sukie, "we were going to do that next week."

"Good. Could two or three of you be dears, and go fetch him?" Sukie and Sallie went off toward Dry Gulch. About twenty minutes later, they returned with an elderly, very frightened-looking man.

"Parson Brown," said Sassy, "this here coyote wants to marry us."

"What–is he nuts?" said the preacher.

:"Watch your mouth, old man! Apparently, he's tired of livin', and he wants to go out with a bang. So naturally he picked us."

The preacher cast a pitying glance at Coyote. "I can understand you wantin' 'em, son. With the magic they got, every male does . . . . But this just ain't right. Have you considered counseling?"

"Please, Reverend," said Coyote, "for your own sake, do what I'm asking."

"Oh! Oh!" said Sassy. "Just a minute." She uttered another incantation, and suddenly all seven girls now sported veils. "Should we whip up wedding gowns to match?" she asked.

"What you've got on now is fine," said Coyote. He had decided he liked them in mini-dresses.

Parson Brown shook his head sadly and began. He had Coyote stand in front of him on his right. He had the seven brides stand to the left. In traditional Mythican fashion, he intoned: "Dearly beloved, we are all gathered here today in the sight of men and gods, to join this . . . coyote and these . . . supernatural females in wedlock. Coyote, are you prepared to make your vows?"

"Yes, I am," said Coyote.

"Then do so."

So Coyote recited his oath in exactly the way he had promised he would. When the preacher realized this was an oath sworn to the Dark Master, he almost fainted. When he had recovered, he turned to Sassy and company and said: "L-ladies, are you prepared to make your vows?"

"Huh?" said Sassy.

"Your vows. You have vows, too."

"We do? Golly, Parson, cut us some slack–we ain't never done this before. What's a lady usually say?"

"She vows to be a good wife in every way."

"OK, that sounds fine. I vow–to my Dark Master-- to be a good wife in every way." And Sally, Cindy, Sarah, Sukie, Sandra, and Suzie all echoed her.

"Very well," said the Parson. "I now pronounce you Coyote and wives. Sir, you may kiss the brides." And Coyote went to each girl, lifted her veil, and gave her a big slurp with his tongue. "I-I think I'm gonna cry!" said Cindy.

Part IV

Coyote thanked the Parson, gave him a nice tip, and escorted his new wives into the old Mission. At the door, Sassy gave him a long, lingering kiss and said: "Why don't you come straight to our boudoir?"

"Sounds sweet," said Coyote. So he followed them to a big room with seven four-poster beds, all in a row. Coyote sat on a chair facing the beds. Sassy asked: "Would you like us to slip into something else?"

"I love you in white," said Coyote. "Why don't we stick with what you've got?"

"OK," Sassy said with a giggle. She and her sisters got into their beds and struck a variety of seductive poses.

"Should we draw straws?" said Suzie.

"It doesn't matter," said Coyote, who was now rummaging through his backpack. "Now where is that stuff? Ah, here we go." He pulled out a small plastic jar, opened it, shook two white tablets into his palm, then put the tablets in his mouth and swallowed them. "Yechh," he said.

"What's that, honey--heart medicine?" asked Sassy with another of her characteristic smirks.

"Nope," said Coyote. "It's Acme's latest invention. They call it Coyotagra, and it's the perfect antidote to the fay curse."

"Wh-what?" said several of the girls. Their eyes had suddenly gotten very wide.

"Antidote," said Coyote. "Two of these, and I can fuck fays till the cows come home, and live to tell about it.

"B-but you swore an oath!" cried Sassy.

"Yes, dear, I did: not to wear a fay-foiler condom or other protective device. Take a look–am I wearing anything?"

Sassy shouted an incantation, and drawn bows reappeared in her hands and those of her sisters.
Coyote yawned and said: "Put those down before you hurt someone." And, to their very great surprise and dismay, they did. "Wh-what's going on?" asked Sarah.

"Did you forget your vows, ladies? You swore–to your Dark Master no less--to be good wives in every way. That means obeying your husband. Tossing in the Dark Master made the oath so strong that you couldn't break it now even if you wanted to."

"Wh-what are you going to do to us?" asked Sassy.

"I'm going to do what I swore I'd do," said Coyote. "I'm going to have sexual intercourse with as many of you as I can. Thanks to Coyotagra, that'll probably be all of you. And I'm going to be a good husband to you. That means a number of things. For example, I'll be very gentle during the lovemaking. But I also have to do what's best for you thereafter, and that includes seeing to appropriate punishments. Since you're all wanted for capital crimes, I'll have to take you into Tumbleweed and hand you over to the Marshal."

At this, they all cried out: "No! Dear devil, no, no, no!"

Sassy then piped up: "Y-you swore you wouldn't consent to our . . . our . . . ."

