Coyote Meets Melkor

Posted by C on June 19, 2001 at 20:34:59:

A new Coyote story. Sorry, in this one he stays true to form: catching the girls and making them die.

COYOTE MEETS MELKOR, or
A TASTE OF BROWN BETTY

I. An Informal Conference

One day, Coyote was creeping quietly and carefully through the sagebrush, his ears and nose at the ready. He was searching for tell-tale signs of fairy lovemaking. And there it was--extremely faint--but his sharp ears heard it: a series of little feminine whimpers: "Oooo, unnh, oww, ahhh." He turned his powerful nose in the direction whence the sounds had come, and again what he detected was faint, but unmistakable: two pussies, very moist. In complete silence, he crept forward until he reached a small clearing. There, in the middle, were a pair of brownies: mid-sized fays with transparent wings, thick black hair on their heads and nowhere else, and skin the color of milk chocolate. Like most of their kind, they were naked. These two were on their sides, each with her tongue planted firmly in the other's twat.

Gentleman that he was, Coyote let them climax a few times before he pounced. He launched himself so as to fall across their bodies; then he snapped his head back, biting one girl's breast and the other's groin. They screamed and tried to escape, but he pinned them there and kept biting until his venom told. When he knew he had them, he got up and turned one of them around, so that they were bosom to bosom and toe to toe.

The girls' faces were wet with tears. Their weighty breasts could not stop heaving. One of them managed somehow to speak: "Y-you're the Coyote! We heard about you. You got those buffalo girls! You're . . . you're the best there is, and now . . . now you've got us!" With this, both began to bawl uncontrollably.

A couple of fans! thought Coyote. Could things get any better? He savored their weeping--and his new-found celebrity. He was about to respond, when suddenly the sun was blotted from the sky. He looked up, and there, standing over him and his catch, was the biggest spider he had ever seen: it swayed there, ten or more feet above the ground, its legs as thick as telephone poles, its fangs a foot long or more.

"I have a few bones to pick with you," said Melkor the Mighty. And with those words he plucked Coyote from the ground with his fangs and held him in an unbreakable grip.

"Have we met?" said Coyote. "Wait . . . you're Melkor the Spider King! You know, I've always been an admirer, and now . . . ."

"Silence!" shouted the spider. He bent down now over the two stricken fairies. With his pedipalps, he lifted one, attached some sticky webbing to her, and then fastened her to his right flank. Then he affixed the second girl to his left. This new turn of events left both brownies voiceless with fright.

"You're . . . you're not thinking of taking my prey?" asked Coyote.

"You took mine: twenty buffalo girls."

"This . . . this is outrageous!" yelled Coyote, squirming in the spider's grasp and shaking his fist. "The Acme Company'll hear about this! They've got first-rate lawyers. They'll file a forcible entrée and retainer; they'll get a writ of ignoramus--you'll be sorry! Are you listening to me?"

Melkor said nothing. He simply strode off (with Coyote and the two hapless fays) toward his home: the plains and woods just east of the mesa-lands.

Coyote never remembered how long the trip took. As uncomfortable as he was, nonetheless, he dozed off at least twice. Finally, Melkor came to a big gulch, littered with bags of spider silk. Clearly this was his lair. He placed the brownies side by side at one end of the gulch, then stung them to keep them still for the time being. Next, and much less gently, he dropped Coyote to the ground about ten feet from the girls.

"Right now," said the spider, "the most important difference between these ladies and you is that you won't go coming. I'm angry enough to kill you--but I'll listen to reason. What do you have to say?"

So Coyote explained that bagging the buff-girls was an emergency measure, necessitated by the destruction they had wrought in the mesa-lands. "I intended no offense; if I had . . . . "

Melkor quickly interrupted: "Nobody hunts buff-girls--Nobody!--without getting my permission first! Do you understand me, you little furry pipsqueak?"

"With perfect clarity," said Coyote. "Now if I could . . . ."

"Let's turn to another issue," said the spider. "Thanks to that cheap trick you played on those buffs, it seems you're now claiming to be the greatest hunter there is. What do you have to say to that?"

