MILKED BY THE YETI, Book 3, Part 1
by Moctezuma Johnson
Alright, fuckers. I ate some sushi, chatted with July about her character Violet for a bit, told Callie I’m going to start Yeti fucking book 3, and then sat down and let this tsunami out of me. I assume it’s complete crap. I shit it out fairly easily. I’m hoping the painkillers I’m taking for nasty back pain is making me better than my normal shitty self. Hope so! I’m looking for quality. I mean, it’s Milked by the Yeti, where the trailer is good enough for xvideos.com. Hot! Err, cold, when it comes to Yetis, or does it? Find out where Book 3 starts. Are we still in Nepal? You know I’m nothing if I’m not a sucker for turning conventions on their heads (fuck I would have thrown in a female Jedi by Empire Strikes Back if somebody handed me the keys to Star Wars) so now we have enough “Milked by the Yeti” to actually have conventions to deconstruct. So let’s put on our bathing suits and start Milked by the Yeti, Book 3. Excelsior! Thanks for turning down the TV and giving this baby your full attention.
Milked by the Yeti, Book 3, Part 1
“Jump in the pool with me, baby!” Natasha was in the pool sipping on a Pina Colada. Her blonde hair was wet. She was beautiful in her skimpy bikini. She was young Russian and alive. She’d gotten her friend back from the Yeti, she’d seen Barnacle Man’s massive schlong and she was here with her new husband and her best friend. Yes, the best friend was the husband’s ex-wife but they were young, hot and they could survive that. Lena looked at the sun and thought of the Yeti’s eyes. She felt him in her belly. She was sick with missing him. She ran for the pool, “okay, baby!” she yelled back at Natasha and jumped in. Underwater, Lena saw the white bottom of the pool and thought of the Yeti’s warm, cashmere fur. She wanted to be wrapped in him. She wanted to kiss him and get surrounded by his primal warmth. She missed him. She came up for
breath and Natasha said, “Tongue out, baby!” in her Russian accent. Lena leaned her head back. Her nipples were underwater, but her cleavage was over the waves and basking in the sun in all their glory. Lena’s hair spread out over the water. Natasha poured the pina colada over her friend’s face. Lena lapped up what she could but it looked more like she’d taken a cumshot than that she was drinking a cocktail at the pool of this Cozumel resort. The day was hot. The ocean water was clean blue, emerald. They heard the Maya used to call that color yax in the old days. Now it was called emerald or aquamarine. Now these Russian whores and bestfriends, one in love with a Yeti still in Nepal somewhere, married to a She-Yeti, were enjoying their pampering at the hands of the staff of the Hotel Riviera Maya Ruski. The staff all spoke Russian, Mayan, English, and Spanish. That was Mexican hospitality. You could pay in just about any currency you wanted, but dollars (not pesos) were the default. Fucking gringos! The girls kissed each other. Lena liked kissing Natasha more than kissing anyone else in the world. She was so happy to have her friend back. She pushed her tongue up into Tasha’s mouth, then she left it there. Natasha worked her circular magic around her friend’s tongue. A bit of pina colada drooled out between them. Vlad watched and found himself very hard. He’d had the two girls many times but still got turned on by them. They were hot! They were sluts! They were his sluts! Lena opened her eyes and looked off into the distance.
“What?” Natasha said in her high-pitched voice. “Him still Enough!” she scolded in her high-cadence.
“I could have sworn I saw him out there.”
“Ha!” Natasha said. “Like he could swim here. And how would he even know you were here. Come on!” Her voice went up in intonation in each sentence, almost like she was asking a question, but she wasn’t. “Come on, baby!” Natasha said and pulled Lena’s tits out of the little bikini that they were dying to break out from.
“That’s it! All my girls out in the pool,” said Vlad. He reached and pulled his new wife’s tits out to join his old wife’s tits. “You girls are gor–” He stopped mid-sentence as this massive cloud shut out the sun’s rays.
It was suddenly cold.
The temperature was dropping quickly. The sounds changed. They no longer heard the relaxing ebb and flow of the waves but instead heard the high-pitched squealing of the wind. It was a nasty Arctic wind. Lena remembered that sound the first time she ever crossed paths with the fucking Yeti.
Her heart started to race. Butterflies took to her stomach. Her mouth went dry. She searched the surroundings which were changing from tropical aquamarine paradise to white, cold joy. Yeti-joy. She wanted to find him but all she saw was the once verdant mountain snow-capped and frigid. The sun was still shining. No. That wasn’t the sun. That was the fucking eyeball that mesmerized her. It was the Yeti. He shook is head and it was like a tsunami coming off of him. He had swum here. He was shaking is head like a dog who had just come out of a pool, except his shake sent small tidal waves around and everyone scattered looking for safe cover.
“It’s the fucking Yeti,” yelled Natasha. She grabbed Vlad by the hand and led him uphill. “I told you to bring the gun.”
“No more curséd guns, Tash.” He said while running. His voice still sounded calm and deep, the fucking Russian. So macho even in the face of Monster with a hard-on. “I can’t take another potential life from anybody.”
