A Manticore For Christmas

Láyla as colored by some nice Anon.
Láyla as colored by some nice Anon.

 

Cold sweat covered Alan in a thin sheet, roused from his restless slumber by nightmares from the past. It had been years since he had dreamed that vividly of his capture at the hands of the cruel lion-woman who had spirited him away as a young man. In a chance encounter, he had seen her after a decade of freedom, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Christ, Alan. What are you doing?” He muttered to himself, fumbling for the light on his nightstand. A plain card stock laying on the wooden top. It had an immaculately penned telephone number, the name “Láyla” scrawled above.

Nervous fingers pressing the keys, he held his breath in anticipation. Why did she have to come now? What was she planning? The thoughts raced through his mind as the droning ring echoed several times. Moments later, a tired woman’s voice answered.

“Hello?” She said, sleepily.

“It’s me, Láyla. Alan.” He replied, his voice sounding far more like the teenager she had abducted from the tourist group all those years ago. There was a brief pause, and then a soft laugh from the woman on the other end.

“Couldn’t sleep, Alan? Or is it you’re willing to take up my offer?” She said, almost wistfully.

“The former. We have things we need to discuss.” He stated, trying to find his confidence.

There was another sigh, and the soft sound of creaking bed springs. “Do you happen to have a pen on you, nearby? I’ll give you my address.” She said, continuing with the address when he was ready. Saying their goodbyes, Alan sat in the dark of his bedroom and read the numbers over and over again.

You’re making a mistake, a voice in the back of his head said. You’re nothing more to her than a living dildo, a means for her to relieve some stress, it continued.

Well, worse comes to wear I’ll just go on the missing person’s report again, he thought. Dressing haphazardly, he headed out from the small house, towards the nearest metro station.

Láyla’s apartment was halfway across the city, and it was going to be a long night.

Several hours earlier

A marble statue loomed in front of Alan, depicting the hero Perseus, standing regally with his sword pointed to the sky. A small golden plaque read “The Hero’s Victory”, bringing a small smile to his face.

Nearby, the sculptor spoke to several of the other attendees, her young daughter clinging to her mother’s side. Her husband, Roland, had noticed Alan’s gaze and was walking towards him. A glass of wine was in his giant hand, and a dumb smile on his face.

“So how’d ya like it, Al?” Roland asked, his beard giving him an almost fatherly look. Like the Brawny Man, or Billy Mays. He was Alan’s rock, even after all the years since he had been freed from… her.

“Interesting, but I’m sure you had a rough fight with your better half about the subject.” Alan quipped, noticing the young Gorgon slithering over to join her father. A smile crossed his face as she recoiled from him. “You must be Lisbeth. My name’s Alan. I’m a friend of your father’s.”

“M-my friends call me Liss…” She half hissed out. Roland laughed and patted her head, her eyes looking up to the Goliath of a man who was her father. “You’ll have to forgive her, Al. She’s even shyer than Jaime. It’s sort of a genetic thing with Medusae.”

Alan waved his hand. “It’s no problem, Roland. I’d have reason to be shy to if I were her age again.”

“Oh, but you’re still a shy little rabbit. Aren’t you, Al~an.” A woman’s voice cooed to him from behind, sending ice through his veins. Two umber red paws settled on his shoulders as he was pulled back into the Manticore’s waiting embrace, the back of his head settling into her bosom and collar fur.

Roland coughed, breaking the ice. “Alan, I know you’ve met our benefactor, Ms. Láyla.” He said, a hand on his neck. “Now before you freak out, she’s been rather insistent on seeing you again.”

“Oh yes, dear Alan. It’s been far too long since we last saw each other. What’s it been now?” She purred, holding him tighter. His face was sheet white as he mouthed ‘Help Me’ silently to Roland. Several of the attendees were watching, Manticores being a rare sight in human society.

“Ten years, seven months… t-twenty three days.” Alan gasped, finally freeing himself from her grip. He turned to face her, his eyes locking with hers. They shined like Amethysts, a mixture of playful endearment and feral lust in them.

“My, you’ve grown. I remember when you could barely come up to my chest.” She grinned, sharp teeth lining the inside of her mouth. Teeth that could’ve reduced him to a pile of bones in a matter of moments, if the old stories were to be believed.

“Yes… I have.” Alan replied, perspiration glistening off of his brow. His heart hammered in his chest as her forepaw reached up to touch his face, grasping her by the wrist. “No.” He said.

“Oh? But I thought you enjoyed my affections. You never complained before.” She said, an eyebrow quirking. Roland looked down to Lisbeth and smiled, the small Gorgon going off to slither to her mother’s side again.

“Before? You had DRUGGED me, Láyla. Injected me with that sick venom in your tail and made me into nothing more than a convenient cock to fuck!” He exclaimed, his knuckles whitening as his grip on her wrist tightened. She frowned slightly.

“You’re hurting me. Can you please let go?” She said, her expression unchanged as Alan came back to his senses, releasing her from his titanic grip. Her free forepaw rubbed her freshly emancipated wrist.

“So, I would hope that Roland and his wife told you I was the one who supplied the marble for their project?” Her tail swishing in the air behind her, the keratin barbs pointing down from the fleshy bulb.