"Not at all," said Coyote. "A bunch of over-enthusiastic journalists may have come to that conclusion, but I'd never dream of saying . . . . "

A copy of the Sawdust Falls Sentinel suddenly dropped to the ground next to Coyote's snout. He looked over and saw the headline: "'I'M GREATEST,' COYOTE CLAIMS."

"Okay," said Coyote, "I may have puffed myself a bit. I mean, who doesn't? It doesn't really mean anything. If it bothers you so much, I'll call the paper and print a retraction. I'll . . . ."

"No you won't," said the spider. "You've said in public that you're the greatest. And who knows? Maybe you are. So I'm going to give you a chance to prove it. You're going to go on a little quest to the northern forest. Then, you'll either stay there in perpetual exile, or you'll bring back a splendid prize."

"A prize?"

"Yes, the grandest, most magnificent of land fairies. Think of the difference between these two little brownies and a buffalo girl. Well, she surpasses buffalo girls by the same margin. She stands twelve feet tall. She can kick a tiger to death (I've seen her do it). She wears magic heels that give her speed equal to any buff's, but with far superior endurance. I've tried to run her to earth a dozen times, and I've always failed. You, however, who claim to be the greatest . . . you might succeed where I couldn't."

"And don't come back without her," said Coyote.

"That's right," said Melkor. "Return to the mesa-lands without Brown Betty in tow (that's what they call her), and I'll hunt you, catch you, and turn you into Coyote consomme."

"I guess I'd better get started," said Coyote.

"One more thing," said Melkor. "Brown Betty is merely the biggest and strongest of her covey. You have more to contend with than just her."

"When was it ever easy?" said Coyote with a sigh. He had no desire to see Melkor feast on the brownies he'd worked so hard to catch, so he set out immediately.

II. On the Road Again

Melkor had told Coyote to go north, so that's what he did. Somewhere along the way, he bought a backpack and a few provisions. As the miles went by, the woods grew and the plains contracted, so that he found himself in a land of big forests, dotted with meadows. After a few days of hiking, he came upon a village. The inhabitants, dirty, impoverished, and fearful, told him that this country was called Lukka. Once it had been a great kingdom . . . .

"But then Brown Betty came?"

"That's right," said the village headman. "How'd you know?"

"Oh, it's the same story in a lot places," said Coyote. "Please continue."

The headman described Brown Betty and her companions. He said that when they had first appeared, they imposed a terrible tribute on every town and village in Lukka: each year, every settlement must give them five pretty girls and five handsome boys who had just turned eighteen.

"What happens to them?" asked Coyote.

"Brown Betty and her fays drink their blood. We know because we often find the bodies in the forest afterwards. These monsters also prey on travelers and merchants--so our commerce has just about dried up. Once we were a great people; now we're the impoverished folk you see today."

"Can't you fight her?"

"We tried. They're invulnerable to anything human beings can throw at them. They made us pay dearly for our resistance. I'm not proud to say it, but we're their slaves now. It's that simple."

Coyote asked the villagers whether Brown Betty was vulnerable to anything non-human. If she was, they said, they weren't aware of it. He thanked them for their information and went on his way. Bad girls, he thought. He loved to make bad girls kick. If he didn't get killed, this could be fun.

He trudged on through wood and meadow for about a week. Then, early one morning, he came to the edge of a clearing. He was about to step out from the tree cover, when he heard a pair of clear, musical voices.

"Now don't wander off too far," one of them said.

"I never do!" said the other.

"The hell you never do! Mind me, or I'll spank your bottom like yesterday!"

"Yes, Betty."

Just then, the largest fay Coyote had ever seen stepped into view. She was easily twelve feet tall: a beautiful, buxom woman with skin the color of honey; luxuriant black hair that corkscrewed down her back; eyes of bright green; and full red lips. She wore a white halter top (which her breasts filled out very nicely) and a red miniskirt. Her legs, strong and shapely, were accentuated by red high-heeled pumps. Soon another fay appeared, about five paces behind the first. This one was shorter by several inches, but otherwise bore a strong resemblance to her companion. Her outfit was similar, too, with one exception: her skirt and heels were bright green.

