Milked By The Yeti Again, part 2 By Callie Press | #LPRTG #MrBrtg | @calliepress @mjkingoferotica

Milked by the Yeti (Again), Part 2

By Callie Press

A behind the scenes look at Callie’s process and then installment 2 of MILKED BY THE YETI below with some beats/scribbles/callie-stuff at the end

See, writing is almost always a stream of consciousness thing with me. That’s why I can go really fast when I do. None of the ‘work’ is in rough drafts for me, it’s all in fixes. Writing is rewriting, that kind of shit. Luckily, the closer my roughs come to firsts, the better off I am, and the closer my firsts come to finals, the better off I am (everybody knows that). I use this little system hubby taught me in my editing days (which he used and still uses for editing as well). I posted a blog on writer’s block that mostly explains it, but the nuts and bolts are, when I’m ‘working,’ I am writing. If I am not writing, I am typing. I never run out of ideas. I can’t keep up with them. You’re the same way whether you know it or not. Keep typing when you can’t write, let your mind wander to wherever it wants to go, daydream and write down your daydreams, just set them aside in BOLD BRACKETS [Like this] because it makes them easier to spot and cut out once you move out of typing and into writing.

In part 1, and in this part (mostly), and in anything you ever see from me, you don’t see pure rough draft. Ever. First draft is the pure rough draft with all those bold bracket comments removed, so it is the rough draft, it’s just minus my writing baggage and my thinking baggage and my emotional or physical pain that’s going on, if any. Rough draft is the mess I make in my document when I start something. The first draft is after I cut away all the shit and put it aside and have something left that looks like it could be a story or a chapter or a section or a scene or a vignette or what-have-you.

And now, Milked by the Yeti (Again) returns to you already in progress!



Callie’s Milked by the Yeti

“Lena!” cried Vlad as Lena receded from their grasp. “Fight him! It’s as if he thinks he can discard you, and take you back whenever he wants!” People were screaming now in the tent, and trying to find the staked-down bottom edges so they could escape the clinging flames. Vivek was unconscious atop it.

The Yeti slung Lena over his shoulder and turned away. He ran off toward the woods at the foot of the mountain, but as they watched, he disappeared. His fur and hide had the power of illusion in the Himalayan snow as well as any 9th level Wizard who hadn’t specialized him- or herself out of the school of illusion magic.

The shaggy mountain held Lena in the crook of his massive, strong arm as if she were sitting in a chair covered with the flowing, downy silk of his fur. The wind was cold in her face, but she was warmed by his inner furnace. She was angry. She wasn’t as angry as she should have been, because his fur was so warm and soft to her delicate senses. Now and again she would look up at him, about to tell him to take her back. Every time she would see those bewitching pinholes—the red antumbrae of his huge, dark eyes—and become ensorcelled anew.

She was looking into his eyes even as he fell head-first into the snow. He had arched his back and landed on his forehead. His knees were on the ground and this turned his enormous body into a cave, where Lena had his forearm for a bench. He wiggled his head and shoulders so that his left shoulder became snow-covered with his head resting on it. His right shoulder was raised and away from his face enough to leave a small gap so air and light could get in. His face was inside this cave, but upside-down and a little sideways to Lena. She saw him looking at her.

Those eyes…she could not understand the spell his eyes put on her. She felt like a hippie adolescent girl getting a first look at Peter Frampton, although Lena couldn’t possibly know anyone had ever felt that exact feeling in 1977, which was long before the buxom young Russian prostitute had been born. Her nipples ached in arousal the longer she sat in the warm cave just staring into his freaky, big-ass monster peepers.

She heard some pursuit, villagers who had seen the attack and pursued (at a safe distance). They passed them right by, and right as Lena thought to call out to them, the Yeti made a little “Shh” sound and locked eyes with her again.

She looked into those red dots, so enchanting and kindly. How could she betray him? They would surely shoot him, even though he hadn’t harmed her yet this time. She couldn’t bear the thought of that, even though she doubted a few bullets would do much besides piss of this living monolith of adaptation. But she didn’t even want him pissed off as his magical eyes did their thing to her, as we have gone on about at length already. You get it, right?