“They told me about a benefactor, but he had never made mention it was you.” Alan hissed. Feelings of betrayal germinated within him as he glanced to Roland, the older man frowning softly at the accusatory gaze. Jaime and Lisbeth were coming, the older Gorgon’s face an expressionless mask.

“Oh, Láyla. I see you’ve been entertaining the young pup and my oaf of a husband.” She said, holding out a slender hand to the Manticore. They shook them twice, then withdrew from each other. Another grin from Láyla as she and Jaime moved closer to the exhibit to discuss its properties.

“I’m sorry, Al.” Roland said, moving closer to the younger man. He still had his glass of red wine in one hand, the other clasping around his shoulder. “I didn’t realize that seeing her again even after all this time would be that traumatic.”

“Well, Roland. It’s kind of hard to find water under the bridge when you spent six months chained in a cave.” Alan muttered. He was watching the two extraspecies women chat away about the details on the statue, his eyes instinctively gravitating to Láyla’s tail.

“She’s quite beautiful, you know.” Roland started again, taking a sip of his chardonnay. “It’s a shame Manticores have such a poor reputation with both humans and extraspecies.”

“Well, Roland. You don’t get that reputation without some sort of precedent.” Alan replied. His eyes were wandering across Láyla’s body, taking in her curvaceous form, even under the dark violet dress she wore. Just like all those years before, she was the figure of feminine perfection. Custom designed by Lucifer himself to entice men in to endless debauchery.

Roland chuckled softly, watching Alan’s wandering stare directed at the Manticore. “That may be true, but if I didn’t know any better you may have some sort of feelings for her.”

“You’re joking, right? Why the hell would I feel anything for a creature who thinks of love as a completely alien concept? She’s a damned Persian she-devil who used me like a teenager uses a rag after sticky fumbling and hiding the evidence from their parents.”

“Well, don’t look now, killer. But I think your she-devil heard you and is coming this way.” Roland said, grinning and pointing at the seductive stride of the Manticore towards Alan. Her hips swaying with every step she took, only stopping when she came right upon him, holding out a paw.

“Would you like to dance? Jaime had mentioned something about you being rather smooth on your feet.” She said, smiling softly, her full lips pressing together as amethyst eyes watched expectantly.

“I’d rather not. At least not in here. Wouldn’t want to damage our lovely sculptor’s work.” Alan retorted, warily eyeing Jaime and her snake hair, Lisbeth clung to her father’s leg as Roland grinned. “Go on you two. Get some fresh air, it’ll do you both some good.”

The cold air blasted both Alan and Láyla as they stepped out on the veranda, away from the party. It was a simple circular balcony, with stone railing overlooking the city below. Instinctively, he put his jacket around her shoulders, warranting a smirk, and a glance back. “Oh my, how gentleman-like.”

“I didn’t want you to catch a cold. I may not share your idea of affection, but I’m not inhuman enough to let you freeze.”

“Some things never change, do they? Even when you were taken from me, you never did tell those soldiers where I was. That compassionate naiveté is certainly charming.” Láyla said, holding up her paws, taking Alan’s left hand in one and placing her other paw on top of his right hand, putting it on her side.

“What would you have me do? Tell them that a creature they thought they purged had used me and kept me chained inside that cave? They’d have me interred into a mental institute.” He replied, slowly spinning in a circular motion, leading her. She gave a small giggle at the mention of her kind being purged.

“Yet here we are, once again. Though I will say it’s almost thrilling to see you as a man, rather than a wet-behind-the-ears virgin. I’m sure you’ve made plenty of your human girls happy. After all, I did teach you extensively.”

Alan could feel the faint burn of the blush on his cheeks, averting his gaze from her. “I… haven’t actually been with many women after you.”

Another giggle.

“But you’re quite good friends with Mr. Roland, aren’t you? Surely he could’ve introduced you to some fine women. After all, his wife may be abrasive but she does have certain… connections.” The paw on her waist moving his hand towards her buttock. Alan reflexively withdrew.

“No.” He said curtly, continuing the dance with her. Láyla gave him a mock pout and puffed her cheeks, taking his arm and draping it around her shoulders. Even after all those years, she was still as simple and straightforward as before.

“So then, Mister Purity, how do you know Roland?” She asked, continuing the dance now. Alan’s eyes averted from hers again as she pressed in closer, the soft mounds of her breasts pressing gently into his chest.

“H-He helped me, after my rescue. Helped me with school, allowed me to apprentice under Jaime…” Alan started, his breath catching in his throat at the tension of her breasts pressing onto him. The first signs of arousal stirred in his loins.

“But you’re not a sculptor, are you, Alan?” She asked, pressing closer to him. Her face was inches from his. “No, I think you’ve found something else to preoccupy your time. After all, that’s all we have, don’t we? Is time, nothing more, nothing less?”

“A painter. Jaime and Roland taught me how to paint.” He murmured. Shifting, he tried to create some space between their bodies, to no avail. She was catching him in her pace, and emotions were beginning to stir.

“Well, what do you paint, Alan? I’m sure it’d be something that the gallery visitors would find interesting.” She purred, pressing close enough so that her hips were virtually grinding into his. Beneath the dress, she was powdered and naked. Her voluptuous form just a few moments away from being laid bare before him.