The shorter girl spoke: "Betty, do you want me to bring you anything back?"

Betty (for that had to be the taller girl's name) turned and said: "Oh, buttercups are nice. Maybe you could surprise me."

"Okay. I'll be back real soon; I promise."

"See that you are."

The shorter girl then darted off, with startling speed and grace for a creature so large.

Betty had moved on. Coyote was about to step out behind her, when a crowd of twenty or more big fays appeared! He quickly jumped back behind a tree. They, too, were a lot like Betty: big, beautiful brown girls in miniskirts and heels, each ensemble a different, very bright color. They were all talking and laughing together; and their voices were so beautiful, it lightened Coyote's mood just to hear them.

He decided to work his way slowly around the clearing, to get a better idea of what exactly he was dealing with. After a few hours of reconnoitering, he had learned a few things. To start with, this was a covey of thirty fays. Moreover, one fay and one fay only was dominant: the girl named Betty. (If she was not the Brown Betty of whom Melkor and the Lukkans had spoken, she must be her double.) Furthermore, all these girls (not just Betty) were very strong and very fast. He saw two run a race together, at speeds a roadrunner or crinolina would have thought respectable. He saw another push a tree over--apparently just for the fun of it. One thing was very clear: he stood no chance of capturing the least of them--let alone their mistress--if his own physical prowess were all he could rely on.

He decided to keep on shadowing the covey. In Coyote's experience, no fay was at the top of the food chain. Every species was vulnerable (at all times, not just occasionally) to at least one predator. If the speed and endurance of these ladies made them generally uncatchable by giant spiders, then there must be something else that had a habit of bagging them. With a little luck, he might find out what this predator was. Or some other weakness might reveal itself. In fact, a possible vulnerability had already occurred to him: this covey was plainly Betty's harem; the girls followed her lead at all times without question. Perhaps they'd follow her right into a trap.

III. One Girl Kickin' It

After days of observation, Coyote knew that the covey tended to spread widely over its territory, but that the girls usually stayed within earshot of one another. Not always, though. Early one morning, Coyote noticed a girl preoccupied with picking flowers. She wandered deeper and deeper into a great meadow studded with wildflowers in their thousands. Soon he was certain that she could not be heard by her companions, even if she screamed. He decided to follow her. His chances of bringing her down were small to non-existent; but he might learn something. In his experience, careless fays were always the most instructive.

This girl was darker than Betty, with the same thick black hair luxuriating down her back. Though a little smaller than her mistress, she was still a majestic sight: full of breast and with shapely calves and thighs. She wore a lemon-yellow miniskirt and heels. She had made several garlands of flowers and put them round her neck. Now she was slipping individual blooms--violets, daisies, cowslips--into her hair. She went from flower to flower, picking the best blossoms she could find. As she did, she laughed and sang to herself. Coyote couldn't help thinking: Oh, for a taste of you! He crept as close as he could, positioning himself about ten feet behind her.

Suddenly, with no help from Coyote, she screamed. Something long and green had risen up out of the high grass in front of her. A faysnake! But this one was much larger than his cousins to the south--easily ten feet long. His eyes were big yellow diamonds; his long black tongue was flicking; and he kept up a steady swaying--now right, now left. Almost too late, Coyote remembered not to look directly at those terrible eyes, the rhythmic tongue and body. He darted to one side of the snake and the girl, for a safer, clearer view.

The fay had a look of abject terror on her face. She had let the flowers drop. One hand now perched protectively on her bosom; the other was wringing the hem of her miniskirt. She opened her mouth, probably to scream again, but what came out was close to a whisper: "Oh, help me guys, help me Betty, help me, help me please . . . . "

When he knew she was securely under his spell, the snake pulled back slightly, then shot forward with breathtaking speed. He knocked her useless hand aside, then plunged his fangs into her right breast. Now the charm was broken: she screamed freely, pitiably, and in vain, for no one but Coyote could hear her. The snake withdrew, leaving a little bloom of blood on her white halter top. Half-swooning, she fell on her back. Her yellow miniskirt fell back as well, revealing panties of the same bright hue.

