Monster Sex Stories

  Monster Sex Stories: Complete Collection © 2013, Lexi Lane

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, incidents, locations and places are solely the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, including events, organizations, companies, locales, areas and situations is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes, graphic language and may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files including this book where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  Taken by the Centaur: Monster Sex Stories

  Reluctantly Bred By The Beast

  The village was celebrating. There were tables loaded down with food fit for a feast, and a feast it was. She stood beside one table, trying to decide which she wanted to eat first—succulent roast chickens, the crisped haunch of venison, the creamy white cheese or the array of farm fresh vegetables cooked in a myriad of ways. There were pies: kidney and steak, pigeon and of course the sweet berry pies that always graced the tables during the spring and summer harvests and were longed for all winter through.

  Around the huge pole in the center of the green women were dancing, trailing garlands of flowers behind them as they wound around the tall and heavy wooden pole. The scent of flowers came through the air: heavy and sweet. Children screamed and dashed past, intent on the games that they were allowed to play all day long while men wrestled or shot arrows at targets. The old ones sat around telling the legends to the ones who would listen and a few people played on the lute or through the pipes to give the dancing women music to move to.

  Some couples danced as well but nobody asked her to dance. She didn’t mind. The birthmark on the side of her face, though not very large, often drew stares from those who traveled through the hinterlands. She knew that the mark kept her from marriage but she didn’t care, she didn’t want to get married yet anyway.

  A traveling jester had joined the festivities. He wore a comical hat and could tumble quite well, his facial contortions scared some of the younger children and some of his stories were a bit too bawdy for her liking but it had been years since the village had seen a jester so nobody complained, living on the farthest stretches of the kingdom meant that they were often left in peace but they were also rarely treated to things those who lived closer to the castle of the king took for granted.

  In this land the people were still simple. Legends still held sway despite their constant retelling. The wood nymphs, forest folk and gods were given their due every year, even if it meant a family had to stretch their winter provisions a little further and more tightly than they would have liked. That had always been the way of things and nobody complained, and why would they?

  It was a gorgeous early summer day. The sky was a high blue bowl overhead and the big river roared and tumbled, bringing fish and clean water to the villagers. The crops grew steady and high in the fields, game roamed in plentitude and only the oldest and frailest had slid into the other world over the cruel moons of winter. There was nothing to complain about, there was only the need to celebrate a wedding and a holiday all at once.

  The jester drew them all close, standing on the outskirts of the crowd she stuffed a juicy drumstick into her mouth and laughed along with the others as he crouched low, his stumpy little body looking even more ridiculous due to the shortness of his trousers and the gaudy coloring of his blouse, almost hidden below a coat far too long and ornate for him. The bells on his hat trembled as he began to sing a song in a high trembling voice.

  The words made gooseflesh rise on her arms, she had never heard them but somehow they seemed terribly powerful and wrong, they felt dark and secretive. She didn’t dare sing along either, not with a mouth filled with food, her mother would slap her for bad manners. Looking around she saw faces going slack and mouths opening as people began to take up the song.

  “Spell caught,” was her only thought and terror sent cold fingers into her very bowels. She reached out a hand to her mother but she didn’t respond to the poke of her daughter’s fingers at all, which scared her even more. Her mother was always attentive. She felt her mouth move to take up the song and she reacted the in the only way she could think of, she jammed the fowl’s bone deeply into her mouth, her teeth tearing at the flesh. Even so her tongue tried desperately to force its way through that barrier to form those words.

  Horror overcame her, something was wrong, something black and terrible was coming…

  Before she could think of what to do the ground trembled beneath her feet. Some of the younger children toppled to the ground and the centaurs appeared. There were six of them: glorious creatures with the upper bodies of humans and the lower body of a horse. Their hooves struck fire from the ground and the crowd fell silent in awe. None of them had ever seen a centaur though they had long heard the stories that they lived in the deepest of the woods above the village.

  “Who dares summon us?”

  The centaur was obviously a royal. His hair was a long and deep chestnut, his broad upper body rippled with muscle and on his back was a bow and arrow made of the rarest of woods: woods from the heart of an ancient tree that no longer existed, the glow tree.

  His eyes found hers and she swallowed her food. Her fingers trembled as she raised them to the jester, who somehow managed to grow even as she stared at him. His squat body grew taller; his colorful clothes vanished, replaced by a cloak embroidered with dark constellations and strangely shaped stars.

  “I summon you!” He cried, “As did they!”

  “Not you though.” The words came from a young centaur whose black hair and green eyes were complimented by his deeply tanned skin. His hooves danced across the ground as he drew closer to her, “Why were you not spellbound? Why did you not speak the words that would enchant us forth and bring us to your world?”