“Landscapes, mostly. A-a lot of deserts and plains.” He stammered, trying to break free from her. She merely took his struggles as a sign to move closer, her face was nudged right up against his.

“Maybe I’ll give you something more interesting to paint, someday. My little Alan.” She purred again, pressing her full lips into his. She smelled of perfume, and the earth, time seeming to freeze as she held him in her grasp.

“Whoa there, lovebirds. You’re putting on quite a show for the folks inside.” Roland chuckled, the Manticore withdrawing from her quarry. Alan could feel his cock constricted against the fabric of his pants, and watched as she walked back inside in her sultry stride.

His eyes couldn’t leave Láyla’s form, and barely felt Roland come up beside him and lay a large arm over his shoulder. What was she playing at? He asked himself mentally. Generally Manticores were known for their merciless tactics, but it had felt like she was genuinely flirting. A feeling of want settled into his chest, the alien feeling causing him to shiver.

“You okay, Alan? You look like you’re a little cold. Wanna come back inside?” Roland asked, leading his friend indoors. The warm air was pleasant, and Roland’s wife and daughter were waiting expectantly for the brothers-in-arms. Draped across Jaime’s arm was Alan’s jacket. There was a small piece of paper protruding from the left pocket.

It was a note. Carefully written in the spur of the moment, a flush of red going across Alan’s face as he scanned the parchment. Attached at the bottom, right next to a dark ruby red kiss mark was a card stock with Láyla’s name on it, a phone number written beneath.

“So, what does it say?” Roland asked, Jaime had confiscated his wine glass, and rolled it in one hand. She smirked, whispering something into Roland’s ear. He perked up with understanding and let out a loud, raucous laugh.

“Well, you know what they say Alan! Can’t choose ‘em! Can’t live with ‘em!” He bellowed, racked with laughter. Alan clenched the paper in one hand, crumbling it as he shook, white knuckles and all. Roland finally calmed down after noticing the younger man’s glare.

“Shut up, Roland. You’re scaring your daughter.” His face a mask of anger, sorrow, and confusion.

“Does this mean that Papa doesn’t love you any more, Mama?” Lisbeth asked, her snake hair bobbing agitated, only calming once her father’s giant hand ruffled her hair thoughtfully. “Papa?”

“It means that your uncle Alan has a very special date waiting for him, if he’s willing.” Roland said, attempting to wrestle the wine glass from Jaime, his hand turning to stone inches from the glass.

“No more drinks for you tonight, you big galute.” She warned. Her snakes were watching Alan, golden eyes focused on him.

“You, on the other hand, little pup, have a very important decision to make. It’s not often that a Manticore is that forward with treating her prey with some dignity. Think of this as an opportunity to mend old wounds. Or don’t. It’s up to you. Think it over, I have to take my little snake and this titanic pain in the cloaca home.”

“Yes… fine.” Alan sighed. He strolled from the exhibit back to his car, rubbing his temples as the engine stirred to life.  Emotions and thoughts swam in his head, drowning out Daryl Hall and John Oates singing “Maneater” on the radio.

It wasn’t soon after he reached his apartment and laid in bed that the dreams had started, of that cavern and the clanking of chains. That had spurred him into action to seek out his former captor, and set him off on the treacherous path he was on now.

Several hours later

 

Concrete walls adorned with phosphorescent lights whisked by as Alan sat in the nearly deserted metro rail car. The other passengers seemed to be of the mind to pay no attention to him, and that suited him just fine enough. A moth girl tittered and giggled when shown a picture by a Succubus of her favorite human actor, playing an irresistible Paladin nurse on a hit TV show.

Nearby, a man and his daughter slumbered with his wife, a wolf woman who dwarfed him in size. She seemed perfectly content for her shoulder to be used as a pillow for her husband, her daughter’s ears twitching as she rested her head in her mother’s lap.

“Well, young man. You seem quite nervous. Women troubles?”

It was a grizzled old man, his beard making him seem like a wizard straight out of a fairy tale, with dirty old robes to complete the image. He smiled warmly at Alan through his bottle glasses and took another sip of his coffee.

“Something like that.” Alan said, thinking back to what Láyla’s letter had meant. The simple sentence of ‘There’s somebody who wants to see you’ had jostled his mind far more than any of the venom doses in those harrowing months.

“Well, don’t let it get to you, young man. Sometimes there’s just a woman who comes into your life that changes everything.” The old man replied. He was a portly old codger, but he had a warmth about him that put Alan at ease. With a rosy red nose, and a voluminous white beard that accentuated his wizardly look.

“Why, I’ve been married to my beloved Meredith for what, five hundred or so years now?” The old man mused. He chuckled as he saw Alan’s eyes widen. “It was a joke, son! A joke! You’d be surprised how it feels like hundreds of years can pass when you’re with your one and only!”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Alan said back. He spent what felt like an eternity conversing with the old man, getting lost in time as the other members of the car departed. Soon enough, his stop arrived, the bell announcing the stopping of the metro rail train. The soft swish of the doors opening stirred him into movement.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister?”

“Nicholas.” The old man said, smiling gently. His robes seemed to have regained some of their luster in the time Alan had spent talking to him, going from a ruddy umber to a bright red. Whether or not it was a trick of the light didn’t matter.

