M(O)NSTERH(o)(o)D (fantasy, F/beastiality) - start of story

Story by lustepic

Standard disclaimer: I’m not a native English speaker and no one competent in English has proofread this.

Note: Be wary of spelling errors jumping at you unexpectedly and without warning from the bushes, trying to kill your progress. Stay true to the path through the story and don’t get waylaid by grammar intent on luring you deep in the maze of no return, so you might never finish.

Chapter 1

“Lupe! You’ll be late for the school if you don’t hurry, and it’s your first day as a freshman in the high school.” Father shouted from the kitchen.

“I know. I’ll skip the breakfast.” I yelled back, tugging stockings to my feet in a haste, hopping on one foot, nearly cracking my head on the night table when my only outwardly visible monster features made me lose my balance with their swaying between my legs.

“You know it’s unhealthy for a growing kid like yourself to skip the day’s most important fare. I’ll make you a sandwich, which you can eat on the way.” Father rumbled disapprovingly.

Aha, there was the garter belt. Couple of quick clips and it was in place keeping stockings up. Next I needed to find a bra from the chaos that was my room – there, under that pile of unwashed clothes. Hunting for clean clothes and throwing on what I could find in a rush, I ended up with mishmash attire, my reflection in the mirror resembling an apprentice scarecrow. Not bad – for me.

Judging by the looks I could be a vampire or any other undead expect for my smell and tanned skin – and freckles. No vampire has freckles, ever. Why wasn’t my skin mottled green like dads or hairy, same as mothers? I don’t smell like the undead, or any other resident monster clans for that matter either, and the undead can sense if you are a living thing. My hair, the long silver tresses, the same color as my mother’s pelt, hang to my back, framing a face and a body fit for the nymph clan, which is odd since I’m a daughter of a werewolf and a swamp troll.

Resembling one of the fitter undead, or a normal human, is a hard fact in a young kid’s life when you live and belong to that hairier monster side of the town and want to blend in. As a kid I had painted my skin green with crushed leaves mixed into milk on one occasion not thinking about how I would end up smelling. Getting licked and bitten all over by bovines that thought me as a tasty vegetable treat was embarrassing – and painful.

Before leaving my room I made sure my discernible monster parts in their encasing magical limiter, which is reminiscent of a leather sock with a pair of big pouches adorned by buckles, bulged prominently in my crotch with its foot and a half length. The full moon was only couple of days away and the limiter was emitting an intense silvery light you could read by, a detail that I had taken advantage of once again last night under my bedcovers to read the Full Moon Stories magazine and played with my gash behind my balls. The Old Man Trouble, the town wizard and high magic teacher at the academy, had made the cock sleeve for me ten years ago when I was five years old. The cost had been both mother and father’s year and a half incomes for it. Without the limiter I’m forced to stay indoors, unable to move when the moon waxes fuller, since I have inherited mother’s affinity for the Moon in the monster parts between my legs, their size waxing and waning along the Moon. They aren’t much to brag about in their limited form but at least they show at a glance that I’m not a human female – not that I have anything against humans.

I haven’t taken the limiter off for years now, since even on the new moon it glows faintly and stays at its foot and a half length. I wasn’t sure I could get it back on anymore if I removed it, and as Old Man Trouble had vanished couple of years ago, I couldn’t ask for his help either.

Grabbing my school bag I dashed out, running in the hallway full tilt to my father’s arm, which didn’t budge even a fraction of inch from my mass colliding into it, making me feel like if I had run into a stone girdle. The arm was holding a neatly wrapped sandwich, ready for eating, and was big enough for a troll like my father, plus my lunch box. My mother, Tala, in her full lupine form was resting curled at father’s feet and just thumped her tail to the ground in greeting, either too tired or lazy to change into a more humanoid form.

“Thanks dad! Lazy bones!” I shouted and sprinted out of our cave dwelling.

“Have nice day and remember to behave.” I could hear father yell after me.

Munching on the huge sandwich I headed towards the school.

Dad makes the best breads and buns in the town in the bakery he owns. He often lectures to anyone willing to listen that ability to eat anything doesn’t ne

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