At first Coyote thought the faysnake had carried the day; but there was much more work to be done. Evidently, the effect of his venom was limited, and his hypnosis worked for only a short time. The girl could not get up; but she planted both hands firmly on her groin and raised her legs. Her sharp heels were at the ready. No more screams for now; she took deep breaths instead and awaited the attack of her would-be captor.

Initially, the snake was overconfident, perhaps believing her more dazed with venom than she was. He approached briskly from her left, and she kicked out, her heels almost striking him in the head. He withdrew quickly and now came at her straight on. Again she kicked, and this time she connected. Her heels were supernaturally sharp, and one of them tore a five-inch gash in his scaly hide, a foot or so below his head. He pulled back fast, spraying droplets of blood as he did. He retreated several feet and stayed there for a time, the blood streaming down from his wound.

Was she safe now? No; the snake was just marshaling his strength. The wound, not a deep one, closed up, and he returned to the attack. This time he was far more tentative. Staying at a safe distance, he circled round her, forcing her to turn again and again to keep her legs trained on him. He would then move his head to just within range and quickly withdraw it. In this way he tricked her into several useless, energy-wasting kicks. Her breathing soon grew more labored. Seeing that she was weakening, he stepped up his feints, always toward a different target each time: now her groin, now her breasts, now her belly. Even if she didn't kick, she had to use up energy blocking him with her raised legs.

Then, facing her feet, he suddenly shot up to the fullest height he could attain. She thought he was trying to bite her bosom again, so she reached up with her hands to protect her breasts; simultaneously, she snapped back her legs as far as she could. This gave him the opening he wanted: with wondrous speed, he dropped back down and sank his fangs into the yellow band of panty that was now the only thing protecting her cunt. She screamed a second time: a long, heart-wounding wail. Then she began to sob, the tears streaming down her face, her big breasts heaving. He had won, and she knew it.

Now she kicked to no real purpose, her lovely legs pumping back and forth. It was more an act of bitter defiance than anything else. He had withdrawn once more, and he waited for his venom to do its work. Soon the kicking subsided; whereupon he quickly darted back in and seized the waistband of her panties with his teeth. In one swift, fluid movement, he yanked them down her legs and tossed them to one side. She squealed indignantly as he stripped her. Her pussy was a delicate cleft, rosy at the edges, topped by a little half-diamond of curly black hair. Both hair and cunt were very damp, and two little drops of blood seeped down from the puncture wounds he had left on either side of her slit. A scent like the sweetest of clover-blossom honey filled Coyote's nostrils. She kicked uselessly a few more times, and then her legs just trembled. The snake slipped between her thighs and bit her once again. Her scream this time was shorter, more quavering.

Having softened her up, he poked the sharp end of his tail into her vagina and began to work it farther and farther in. As he did so, he bit her breasts repeatedly. She yelped or groaned each time. Soon, the venom began to have its final effect: a series of mighty tremors, centered on her groin, but making her whole body shake. Coyote had thought her fancy footwork was over, but she began kicking yet again: hard, savage thrusts that tore up plenty of grass and dirt. (Safely ensconced between her legs, the snake had nothing to fear.) As she kicked, she snapped her head back and forth and wailed with every climax.

At last, she was still. For the next several minutes, the snake watched her closely. Suddenly--an amazing sight!--she began to change. She became translucent, then started to shift and drift, her body now a kind of mist or vapor. The snake raised his head, opened his jaws to their full extent, and inhaled. The fay-vapor was sucked into his mouth. Coyote heard what could only be a sad, resigned little whimper; then the snake's jaws closed.

Coyote was thunderstruck. Had he ever seen such a lovely fay? Such lovely legs? Such a trouser-tightening capture? Melkor aside, he had to make Brown Betty kick. He had to.

A plan was already forming. He made a quick call on his cell-phone to the Acme Corporation.