“Mister Nicholas, Happy Holidays.” Alan said, moving through the doorway.

“Merry Christmas, Alan.” He called back to the young man, causing him to freeze in his tracks. He didn’t recall giving the old man his name, and turning back towards the train car, he found it empty. A shiver passed through him. That didn’t really just happen, did it? He thought. There’s no way he could be real.

The old man on the train hung in his mind as he walked along the streets towards the complex that his former captor had come to live in, the glass and steel building stabbing towards the sky. Stepping off the elevator, he found himself in front of the wooden door to her apartment suite.

Mustering what strength he had, Alan knocked twice, soft enough to not disturb the other tenants. There was the sound of a latch being opened, and a few seconds later he was gazing into the eyes of the beast herself. A smile crossed her caramel face as she took him in.

“I’ve been waiting, Alan.” She cooed, her bosom bared inside of the sheer fabric of her form clinging robe. There was a dampness, as if she had just recently showered. “Come in, come in.”

Leading him through the foyer and into an expansive living room, he found himself taking in the paintings on the wall. Several landscapes of rolling dunes and bleak sunsets. Wide brush strokes and simple palette choices. Recognition sparked as he realized she had collected some of his works.

“I do hope you approve of the choice of paintings, dear Alan.” She called back to him, hushed as he passed a closed bedroom door. His heart skipped a beat at considering what may be behind it.

“Why do you have these, Láyla?” He choked out, eyes scanning the living room she was in. A twin pair of tumbler glasses clacking onto the wooden coffee table in front of a crackling hearth. Below the table, a tiger’s pelt rug. A black leather couch completed the décor.

“Hm? What, am I not allowed to keep track of your work, or collect it?” She asked, placing one paw on her hip, the other grasping a rather inviting bottle of Kentucky whiskey. “I would have figured you would be flattered to see that I enjoy your paintings.”

“No. Never from you.” Alan muttered. He stood fast near the couch as Láyla merely tsked and sat down, crossing one leg over the other. For just a moment he had caught a glimpse of her labia, a small tuft of violet hair above her slit. One of her paws clasped the bourbon, the ice cubes clanking as she twirled the glass.

“You’re not one for affection are you? Did I not treat you well, fed you, kept your warm? All I had asked was that you enjoy the pleasures of the flesh I gave you so magnanimously.” She purred. There was the smell of incense in the air, a haze almost coming over Alan’s mind before he shook it off.

“You also lied to me.” He growled.

“For your protection, Alan. Just like you lied to those soldiers all those years ago.” A brief pause as she sipped at the bourbon, a delighted mewl as she swallowed. “It took stones for a young man, a foreigner no less to lie to the People’s Army.”

“How far were you along, with her?” He said, motioning his head towards the closed bedroom door behind him in the hallway. The door had opened slightly, possibly from hearing the voices of the two conversationalists.

“No longer than a month. Though I’m not sure why you’re so distressed over it, Alan.” Her voice darkening, another sip of her bourbon. One eye watched him as he balled his fists. “You had no interest in being a father at the time, so I found it easier to forego telling you. Such is our way.”

“You had no right, Láyla. She’s my DAUGHTER. The only blood relative I have left, even if she’s just as much of a monster as you are!” He roared hoarsely. His parents had died in his captivity, married for well over fifty years. The disappearance of their son had been the last nail in their figurative and literal coffins, having died of broken hearts.

What happened next surprised him, the previously flirtatious Manticore took on a far more feral air to her, one forepaw gripping him by the neck. Her clacked out from the furred digits, her fangs bared at him. Pure maternal anger blazed behind her eyes like ravenous fire.

“Yet I brought her here, to this city, in the hopes of finding you. It was by pure coincidence that Jaime and Roland had known of you, but I could scent you on them just like the wounded little rabbit you were and have been for the past decade. So don’t believe you can come here and lecture me about raising our daughter when she has never met you!” Her grip slackened, but quickly tightened once more.

“Mama?”

A young Manticore was standing in the hallway, dressed in a simple cotton nightie. Her tail swished behind her agitatedly as she took in the spectacle in front of her. She was lighter skinned than her mother, and her eyes were a ruddy brown like Alan’s.

“Who is that man?” She asked, timidly. There was a stuffed lion pressed to her chest. Alan coughed as Láyla’s grip slacked around his neck, releasing him. She sighed softly and padded over to her daughter, one paw on her head, ruffling her hair.

“He’s my lover, Selene. Or was. You’re fine with that, aren’t you, sweetie?” She purred.

“That means he’s somebody that loves you, right Mama?”

“I hope so, baby. Now go off back to bed, or else you’ll miss out on your wish becoming real.”

“Okay, Mama… I hope that Santa listens this year.” The little Manticore said drowsily, rubbing her eyes as Láyla led her back into her bedroom. A minute later, she returned after tucking her daughter in, Alan seated on the couch quaffing a large gulp of spirits.

“She’s asleep again, Alan. Now, can we continue without rousing my… our daughter again? After all, a growing girl needs her sleep.” She started, sitting next to him, holding one paw over his right hand after he tried to instinctively recoil. “Don’t run. No more of this game of cat and mouse.”

A hoarse chuckle escaped his lips as he cleared his throat, downing another glass of whiskey.