“Just run, you idiot!” she chided him. They ran to safely to safety. The yeti loomed so large the scene had not only gone cold, it had gone dark.
“What is it?” another bikini’d vacationer asked Vlad and Natasha.
“It’s a Yeti.”
“Does it bring snow everywhere it goes?” The vacationer was interested.
“I have no fucking idea…bitch.” Natasha had had enough of the bimbo and her yeti-questions. She was watching in horror as the Yeti held her best friend in his hand and commenced the milking of her giant milky udders. The Yeti drank Lena’s milk.
“That’s just wrong,” Bikini Bimbo said.
At this moment, a ship shot out of the water, it was ruddered by a giant cock. A man in a Vietnamese rice-picking hat covered in barnacle necklaces and sporting a cock at least two-storeys long and dripping wet from sea-captaining a vessel. He shot out of the water like a sub-human cannonball and then, from mid-air, aimed his harpoon at the fucking yeti who wasn’t facing him. “Hey, Mike!” yelled Barnacle Man and the yeti ignored him. Barnacle Man landed on the ground, still pointing the harpoon at the fucking yeti. “Hey, ‘Mike,'” yelled little Jackie Li and the yeti stopped drinking Lena’s milk and turned to face Barnacle Man and the harpoon. The yeti growled so loud that the Earth shook. The pool bottom cracked and all the water drained, leaving nothing but a few icicles hanging from the diving board.
Barnacle Man shot. Lena yelled, “No!” The Yeti whimpered and reached for his harpooned eye. The antumbra disappeared. The red was gone and it went glassy and started to look more like an opal. Lena’s heart broke. Those eyes. They were injured, by this little Asian fucking Gook Yeti-Harpooning Bastard. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Barnacle ignored the milked sexpot and her bemoaning and chained the yeti’s hands. This little big-dicked fucker knew what the hell he was doing. It was no ordinary harpoon. It was alive and it punctured the yeti’s eye and then wrapped the rope and heavy chain attached to it around the yeti’s hairy wrists until he was bound and subdued.
The yeti had been captured.
The hotel staff either had excellent training as first responders or they had captured mythical beasts before because they came down to Barnacle Man, gave him a limonada (let Callie tell you about lemons and limes and how they got reversed when they made their way into English, don’t bother me with linguistics now, I’ve been trying to write this story in one fucking try, ok? Take it to chomsky or callie already! Yeah limón is the green one and lima is the yellow, okay? Happy now?) the green limeade with sugar and sparkling motherfucking water which the hungry Asian yeti-capturing sea-pirate chugged down while they hotel staff, in uniforms, very form-fitting I will say (perfect for a gangbang scene later), and carted the Yeti off to Mythical Creature jail at the top of the now snow-capped mountain.
End Part 1 – Book 3 of MILKED BY THE YETI
Preview of Part 2 – Book 3 Milked by the Yeti
The Yeti was okay in jail. He’d been in jails before. He spent time in a Nepalese jail for a while. He met Bruce Wayne there, incidentally. Big fan. Bruce of the fucking yeti, that is. He was also in a North Korean jail for a while when he was making crystal meth. Barnacle Man, employed by the Kim family in the 80s caught the fucking yeti, that was his fifth time, and then dragged his whining pink ass (yes like an baboon) to the great Democratic People’s Republic of Korea [조선민주주의인민공화국 (朝鮮民主主義人民共和國)] where he taught the locals to make meth so the north could claim an income stream and keep up with the South who were doing the same with the help of GIs in the occupying US military. Anyway, it’s all very political and you don’t care, just trust me on this one key point, Barnacle Man has been a fucking thorn in the side of the Yeti for hundreds of years now. Thus he cock-ruddered up to the HOTEL RIVIERA DE MAYA RUSKI and kicked the white motherfucking yeti’s pink behind (yes we missed this detail in the first two segments of the YETI, oh well, dear reader. Great catch!). Now the Yeti was chill, cooperative, and all he asked for, this “Mike” the Yeti, was a psychologist. No that’s not exactly the right word, a marriage counselor. According to the Yeti, he wasn’t trying to kill and villagers from any village outside of the Himalayas (the Himalayan Beef you will have to allow him for it’s been an ongoing tit for tat for thousands of years now). The counselor sat on a frozen log outside the cage where the Yeti was shackled. The Yeti had both of his arms pinned to the wall with two u-shaped shackled held together by big thick clevis pins. He wasn’t going anywhere. The counselor listened, nodded, and occassionally jotted down notes. They spoke in Nepali. The HOTEL RIVIERA DE MAYA RUSKI had employees capable of speaking just about every language on the planet. The Yeti, Mike was saying, was simply in a bad marriage and there was just something about Lena. Those tits! Those tits! They were just so milky! He growled with passion, with hunger, with desperation. Please bring her to me. Conjugal visits. Lactational visits. The counselor said, “I’ll see what I can do about that,” and left the Yeti fettered to the wall.
STAY TUNED FOR THE CONCLUSION OF MILKED BY THE YETI Part 2 – Book 3 by Moctezuma Johnson