MILKED BY THE YETI, Book 3, Part 4
BY MOCTEZUMA JOHNSON
Natasha took home the baby-yeti. Vlad did too, but these decisions are ultimately up to the woman and the man, while able to interject his views here and there, is essentially just a passenger along the ride, much the way Rhode Island is to the US presidential elections thanks to the electoral college. They got the baby yeti home and Vlad went out to the local shops and got a child’s bed, he was already so goddamn big, and packed the car full of formula. This boy could drink! Wow!
At first baby yeti was okay. Natasha was hopeful that she could mother him. Her and Vlad were a family. They were equipped. Natasha, however, had lost her best friend again. She wasn’t gone. But she was in a coma in Brighton General. Perhaps, part of Natasha resented the baby yeti. Or maybe it was just physical. She had no milk to give the yeti. So what use was she?
As the days passed the yeti grew in stature and he grew restless. Vlad went out for more formula every day. Every day he packed the car with formula, goat milk, horse milk. He was on the black markets online, the ones on 86th street, searching the black milky markets for more milk. He was quickly dubbed The Milkman by the local vendors, a pretty swarmy group.
None of it was enough. And none of it seemed right. The yeti always looked unsatisfied. It was like, Vlad thought, he had a special milk that he needed and none of what Vlad was providing was correct. Occasionally, after feeding on seventeen bottles at once the yeti would bang his big furry hand on his bed and Vlad would again get the drill and re-attach it. Vlad felt bad for the yeti. The yeti was grossly out of his element.
He also realized that the yeti was half human but the yetiness of the yeti was so dominant that it was hard to not consider him fully yeti. This was making raising a yeti in a human home difficult. Also, humans grow so slowly compared to just about any creature in the animal kingdom. This yeti growing fast. He was already walking. He was already getting into trouble. He had knocked down the TV, upturned the fridge, pulled the sink out of the socket, eaten the shower-head, and walked through a wall from the parlor room to the bedroom. Vlad reinstalled a shower-head, re-caulked the sink, put the TV back, but just left the hole in the wall.
Vlad knew he had to do something.
On a beautiful fall night, Vlad snuck into Lena’s hospital room. She looked like Snow White laying there (think more Bella Swann’s version than Disney’s, please). Even reclining and comatose, Lena’s tits were fucking humongous. He was all alone in this part of the hospital. There was only one guy working the wing and he was way down the corridor. Vlad lifted up her hospital gown and let her titties breath the crisp fall air. He’d rarely seen Lena’s nipples so soft. They were exquisite. She got turned on easily and usually he saw her nipples in states between hard and neutral. They were completely down, like a pat of putter melting into a pancake. He allowed himself to touch one. He rubbed it. Sure enough it got hard. Not very hard, more like neutral. But it responded to his touch. He let himself suck on it, he sucked until a squirt of milk shot into his mouth. He was rock hard. He knew he shouldn’t but he couldn’t resist. He straddled his comatose ex-wife and proceeded to use her tits to pleasure his big Russian dick. It was utter joy! He was titty fucking a sleeping goddess. Her breasts were filled with milk, he could feel it, and better than ever. He was at the brink. He shot a creamy load of cum into the ravine between her massive juggs. Then he unpacked the milking paraphernalia he brought in and proceeded to milk his ex-wife’s tits. He filled up a few bottles, but then her tits went dry. It wasn’t nearly enough but at least it was the yeti’s mother’s milk. Maybe this would satisfy the young cub.
In their apartment, Vlad fed the young yeti cub his mama’s milk. This worked. He rested peacefully after draining the bottles. But when he woke, he wanted more and there was no more.
The Yeti-tantrum turned the 4-level brownstone they lived in into a pile of rocks within minutes. The neighbors ran to the street when they heard the earthquake taking place. The street was a nightmare. Women were screaming, crying, sirens were wailing. The fire department was on its way. Vlad, Natasha, and the yeti would have all been captured or killed if it wasn’t for the sudden appearance of a weird craft on the street. It came in fast, pogoing on a big barnacled stick. That’s right, it jumped in on part of this guy’s massive anatomy, his cock. And it came in so hot (fast) that the crowd parted in fear, awe, and a considerable amount of jealousy and stereotype-busting. It was Barnacle Man! The little Asian with the massive dick!
“Look, it’s Jack Lee.”
Jack Li/Barnacle Man arrived on his hovercraft which wasn’t exactly a hovercraft because it bounced rather than hovered. It bounced on his massive, hard dick. He came to a stop near the yeti-infant. “My name is Jack Li, not Jack Lee.”
The crowd murmured in confusion, his name is what not what? Aren’t they the same? Is Jack Li/Lee okay? Holy shit is his cock massive! Who cares about his name!
Barnacle Man harpooned the baby yeti and shackled him to a seat on the craft. Vlad and Natasha took human seats and fastened harnesses. They pogo’d off to Brighton General where Barnacle Man expertly took Lena and her coma-keeping life-support machines into the craft.
They headed to the bay and entered the water. The cock-pogo turned into a rudder and they were off to travel back across the planet.
End Act 2
[Intermission – take a piss, have a smoke, get a quickie]
Stay Tuned for MILKED BY THE YETI, book 3, part 5
Preview of Part 5
In Nepal, things were chill for a few months. Mike the Yeti fucked his wife, sucked on her tits, and was generally calm, and even happy. He still yearned for Lena’s Russian goodness but was content enough to love the one he was with.
He waited for his yeti-wife to get pregnant and start producing milk. He hadn’t visited his milking station since his return to the Himalayas.
He went for the first time and found some of Lena’s tattered clothes. It was a ripped plaid button down shirt. He used the torn shirt to wipe the tears from his eyes. Then he stomped down to the village and mauled a bunch of Sherpas. He ripped some from limb to limb. He bashed the heads of some into each other cracking both their skulls and leaking their Asian brains onto the snow. He disemboweled others. After he killed them, he placed them on the snow. He worked very diligently and delicately with the dead, maimed Sherpas. It was the worst Yeti-massacre in human history. He finished placing the dead bodies. He wipes his eyes again with Lena’s Swiss-cheesed, old shirt. He could smell her glorious lactation. He growled. The thunder of his growl exploded through Nepal. He looked down at the strewn bodies. They formed the perfect image of Lena’s gorgeous Russian tits.
(to be continued)
(hate waiting? don’t worry! A new one comes out EVERY day!)