“That’s all this has been to you, isn’t it. A game of cat and mouse, Láyla. You couldn’t find another man who’d be willing, or otherwise to stick his dick in you so you figured you’d hunt down the one sorry sap that did. Sorry, but this is a little too cruel of a joke, even for you.” He started, pausing only when he saw genuine tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. But I can’t exactly brush what you did under the rug.”

“I’m not asking you do to that. I’m asking you to at least find it in your heart to be there for her.” She sobbed softly. “You have no idea how hard it’s been for me, all these years. Ten years is quite a dry spell, even for my kind.”

Her plea gave Alan a slight pause. Ten years? Had she really not feasted or broken any other men in the time it had been since his capture and escape from her?

“I also know about your dreams, Alan. How you wake up on nights covered in sweat and remembering the time we spent together. How you’ve never been able to emotionally connect with another woman in your life, even going so far to try and snuff yourself out.” She continued, her sobs becoming a low droning.

“I’m sorry. You believe that, don’t you?”

It had to be an act, Alan thought. Manticores were notorious for their cunning, she was trying to drop his guard. His mind raced as he tried to pull away from her embrace, but couldn’t. His body refused to obey his mind as she came in close and pressed her lips onto his.

“I love you, Alan. I love you. I’ve never had any other mate.” She said, kissing him rapidly and gently at first. Following up with slower, longer kisses. “Please, at least say you love me. It may be a sick twisted love, but I know it’s there, from the bottom of your heart.”

Alan placed on hand on her cheek and kissed her, taking the lead. His tongue slid out and through her lips, coiling around hers. The sharp points of her fangs giving him some discomfort as he held Láyla in the lip lock for several moments, withdrawing moments later.

“Alan?” She asked softly, noticing his darkening expression. There were tears in his eyes as well, before he next spoke, hoarse sobs almost drowned out by the crackling of the firewood in the hearth in front of them.

“You’re such a cruel bitch. You know that?” He croaked. The sight of his daughter had been like a stake through his heart, breaking the aegis of self-loathing and hatred that had festered within his heart all those years. “You bring me here to show me a daughter I never knew about, and now you’re saying you love me.”

There was a brief pause, her eyes widened. Before she could object, Alan put a finger on her lips. His eyes were stone hard as his gaze met hers. “You ate my heart, Láyla. Just like the myths, you ate all of me and didn’t leave a trace. So why… why does it ache?”

A soft laugh from the Manticore.

“That’s what you’re worried about, sweet Alan? You’re still so naïve.” She cooed, before kissing him again. “But that’s what I love about you. That childish naiveté.” She continued, moving his right hand towards her inner thigh. She sighed softly at his touch.

Her skin was soft under his touch, her paw sliding his hand farther in until it disappeared under the small gap between her inner thighs, so close to her slit. Breath choked in his mouth as she released him, as if giving permission.

“Go ahead, Alan.” She purred, goading him on.

One finger reached her lower lips, a slickness coating the tip. Her arousal set off sparks in his mind as he felt his body responding, the first signs of his cock growing inside of his pants. Gently, he pushed her down onto the couch, making sure to not crush her wings or tail beneath.

Her robe opened, her breasts exploding out and exposing themselves to him. Two caramel mounds with nipples prickling up in arousal. Láyla giggled softly as she stretched languidly like a giant cat, Alan clambering on top of her. One finger slip into her folds, his thumb gently rotating her clit, warranting a pleasured mewl from her.

“You’re quite good at this.” She cooed, a smile was on her face as she watched him becoming lost in his bottled up lust. “Are you trying to overpower the beast, Alan? Show me you can overcome me.” Her breathe quickening as he slid another finger into her, gently stimulating near her entrance.

Strength was leaving her body as he continued the assault, leaning in and kissing her pert nipples, pausing to suckle on them like a babe at its mother’s teat. There was the gentle kneading of her breasts to complete the stimulation. She placed a forepaw on her mouth to stifle her mewls, relaxing only when Alan withdrew his fingers, covered in feminine juices.

“Such a filthy lioness, I’ll just have to clean you. Just like your den mother did.” He murmured, wicked lust blazing as he opened her legs. She tried to protest his advance, his face lowering towards her sex.

“It’s dirty down there, don’t you dare!” She moaned out, half-giggling in embarrassment as he took a long whiff of her scent. A haze was rolling over his mind like a fog, eyes looking up to hers expectantly.

“You’re going to have to do a little more convincing than that, Láyla.” He smirked, lapping gently at her drenched folds. His tongue penetrated into her deepest parts, taking a long brush stroke of the tender flesh within. She arched her back and groaned pleasurably, a small twitch within her.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop. After all, you have that tail if you really wanted to turn up the ante.” Alan growled, giving her pussy another long lick, drawing up more pleasure from within the Manticore than she thought possible. Humans were so stubborn! She thought, her mind racing.

“If you stop now, I’ll never forgive you!” She mewled, her back arching again as he continued the oral assault on her most tender area. The sluice gates budged under the pressure, an orgasm was welling up, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

One final stroke of his tongue, and the gates opened wide. An orgasm wracked her entire body, convulsing and twitching on the couch as her hips gave way. Her tail fired off a spine from the bulb, lodging itself into the wall above the fireplace, clear venom leaking from the tip. Alan sat up, wiping his face of the female release. He was given a moment’s pause when he saw Láyla giggling as the twitches died down.

