monsterporn and offbeat erotica


Sex with BigfootSex with Bigfoot by S. Gater
0 Stars

last monster erotica for real-real.

i mean, i had to finish the monsterbangers saga – i couldn’t just leave one out there unread. that would be unseemly.

and this is another bigfoot one, with a more humorous take than the virginia wade series.

but i just don’t know why i am so preoccupied with matters of hygiene in monster porn. does this make me a prude? it must, right? because, obvious grotesque aside, each monster comes with its own dirrrrty baggage:

bird poop on the gargoyle, the candiru* attacks possible when mating with a swamp monster, dusty mummy junk, and bigfoot.

where do i even begin with bigfoot?

At his sides hung a pair of massive hands tipped with long, jagged nails that looked like they could peel the bark off a tree.

they probably could! and do! and get into all manner of things! beware!

And up close the creature also stank like an outhouse. Clearly sasquatch didn’t grasp the concept of bathing. Or grooming, given the knots in its fur and the bits of twigs and leaves clinging to it. But really, all Angela had to do to forgive and forget the awful stench was take another look at the mammoth penis swinging between its legs.

(oh my god, and now i am wondering if there is wooly mammoth erotica… must. not. search.)

because i’m sorry, but that’s a deal-breaker for me. i don’t have a lot of rules when it comes to choosing partners, but nothing that is covered in dirt and leaves is getting anywhere close to getting inside of me. does this make me a princess?

this angela is an insane size-hound. it clouds her judgment, you ask me. because there are probably any number of well-hung vagrants living in the subway tunnels, but you don’t see them getting their own erotica, do you? oh, god do you?? i’m really afraid to go searching.

as in all the other stories, while angela is off getting it on with a smelly, leafy creature, jack is off trying to get some of his own, with a lady-bigfoot, who is also really gross.

Even a body-length away, Jack caught the foul, fishy stench emanating from that gaping maw. It was pretty nasty, but he’d smelled far worse in the past. Why, this was like a bouquet of roses compared to that zombie whore in Dresden.

delightful! however, nature is cruel, and what works for a boy-bigfoot and a human-lady is more problematic for a girl-bigfoot and a human-man when female bigfoots** have a downstairs the “size of an open handbag.” poor jack. he never stood a chance…

so that’s it, guys – no more monster erotica for a while now, i promise. i am getting a reputation here; i have gone from “that bitch who doesn’t use capital letter” to “that bitch who keeps clogging up the feed with pictures” to “that bitch who gets off on monster porn.” i don’t know if it is an improvement.

*incidentally, when trying to remember the name of that fish that swims up into your urethra and spikes itself in there, i came across this tantalizing article: candirú: urinophilic catfish, its gift to urology, by john herman. i did not read it, but i am intrigued…

** this book finally lays to rest the age-old question:

So are you supposed to call them “bigfoots” or “bigfeet”?” Jack Merkin asked his wife and monster-fucking partner Angela as they tromped through the forest in a remote corner of the Pacific Northwest….”Actually, to be strictly accurate they should be called “sasquatch,” Angela said. “But in the end I don’t think it matters what we call them. They don’t have the slightest grasp of the English language.” “Yes, but there must be a proper plural form of ‘bigfoot.’ So what would be correct? You do have a degree in linguistics, don’t you?” “I do, but iIm not one of those stuffy academics who insist everything is or should be set in stone. I’m not French, you know. Manuals of style are for pedants and lemmings. Language is an ever-shifting thing, constantly mutating in accordance with whatever usage people feel like adopting. In the end, there are no hard-and-fast rules. People just end up using whatever works, whatever is understandable, whatever sounds best at any given instant.” She shrugged. “So in other words, just call them whatever you feel comfortable calling them.””That’s a pretty anarchistic attitude.” “I prefer to think of it as linguistic libertinage.”

and she says she isn’t french! hhmph! but now at least we know!

read my reviews on goodreads

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