IV: The Round-Up

It took time, intensive negotiation, and a lot of money, but Acme came through. Several foreign zoos were persuaded to "lend" their giant faysnakes for the short time Coyote needed them. Acme's R & D Department quickly developed a synthetic faysnake venom. Acme's award-winning Overnight Delivery Service loaded the snakes, synthetic venom ampoules, tranquilizer guns, lots of heavy rope, astroturf, a flatbed truck with a small crane attached, several tentpegs, and a shovel onto a company transport plane. The plane then dropped everything by parachute into a deserted cornfield about ten miles away from Brown Betty's current stomping ground. (All of this happened before 5 p.m.) Coyote was waiting in the cornfield. He loaded everything onto the flatbed and drove it to within a mile of Betty's covey. The sun was setting when he put the truck in park. He spent the entire night setting his trap.

The next morning, Betty and her twenty-eight surviving girls awoke in a meadow where they customarily made love and slept. They chatted happily about the more amusing incidents of the night before. Then somebody asked if anyone had seen Charmaine. All agreed that they hadn't seen her since the previous morning. They weren't terribly worried, because Charmaine was always wandering off. Of course, it would mean another spanking when she got back—something else to look forward to! So they laughed away any worry they might have entertained and got ready for their day.

The girls were heading out toward the river where they usually bathed. Then, with no warning at all, some thirty or more giant faysnakes rose up out of the grass around them.
Everywhere they looked it, it seemed, there was a great green serpent blocking the way. With one exception, the fays were terrified and began to scream. Only Betty kept her head. "Come to me! Don't look at them! Come to me!" she shouted. So they kept their eyes down and came to her. "There's a gap over there," she said. "We run that way and we don't stop!" Then, with Betty in the lead, they took off as fast as their powerful legs could carry them. They dashed out onto something that looked a lot like grass, but wasn't. It collapsed beneath their weight and spilled them into a deep pit. Here another thirty or so snakes were waiting.

Poor fays! Coyote, of course, had orchestrated the whole thing. He had carefully placed the first batch of snakes in just the right spots the night before. He had kept them from slithering away by tying each reptile with one end of a length of rope, then fastening the other end to a tentpeg, which he then stuck in the ground. When the snakes rose up to attack, there was indeed only one safe avenue through them. Coyote had spent most of the night with his shovel, digging a pit exactly where Betty would lead her girls. Another batch of snakes, also tied with ropes, went into the pit. This then received a nice cover of astroturf, stretched out and secured with more tentpegs.

Stunned by their fall, the fays were easy targets for the snakes in the pit. Every girl was bitten at least once on her breasts or shoulders before she could get up. Even Betty was screaming now. The venom worked quickly, and like Charmaine before them, they all fell back and raised their legs. What else could they do?

It was time now to put the snakes on a shorter leash. Coyote leapt into the pit and used the ropes that held them to pull them back. He then wrapped each rope several times around its tentpeg, so that, try as they might, the snakes could no longer come near the girls.

"Sorry guys," he said. "I'll take it from here." The snakes appeared to be very angry, but he wasn't looking directly at them, so he couldn't be sure.

Armed with two tranquilizer guns, each with a clip of synthetic venom ampoules, he got as close to Betty as he dared. If he had been unarmed, the sight of her mighty legs drawn back, ready to kick him into jelly, might have caused him to run away in terror. Instead, he took a deep breath, raised one of his guns, and carefully aimed it. The ampoule, which was tipped with a hypodermic needle, struck her on her left thigh, just at the panty line. "Ouch!" she cried. At first that was her only reaction; but after about sixty seconds, her body began to shiver. The band of panty between her thighs suddenly turned wet. She uttered a series of little mewing whimpers, just like a lost kitten. The shivering grew worse. Then, without warning, her legs shot forward, her sharp heels missing Coyote by an inch. He prudently withdrew a few feet.

For the next several minutes, Betty kicked and kicked, as if the mere act of kicking might banish the venom coursing through her body. She kept on whimpering. Then she uttered a great cry, compounded of bitterness and heartbreak; her beautiful legs kicked one more time; and she fell into a swoon.