  “You shouldn’t talk with your mouth full.” It was all she could think of to say, he was so handsome her very heart ached at the sight of him. If he thought her statement odd it didn’t show on his face.

  Lightning flashed from the sky. She stared upwards, stunned by the bright silver flash and fat raindrops leaked into her face. She watched, frozen, as the centaurs were captured in a magical net woven of lightning and bad magic.

  One tumbled free though, his body hitting the earth so hard that it shook. Blood splattered the grass and a terrible scream of agony rose into the air. Her body trembled and she ran, ran to the side of the thrashing and wounded centaur.

  The centaur king was angry at his people’s capture; he knew they would not live long in the hands of the evil sorcerer. He shouted out to her, a curse that she heard all the way down to her bones even as the people of her village fell over, turned to statues for their crime, unintentional though it was…

  ***

  Lindsey Souris jerked awake. Rain tapped at the sides of her tent and she groaned as she realized that it had infiltrated the supposedly waterproof thing and turned her sleeping bag and other supplies into a sodden mass.

  The cooler of food was protected but she was frozen. Getting out of the bedroll was hard, it clung to her and she cursed a few times before she could manage to extricate herself. She held up her fingers to the roof, it was wet but no moisture dotted her fingertips. Lindsey frowned and repeated the procedur
e at the walls and all of the seams, the same thing happened. That left only one possibility.

  The campground has assured her that the concrete slabs for tents were high enough to avoid all but the worst floods, apparently it was either flooding outside the walls of her tent or they had lied. Given the ridiculously cheap price she had paid she was willing to bet it was the latter. Given the way the woman had looked at her face then away and then muttered that they didn’t have any room, a lie Lindsey had not hesitated to point out, it didn’t surprise her to wake up to disaster. Unzipping the tent slightly she peered out into the dreary night.

  It was just as Lindsey had suspected, the concrete slabs were basically underwater. Hers was one of five tents perched on those slabs but it seemed she was getting the worst of the flowing water, which, coincidentally seemed to be funneled right into her tent thanks to a chunk of broken cement that sat at the edge of the slab.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Yanking her things together into was difficult but she managed then she went outside and snatched the entire tent up at one time. Her back creaked in protest and her arms strained but she didn’t care, she had to get off the watery edge or risk drowning or pneumonia or any other number of dire consequences, all of which she ticked off as she struggled across the concrete, her blue eyes narrowed down to slits and her full mouth pressed into a narrow line.

  Once on the other side of the slab the river flowing below it ceased for the most part. The floor was still soaked and she knew there was nothing to be done about that other than drying it in the strong sunlight that she hoped would follow the storm.

  Lindsey squeezed as much water as she could from her curly blonde hair. She found a towel and rubbed it mostly dry, knowing that it would be an impossibly frizzy mess the next day but unable to let it stay wet. Next she tucked the cooler near one wall, wrapped herself in whatever she could find that was mostly dry and half-laid, half-sat on the cooler. The rain beat down even faster and she sighed, sure she would never go back to sleep in that incredibly uncomfortable position.

  Her brow creased as she remembered the strange dream she had been having about half-man half-horse creatures, their hooves rattling the ground below her feet. There was another billowing gust of wind and the rain hit like bullets on the sides of her tent, she could hear laughter coming from one of the other slabs and shook her head, chagrined and pleased all at once that at least someone had a sense of humor about the bad situation.

  Lindsey had known being a graduate student who studied mythology would not be easy, she had never thought that the course of her studies would take her to a tiny village rumored to have been the center of a curse from the gods, although at that moment she was seriously inclined to believe the place was indeed cursed.

  At twenty-nine she had hoped to pass her dissertation board smoothly but had met resistance so severe it had left her wounded and floundering. She had waited a year and went back over her dissertation piece by piece, looking at every hole they had poked into her arguments and determined to give them something they could not argue against.

  Somehow or another that had translated into her discovering this village and its odd history and legends and now she was stuck in a soggy tent listening to rain beat the hell out of the world. A yawn cracked her face and she snuggled tighter into her covers, hoping the chill would subside somewhat. She drifted back off to sleep thinking that the steady beat of rain did sound like horse’s hooves…

  ***

  The rain kept up for two days. Lindsey spent those days in her tent, trying to read and eating cold food. There was no way to light a fire and while the small lantern she had gave off decent light it didn’t give off heat so she mostly bundled up and let her body heat keep whatever she was wearing reasonable dry.

  She had run out of peanut butter and patience by the morning of the third day and was extremely grateful to wake up to a bright blue sky and birds singing in the trees overhead. Crawling out of the tent she was met by the fact that some of the other travelers, more intrepid than she and desirous of a better location, had moved in. She had heard them leaving but being alone was still a bit daunting.

