When Elvira Met Bettie Chapter 9 (Patreon)

Sensitive nostrils flaring. Huge pelted body moving gracefully on feet that were silent despite their razor-sharp claws. Ears and eyes attuned to every sound and motion in this tailor-made habitat. He moved through his territory, his routineless routine disrupted by a newness, a break from the primeval tradition that demanded response.

There was man-scent, hateful and irritating, and so though he was not hungry, he had to prowl. He ignored the small game, the fish-strewn rivers, the growing berries and dripping honey. The humans had to be dealt with. The humans brought pain and rancor. They changed the changeless. Even the most harrying storm did not taint and alter and distort as the man-scent foreboded; but even the smallest storm could not be fought. The humans could be.

They were in sight: he held still and watched. He would not expend the effort, run the risk of assault without provocation. He couldn’t weigh risks or rewards, but on an instinctive level, he knew that any violence ran the risk of an injury that could leave him crippled, condemned to a slow death.

So if these man-scents were no danger, he would leave them alone. They would go soon on their own. The humans didn’t like the subtle scents and colors that made up the mosaic of his lonely existence. They would go back to where all was loud and bright and smelly, if occasionally sweet-tasting. He knew this: when he was far from those things, he was far from the humans.

Except for these humans… unaware of his presence… easy prey… such easy prey that paradoxically they might not be worth…

There! He smelled it! Not just man-smell, but gun-smell! He hated it! Feared it! Was angered by it! Its danger was so conjoined with offense that the smell itself signaled attack.

He withdrew… he couldn’t run the risk of the gun and its thunder… but he would not forget what was in his territory. He would wait. He would watch. He would be the first to respond to whatever move they made, whether he chose to be forbearing… or not.

***

Danny helped Bettie up the steep slope: first his hand steadied her shoulder, then his palm was flat on her spine, pushing her upward. Finally, his hand was on her ass when they regained the ridge.

Bettie went right to the spread blanket; there hadn’t even been the pretense that he was helping her at the end. He’d just wanted to feel her, as he would be feeling her… it would be the least of what he’d do to her. He’d see her and he’d touch her… Bettie sat down, short of breath and not only because of the climb.

“It’s soft,” she exclaimed.

“I put pine needles underneath,” Danny told her.

“You could almost be a Boy Scout, except for what you do on top of them.”

“And you could be a Girl Scout if you weren’t all grown up.”

He knelt down beside her, reaching for the top button of her blouse… Bettie saw him reaching for it… then it was in his hands and, like a magic trick, suddenly it was undone. Without thought she shrank back from him, her breath locked in her throat where it could neither feed her lungs or make a sound.

“Relax,” Danny chuckled in gentle admonition. “I’m not going to rush this… make this bad for you… you’re a rare treat for a guy like me. I’m going to enjoy it. You will, too, if you let yourself…”

Bettie would never understand it; how men could be so firm and yet so gentle. Maybe it was that women made themselves soft enough to pad out that firmness. She let Danny ease her down to the blanket, not resisting enough to make him be rough… just enough to make him be firm. Then he was down with her, lying on his side, but twisted at the waist so that his broad chest loomed over her.

He ducked his head to capture her lips—his tongue played inside her mouth, made her tongue his toy too, then she felt the sensitive surface of her lips as she only did when someone like Danny was feeling them too.

Not thinking what she was doing, only trying to… finish the thing he had started doing to her… Bettie kissed him back. Her tongue tentatively reached out to sample his lips as he’d tried hers, finally snaking out to find his teeth open, his mouth accepting. Warm tingles pulsed inside her: her body could not help but react when it was throbbing and his teasing touches stroked her along the waves of arousal coursing through her flesh.

His hands stopped feeling her and started to explore her. They moved along Bettie’s ribs to her waist—down along the soft rolling of her thighs, back up their tender insides, to the vee of her groin where he rubbed and massaged his hand into the crotch of her shorts.

Bettie’s eyes drifted shut; she grew used to being touched. If it were more intimate, more of an imposition, maybe there would be more resistance in her. But it felt like more of the kiss he had given her, less like a violation. And when his hand was up under her blouse, ghosting along her flat stomach to the fullness of her breasts, that didn’t feel like a violation either.

He kneaded her firm tits through her bra, imprinting the design of her own brassiere on the fleshy softness of her chest, making her nipples claw so agonizingly at their confinement that she wished Danny would undress her already and free her from her sensitivity.

As if he could hear her urgent thoughts, Danny took his hand away to unbutton what was holding her blouse together. Bettie acquiesced like her body would get drunk on spirits—she was drunk on him—shrugging and moving, taking and folding, sitting up and letting him unhook her bra, and then she couldn’t manage to meticulously square it away… there wasn’t enough normalcy in the world to make anything orderly about having Danny’s eyes on her naked breasts… his gaze touching them like the coolness of the air… making them throb in their satiny smoothness, in their creamy whiteness, like her luscious body was trying to give itself to Danny. The coral nipples darkened, reddened, standing out blazingly on her puckered areolas.