Then she noticed he was staring at her bosom. All she had on was one of Vlad’s button-down shirts she had borrowed. After getting her ass kicked down the mountain and being rescued, she wanted to go straight to bed. It was a little less than mid-thigh on her and her enormous breasts pushed it out and snugged it up on her round, two perfect handfuls of ass cheek as well. She looked hot like a sexy young Russian prostitute ought to look and her abductor had finally noticed, probably because her tits were too big for the shirt, and her nipples were hard in spite of the warmth in the hidey-hole he created.

As the Yeti’s enormous until bumped her elbow, the only thing that haunted Lena were Vlad’s last words to her. “It’s as if he thinks he can discard you, and take you back whenever he wants!” These words troubled Lena as she unbuttoned the button down and the Yeti grinned, showing unappealing teeth that had never been seen by any dentist, nor even an elf who would one day be a dentist. This concept stuck in her mind as she dropped the sexy man-shirt and got on all fours in the little cave under his chest and pelvis. Vlad’s worrisome sentiment niggled at her brain as she pushed her wet, naked, tiny pussy up against the ham-sized head of his abominable cock. She heard “he thinks he can discard you!” as the roof of her snowman-tent started drilling its giant pecker into the ridiculously tiny knothole of her wanton cunt.

She took him inside her the best she could, which was the same kind of nuisance and glory as it had been the last time he fucked her, so you can just remember that time for those details. He was clever enough not to get his stroke on really well. Random Asians in parkas kept coming close and walking around. The Asians in parkas kept calling her name in their varied accents as they walked right past the little airhole by his shoulder. They were of several nationalities, although all of their parkas were identical.

The little nudges the Yeti-yurt made, as he merely stretched her lips beyond the point of childbirth with no significant penetration, drove her crazy. “Oh Yeti,” she moaned, staring into his eyes. He gave her a couple inches in and out, slowly, and he moved the enclosed arm she had been using for a seat. First he laid a finger across her lips to shush her, then he groped the nearest huge, pale, milky Russian titty he could reach.

“Oh Yeti,” Lena said, “I’m going to come on your big furry Yeti dick!”

The yeti shrugged and Lena started to shudder, coming on his big furry Yeti dick. The beast himself just kept moving his hips what little motion the Asians in parkas wouldn’t notice. It was obvious to Lena that the abominable monster wanted to be deeper, which only excited her shivering, overstretched fuckhole even more.

The creature’s eyes locked with hers again. She was only just starting to come down from the high of orgasm when she knew he was displeased with her. As sudden as a wet towel to the ass, his formerly bench-hand gripped her about the waist and he stood up to his full height. She slipped off his cock with an audible pop and he roared.

Three or four Asians in parkas stood nearby, too terrified to even remember they were holding bolt-action rifles. Bolt-action rifles are easier to use with mittens. That’s not true, I don’t think. But you can imagine how it makes a kind of sense, until you really think about it much. They didn’t know either way.* In any case, they had bolt-action rifles, but they forgot about them when the Yeti emitted his earth-shaking, pissed off and horny roar.

The Yeti was full-blown DTF. That means down to fuck. He was blaming Lena, for his frustration, at the shallow penetration, in their former situation. He was good and aroused, but bitchy as hell all of a sudden in that way you can only get when sex is annoying you for some reason. He roared until all of the Asians in parkas ran away toward their mountain camp, and then he finally started eating up the ground with his long-legged Yeti run.

He was taking her back to his home on the mountain. She was scared, and her face was cold again though her butt was warm, and she was also strangely happy. Especially when they did the eye contact thing.

“Oh Yeti,” Lena said sadly. “I can’t fall in love with you. I can’t. I can’t!”

He aimed his antumbrae right into her pupils as he kept taking big clumsy yeti-run steps up the steep slope of the mountain, turning and climbing unexpectedly as needed.

