How to Tame Your Tikbalang Ch. 05

Well, here's chapter 5. :) One request was to show Buhawi's brother, so here's Kidlat. Yes, he is a handsome rogue and, maybe, just maybe, if he finds redemption in this story, I'll write him his own story someday. :)

Enjoy!

*****

How she wound up like this, naked and in orgasmus interruptus atop Buhawi, Tala had no idea, but she was sure of one thing: She needed to get the hell out of wherever she'd landed. Or pluck those hairs of his. Fast. Otherwise, well, she was quite literally dead meat.

Not that she could think clearly when her wet and swollen genitals were engaged in such sweet friction with her nemesis' hard, long and manly bits. That felt almost too good for her to protest against this rubbing of cock and pussy.

What? No. Just talk yourself into a better situation. Forget about the mind-bending pleasure first. Save self now, fuck later, with the battery-operated boyfriend.

"We have to talk about this—Buhawi, stop!" Tala finally found her voice somewhere between a wail of pleasure and a scream of panic. "Seriously, stop, please. Please!"

Tala flattened palms slick with sweat and her own arousal against his chest, pushing herself as far upright as she could. Her hair cascaded down one shoulder, over one heaving breast and her back, a fall of dark fire against her candle-lit skin.

Still gripping Tala's hips in his large hands, Buhawi bit down hard on his lower lip. The coppery taste of blood coated the tip of his tongue as he pulled the Baylan firmly down, holding her twitching wet folds tight against his throbbing member.

His brow was furrowed in the pain of unspent (and very intense) arousal. By the Old Gods, my balls hurt just like when Kidlat kicked them when we were kids.

It didn't help that the tips of Tala's tresses were brushing his belly and groin in an erotic counterpoint to the pain in his tight scrotum. Buhawi let out a low groan. Well, unwilling is unwilling, he thought to himself. It is bad enough that so many think we're rapists. I'm not turning into that kind of monster. Fuck my life.

Now, if only the trembling urgency in Tala's voice would actually douse his hard-on, Buhawi would be just peachy-keen. But, no, this is Totoy Mola we're talking about below the waist, Buhawi thought to himself with derision—nobody ever stopped that B-movie lothario with the horse-cock from fucking them. Nuh-uh.

"Now?! By the Old Gods, woman, your timing is atrocious." Buhawi drew in a deep breath as he slowly released her hips, which were, even now, beginning to bruise from the tightness of his grasp.

Hastily grabbing a folded black cotton sheet lying askew by her right thigh, Tala wrapped up as much of her sweaty, still-horny body as she could while she dismounted. Tala wished she could wrap her face, as well, but she needed to talk sense to this, this creature. Not something I can do with a sheet over my head.

"Look, I don't have any idea how I got here and I am sorry to be such a wet blanket on your, um, self-love and all that. Please do not hurt me," Tala blurted out in a rush once her breathing stabilized and her brain kicked into gear as she inched away from the heat of Buhawi's naked, muscled and oh-so-delicious body.

"Not that I don't want what you seem mighty capable of giving me, but I just want it clear that I am not a McDonald's Delivery Happy Meal, here," Tala drew herself up as tall as she could on her haunches (which wasn't much considering who she was addressing). "I will not be eaten like that barista from the coffee shop who got your name all wrong."

Well that did it. Erection wilt achieved in zero. Buhawi rolled his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation as Tala blathered on, her nervous energy fueling her mouth.

"Okay, you had better stop right now before I feel forced to slap your hysteria away," Buhawi said through clenched teeth as he sat up and raised a hand to signal Tala to shut up. "What barista? What are you talking about, woman? For your information, I don't eat ugly people. I prefer to eat people food, not people—although I may have had to bite a few of them on occasion because they tried to yank my mane or tail."

"Next, I am not a rapist. I don't need to be a rapist," Buhawi said, his voice thick with both anger and that horny growl he'd become so familiar with lately. "I'm extremely pissed at you for thinking I'd stoop to that. Yes, I want this—I wouldn't have summoned you all the way across two cities if I didn't, but don't think I have no self-control, Baylan."

He spat the epithet for Tala's kind as if it were the worst curse word on the planet as he fixed her with a literally black glare lit by dangerous red lights. "I prefer my women willing and, since you let me into your dream and summoned me not so long ago into your living room while you enjoyed your version of self-love, well, I thought you were game for it, witchling." Memo to self: Ask about the barista when she can talk sense.