"Execution?" said Coyote.

"That's right. You swore!"

"I don't think you girls were listening too carefully. I swore I wouldn't consent after I was dead. I'm still alive, and thanks to my little tablets, you aren't going to change that fact."

"All right, all right," said Sassy. "But you still don't have to consent. You're free to say: 'Spare them.' Y-you can do that!"

"Of course," said Coyote, "But I 'm not going to. Face it, ladies: the game's over. You've lost, and you're going to hang."

Now they all wept, and wailed, and beat the beds with their fists, and kicked at the air with their feet, like so many spoiled children. Coyote soon tired of the racket. "That's enough!" he said. In response, they buried their heads in their mattresses and sobbed quietly.

"While we're on the subject of punishment," said Coyote, "it occurs to me that all of you treated me with a great deal of insolence today–Sassy especially. And nobody was very nice to the Parson. Sassy, come here."

Trembling and tearful, Sassy got up and walked over to where Coyote sat. He tucked the hem of her mini-dress into her belt. Then he gripped her panties and drew them about half-way down her thighs. She had a full, black muff and a rich musky scent. Already aroused, Coyote now almost spurted. He got himself under control and told her to lie down over his knees. She began to do so, when he took her by the arm and asked: "What do you say?"

"Y-yes, husband."

"That's it. Now lie down." She did so, whimpering all the while.

Coyote took a few deep breaths, then brought his paw down sharply on her behind. Sassy, who had never been shellacked before, filled the bedroom with her howls of pain and humiliation. The others just looked on in abject fright. Coyote wacked her twenty times before sending her back to her bed. Then he punished the others in the same fashion.

Now it was time to test the Coyotagra. (Won't I feel sheepish if it doesn't work! Coyote said to himself.) He went to Sassy first, who screamed and shrank back against the headboard. He took her in his arms and stroked her hair. When she had calmed somewhat, he made her lie back on the bed and began to kiss and massage her breasts. Her breath started to come in short little gasps. Next, he tugged her panties all the way down (she'd been too frightened to pull them back up). As gently as he could, he spread her thighs and stroked her pussy, ever so lightly, with his tongue. (Her musky tang gave him the most powerful desire to bite down, hard; but his oath required him to be gentle.) Her gasping slowly grew louder. When he thought she was moist enough, he entered her. She was still very tight, and she shrieked at first, leaving some blood on the sheet. But it soon got easier, and before long she was groaning and crying out in a strange ecstasy, both hurtful and delightful at once. She came more times than Coyote could count. At last, exhaustion (and the venom in Coyote's saliva) put her into a deep sleep. Then it was Sally's turn.

It must have taken hours in all, but Coyote broke all seven girls, put all seven to bed. When he was done, he wondered if he would now collapse and die. Several minutes passed--and he remained alive. At last, he tired of the suspense and drifted off himself.

Part V

When he woke, sunlight filled the room, and he heard a lark singing. He had slept through to the next morning. The girls were still out, so he got up and found the washroom on his own. Then he came back to the bedroom and clapped his paws sharply. His seven brides began to stir. "Rise and shine, everybody," he said. "I want you to clean up and put on new panties. You'll keep the white dresses and heels. Then, as soon as you've fixed us all some breakfast, we'll head out." After they had come to full consciousness, they started to cry all over again. "Weep all you want, ladies, but get ready," he said.

Coyote sat at the kitchen table and read the Tumbleweed Gazette. After about an hour, his brides came in, red-eyed and trembling. He had them make a bacon and egg breakfast, big enough for everyone. He ate first, while they all stood waiting behind his chair. Then he let them eat. When everybody was finished, he made them line up and then marched them outside.

"Oh husband," said Sassy, "m-may I speak?"

"I think you already have, but go on."

"Have we been g-good wives, so far?"

"Yes."

"M-might that not . . . count for something?"

"It might, and it does, but you have to understand one thing. I made a commitment to my good friend Marshal Basterson: to bring you to justice--or die trying. A predator's word is his bond; he doesn't need a magic oath to do what he says he'll do. So yes, you're all good wives, marvelous wives; but you're still going to hang. Hmm, I have an idea. You have a good cry, while I go back in and get something." He left them weeping there and ran back into the Mission.

A few minutes later, he returned with their bridal veils. "Put these on again," he said. "I want you to wear them when you drop."

"But wh-why, husband?" said Sukie through her tears.

"So everyone will know you're my wives," said Coyote, "and that even so, I brought you to justice. Come on, let's go." So he set out, and they followed, sobbing, in a line behind him.

When they came into Tumbleweed, a crowd of onlookers quickly formed. Someone ran to tell Marshal Basterson. He made a few calls, then hurried out to meet them. "Glory be, Coyote! You did it: you bagged all seven! But you married 'em first, just like you said you would!"

