Mental Emasculation: Captain Morgan’s Spiced Revenge Part 5

Blue haze rolled out from the crowded smoking shelter in its pursuit to pollute the brisk night air. Granted, there were only two people in what appeared to be an old, repurposed bus shelter still scarred with badly spelt graffiti, but Danielle and Chasity could take up a fair bit of room if they set their mind to it. Both suffered the unenviable ability to inadvertently repel people, like sharks swimming through a school of fish. Handy when walking down the street, but a pain in the arse when you wished to socialise.  


Off to the side lingered a recently ejected flock of young men, huddling from the icy wind in an entirely non-homosexual manner while trying not to grumble too loudly. One enterprisingly inebriated member swaggered over, attempting to catch the attention of Danielle. He had quickly earned himself a light-hearted crack on the ear for his troubles, followed by an affectionate smack to his arse along with a suggestive wink to further confuse matters. 


In way over his head, the opportunistic lad trudged away to the riotous, drunken ridicule of his mates. A few found enough fermented courage to bay like a cow until Danielle made an exaggerated show of cracking her knuckles, accompanied by an unsettling grin. Uncomfortable silence quickly ensued. 


Poor lad must’ve been ten years younger than the Minotaur, his sorry excuse of a beard under threat from the next strong gust of wind. The wispy fluff reminiscent of a dandelion puff, making him appear younger than he probably was, though he still stunk of naivety. Maybe it was a new brand of Lynx deodorant, the epitome of teenage desperation condensed into a tin.  


Naivety for men: because you’ll fuck anything!  


Words such as Cougar and Cradle Snatcher buzzed around Danielle; flies and the proverbial faeces came to mind, making a complete nuisance of themselves. Searching all possible nooks and crannies of her mind for the flyswatter known as Blind Indifference. She sighed, lighting a cigarette and adopted a look of stern contemplation, heralded by the sucking of her bottom lip.  


Realistically, she should be happy someone tried to hit on her. The fact he was a pissed student who would just as likely ride a mossy-dyke, however, tarnished her good mood. But hey, numbnuts seemed to find her attractive enough to scrape together some semblance of courage, even if he had directed the entire conversation towards her tits. 


“Give’s a fag.” Chasity broke the silence, extending a hopeful paw. 


Shaking her head, dislodging her doubts, Danielle held out the freshly lit cigarette to the fuzzy Manticore. The delicate roll of paper looked tiny when pinned between her sausage-like fingers. 


“Fuck’s this shite?” Chasity grimaced at the cigarette cowering in Danielle’s hand as if she had just picked up fresh dog shit from the street. Sadly, Danielle understood how the Manticore felt, having gone through the same petulant disbelief, only with all the dignity of a spiteful teenager. 


“I’m on menthol’s now. ” Danielle sighed at the shameful confession. An apparent step towards quitting without any genuine commitment, alongside the half-hearted intentions to drink less, exercise more and cut back on eating crap. Ever since meeting her now-husband; Keith, Danielle had been on a regime of self-improvement. Safe to say ambition outweighed physical restraint. Francesca opting for the all-you-can-eat pizza buffet earlier hadn’t helped the rebellion against temptation one bit and found Danielle munching her way through the equivalent of four large pizzas. Blindly clinging to the unrealistic hopes tomato sauce and jalapeno’s counted as two of her five-a-day.  


Really, out of the variety of exotic restaurants on offer, the Kobold just had to make a beeline for Pauldino’s Pizzeria. Granted, it was a great place, Pauldino being a friend of the Kobold’s through tenuous nationality and maybe the desire to tumble the cute little mutt, but it wasn’t exactly the place to go in a dress and heels. Considering you were handed a branded bib on entry.  


“Really should’nae, ye ken. The Bitch jist complains m’fur reeks and refuses tae kiss me.” Regardless, Chasity reached out a paw, cursed, then gingerly accepted the cigarette on her second attempt. Mindful that the glowing bit was hot with a tang of singed fur and an exceptionally vulgar curse dissipating in the air.  


Sparking up a second fag, Danielle gratefully took a long draw as a third of the cancerous stick disappeared in a smouldering flare. Holding the sharp flavour in her frazzled lungs, she savoured the nostalgic sensation of prowling around the back of the school with Chasity, before exhaling a puff of acrid breath and fond memories. 