“Y-you really are a little cheeky brat. Aren’t you? Trying to declaw a lioness, running before you can even walk, eh Alan?” She murmured. A lustful fire had settled into her eyes, the flush on her face brightening it up. Before he could react, she spread her wings and took flight, lording over him.

“The bedroom. Now.” She commanded, watching with delight as he got up and scrambled for the door, firing off another barb just inches from his head. “Not outside. The bedroom.” Her face a mixture of sadistic delight and feral lust.

No sooner than Alan had reached the door was she on him, crashing her lips into his, pushing him towards the expansive bed within her boudoir. There were more black cushioned chairs and lounges, but he barely found time to consider them as he toppled over backwards onto the bed. The lioness pulling back, giving his lower lip a lower bite.

“L-Láyla?” Alan asked, feeling as if the wind were knocked out of him, as if he had run a marathon. She gave him a toothy grin and ground her groin into his, his erection painfully aching within his pants as she straddled him.

“You still haven’t told me you love me in earnest, Alan. So I’m going to make you tell me, even if I have to devour every last bit of you.” She purred, wrenching his jacket off haphazardly, ripping his shirt open with an extended claw, the plastic buttons flying everywhere.

There was a brief pause as she beheld the scars from their previous lovemaking, equidistant claw markings down his sides. He could’ve had a cosmetic surgeon or a skilled healer remove them, but he had kept them as they were.

“Could you not stare, please? It’s bad enough that they scared women off knowing what gave them to me.” Alan muttered, averting his gaze from hers. A bout of giggles wracked Láyla, having to be stifled so as to not awaken Selene again.

“Fine, fine. As you wish.” A small jump as she felt his cock throb inside of his pants.

“Is that for me?” She asked, almost innocently.

“It was always yours.” He whispered back, groaning in pleasure as she pulled his pants down, tossing them aside like the rest of his garments. It had grown in the time since she had last seen it, pushed against his pelvis by his skivvies. His scent wafted into her nose as she removed them, small traces of her own intermingling with it. A nostalgic euphoria settled into her chest.

Wordlessly, her tail arced around from behind her, a wet noise as the fleshy petals of the bulb opened. The fleshly lips of the flower parted, dripping sweet nectar, the ribbed interiors looking so inviting. Láyla lowered it towards his awaiting cock, and paused.

“What do you want me to do, Alan? Do you want me to tail fuck you, Mm? Do you want me to send you to heaven?” She purred, dropping the opening to her tail pussy closer to him, then retracting. He groaned again, expectantly, his arousal soaring with the filth coming from her mouth.

“Then maybe I should indulge you. But just a taste.” Another purr, dropping her tail down enough just to engulf his glans, the petals closing around it, the tongues within giving one long, languid suck, like a kiss. Alan erupted, jettisoning seed deep into her tail’s wanton pussy.

He writhed beneath her, clawing at the bed sheets as he dumped an entire week’s back up of semen into her hungry tail, the muscles within it slurping at his ejaculate hungrily. Wheezing, he laid there. He had truly forgotten how good a Manticore’s tail felt.

A sudden pain, as if an electrode had been set off within his testes, a rush of adrenaline and pleasure. His cock swelled up again to attention, twitching in anticipation. A barb was lodged within his balls. Several more were still available, though it would take a week’s time for her to replenish the two she had expended minutes ago.

“Don’t even entertain the thought that we’re done, big boy.” She cooed to him, grinding her groin onto his thigh, the slickness from her loins wetting it. Her tail dropped down again, this time engulfing the entirety of the shaft. Tongue-like muscles lapped and massaged his entire length, the sensitivity magnified tenfold by her venom.

His cock felt as if it had been plunged into warm, yet pliable dough. The muscles within her tail contracted and lapped expertly, manipulating the pleasure he felt at every twist and turn she indulged him in. He could feel another bout of semen welling up, a giggle coming from the Manticore.

“Mm, it’s thick and creamy. Just the way I like it.” She said, bobbing the bulb up and down on him now, withdrawing until only his cock’s head was within the grasps of her sexual lotus. She chuckled softly, leaning down and licking the inside of his ear. The rough texture of her tongue not quite like sandpaper, but still enough to send shivers up his spine.

“My yes, you’re getting close now. I can feel it.” More bobs of her tail onto his cock, slower, more practiced now. Hundreds of tiny fingers caressed his shaft from base to tip, the languid sucks of the muscles drawing up his orgasm until it was like a geyser ready to explode.

Láyla wings spread, as she rocked her hips back and forth, thoroughly drenching his leg in more of her female juices. With one final orgasmic moan, she plunged her tail’s bulb down, fully engulfing Alan’s rock hard cock, giving a mighty gulp. He spasmed weakly beneath her, pumping more seed into her than he could’ve possibly imagined, her eyes rolling back into her head as it journeyed into the muscled length of her tailpussy.

Sighing softly, she popped the bulb off his erection wetly, smiling at his heaving chest. It wasn’t often a human was found that was so adaptive to a Manticore’s venom, but even after so long it hadn’t lost its potency on him. Sweat rolled down her breasts and abdomen, a familiar aching in her womb. She wanted his seed inside of her. Gently she repositioned herself, guiding Alan’s girth towards her waiting lips, when he spoke up.