“But I already have…” Lena whispered to herself as she swam in his sensual eyes. “Fucking Yeti!”

He kept working up the mountain, cradling her in one herculean arm, as the sun started to set.


Beats / Scribbles? / Callie-shit in brackets:

*I don’t either. In subsequent drafts, I would either look it up and make the statement, and/or cut all of this shit. To be honest, in other first drafts, I have brackets that I cut out which contains the irrelevant stuff that hits me in the zone, like this since it’s coming right now more than her getting off on the yeti pecker: [oh here’s a bit of a snippet for the Sarcashmo/Queen Kegel first story, she says “Hello, Sarcashmo, or is it Saint Semen this time?” and he says “San Esperma!” and she all cute and sexy says, “Oooh, how rootsy!” and you can bet this or something like it will turn up sooner or later, in this case, sooner] [Hey I promised first draft, this is what I have to live with, one time won’t hurt you any. I’ll cut the rest of them out before I give it to MJ for dissemination, don’t worry]

From MJ: so Callie says, to whom I do not know, and then gives it all to me like one sizzling quark that I am not sure I can handle safely without blowing up the universe. I get quark-tongs, jump into my protective suit, man the robot armor, and do my best.

Milked By The Yeti Again, part 1 By Callie Press | #LPRTG #MrBrtg | @calliepress @mjkingoferotica

Monster Porn Image
Callie Press and Moctezuma Johnson take turns helping the Yeti Milk Lena in this Fantasy Erotica featuring the Abominable Snowman

Milked By The Yeti Again, part 1

By Callie Press

The Sequel to Moctezuma Johnson’s Milked By The Yeti serial

Introduction by MJ


I’d be remiss not to slightly plug this frigid little snowed-in chestnut by Callie Press. First, why the fuck are we writing this one wank wonder trash? Well, it’s kind of an inside joke about how we are wasting our precious time worrying about plots that few people care about and Milked by the Yeti was our code for that type of plotless story. Milked by the Yeti the concept took on a life of its own when I we kept saying we should write it, she should write, we really should write this. So on Thursday, I think, I outlined it and wrote the first part. Each day I added a part until I had four parts, a beginning middle and end, and the first “book” (it’s only on this site) in the Milked by the Yeti Series. Callie said, you should write Milked by the Yeti Again. Why don’t you write it? Voila. Most of my writer friends would say they were going to do it and then hem and haw, complain, wax poetic about a thousand other things like a literary Larry David, complain some more, but not Queen Callie. A few hours later and presto. Excelsior! She has a knack for pounding (words). So let me step aside and give the mic to Ms. Callie Press who I cannot thank enough for inspiring me to throw the kitchen sink at the page and who I think is on the brink of a special kind of stardom. I’ve had the absolute pleasure of taking a peek at some of her upcoming writing and she’s about to rip your panties off and stuff down your throats (in a good way, natch!).

Please clap your hands for Callie Press…

My process is different, but surely equally abnormal, if not outright broken-headed crazy…I just make them real in my mind and watch them, then explain what I saw as well as I’m able (and yes, I do it in Word, even though I am teased by some people about using stone-age technology).
So once I go back and re-read the original for the third time, I’ll watch them for a while in my still-hydrocodoned-to-oblivion state and then, with no break you can see but which amounts to a huge pause in this document to me, I’ll bang out the first draft of the first installment and slap it onto the blog right here, unedited, uncorrected, rough draft serial. Like Mark Twain, only smuttier, and with those Hemingway sentences that leave no room for misunderstanding. Yeah this sentence was edited away, sorry. Anyhow. So that’s what you’ll be reading as soon as you get past this line!



Milked By The Yeti Again, part 1

by Callie Press

The man wore a bright red turban with an enormous white and yellow feather in it. It matched his clothes and outrageous mustachios. He was straddling Lena, who was on her back on a cot. Her forearms were trapped at her sides by his thighs. His brown hands were clenched around her throat and he was shaking her. His hands were brown because he was an Indian man named Vivek. He was shaking her so hard so that her head seemed ready to snap at the neck. He was also yelling.