Very carefully—and ready to leap out of the way at any moment—Coyote approached her. He reached down and touched one of her pumps. Nothing. He tapped one of her calves with his paw. No response. He stroked a thigh. Not a hint of movement. He had been holding his breath; he now slowly exhaled and bent down over the unconscious girl's midsection. Clearly she was still alive: her lovely bosom was gently rising and falling; but she seemed as oblivious as the fairytale princess who had eaten the poisoned apple. He bent down now and took firm hold of her panties. (They were red--just like her miniskirt.)

He had forgotten the other girls. They now began to shout at him: "Don't touch her!" "Leave her alone! Leave her alone!" He ignored them for now and slowly worked Betty's panties down her legs. When he'd finally gotten them past her feet, he picked them up, put them to his nose, and drew in as much of their heady, piss-and-honey scent as he could. Then he slipped them into his backpack.

Now for the others. When the snakes withdrew, the girls had let their legs drop. They all raised them again at Coyote's approach. Perhaps they did so by instinct. By instinct or not, it was exactly what he wanted. He took aim and shot each girl in the backside. Then, when their kicking and whimpering and bitter outcries were through, down came their panties, just like Betty's.

For a while, he just stared in wonder at the sight: twenty-nine big, beautiful fays; and he had bagged them all! However strong and fast they might be, it made no difference now: their panties were down forever, and he—Coyote—had taken them down! They would cry, and beg, and tremble, and kick, and—however much it galled them—obey. And then they would die. All because Coyote had captured them. And every tear, every whimper, every plea for mercy would be a proclamation: Coyote had conquered once again! "Suck on that, you big ugly spider," Coyote said.

V. Twenty-Nine Girls Kickin' It

A fay with her pants down is usually helpless, but Coyote always liked things doubly or triply secure. So, with no small effort, he turned each unconscious girl on her side and bound her wrists behind her as tightly as he could.

His labors (alas!) were not at an end. He now drove the flatbed to the edge of the pit. Then he used the attached crane to hoist up each fay and place her on the flatbed. It took hours, but at last he had gotten them all out of the pit and laid them side by side in his truck. He used his cell phone to make arrangements for the snakes. Then he collapsed beside the truck and slept.

He slept through to the next day. When he awoke, he heard plenty of feminine weeping. The fays had returned to consciousness and discovered that they were trussed up and panty-free. "Time to head out, ladies!" he announced in a loud voice. They just kept on crying.

He drove out onto what had once been the Royal Road of Lukka. Thanks to Betty and her reign of terror, it hadn't been maintained in years, so it was a painfully rough ride. The girls shrieked every time the truck went into a pothole. "Serves you right for scaring the pee out of everyone!" Coyote said.

The Royal Road brought Coyote and his unwilling cargo through most of the important towns of Lukka. Since Betty and her henchwomen had blighted the countryside, vehicles were a rarity; so crowds came out in even the smallest villages to see what was up. When they realized what he had accomplished, the people would cheer. Coyote relished the applause. In one place, many of the townsmen wanted to photograph him. So he posed with one foot planted on Betty's tummy while dozens of cameras clicked. The sight of all those Lukkans clearly terrified the girls; and it was sometimes hard work to keep the townsfolk away from the flatbed. "Now folks," Coyote would say, "leave their punishment to a professional." Such was his prestige that the Lukkans, with some grumbling, let the girls go unmolested.

Gradually the road improved, and soon Coyote was zipping along at well above the posted speed limit. The drive south was a lot faster than the trudge north, and it wasn't long before he had come to Wolf Spider country. A side road took him straight to Melkor's lair.

Coyote pulled in next to the big gulch and sounded his horn several times. Melkor came shamblng out to see what was making all the noise. Coyote had no idea what astonishment looked like on the face of a spider; but he guessed that he was seeing that emotion now. For a while, Melkor just stared at the captive lovelies on the flatbed. Then he turned to Coyote and said: "You did it! You got Brown Betty and her gang! How?"

So Coyote told him. When he'd finished his narrative, he smirked and waited for the praise to shower down upon him. Instead, the old spider exploded.

"More fancy gimmicks!" he shouted. "More cheap tricks!"