"So I did," said Coyote. "Is the Courthouse open?"

"Yup. Judge Hinrichter's already in session."

"Let's go in, then." Before they entered, the brides all got a good look at the waiting crowd, and at the gallows. Workmen were already putting seven nooses in place. The doomed girls shuddered; and some involuntarily touched their throats with their hands. Then Sandra started to scream: "Oh God, God, God, I don't wanna die! Please don't make us die! Please Please Please Please! Oh God! Oh God oh God!" The others soon took up the cry. Coyote strode over to Sandra, lifted her, and slung her, bottom up, over his shoulder. He then smacked her sharply on the behind and said: "As I said before: Let's . . . go . . . in." The others piped down and meekly followed him into the Courthouse.

The trial lasted ten minutes. After finding them all guilty, Judge Hinrichter proceeded to sentencing. "Young ladies," he said, "you've been found guilty of two hundred and twenty-four separate offenses, every one of them capital. I see from your veils, however, that you're all either married or about to be married. Who're the lucky fellas?"

Coyote stood up and said: "I am, Your Honor. I married all seven of them yesterday."

"Hmmm. In that case, my furry friend, you have the right to deny consent to their execution. Do you choose to do so?"

"No, Your Honor, I do not."

"Are you sure? I mean–you can get conjugal visits . . . ."

"I understand that, Your Honor. But yesterday morning, I made certain commitments to Marshal Basterson here. I won't go back on them now."

"Very well then," said the Judge, licking his lips. "Let's have a hangin'!"

"Oh, one other thing, Your Honor."

"Yes?"

"I assert my right as husband to be the executioner in this matter."

"You indeed have that right," said the Judge, "but are you, uh, sure you wish to exercise it? We do have . . . highly trained personnel, after all, who can send these lovely ladies off without a hitch." (It was well known in Tumbleweed that when the condemned were pretty, the Judge liked to put on a hood and carry out the hanging himself.)

"With all due respect, Your Honor, I'll exercise my right."

"Hmph; very well," said the Judge. He brought down his gavel. "Recess for hangin'."

As he took them into the Courthouse lobby, Sassy stopped crying long enough to ask: "Why, husband, why?"

"It's just too good," said Coyote.

He brought them all into the square, right in front of the gallows. The crowd had gotten even bigger in the meantime. "Take down your panties and hold them out in front of you," he told the girls. Whimpering, they obeyed. He used these to bind their wrists behind them. Then he repeated a trick from yesterday: he lifted each girl's hem and tucked it into her belt. Their groins were now fully exposed, as the law required whenever fays–female or male–were executed. Coyote drew in his breath sharply when he once again saw those full black muffs, set off by alabaster skin. The musk of seven caught fay pussies tickled his nose. He'd have to be very strong now. "It's time to go up," he said."

He led them to the top of the gallows. Then he took them out onto the collapsible platform from which they would drop. Being careful not to disturb their veils, he tightened a noose around each neck. Next he went from fay to fay and lifted the veils, as he had the day before. After he raised each veil, he kissed its owner on the lips.

When he had kissed Sassy, she spoke to him in a quiet voice–almost a whisper. "I been a good wife, honey. I could grow to love you, in time. P-please don't kill me. Please."

Coyote answered in an equally quiet voice: "What did you say when you first met me? You'd heard that I would show up on the scene, and within two or three days, some poor fays were saying goodbye to their panties forever. Well, your information was accurate. Wife or not, you're no different from all those others. You've got to buck up, dear. Dying isn't that bad for fairies; you'll get through it just fine."

Now it was time for a public announcement. "Sultry Sisters!" Coyote said in a voice that the crowd would have little trouble hearing. "You have been found guilty of over two hundred capital offenses–too many to enumerate here. You have been sentenced to hang by your pretty necks until you are dead. I, your husband, will now execute that sentence."

Then he went over to a big lever and pulled it back. The platform dropped away, leaving the Sisters kicking and writhing in mid-air. Their faces contorted in agony; they uttered little choking, coughing, whimpering sounds; their tongues protruded; and their bladders emptied. Then their cunts began to spurt the clear honey that a captured fairy always secretes in her last moments. As they spurted, their kicking grew more frantic, more violent. It took several minutes, but the fairy throes finally passed; and then the seven outlaws kicked no more. The crowd clapped and whistled appreciatively; it had been a good hanging.

"How about that thirty dollars?" Coyote said to Marshal Basterson.

"I don't recall agreein' to that wager," said the Marshal. Then he grinned: "But what the heck! You said: noosed and kickin' in less than two days, and you pulled it off. You've earned it." He took thirty dollars from his wallet and handed it over. "I guess it's true what they say, little pardner: you always get your gal."

"Yup," said Coyote. "I always do."

THE END