  The village lay above her. Looking up toward it she could see gaily-painted houses with tiled roofs and long green grass blowing in the gentle wind. The story she had come to investigate went thousands of years before, when there were still such creatures on the earth a pack of centaurs had been taken away by an evil magician with the help of the villagers.

  Some stories said the villagers were innocent, others said they were in on the plan from the start but in all accounts all they got for their trouble was turned into statues, which still stood centuries later when a tribe of refugees came across the village and decided to claim it as their home. Later stories added that a young girl had survived and that she had been cursed to look after her fallen friends and family forever, or until there appeared one who could bring the centaurs back.

  Lindsey had been fascinated by that myth. That the statues existed was not in doubt, there had been too many tales and paintings and other sketches of the statues of that village throughout history. It seemed many sculptors were fascinated by the detail, the fact that the weather could not erase the features carved into the stone. Then, one day, they all disappeared, nobody knew where. One hundred and nineteen statues; simply vanished. That had been in the late fourteen hundreds and it had become a mystery that became a legend all of its own. The original story, the centaur myth, was almost forgotten but the mystery of the disappearance of the statues remained.

  Lindsey didn’t believe in curses or that the myths were true. She believed that civilization had been built on laws and that the original myths had been used as a form of laws, as a set of action/consequence moral plays. When she thought of centaurs she often found herself questioning how such a thing could have been physically possible, and what would it have eaten? For some reason it were those types of questions that always niggled at the back of her mind.

  The only reason she had come to do the research on that myth was because she needed something incredible and interesting to wow her board and she was hoping they find the missing statues/centaur myth of sufficient interest to finally let her through. Her only other option was to outlive them all.

  Hanging her tent over a low branch so its bottom could dry earned her a mouthful of mud- laden water. Grimacing she put the rest of her belongings into her backpack, with the exception of the empty cooler, and headed for the village.

  Entering the place she quickly found out just what the guidebooks meant by the people were not willing to discuss the legend. Every storekeeper gave her a blank stare, the tiny library boasted no books on the subject and when she wandered down to the site where the statues had once been she was met by the sight of soccer teams playing on a stretch of green grass.

  Giving up on the villagers being helpful she retraced her steps to a small store and bought a loaf of fresh crusty bread and a small chunk of cheese, a container of a rich tomato based soup that was still piping hot and a large cup of strong coffee.

  Going back to the campsite she had lunch then went to the showers located at the end of the campgrounds. After a quick trip to the laundry she was freshly clothed and bathed, filled with warm food and very much bored so she decided to simply walk along the trail that led to the woods above the village.

  The birds sang in the trees and her steps were light. The woods lay deeply hushed around her, the leaves below her feet were thick and very old, some of them crumbled to dust below her feet, she veered off the path, heading for a small outcropping of stone protruding out.

  She was pleased to note that the outcropping looked over the river. From her perch it looked small, a harmless silver ribbon winding its way through the trees and the toy sized village but she knew it was large and very dangerous, the currents were unpredictable and the rains had bloated it so that it was about to overflow its banks.

  The sunlight felt good and she laid her back, drowsing
a bit in the warmth.

  ***

  She was standing near the statues, the entombed souls of the people she loved the most. She was always saddened and angry when she looked at them and often that anger was directed at herself. She hadn’t tried to stop them, hadn’t tried to stop the evil magician and the result was that everyone from her village stood or lay where they had fallen that day. So many centuries had passed; she tried not to think about that. What she did know was the she could no longer allow them to remain where they were, the people who flocked to see them had begun to chip away at them, to try to carve pieces away and while they resisted the chisels and the stone hammers she wasn’t sure how much longer that would last.

  The sound of hooves made her life her head from the moonlit ground. The shadows filtered through the treetops, raced across the village green. She knew they risked much just by being here and that he would be angry with her for coming through to this side on such a bright night instead of watching from above as she usually did but she had no fear of his wrath since she knew his gentleness so well.

  “They can’t remain here.” Her eyes traced her mother’s features, “Surely you can see that. Have a little mercy I beg you. I know you have no love for them, given what they cost you but have mercy for my sake if not for theirs.”

  A hand touched her hair, softly and she drew breath, a ragged inhale. All these centuries and she still lost her breath at the sight of him. Turning she looked up at him, her handsome husband and whispered, “We must take them to the cave before it is too late.”

  His hooves pawed the ground and he looked at her, his black eyes kind. When he had managed to escape the magician’s net she had found him, broken and bleeding, and nursed him back to health. Because of her he lived but no matter how much they loved one another the one thing they could not do was bring back the centaur line, she was barren.