"Now this wasn't cheap . . . ." Coyote said. "If you'll let me . . . ."

"You didn't catch them; Acme did!" roared the spider.

This was too much for Coyote. "With all due respect," he said (and the obvious anger in his tone caught Melkor up short), "nothing happens until I make a plan. No trick, cheap or otherwise, works or has a chance of working until I've carefully sorted out its every detail. All the money and Acme gadgets in the world mean NOTHING until my brain starts humming. Otherwise, any idiot could do what I do! You could do what I do! BUT NOBODY ELSE DOES WHAT I DO! Now I'm not saying I'm the best. I'm not saying mine is the only way to do it. But I am saying: what I do is to apply my mind to the materials at hand; and it works! JUST LOOK IN THE TRUCK!"

When a spider became pensive, what did that look like? Coyote had no idea; but Melkor did seem to be thinking. Maybe he'll just eat me, Coyote thought. What a week!

Instead of eating anyone, Melkor spoke, and his tone was far more subdued than before. "You, ahem, may have a point. It's not how I would have done it; it's flashy, and I've never gone for flash--no patience for it whatsoever. But, uh, flashy and, uh, garish as your approach is, I can't deny you get results. I'm seeing them with my own eight eyes. So . . . I think it only fair to say . . . that your exile is over! Congratulations!"

"Why thank you," said Coyote. "Now how would you like to divvy up the loot?"

"Loot? You mean Betty and her bunch? You caught them all, my fuzzy friend; why wouldn't you keep them all?"

"Well, I was following the tip of a very knowledgeable spider, and I thought perhaps
. . . . "

"Ah, you're a diplomatic little fellow, aren't you? Thanks, but no. Just looking at them reminds me of what a pain in the ass it was chasing them!"

So Coyote drove back to the mesa-lands with all twenty-nine girls in tow. When he got back to his gulch, he'd already decided what to do. It was Betty he wanted most; the others were just attractive appetizers. So he devised a send-off for them that was sweet, but hardly labor-intensive. He didn't even have to take them out of the flatbed! He had kept the tentpegs, so he took twenty-eight of these and dipped them in synthetic snake venom. Then he thrust each one into a pretty brown twat. A few taps with a mallet sent them in all the way. It seemed appropriate, since Betty and her friends were vampires of a sort, having drunk the blood of Lukkan boys and girls.

The ladies didn't see it that way, of course. Before he pegged them, they cried, and pleaded, and offered him treasures he didn't want. And they screamed when the pegs went in. But it wasn't just pain that made them kick the way they did! Nothing--not even Betty's tongue--had ever filled their pussies quite so nicely. They were leaking plenty of honey when they died.

When the girls were done kicking, Coyote just sat and watched them for a few minutes. Sure enough, like Charmaine before them, they turned into vapors. Like the faysnake, he opened his mouth wide, and in they went! He could hear what he was sure were little whimpers as they slipped down his throat. He suddenly felt much stronger, as if the travails of the past week had not occurred. Feeling ready for anything, he rubbed his paws together and said: "It's time for a taste of Brown Betty!"

He had used the crane to lift her out of the truck and deposit her on a soft bed of desert flowers. She was waiting there—a look of wide-eyed fear on her face. In Coyote's estimation, her fear made her even more beautiful. "You look lovely today," he said. "Are you ready?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

"Not really."

She took a deep breath and said: "I guess I am ready, sort of. You see: I knew, more or less, what was going to happen. Years ago I went to the local prophetess. Some fays just don't want to know; but I felt I had to. I paid the fee. She went into a trance, and this is what she told me:

'Mightiest of landfays,
One question makes you sigh:
"Who will take my panties down,
Who will make me cry?"

Not the giant spider,
As much as he may try;
Not the lion ravening,
Or the leopard sly . . . .'

("I'll skip a bit here . . . .")

'Not the slippery faysnake—
Well, not he alone—
Brings you trembling to the earth,
Makes you kick and moan.

It is the cleverest hunter,
Quick, and slick, and sly,
A gentleman to every fay,
Although he makes them die.