Returning a glare of her own, Tala flipped back her hair and set her shoulders back, the action pressing the hard points of her nipples against the thin cotton sheet as she backed her way off the bed and onto her feet.

Nipples, sweet, tasty nipples, was Buhawi one coherent thought. Then he shook his head. Do not think about sweet, tasty nipples now, you ass, this woman needs to be set straight first.

Standing with a regal grace many aspire to and few achieve (wet thighs and throbbing lady parts notwithstanding), the Baylan squared off with the Tikbalang.

"Excuse me, but that was not about lust, even if it was rather, well, sexual," she said as haughtily as she could, considering that she was holding nothing but a flat sheet between herself and Buhawi. "That was about owning my power you old nag."

"Old nag? Old NAG?" Buhawi's voice rose to a thunderous volume as his temper got the better of him and he leapt off the bed to the cold tile of the floor beside it. "I was minding my own business and trying to making sure that old book stayed where it was and you call me an old NAG? Nags are female, which I assure you I definitely am not. Dear me, you steal things that you are better off leaving alone and you call me names. That's so fucking rich, Taga Lupa."

Now standing on opposite sides of the massive bed, the two locked gazes in a silent battle of wills. You aren't going to stare me down you stupid horse, Tala thought furiously as she squinted her eyes and called upon her anger to keep her glare going. I will win this if I have to saddle you up, ride you hard and put you away wet.

"So jacking off in front of my sliding door and leaving a crust of tamod for me to clean up is a sample of your self-control?" Tala asked caustically. "And stalking me is a good thing? Oh, and lest I forget, screwing me sore and six ways from Sunday in a dream is all about willingness, yes. I may have liked that, but I don't recall you asking me if I wanted to fuck you, asshole. Nor did you do the polite thing and use a condom. I don't know where that's been," Tala bit off curtly as she pointed to his still hard (and still very naked) penis with her pouting lips.

Ah, those pouting lips, pointing at my... Get a grip, Buhawi Unos Batumbakal. This is not a time to think with that head.

There was the slightest twich to Buhawi's eyelids as Tala kept her mouth going at Mach 1-per minute. Then he blinked. Ah, victory, Tala thought. Small, but decisively my round. Tala inhaled and Buhawi watched her chest rise and fall. My, she looks so fine in my sheet.

"But, wait, there's more," Tala continued her tongue-lashing oblivious to the ogling she was getting. "You also pretended to be this nice guy who bumped into me at the coffee shop who probably told a whole host of big fat lies to get me at ease. That's it. I'm outta here."

Tala pulled the sheet up so she could stalk to the bedroom door to her right for her grand exit. The high dudgeon she was in stained her cheeks and throat a deep red that, for some reason, dampened Buhawi's own anger. Her angry Spanish eyes sparkled like stars, her namesake, and Buhawi found himself batting non sequiturs about in his head, rather than counter-arguments.

All that fire, all that grace. She's magnificent when she is riled, he thought. I'd love to see that the next time we fuck, own it, revel in it—the passion, not anger.

Then he saw Tala hesitate at the half-open door, her right hand on the knob and her teeth worrying that red fullness of her lower lip as she kept her grip on the sheet. He took a deep breath to steady himself as she spoke. I wonder how many times I can make her come in a night. And how spectacular her coming will be after I keep her on the edge for an hour or two. Be good, dude, and perhaps you'll find out.

"By the way, where are we, anyway?" Her unsure question made him laugh softly as he pulled a red towel off the ladder back of a bedside chair and wrapped it about his hips. Buhawi walked slowly toward Tala his empty hands up in the air until he gently shut the door.

"Wouldn't you want to get dressed first?" He asked. "I doubt if any cab drivers passing McKinley Road would stop for you dressed as you are in that sheet. Of if any of them would see you standing on the roadside at night. For the record, I am a nice guy. It just isn't easy telling people I'm a tikbalang, you know. And, yes, I still want to get into that gorgeous body of yours, I have since I first saw you. But I am not going to hurt you. Much."

Tala's eyes widened. Her panic was starting to rise to the surface again but something, some instinct told her to stay very still and keep her eyes on him. So she did and that small pause was enough to give Buhawi time to do a full 360 and turn on the charm.