“Where is my Radika!” he kept yelling. He shook Lena so hard her big tits threatened to erupt from the button-up shirt she had been sleeping in.

“Help! Natasha! Vlad!” she cried.

“Where is my Radika! I know you saw her!” he yelled right in her face. Shake, and again.

Natasha rushed in, followed immediately by Vlad. They both hurried over to the smaller man and pulled him off of Lena as deftly as a horny nerd virgin trying to unhook his first bra—that is, poorly and awkwardly with no apparent success.

“Where is my Radika!” he yelled again, right in Natasha’s ear.

She rolled her eyes and open-hand slapped the man right in the mouth. “You shut up with that, Vivek,” Natasha told him. They finally got him completely off of Lena. Natasha gave Vlad a look and Vlad nodded, implying he had a good hold on Vivek. “Why do you think Lena would know where Radika ran off to?” Natasha asked.

“My Radika did not run off! Radika was looking for her!” he yelled and nodded at Lena.

“Vivek, stop yelling!” Natasha yelled.

“I’m sorry for yelling!” Vivek shouted. “She is my world! My darling! I must know why she is gone so long!”

Lena shook her head and rubbed her neck. “I don’t know anyone named Radika,” she lied truthfully. “Get away from me. Get out of my tent!” She looked at Vlad. “Can’t you do something with him? Arrest him? Beat him up at least?”

“It’s their camp,” Vlad told her. “They fleece tourists from this camp who come for the mountain. Maybe we should just forget this happened, eh Vivek?”

Just then, her tent lifted up and flew off into the distance, disappearing behind other tents just like Lena’s. A massive roar erupted from the mouth of the giant, shaggy brute that was hovering over them all. This beast the color of the snow blotted out the sun and cast all four of them into a shadow. He was a mountain of terrycloth virility made of Osmond teeth. His dreamy, freaky eyes cast over them and landed on Lena, who met his stare with a glazed, open-mouthed expression that made her beautiful face look pretty stupid.

“Is that the fucking Yeti?” Natasha asked, her long blonde locks flying sensuously.

Lena nodded.

“Let’s run!” Natasha said as she grabbed Lena’s arm and tried to get her on her feet.

“My god,” Vlad said as he wrestled awkwardly with Vivek, “He must have left to find you as soon as he woke up from his… post-coital nap!” Both of them just wanted to get unentangled. They fumbled over each other until Vlad gave Vivek a powerful shove toward the Yeti. Vlad got to his feet and Vivek stumbled right at the lumbering tower of white fur.

The Yeti stepped forward and struck Vivek with his leg-sized, steel-hard erection. It hit Vivek in the side of his head like a mule kick, and sent him ass over applecart into the next tent. That tent collapsed in a heap with people struggling under it, and it instantly caught fire from the overturned oil lamp.

Then the Yeti grabbed Lena’s shapely ankles in one massive hand and pulled her away from Vlad and Natasha as easily as a bucktoothed mama’s boy pulls the wings off flies.

“Lena!” cried Vlad as Lena receded from their grasp. “Fight him! It’s as if he thinks he can discard you, and take you back whenever he wants!” People were screaming now in the tent, and trying to find the staked-down bottom edges so they could escape the clinging flames. Vivek was unconscious atop it.

The Yeti slung Lena over his shoulder and turned away. He ran off toward the woods at the foot of the mountain, but as they watched, he disappeared. His fur and hide had the power of illusion in the Himalayan snow as well as any gnome or chameleon or Las Vegas magician or trickster god of the Native Americans, Crow.

Natasha sighed and looked at Vlad resignedly. “I guess you should go get the truck again. And maybe find a gun this time.”

“You know why I don’t like guns! No,” Vlad said firmly.

Natasha turned away from him, staring in the direction the Abominable beast had disappeared to with her Lena. “Just get a gun.”

Vlad left to get the truck and a gun.