The Abominable Yeti Girls

I suddenly stumble and fall, doing somersaults down the slope for about a hundred yards until I go smashing into a tree, bruising my ribs and smacking my head hard. As I slip into unconsciousness, I gratefully notice some avid skiers running over to help me. I smile at the sight of them, knowing I will awake in a safe, warm, dry place.

The fire is hot, warming my bones. The paramedics have my arm hooked up to a monitor and are on the phone to the nearest hospital some twelve hours away. They are treating my fingers and ears for frostbite, but whisper as I ask that some damage has already been done. They figure they can save most of my fingers and my ears. They also tell me that ex-rays designed to show any broken bones are negative. I am okay in that regard. They have taken blood samples and their preliminary efforts show I don't seem to be infected with any kind of virus or disease.

What does concern them, however, is my state of mind. I seem frantic in my story about some five hundred pound Yeti female trying to get me to breed her. They are also concerned about my story of Ginger being tossed off the cliff to her death. Her parents are also at my bedside hopeful she too was still alive, and weeping at my tale of the mysterious and deadly creature. At first they are suspicious of my story, but a helicopter crew, out to survey the area I told them about, now comes into the room, claiming they actually did spot a large yellowy creature frantically scouring the area, no doubt looking for me. They say they even have footage of it circling the precise spot I claimed to have been held at. I now know that with such irrefutable evidence, people will have to believe me whether they want to or not.

Newspaper reporters start to gather at the door but the sheriff and medics won't let them in. Ginger and I having disappeared, and the subsequent search for us, was big, front page news, especially when so many large strange foot prints were found, and an impartial witness claimed to have caught a glimpse of some yellowy, fur covered giant, carrying off what looked to be either some kind of human or animal body. The press is now certain there is a ring of truth to the giant Yeti spotting and wants desperately to know my story. Tabloids are already starting to churn out emergency front page copies for news stands, making up their own versions until they will have the chance to hear mine.

A week goes by and the official search for the Yeti creature is in earnest. What is stumping officials, however, is the actual location of the cave where I was being held. With so much snow, the cave entrance would be virtually invisible from either ground or air. Unless and until I were to personally escort them to its exact location, they were convinced they would, despite all their best efforts, never find it. As psychologically afraid as I am, I nonetheless agree to show them where the cave's secret and hidden location is.

XXX

I bundle up super warm, and take a long, brisk shot of brandy. I insist on packing a gun, but they say they don't arm people unless they are official law enforcement officials. Many of the new search party are skeptical, claiming that even if my story was real, which they are assuming to be the case, the creature would probably have left the cave area by now. But I disputed that theory, claiming that the damn Yeti female was warped in its love for me. It would think I could be hurt or carried off by some wild beast, or that I had escaped but then collapsed in the snow, needing her help to survive. I also alluded to the real possibility that I may have impregnated the damn thing as a result of our many fuck sessions together. I doubted that it would want to leave the area without first finding the father for the child growing in her belly.

We assemble outside, all six of us. In addition to myself, and the helicopter pilot, there are four expert trackers that also happen to be expert law enforcement officials. The four are Sheriff Bradly, Highway patrol officer Randall Hawkins, FBI agent Robert Taylor and National Guard marksman Johnathon Lasky. All four men are heavily armed and that suits me just fine.

We ascend in the helicopter, and upon my instructions, follow a line straight north for just over an hour, veering to the left as we reach the partially frozen creek where the trout and salmon still freely swim.

From there we circle past a small gathering of trees, then ascend higher along the snow drifts at the base of a lofty ridge, where strewn ice covered boulders have sat stoically since the beginning of time. I point to a plateau running adjacent to the ridge and the pilot marks my words and the direction of my pointing expertly. A few more minutes and we are in the clearing, and I recognize the slope which covertly hides a series of caves. I then note the twisted, rotting limbs of a dying Artibus Tree, its roots having long been dug up and partially devoured by starving passing Elk.

At first the chopper unfurls a dangling set of roped ladders, but I point to a long patch of flatbed limestone rock, hidden somewhat by the snow. The pilot smiles and nods as he descends and lands on its firm, safe surface.

I take out my manuscript and continue to write this story. I am sure my tale will be worth millions so I want to write down every detail of the creature's capture by the heroic, brave team. The pilot stays in the chopper and the five of us trudge out into the snow, our adrenaline pumping and our senses on high alert.

We march for five to ten minutes through the deep snow until I ask the team to halt. I recognize the cave mouth and ask them to look inside. "In there," I insist, my voice wavering with fear and my body trembling noticeably."

