When Elvira Met Bettie Chapter 29 (Patreon)

Tingling warmth crept into Bettie’s mind. Like an echo, it started in Bettie’s groin, then continued on in growing reverberations until she could sense it in her head. Loud enough that she couldn’t ignore it as she could the rest of her numb body.

She lay twisted on her back, her thinking having to travel a maze to get through her muddled mind. Confusion swirled as her thoughts failed to link themselves together. All she knew was a note of warmth, then another, and another. It felt good, sweet. Did she want more or did she only want for the warmth to continue? She started to move, but stopped at the sound of a low snarl.

Bettie’s eyes opened then. She still lay unmoving, but her eyes swept the darkness, trying to assign some cause to all she felt. The heated stirring in her belly was increasing. It rose inside her and brought with it a strange excitement. Yes, she wanted more of the warmth. She wanted it to get hotter. She wanted it not just between her legs, but everywhere.

Nagging questions assailed her as she groped through consciousness towards more of the luscious sensation. Where was she? Why was it so dark? She could see stars, the half-moon… barely… were they darkened or was it only an overcast sky? Bettie opened her eyes wider. The stars grew brighter. The moon burned hotter. A white flame… was it what was making her feel so warm? So warm the warmth was inside her?

Thunder rippled, charging the darkness with enough sound that the black seemed alive. And some of it was touching her, in her. She felt arousal racing through her, sliding through her loins as though the darkness had flesh. Bettie lifted herself up on her elbows. She was being touched. She felt something because something was feeling her.

Lightning scratched the sky, scratched through the darkness, and she saw how she’d been stripped… left shamefully bare, lying with her legs apart and uncovered… that creature… he was down between her thighs, where she was most naked… his tongue spooling out, his great head just above her core. Her panties! Where were her panties? She had no protection from his eyes, from his—

Again, fire seemed to leap into her. The liquid contact of his scorching tongue spread apart her labia, touching the tender pink inner flesh with a taunting flicker of tasting. He knew what was inside her and as he knew it, Bettie felt an uncontrollable shudder tease its way through her. As though she was brushing against an immense bonfire, jumping over it and only barely avoiding catching alight. Avoiding orgasm.

Because she’d almost come from feeling that tongue just barely enter her.

She was struck by sheer disbelief. The preposterous sight between her widespread legs—the thought that this impossible animal was actually the source of her every pleasurable spasm—was enough to drive her mad. But Bettie knew she had to stay in control of herself if she wanted to keep breathing.

At the very least, he wasn’t attacking her. Anything would be better than facing his sharp teeth and sharper claws. It wasn’t even the idea of dying, but being killed in such a savage, painful manner. The thought of feeling even one of those razor-sharp points scythe into her was excruciating.

But even when she was paralyzed, horrorstruck at the notion of provoking his ire, she couldn’t hold in a whimper when the next bolt of lightning split the overhanging darkness and showed Bettie her own tattered clothes. Ripped from her, strewn about the ground like the viscera of some slaughtered animal.

It was astonishing that the brute had torn them from her without inflicting any pain. Or perhaps the pain was lost in the heady mix of fear and pleasure she was feeling. And confusion, as she tried to gleam what primal thing this could possibly be. Some kind of ape? A gorilla?

It was like nothing she’d ever seen, nothing she’d ever heard of before. If it was an animal, it had to favor its own kind, didn’t it? It couldn’t possibly fancy her. Could it?

Did it know what it was doing? Know what he was making her feel with each testing lick? Was he actually trying to excite her?

Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, much as Bettie wished it would stay a veil, blocking out what was happening to her. Unwillingly, she saw through the clouding black to the beast-man and his own burning eyes staring back at her, watching her every tremor as his tongue passed between her legs, covered her helplessly exposed sex in warm saliva.

She shook in her obscene bareness—incredible sensation moving her body while she tried to hold it still. That look in his eyes… it was all but human… and the things he was doing to her naked flesh… most men couldn’t even do those things!

