“Yeti or not,” I whispered, completely delirious with pain and pleasure, “here I come!”
back in the monsterporn saddle, month three.
this story is part one of ramona desire’s (surely her real name) series of stories featuring the sexual adventures of angie melon (surely her real name) in the very exclamatory Are You Yeti for Love? trilogy: book one: Yeti or Not, Here I Come!, the bewilderingly-named second book Dragon Ballz!, and the conclusion, The Yeti Comes Again!
i have only read the first one (so far), but the year is young. or, as ramona desire (surely her real name) would
say shout, “The Year is Young!”
the usual caveats apply: i am clearly reviewing a work of cryptid-based erotica. if you do not like encountering naughty words, intimate sensual situations, frank discussions of anatomy (and possibly geometry), or excessive use of puns, this is not the review for you. if you cannot abide spoilers, even in 13-page monsterporn, this is not the review for you.
we good? good. onward to poundtown!
angie melon is on a working vacation with her boyfriend johnson black; the famed host of the cryptid-hunting show Are You Yeti for This? angie frequently appears in the episodes as bait for the monster of the week, playing the role of damsel in distress for the costumed co-star to roar at or whatever. this costumed co-star also frequently appears (in costume) in the bedroom of angie and johnson, in the role of “interested third party,” or “1/3 of a threesome”, or as “Phil the Big Man,” so named for his six foot five frame and also “the big thing in his pants.”
angie enjoys big man’s costumes, as she has something of a hair fetish:
…I’ve got a thing for a guy who can grow a real beard.
The only thing hotter than a man with a beard is a man who’s hairy all over. Seriously, if you haven’t tried it, you’re missing out – I love the feel of hair on the inside of my thighs. I get a tingle just thinking about it…
this is called foreshadowing!
so, this time out, angie and co are in nepal, deep in the himalayas following reports of yeti sightings. first things first- intercourse! but responsible intercourse, nothing fancy:
Normally, we’d have invited some company – Johnson and I so rarely do a duet these days, when there are so many other interesting people to invite to bed. But this was Nepal, it was late, and we had an early morning…
so, just mom n’ pop two person sex, then. and yet, even with only two people, i’m struggling to map it out in my mind. they are going at it with vigor, and she mentions, He held me down tightly by my shirt and bra. the shirt and bra become very important to this choreography, as further down the line of this encounter, He began pulling me to his cock again, my shirt and bra pulled down and then still later, He was completely inside me, his hand yanking my shirt and bra towards him.
i’m trying to picture this, like a dutiful reader, but i honestly could not draw a picture of this if you asked me to. no, i mean it – i tried and it was all jumbled up and everyone had too many limbs.
so in order to understand this staging, today the part of angie melon will be played by lloyd dobler and the part of johnson black will be played by rikkik the monkey.
so as far as someone being held down by a shirt and bra, he’s either on top of her and reaching under her with her shirt rucked up and his fingers underneath where her bra hooks (front clasps are for beginners or breastfeeders) holding her to the mattress
or she’s flipped onto her tummy and he’s yanking the front part into the bed, causing the hooks to dig into her back (front clasps are for pornstars and flashers)
or she’s on top and he’s yanking her down towards him by her clothing
which would also work in a hard-to-photograph-with-these-two doggystyle situation. that might be the solution here, presuming they’ve been in one position this whole time, as angie reports she let go of the headboard with one hand to squeeze [her] breasts. but why on earth someone would reach around an upright body to tug them down towards the mattress by their clothing… it seems like such a great distance to tug. and why is she still wearing her shirt and bra? and why is the bra even involved? why not just tug the shirt? why is angie not scolding him for stretching out her bra by using it to hold her down, or for cutting off her circulation by holding her down with a bra? so many questions and we’re still in the very first sex act!
so after things are tugged, lackluster commands are issued (“Fucking fill me,” “Give me everything you’ve got” & etc), and orgasms achieved, the pair’s afterglow is interrupted by “an animal howl of pleasure” from outside and johnson does some detective work:
”What the hell – the window isn’t open, it’s broken! From the outside – there’s glass all over the floor over here!”