Danny opened his mouth as if to say something, but his actions were speaking louder than anything he could say. He captured Bettie’s nipple in his mouth, sucking up all the swollen peak of her teat and then tantalizing it with his tongue. His hands smoothed over the goosepimpled surfaces of her bosom, massaging and kneading, feeling her out like rich silk that only got softer the more he stroked his sweaty fingers into it.

His hunger was so insatiable that her breast couldn’t fully satisfy it; the only thing that could was her other nipple, stiffening just from sympathy with its twin. This time Danny nipped at it, grinding his teeth into its pregnant heft, then pulling them back to stretch her nipple out into stirrings of pain and equally unexpected jolts of pleasure.

The sensations started in her breasts, touching Danny’s hands and tongue, and then they spread through her like warmly melting butter. They grew as they filled her, full of electric tingling, thrilling pulses chasing each other so deliciously that Bettie almost feared what was taking over her body.

It was too much for her. The clear martyrdom which she’d held in her mind a few moments ago now was all twisted around—shot through with emotions—she loved what Danny was doing to her. How could she not have some warmness for him?

I can’t let this happen! It was just supposed to be physical… purely physical… but his mouth… ooooh! His fingers too! They’re making me want—wish—he’d do more! I don’t want to feel anything! I’m not supposed to! But he’s making me… whatever I give him, it’s never enough… I said yes to sex with him, not to enjoying it!

Bettie let out an agonized moan, but it sounded like pleasure even to her. Danny’s lips tightly encircled her nipple and he blew in and out, rhythmically, his exhales shooting along the roll of her breast and his inhales pulling at the sensitive flesh. It was excruciatingly pleasurable. Bettie was out of breath just feeling it; the throbbing where Danny wasn’t touching her, the flame sparking in her cunt, made her aware of the wetness down in the folds of her sex.

She clamped her thighs together, trying to reject the sensation. Still, against her wanting it, her hips undulated. The muscles of her pelvis rolling, moving to the ancient beat of the mating urge. While her heart drummed a loud tattoo of demand that only made Bettie want these feelings harder and faster until her itch was scratched.

Danny threw his leg over Bettie, bringing his body partially on top of hers while his mouth kept at her creamy breast. Its rosy skin was glowing with tiny drops of sweat and the first lustrous flush of arousal spread over the satin softness of its curvature. He could feel the gentle little urgings in the movement of her loins and he knew that it was time to get after this proud little bitch’s pants.

He’d waited long enough; his prick was stiff, not just with desire, but with the reward of long-anticipated fulfillment. It pushed out until his jeans felt painfully tight—no more room allotted for his gathering lust. Danny could’ve laughed; it wasn’t just her undergarments he had to get removed!

But her first; he couldn’t think but to get her undressed. He reached down to unbutton her waistband, then clasped her zipper in his fingers and pulled it down the swell of her hip. He didn’t think he’d ever heard the metallic glissando of a zipper being unzipped, not in the heat of the moment, but in all this nature, there was nothing else to hear.

Bettie didn’t think about helping him; she only did. Raising her hips, wiggling and turning to help him get her tight shorts loose of her thighs and down to her knees. She sat up and, were she thinking, might’ve been disconcerted by how Danny backed up to allow her to do it, taking his mouth off her breast, knowing that his retreat would facilitate Bettie stripping for him.

He rolled onto his back to watch as Bettie unpinned her shorts and panties from her ankles, then quickly folded them to add to the neat row her top and bra made. Keeping his eyes on her, Danny shucked off his own clothes, his shirt and undershirt piling onto the ground. He kicked off his shoes and stepped on the toes of his socks so that they’d be pulled off when he lifted his feet. He unbuckled and unzipped, adding his jeans to the growing pile, and then stood in only his briefs, his pounding erection bulging out the crotch for all it was worth.

With a final gratifying gesture, he drew off his underwear, liberating the girthy, stiffened length of himself to Bettie’s awestruck eyes. She gasped in surprise, her eyes bulging with fear which turned into a stupefied kind of wonder. It got a grin and a shoulders-heaving chuckle from Danny; upon hearing the amusement from him, Bettie looked up at his face.

She’d had no idea that a man’s instrument could possibly attain those kinds of proportions; after a seeming eternity of thinking of Danny as the scum of the earth, as every dirty, low thing imaginable, it made for a brusque awakening to see the lustful sadism on his face and realize the passion he was capable of. For surely it had to take real desire to make that much flesh that hard. He had to want her so much that she could almost forgive him for the things he’d resorted to, maneuvering her into the position he needed her in…

Danny knelt down in front of her, put his hands on her shoulders, and forced her prone again… not that it took much force.

“What’s the matter? Never seen a man’s dick before?”

“Not like that!” Bettie protested. “Irvin’s is… it’s natural… that thing’s—”

“More than natural?” Danny interrupted with a laugh.

Bettie began to have second… or more precisely, seventh… thoughts. She wondered how much of her actions were cool, adult reasonability… and how much impulsive revenge. And if she were just trying to get back at Izzy, how could what she was doing be right? How could it not, in fact, be wrong? Terribly wrong?