"I've got some clothes here, and a car," Buhawi offered with a slow grin that would have dissolved Tala's panties had she been wearing any. "I can drive you home. Or we can have a cup of coffee first, if you want."

"Look, I'm totally freaked out as it is," Tala said carefully, modulating her voice so it would come out even despite her emotional turmoil. "I'd just really like to go home now."

She cast unconsciously pleading eyes up at Buhawi as he stopped a foot away from her and he was a goner. All the fight left his system and all he wanted to do was hold her close and reassure her that the last thing on earth he wanted to do was hurt her.

"Please, just take me back to my house in one piece and I promise you I will never bother you again. I'll even cross my heart and hope to die," Tala said, hating the note of desperation that sharpened the pitch of her voice.

"There's no need for that," Buhawi said quitely as he pulled open a cabinet and took out one of his white T-shirts and a pair of blue board shorts with drawstring ties and laid them on the bed.

"There, those should cover you up well enough. Let me just go hose myself down and I'll drive you home. That summoning spell is a one-way thing, you know."

***

Standing under the coldest spray he could get out of the shower, Buhawi scrubbed away the smell of his sweat and her sweetness with peppermint soap. Not that the hot-cold tingle of the peppermint nor the cold rush of water were helping any, really.

He took himself in hand and began a swift, hard rhythm of harsh jerks to relieve the pressure in his balls, pressure that only built the longer he was in the same space as Tala. Hopefully, mastubrating would take the edge off his horny need to fuck the witch. Yeah, good luck with that.

I'm going to need to convince that witch to reverse her binding spell, Buhawi told himself, his breathing labored and hard. I can't perpetually be this hard. I'd have to open a construction business and hammer nails with my tarugo if this keeps up. Hell, if this keeps up, I'll die of dehydration from all the jacking off.

So Buhawi ticked off a mental list: 1) Keep her calm. Do not threaten her. 2) Do not jump her bones. Yet. 3) Get her to unbind you. 4) Talk to her about the barista. 5) Do not lose your temper.

Yet, as he was making up that list, he remembered how good she smelled. How that slick of salty and sweet on her skin left him wanting more. How her hot little mouth felt under his lips and tongue and, yes, how tight and wet and welcoming she was as he pumped into her. How her pupils dilated to black and how her lips formed a delicate red 'O' as she came.

Yep. That does it every time, Buhawi thought as his tamod spurted to the floor of the shower stall. Well, so much for cold showers. They obviously don't work when you're enspelled. Buhawi sighed, shrugging as he exited the shower, dried off and donned his jeans, a shirt and stuck his bare feet into whatever shoes he found.

***

Tala got into the pup-tents that served as Buhawi's clothes and looked in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bedroom door. I look like I stole this outfit off someone's outdoor clothesline, she grimaced at her reflection. But at least I'm all covered. Now, how do you go about talking to someone you're not sure you really fucked? This is all so awkward.

She looked around the room, noting the starkness of the place, like it had been taken straight out of an architectural magazine. The only personal touches she saw were three silver-edged photo frames atop a desk, behind a black smartphone, a white tablet and an open MacBook Air in sleep mode and a blinking fibre-connected WiFi router.

The photograph showed a younger, triumphant Buhawi grinning amid a cheering crowd on a basketball court. He was wearing a blue and white basketball uniform emblazoned with an eagle and stood beside another guy in a similar uniform, a guy with a marked family resemblance to Buhawi, but who stood a bit shorter and sported a mop of reddish curls that constrasted with the jet black of Buhawi's straight locks.

A brother? There's more than one devil-horse spawn? Great. Fanfuckintastic. I feel so safe now. Duh.

The two young men were smiling at the camera and seemed to be in high spirits as Buhawi raised a huge trophy in one hand as he held his brother in a one-armed hug. The brother flashed the 'rock on' hand sign with his left hand and stuck his tongue out at the photogtrapher as he spread his other hand, palm to the camera.

So they were part of the Ateneo de Manila University team that made the five-peat in the college basketball leagues? Wow. Why am I not surprised?

The brothers Batumbakal seemed just as close in another, older photograph, this one in black and white. They were frolicking on a white sand beach, with a laughing Buhawi chasing after his merry (and, apparently, younger) brother in the foam of waves ebbing from the shore, his right arm outstretched as if frozen in a game of tag, his dimples framing a wide, gap-toothed smile and his eyes glinting in the bright sunlight.