was someone watching them? but HOW – their bedroom is on the second story ooOOOoooo. angie tries to do some detective work of her own:
”Maybe the window was broken before we came into the room”
which johnson doesn’t tell her is dumb, because nepal is cold and they probably would have noticed the frigid temperature when they first entered, but he sorta tells her she’s being dumb in his own way, which itself comes across as dumb:
”Babe*, no offense… There’s a reason I host a TV show about this kind of unexplained phenomenon**. It’s my ability to solve these kinds of mysteries*** that brings in the hard cash you love you**** so much…”
* using the word “babe” automatically makes you sound like a tool
** “phenomenon” is singular, johnson. you mean “phenomena”
*** johnson has never “solved” anything, which is why big man wears costumes and angie wears very little to attract viewers
**** “the hard cash you love you so much?” go home, jonhson, you’re drunk!
angie is undeterred by this dismissal, perhaps because it is so grammatically and factually weak, and she employs all the tics of the trade to woo him back to her vaginal embrace:
“And how about you bring that hard cock in again – I love that so much, too,” I meowed, making one last effort to get him to back in bed. I moaned and bit my lip.
but he’s having none of it. dude resisted a meow. that’s some professional-ass dedication right there.
after a few more utterances of the word “babe” and some tedious speechifying, it’s time to roll the cameras. angie is in her finest monster hunting outfit:
…under my heavy jacket that morning, I was dressed in a short red dress with a low bustline that made my boobs look like two extra mountains in the Himalayan range.
later, we will learn that she is not wearing panties. note to world travelers: nepal is cold. you should wear panties. perhaps these:
so, they’re all out and about in the snow, looking for monsters with really no system in place, for all johnson’s bombast, but lo – another howl – inspiring angie to make this utterly vague observation:
There it was again. This was unmistakably something.
it is indeed something, as apparently, a half-naked woman and a dude dressed up like a yeti is exactly what is required to encourage the elusive beast to scamper down from his mountain lair, slice the rival “yeti” open with his claws, and abduct angie and her melons, who recounts, I was too senseless to even scream. “senseless” is precisely the word i would use to describe angie, and i am pleased with her self-awareness.
i’m going to skip over all the foreplay and the “getting to know you” phase because – oh, yeah – there isn’t any!
It stood over me, emitting a low growl, like a dog that wants to play. I could see in the low light of the fire that it had cleaned itself after the earlier attack.
I got my first really good look at him. His hulking, masculine shoulders. His broad, hairy chest. It’s deep set eyes were a crystal blue. I could make out a firm jaw line beneath all of the fur – like a beard that covered 90% of his body, but I could tell it wasn’t scratchy or raspy at all, but rather soft and lush, like the lining on really fancy boots. Even his oversized ears spoke to something primal and powerful deep in me. It was ruggedly handsome in its own way. He smelled musky, like a man who has spent the day working with his hands.
one fine day, i am going to write a scholarly essay on the use of personal pronouns in monsterotica. it will win me many awards.
but right now i am preoccupied with this story. what parts comprise the 10% that isn’t covered by fur, and what is this surface made of? what is this primal and powerful “something” spoken to by the oversized ears? how fancy are these boots? men who write biographies of architects work all day with their hands. is theirs the musk of which you speak?
and girl, what is up with your wardrobe? because once angie decides she’s going to have sexual relations with this yeti, she disrobes fast:
With a sultry flick of my wrists, I threw the red dress off of my shoulders. It fell in a crumpled heap at my feet.
was she not wearing a bra, either? or was the structural integrity of the bra compromised by being held down by it earlier in the day? what makes a wrist-flick “sultry“ and how can a wrist flick throw off an entire dress? is angie a dolly pops? o, r u not old?
but back to the reason we’re here – yetisex.
it begins with an appetizer of yeti peen, which is no amuse-bouche. midway through, angie muses that it’s Just like every man you’ve ever had – just, all at once, in one glorious specimen of a cock
which, knowing angie’s bedroom history, must be the size of the moon.
she does not mourn for the death of big phil and the way he used to fill her bigly. i mean, that was like an hour ago, so she’s well over it. however, she does have one regret – “I wished that the camera guy had somehow made it up here. This would be the best blurry Bigfoot footage ever.”
alas, it was not to be.
continuing with this meal, of what does yeti peen taste?