“No…” He heaved, mustering all of the strength left in his body to roll both of them over, she was on her back now, looking into his reddened eyes. His cock twitched expectantly at the entrance to her sex, the immediate friction from the tip pressing against it causing him to moan softly.

Láyla adjusted from her surprised and laughed softly and long. She reached up and placed two paws on to his face, looking at him dead in the eyes. “Come on then. Fuck me like one of your human girls, Alan.”

Her legs wrapped around his sides and squeezed, forcing his cock into her. She couldn’t help herself. She moaned. Heated rolled off of her in waves, the soft walls of her pussy clenching and squeezing as he thrust into her like a rutting beast.

“H-hold on! The bed! Selene’ll hear it!” She mewled, pleasure wracking her body as Alan filled the void within her, their love coming to the highest summit, right where it belong. A twisted love that knew no boundaries. His rapid thrusts into her were causing the bedsprings to groan, her wanton pussy never once letting go.

Alan looked at her sternly, his hand cusping a caramel breast in his palm.

“Let her hear it, if it wakes her up. She needs to know her Mama and Papa are back together.”

Another bout of giggles, in between moans escaping her mouth. Alan continued to thrust into her, the sour sex of smell filling the room, putting his mind in even more of a haze. Somewhere, deep within her, a small egg was spurned to movement, warranting a small wince.

“Is something wrong?” Alan said, pausing slowly, his cock tingling all over from the stimulation of her pussy’s walls. With each thrust he came closer to a third and final orgasm, their intermingling fluids wetting the bed beneath their bodies.

Láyla shook her head.

“It’s just… you’re making me cum, you can feel that, can’t you, sweet Alan? I want your seed. You’ll do that for me, won’t you, baby? Fill this she-devil with your sticky white stuff. Alan!”

The locks were released on his mind. Alan swiftly cusped her buttock in one arm, thrusting deeper than he had been before. Slower thrusts now, stimulating her deepest parts as he took in her smell. He smelled the earth, her perfume, the salty smell of sweat on both of their bodies. He kissed her deeply, plunging in one final time to the hilt within her, parting her pussy’s lips fully with his rod as it began to throb. For once he was fucking her like he was in control, and this time the stream would go unabated.

She screamed into his kiss as the orgasm wracked her body, the walls of her pussy twitching around his scalding hot rod, all strength leaving her hips as she bucked into his final thrust. Her body wanted to conceive again, and it would not be denied as he grunted, a thick stream of white fluid jettisoning into her deepest depths.

Alan could do nothing as Láyla’s legs wrapped around him tighter than before, ensuring there was no retreat once he dispensed his cum into her. He buried his face into her fur collar, collapsing as he was spent. Overflow intermingled with her juices and luridly as it dripped out of her.

His cock spent, and the venom leaving his system, Alan weakly looked to the Manticore.

“I love you, Láyla.” He huffed. “I just wish my parents could’ve met you and Selene.”

A warm giggle from his lover, hugging him tighter to her bosom. She rotated gently onto their sides, a small contented ‘Mm!’ leaving her lips. Within her, a sperm cell fused with the wayward egg. They were both covered in sweat and sexual fluids, her umber red fur matted.

“Welcome home, Alan.” She purred, stroking his head.

“I’m home, Láyla.” He said, closing his eyes as a deep sleep took him.

The next morning

The nightmares had left him, the weightlessness of a burden having been lifted from his shoulders. The buzzing of his phone stirred Alan to groggily wake, displacing Láyla from his chest, moaning softly as she flopped back down to the pillows. Her breasts were pressed together, perfectly framed by the sheets.

He felt the arousal start, but quickly distracted himself by looking towards his cell. It was a text from Roland. Oh boy, here it comes, Alan thought to himself. Thumbing the “OK” button, the screen lit up and displayed the message to him.

“Hey Champ! You didn’t answer your door this morning, so congrats on your first sleep over with your she-devil! Good luck! (*^▽^*) P.S. Jaime says ‘Hello’.”

A smirk crossed his face as he put the phone down, dressing in his skivvies and pants, heading out to the kitchen. Wherever that was. His stomach was growling and he thought it would be thoughtful to at least cook breakfast for the two Manticores.

Selene was sitting at the small breakfast bar, a crayon in one paw as she wrote crudely. In large block letters on the top of the paper was “DEAR SANTA, MY CHRISTMAS WISH…” She looked up at the half-naked man her mother introduced as her lover, the brown eyes watching him as he fiddled for eggs, or at least some kind of pancake mix.

“Mama’s Lover, do you think Santa is real?” She asked innocently, pausing from her writing.

“He’s as real as you want him to be, Darling.” He replied, smiling softly to her. No matter the feelings of loathing he had felt for Láyla, for him to take it out on their daughter would rip the heart from his chest.

“But he never grants my wish, and there are girls in class who say he isn’t real…” She began, than looked away, small tears forming her eyes. Even for a Manticore, she was an innocent little angel, perking up when Alan put his hand on her head.