Was it her? Was she getting off on some perverse combination of rape, bestiality, and raw sex? She’d never known such feelings! Was it in spite of her terror that she felt a mounting fire where his tongue touched? Or was it because she was so frightened that each lick made her swoon with pleasure? God, how could she be enjoying this? How could it feel so good!?

Even her breasts thrummed with excitement. Her small, hardened nipples feeling like another part of her entirely, too stiff and alive to possibly be part of even her swollen breasts. It was a feeling of insanity. This couldn’t be a prelude to sex, some kind of foreplay. It was some errant impulse in a monster built for a predation. A whim, not the aggressive instinct that was master of his body.

The longer she spent where she was, the more she ran the risk that the beast-man would end his game and rend her to pieces. She had to do something! Maybe if she just ran… maybe she was fast enough to get away. Maybe it was a lumbering oaf that couldn’t keep up with her spry legs.

Bettie remembered talk of bears—that you weren’t supposed to run from them, because the act of running made them see you as prey. They would give chase. Run you down. Kill and eat.

It was that thought that awoke Bettie’s panic, made it overpower the glut of emotions that stilled her. She cried out, scrambling to all fours so she could crawl away. The brute reared back, startled by her motion, observing her until he saw her reach her hands and knees. Then he froze her with an icy growl, stopping the half-naked Bettie in a paroxysm of terror.

She couldn’t move—her whole body was consumed with the sob she let out. Fearful, choking whines escaping from the anguish of how horrified she was. Bettie felt the creature’s eyes on her, running over her upturned rump and bowed back, as though gauging her position and coming to approve of it.

Suddenly his powerful hands were on the soft white flesh of her hips, dragging her back against the bristling hairs of his crotch. Bettie sucked in breath for a cry she dared not voice. Her fear moved beyond itself, into a white canvas of unthought thought.

She sensed him clambering onto her vulnerable nakedness, his raw, leathery fingers grasping her slender waist, the arch of her hips. But there was no thought, no thinking. She could only feel. Thought was forbidden to her. She was too suffused with fear to think or plan or worry. It was too stressful, too hard on the overburdened neurons whirling about in her skull.

Instead, she accepted what was happening in a fugue state. Her firm young breasts swaying under her, moving with the jarring force of the man-beast taking up position against her ass. She felt his hair brushing against her back, grazing the skin of her haunches.

Something long, potently thick, reached between the trembling hills of her buttocks… touched between her lewdly spread thighs… her mind swam… the blankness pulsed and throbbed… she was at an apex of fear, of sensation, and now an added note was given to her already overwhelmed brain. Pain.

She felt him, hardened and thrumming, as he edged inside the tight, wet crevice of her womanhood. Some vestigial impulse, some raw animal impetus pulled her forward. She tried to slip free of his vise-like grip, but there was no fervor in her, no hope of really escaping, only the twitches of a body that had to move, with no conscious mind to guide it.

The man-beast easily held her in place. He pulled her in. He pushed inside her. And she opened around the solid thickness of his member, her soft-haired lips spreading, letting him force his way into the passage he had relaxed and lubricated.

Bettie’s jaw dropped. She let out a keening sound, half distress and half ecstasy. He was still too big for her, too much for the fear-soaked tissues of her cunt, which couldn’t properly loosen even with her mind vanquished. Still he went into her, forcing Bettie to stretch for him.

Her walls yielded. There was no fighting his lust for her, no resisting his sheer size. Bettie gasped for elusive breath, feeling more and more of the space inside her taken up, then more and more space made. Like an arm being rammed into the sleeve of a too-small garment, either it must shrink or she had to grow, and there was no lessening that invincible hardness.

It pushed until it ran out of space, until further thrusting only shoved Bettie forward, her arms and legs carving divots in the muck underfoot. She realized how used she was—truly used—every other man had left some of her vacant, but not this lesser creature. He demanded all of her.

Bettie let out a whimpering gasp of realization, knowing now that she had far more to fear than this animal biting her. And the brute let out a cry of triumph that encompassed any sound an animal might make and edged into the realm of human vowels and syllables.

“KRON!” he roared.