I had gotten so wet blowing him, and the taste of his Yeti precum mixed with the thick saliva in my mouth. It was meaty, like jerky.
but now blowie time is over and the yeti is ready for his meal. and finally angie asks herself the million dollar question; the question that all monsterporn heroines should ask themselves but rarely do: How was this even going to work?
well, it ain’t gonna be easy, not even for a lover as accomplished as angie. she started her day being held down by her lingerie, but now that she’s all naked in nepal, the yeti nas to maneuver her in a different way: …I felt his massive paw dig into my hair. He jerked me up by it, and I gasped aloud in pain and shock.
come on, yeti – play nice! but yetis don’t know how to do that, even though this yeti has built a fire and has a bed, so he’s obviously learned a little bit about women. just maybe from the wrong seduction manual.
Clearly I was wrong about the Yeti being a gentleman…what else did I expect? He was a fucking animal.
An animal, fucking me.
there’s not a lot of finesse to his technique, and it seems more painful than pleasurable, but angie’s a trooper:
I was so wet, it was running down my thighs. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or his cum or just how turned on I was.
maybe that bears some investigating, just in case it’s blood. safety first and all. unfortunately, angie’s too distracted for self-examination. or sentence-forming:
As he continued to pound me, like a jackrabbit, like a jackhammer, like…all metaphors failed. He was a hairy fucking Yeti, ten feet tall, a cock a foot long, most of it inside my pussy…There are no words for that, so I called out again. In pain, with pleasure, I couldn’t even tell.
metaphors may have temporarily failed her, but they have not been failed by the story overall, so let’s pause for a moment for a metaphor montage:
–TV vanity and the skepticism of a ten year old boy who’s just stayed up late watching his first R-rated horror movie…
– Suddenly everything I’d ever thought of as passionate or kinky or even pleasurable with Johnson or any other human man seemed so quaint and laughable, like a thirteen year old boy discovering the lingerie section in the Sears catalogue.
– He had to be close, and a new thought occurred to me – just how big a load was this Yeti going to drop inside of me? Was it going to spray out of him like a firehose? Was I going to shoot off of him like a rocket when he came?
and now back to the show. when last we saw angie and the yeti, they were straight-up boning.
I looked up at him, thrusting, thrusting. His power and his majesty – I was in awe of this thing that was fucking me. How often are you truly in awe of your partner?
yep, still at it. and it still feels like maybe a bad idea
”Fuck me harder.” I growled through clenched teeth, my voice choppy as his tremendous body slammed into mine. What was I saying? I’d die.
yeah, angie – stop encouraging the yeti. this cannot be a good idea – “pinned with superhuman strength,” “It felt like my arms were going to pop from their sockets,” “exquisite, beautiful, fuck-me-harder pain,” none of this is sounding like you are making smart choices in your relationships.
and then angie makes the mistake of having an orgasm and “going limp” in pleasure. turns out that going limp is a dealbreaker for women and yetis alike:
The Yeti sensed a change in me, and he didn’t like it. He wanted an active partner. He raked his talons down my chest, leaving stringing tracks over my breasts. There was blood. I struggled to life my head, assessing the damage. Nothing dangerous. The Yeti only wanted my attention back. He had it.
if anyone ever needed an intervention…
I was helpless, nothing more than a doll to him, speared doggie style on the end of his dick like a kabob on a skewer.
a doll is one thing – i myself have already opened that door with my ansel-winning photography and the dolly pops references, but once you start comparing yourself to charred meat, surely you can see the problems infesting your romantic life?
not angie. all of this just leads her to her chilling declaration: Once you go Yeti you can never go back.
she is clearly not thinking straight: I was gripped for the second time with an orgasm that no human woman has ever known. How could they? Nothing but a Yeti or an elephant has the cock to do this kind of damage to her insides, and of the two, a Yeti is definitely the more attractive prospect.
really, angie?? REALLY??
your call, dude, i’m just saying.
finally, to answer the question posed above:
how big a load was this Yeti going to drop inside of me? Was it going to spray out of him like a firehose? Was I going to shoot off of him like a rocket when he came?
angie was half-correct in her speculations:
He came with the force of a pressure washer…I could feel the volume and force of him within me. It splashed back over his fur, gushing out of me. As his body clenched with pleasure, I launched off of him, a rocket of cum trailing behind me through the air, arching until I landed on the bed of furs below.
i mean, come on, angie, a firehose? that would be ridiculous.
obviously we were going for “pressure washer” here. duh.
and that is all i have to say about yeti sex. for now.