It is the long-eared hunter,
Skilled at trick and lie--
He will take your panties down,
He will make you cry.'

"It was you! Everything fits: you're even a gentleman. I just didn't believe you'd be so
. . . little. Ordinarily, I could crack your skull between my thighs . . . if I just had my strength, which I don't . . . thanks to you!" With these words, her eyes watered up. "The prophecy sure was right about . . . making me cry!" And then she did cry: big sobs that shook her body from crown to toe. "Oh my God!" she wailed, "I miss my panties! You can't imagine how it feels . . . for a fay-girl to lose her panties!" Coyote just waited.

When she'd won back some of her composure, she spoke again: "I'd like to know . . . why you got me."

"What do you mean?"

"Why go so far from your territory? Why go all the way north to Lukka Land? Why are my panties down and not someone else's? Wouldn't it be decent to let me know?"

"I suppose it would," said Coyote. So he told her about Melkor, and Melkor's ultimatum. When she heard, her eyes filled once more with tears, and she began to tremble once again.

"So," she said, "it was just a pissing contest between you and the big spider! You and Melkor get into it . . . and as a result, my girls and I have to . . . turn our toes up!" More sobbing now: the tears rushed down her face in little torrents.

"A bagged fay is always a bitter fay," said Coyote. "It really makes no difference why it happened."

"If I'm going to be bitter, I'll be bitter about whatever suits me!" said Betty. She raised her legs as far as she could—a few inches—in a fruitless effort to kick him.

"Now be a good girl and behave," he said. And because he had mastered her, she did. Her legs dropped back down, and she wept even harder.

"Look," he said, wiping her face with a tissue. "It wasn't just Melkor. Sure he threatened me with lifelong exile. But the way he described you--the admiration in his voice! I just had to go north and see for myself. And when I did see you! So big and beautiful! And evil, too: I got an earful from the Lukkans, let me tell you! I'm a sucker for bad, beautiful girls--and you're just about the most beautiful, and the baddest!"

"R-really?"

"Really. I'm . . . the greatest hunter there is; and how could I stay the greatest and not come after you?" (As he said this, the absurd notion came into his head that Melkor was standing right behind him. He shot a furtive glance over his shoulder.)

"I . . . I think you're full of it," she said, ". . . but you're sweet . . . really you are. I have another question."

"Yes?"

"W-will it hurt a lot?" she asked.

"Just a little."

They kept chatting for a bit; and then it was time. Coyote started with his tongue, which stiffened up admirably for the job ahead. Betty's pussy was a pleasant surprise: as tight as a brownie's, it yielded only slowly to his attack. Betty screamed a few times and started to bleed.

"That hurts more than a little!" she cried.

"Well, you already knew I was a liar," he said. Then he made her scream some more.

At last, things got easier. Betty went from screams to long, shuddery moans. When the orgasms came, she kicked frantically and squeezed Coyote with her thighs—so hard that his ribcage nearly cracked. She came, and came, and came, and came, till Coyote almost choked on her fay-honey. At last, his tongue had accomplished everything it was going to. "Time to finish up," he said.

He swallowed two tablets of coyotagra. Then he dipped his membrum virile in the last of the synthetic venom. He couldn't be certain; but he thought this was his best chance to dispatch her. Loosened up by his tongue, Betty had an easier time of it now—though the bleeding never completely stopped.

So far so good; but it was frustrating, too: he didn't even reach her breasts! So he grabbed his ears firmly with his paws and pulled until he had added about two yards to his length. (It's Mythica; he can do that.). Now, with no effort at all, he could nip her bosom and even lick the tears that still flowed down her face.

She had a new flurry of orgasms—much harder ones, that made her writhe, and buck, and kick as if kicking any longer mattered. She wailed with each climax—so loudly that Coyote was almost deafened. And then she died. Coyote fell, exhausted, to the ground beside her. He slept for hours.

When he awoke, her body was gone. "She turned into mist, just like the others!" he said out loud. And he hadn't been awake to capture the mist and swallow it! Did she still linger in some form or other in Mythica's corporeal realm? Coyote often asked that question; but he never learned the answer.

THE END