“Well, tell me your wish, and maybe it’ll come true.” He said, beaming at her. His paternal warmth penetrated into her, drying her tears and causing her to chuff excitedly, nuzzling her head further into his palm.

“My wish is for Papa and Mama to get back together. Every other girl in class has a Papa, and I’ve never met mine. Mama says he was nice, though, just like you.”

Alan chuckled softly, ruffling her hair again. Her ears perked up as her eyes saw the scars across his abdomen. “I’ll make sure your Mama and Santa get the wish.” He said, catching the sight of a small piece of paper near Selene, beneath a velour box.

“What’s that, Honey?” Alan asked, moving towards the box. Selene shrugged and moved back towards her note to Santa, in her childlike whimsy. The paper was aged, as if undisturbed for decades, elegantly inscribed upon as only come from a feather quill.

“Dear Alan,

Thank you for a wonderful time last night. I know you’re a good kid, but don’t be so hard on yourself. Nothing that happened was your fault. Your parents loved you, she loves you. So long as you can look past what happened and look forward to what can be, you’ll see it’s something spectacular.

Selene needs her father, and you need to be there for her. I remember when my Meredith even rejected me at first! You should’ve seen how much of a firecracker she was! Hohoho boy! But take the final advice from an old man, my boy. Make your wife happy, and you’ll reap so many golden years you’ll never know what to do with them!

P.S. I’m not sure about her size, but I hope it fits.

Merry Christmas,

Nicholas K. Kringle”

Alan held up the small velour

box. Within in, on a small white cushion was a simple band of gold, topped with a diamond. It was larger than what a human finger could wear, but just large enough to fit around a Manticore’s furred digit. He put his right hand to his mouth and wept, causing Selene to look at him.

“Is everything alright, Mama’s Lover?” She said, innocently.

He smiled to her, and ruffled her hair again. Rushing back to the bedroom where his former captor, lover, and future wife awaited him, all while yelling for Láyla’s name, rousing her from her slumber.

Selene smiled, turning the paper over to the drawing she had completed the night before going to bed. It was her Mama drawn in crayon, a man holding her hand with Selene in front of a nice house with a red roof. Tenderly, she picked up a brown crayon and began to mark rapidly, filling in his hair.

END AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS

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11 thoughts on “A Manticore For Christmas”

  1. Wait, which rating did my finger hit? FUCK, I MIGHT HAVE DOWNVOTED THIS. I made a huge mistake. This story is amazing, and very sweet. I love happy endings! ;_;

    1. …I am going to reset it this once since this is a single rating. I can only completely nuke ratings, so just make sure it doesn’t happen again. Or else. I have a weapons grade Jinko and I am not afraid to use her.

  2. Ah, this was great. I just wish Láyla was a little more sensitive to how she had hurt Alan in the past. Oh well, I’m sure they’ll work it out in the future. Thanks for posting such an excellent story!

  3. Your writing talent is fantastic, but… this story feels incomplete. From what’s described of the past between Layla and Alan, he shouldn’t even have been as fine with talking with her as he was.
    She likely loved him–mamono intertwine love and sex so much more than humans do, and Manticores don’t really express their affection that well–but he was obviously completely fucked up in the head by what happened.
    Emotional distance, scarring bad enough to chase girls away, night terrors, suicide attempt, dealing with his parents dying while he was forced into a mindless haze of pleasure… he caved in way too easily. I get that monster girls are supposed to provide impossible pleasure and they stick around in the thoughts of people who escape them due to that, but… this just felt off.

    Even with just the tiny amount of time this short story provides for characterizing the characters, them getting back together like this feels awkward and unlike them. OOC, if you will.
    Is there any possibility of getting a prequel? Getting to see what actually happened–and most importantly, a look into both Alan AND Layla’s thoughts during this time–would make this story feel much more complete. As it is, it feels… lacking.

    ““You also lied to me.” He growled.
    “For your protection, Alan.”
    What does this mean? From what I can tell of the timeline, we get “unknown lie/kidnapping/six months chained up in a cave/pregnancy/release/being saved/lying to People’s Army/meeting Roland” in Alan’s tragic past. Where’d the lie come from?

    Also, wow. What a bitch. Kidnaps a kid, indirectly killing his parents in the process, keeps him as a sex toy chained up in a cave for half a year, scars him, releases him after she gets pregnant and doesn’t tell him, then shows up later with his kid and acts like she was somehow in the right to keep her to herself, let alone all the other shit she did? To be angry that he lectured her about not letting him see his daughter on the grounds that he had never met her, when his point was that she had no right to keep him from meeting his daughter after she took his parents? Then to ask for him to be there for her, like it was the least he could do? Goddamn. Even considering that Manticores can be callous or cruel, that’s pretty awful.

    “Ten years is quite a dry spell, even for my kind”
    Wouldn’t that be “especially for my kind”? Manticores aren’t known for going long periods of time without sex, so the phrase doesn’t really fit. I mean, mamono _do not_ cheat once they’ve decided that they love someone, but not having sex isn’t something anyone associates with any sort of mamono. Except Unicorns, I guess.

    How does she know about his dreams or suicide attempts? How has she followed his artistic career? These things take time. If she wanted him so much or wanted him to be there for their daughter, why wait and watch so long?

    Also, Roland’s an asshole.

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