The third photograph was probably the most recent one. The two men wore lightweight tailored tropical suits sans ties, their strong throats and tanned, muscular chests peeking out of the unbuttoned vees of pristine white linen shirts, something that could have been taken from a magazine photo shoot. They stood back to back, arms crossed and faced the camera with devil-may-care smiles.

Maybe it is just me, but the tension between them seems to overflow the frame, Tala thought. Their smiles are definitely confined to the lower halves of their faces and their eyes look so hard, like dark glass.

Just about then, a loud rumble crossed the sky above the posh Forbes Park enclave and lightning streaked through the sky. Oh, dear, rain. Not now you stupid monsoon. I need to get home before the flooding sets in. Tala turned around and was about to search for Buhawi when she smacked right into his chest. Again.

"Okay, this is getting to be a bad habit between us," Tala piped up as she inhaled the clean, peppermint and male smell that she now associates with the Tikbalang in man's clothing now holding her steady. Again.

The rumble of thunder overhead was matched by Buhawi's own rumbling laugh. "I'd call it a good habit," he said, setting some distance between them as he laughed (though, truth be told, he just wanted to carry her to the bed, hold her tight, get inside her and to hell with the consequences).

"Now, we'd better get going before the flooding from the rain gets so bad we get stuck on the horror that is EDSA," Buhawi said, leading the way out of his bedroom and down the stairs to the garage where he'd parked his red Land Rover Defender with the vanity plate "Agimat 1" shining luminescent green on white in the low light. "I can handle floods, but I hate the crazies who think they can drive like maniacs who like joy-riding when EDSA is not one long parking lot."

***

"Look," Buhawi said as he idled the vehicle and he and Tala buckled up. He kept his tone as even and as calm as he could. "You mentioned a barista from that coffee shop where we met. You practically accused me of raping the woman. What happened to her?"

Snapping her seatbelt into its dock, Tala turned to Buhawi with her eyebrows up. "I saw it on a TV news report on ANC while I was at work. Her name is Martha and she was murdered at a construction site near Circuit mall."

Buhawi eased the Range Rover onto the road and drove out to the highway, keeping his speed even as he turned on the windshield wipers as the rain began to fall.

Tala forced herself to look straight ahead as she continued her reply, just so her voice would stay steady. "She'd been found on a pile of gravel, naked and mutilated with hoof-marks from an unshod horse and bite marks all over her body. She'd also been raped."

"And you think I did this?" Buhawi fought to control the anger rising through him. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. "I don't know why you think I did that. Okay, so I hated that she changed my name to Vernie, but that isn't a bad enough thing to rape and kill someone over."

She thinks the worst of me. Buhawi forced his concentration back to the road as the rain began to fall in almost impenetrable sheets as tropical monsoons usually do. Why do I even care about that? Shit, man, that just plain hurts.

He, too, kept his eyes front, unable to look at Tala because he didn't want to see her judgment of his character on his face. Not that he should care, but he did. Too much. It's the binding spell, he rationalized. I just need to get that undone and I'll be okay. This won't matter.

Lightning flashed across the sky, striking earth somewhere in the distance, illuminating the harsh planes of Buhawi's face as he slid on a mask of indifference.

"What am I supposed to think?" Tala asked, her voice a soft whisper. "You're the only Tikbalang I know."

"What you are supposed to think," Buhawi countered, "is that I don't go around doing that kind of shit even if I am a Tikbalang, lady. If I were that bad, there'd be a lot of dead bodies out there to keep the police busy because, I tell you, people piss me off every damn day."

"I'm sorry," Tala's voice was small, afraid. "I don't really know what to think. Especially when I saw those pictures of you and... was that your brother?" Distract him. Don't make him angry, you fool.

Buhawi breathed deeply again before speaking. "I promised not to harm you. I'm hoping you letting me drive you home means you trust me a bit. Now, I don't know who raped and killed that barista, but it sure as hell wasn't me."

Something in the raw earnestness and anger in Buhawi's words made Tala think twice about her suspicions. After all, I don't think I want to imagine that I am in a car with a rapist and killer, she told herself. Better to just let that slide. If he was intent on doing me in, I'd have been done for weeks ago.