"Easy," the sheriff says to me. "It can't hurt you. We're here, and we've got these," he spits out courageously, hoisting the rifle up over his head.

I suddenly sniff that putrid odor wafting off of its filthy fur, and I am certain the creature is nearby, if not under our very noses. Since it is not clearly visible, I make the correct assumption it is in the cave.

"It is in the cave still," I whisper, pointing like some frightened deer staring at a lion.

"Keep behind us," FBI agent Taylor insist, unlocking his automatic handgun. "This is a thirty-two bullet clip that could easily stop a moose instantly in its tracks," he says to me reassuringly.

"That's fine," I whisper back wryly. "Only what is in that cave is no moose."

"What the fuck is that awful smell," marksman Lasky says.

"That would be the Yeti creature," I confirm. "Probably only a few feet inside that cave mouth. It would have surely heard the chopper and it most certainly smells us as well."

"Well I'm not worried," adds Lasky, pulling the rifle off his shoulder and unlocking the safety mechanisms, including sliding the bolt into the breach. "This damn gun could easily stop a full grown elephant."

"It better be able to stop a Yeti as well," I tell him.

The creature suddenly emerges from under a snow bank it was hiding in, just behind the cave entrance. It leaps onto Sheriff Bradly first, killing him instantly by yanking his head off his shoulders.

Blood gushes everywhere, spraying us that are looking on, clearly horrified. The sight not only sickens but stuns, giving the Yeti an additional few seconds of shocked silence by the three remaining gun toting officials.

Lasky seems to be the most alert out of the three, raising his rifle expertly and calmly as he squeezes the trigger and launches a well-aimed bullet for the creatures left shoulder.

The Yeti howls in pain as the bullet does a through and through, tearing through the flesh on the front side of her shoulder before ripping past the flesh as it exits her body.

Still, the Yeti keeps on coming, now headed straight at Lasky. Calmly, the marksman fires a second time, aiming for the creature's heart. The bullet reaches its intended target, only the heart on a Yeti is not located in the same place as it is on a human. The second bullet, blazing at such high speed from such a devastating high powered rifle, does another through and through, missing all major organs as it slams through the beast's chest and once again exits out her back.

He tries for a third shot, but the Yeti has not slowed down, and grabs the rifle, knocking it away with one hand as its other hand smashes Lasky's face so hard he is too killed instantly as his nose bone lodges deeply into his brain.

Taylor raises his hand gun and fires off all thirty-two bullets in the clip. Half of them miss but half of them don't. He inadvertently, while panicking, has accidentally shot and killed highway patrol officer Hawkins, who was foolishly moving into his line of fire. But if there are sixteen bullets in the snow bank, and one in the now dead Hawkins, there are fifteen either inside of, or bouncing off of the creature's rock hard, rubbery skin.

It is soon apparent that most, if not all of the fifteen, have hit their mark with deadly accuracy. The creature lays motionless and it's chest stops heaving up and down. In my estimation it is dead as a doornail. I suppose to myself that fifteen well aimed shots at point blank range will do that to a Yeti, but not my Yeti. As it falls onto its back, I note that although it is definitely female, its waistline hips are a sickly grey color, and not the pinkish tone of my Yeti. It now dawns on me that it is about two feet shorter than the Yeti that had actually used me to breed.

Suddenly two more Yeti come rushing out of the cave mouth. One is definitely my Yeti, scooping me up off the ground and carrying me high up onto the ridge as a second Yeti shreds the remaining FBI agent Taylor into blood soaked pieces.

There are four female Yeti altogether and no males, and it makes me wonder if perhaps the males of their species had somehow died off, leaving only females, hence their need to kidnap a human male.

XXX

I am in total exhaustion, with my cock so swollen and sore I can hardly sit. My balls are also black and engorged. The four Yeti took turns using my tortured cock to stretch open their tight, tiny pussies. They then moaned away eighteen straight hours turning me into some kind of perverse human popsicle for their own private use. I had to manage having four separate orgasms. They wouldn't leave me alone unless and until I had a climax inside each of them. I suppose it will be like that every night from now on, trying to service four female Yeti ladies non-stop. Sooner or later my cock is bound to give out. I have finished writing this manuscript and so I will just toss it off the edge of the cliff we are next to. If someone eventually finds it then they can share it with the world, and let them know that men on Vermont's ski slopes should be careful. Because once my cock does finally stop working from overuse, they will certainly come looking for another human male to breed them. And God help your cocks when they finally catch you!

###