“Love the fight he pits up, though.” Chasity slumped backwards with a grin, stretching out her leathery wings and resting a furry foot against the wall, her knee at a jaunty angle. With a half-empty pint glass in paw and fag hanging nonchalantly from the corner of her mouth, the bleary-eyed Manticore looked like a teenager skulking outside a bar, trying to appear cool, and failing miserably. The very fact she still used the word ‘cool’ spoke volumes.  


Chasity looked minced, eyelids drooping over dull bloodshot eyes as she idly scratched her shock of auburn hair, gawking off at nothing in particular with a gormless expression. She displayed the mental agility of someone who had traded in their personality for a hi-viz vest and clipboard. Following the Manticore’s unfocused gaze, Danielle failed to see the interest in the paving slabs strewn with splotches of chewing gum and smoking detritus. Unless it was one of those psychology tests, but even then, everything just looked like bukkake aftermath. Apart from that one splodge like a deformed pink elephant. If she tilted her head sideways and squinted. 


Even as her close friend, Danielle had to admit Chasity resembled the tattered remains of something the cat had dragged in and proceeded to rape repeatedly, only to leave it whimpering in the corner scared and alone. Distressed jeans hung low off the Manticore’s ample hips, threatening to reveal her deep red pubic thatch on more than one occasion. Still holding to the firm belief underwear was more of a hindrance in most circumstances, unable to fully appreciate the flimsy security a comfortable pair of boxers provided, having never experienced a zipper related mishap involving her todger. The fly of her jeans now fastened by a solitary brass button, only just preserving the Manticore’s sliver of modesty, already in jeopardy thanks to her lack of a bra and nipples that could take your eyes out. There were still residual traces of salty spunk on her inside leg. The suggestion to clean up the sticky mess with damp paper towels had been met with scorn. Chasity was more than happy to lap up her own jizz with a look of deep satisfaction. Just thinking of the horrors those jeans had witnessed… 


“Fucking gibbered, so I am. Cannae drink as much as I use tae.” Directing the statement towards her tail, now perched upon the Manticore’s shoulder like a vulgar, vindictive roast chicken instead of the traditional parrot, Chasity prodded the fag between its unresisting lips.  


Shaking her head in disappointment, Chasity plucked the damp cigarette from the flaccid pussy and gestured in what could be considered a threatening manner, nodding her agreement to the unspoken conversation. To be honest, anything hot and pointy waved around clumsily by Chasity was threatening. Including her cock. 


That couldn’t be healthy. Watching the surreal scene before her, Danielle studied her cigarette before stubbing it out. If the tail started talking, she was calling it a night. Huddling further into the shelter; horns scraping flakes of crackled paint from the roof, the Minotaur stopped short of a dubious puddle in the corner, fishing out the small vanity mirror from her stylish handbag. Only Francesca had bothered to notice the new bauble dangling from her wrist. A fact that had disappointed Danielle to no end, forcing the Minotaur to degrade herself and flourish the shiny handbag whenever the opportunity arose. She was still waiting for further compliments. 


Checking her make-up had become a new, slightly narcissistic habit of Danielle’s, owing to the fact she felt out of her depth with the finicky little brushes, powders and ointments. Tonight had required the help of a jubilant Francesca to sort her face, as it were, unable to trust Chantelle’s judgement considering the generous application of eye shadow she usually wore. Constantly paranoid she’d end up looking like one of those desperate tramps with smeared lipstick and mascara streaked cheeks after sucking off some random in the toilets. Satisfied her dignity was still intact, the mirror was quickly replaced by her phone. 


“Now seals broken, need tae go forra piss every hour. S’problem wee pints, ye ken?” Chasity said, her speech slovenly if not slurred. A tell-tale sign of the embuggerment of inebriation. Maybe it was Danielle’s imagination, a trick of the light perhaps, but she could’ve sworn the tail nodded sympathetically. Pausing for an answer only the Manticore could understand, Chasity chugged down the remainder of her drink, oblivious to the fact she still had a cigarette in her mouth.  


Most of the amber liquid dribbled down her chin and onto her T-shirt. An unfortunate splatter suggesting she had either been lactating uncontrollably or drooling like a complete idiot. Given the vacant expression Chasity currently wore, the latter seemed more likely. 


“Bollocks!” Chasity clumsily pawed at the damp splotches across her chest, the tail gurgling in a rather suspicious manner while somehow looking amused. Bubbles frothed from between the lewd, fleshy lips. 

“Fuck ye laughing at. I like this T-shirt.” Luckily, Chasity almost exclusively wore black, mitigating the damage a carelessly wielded pint could administer.  


Though the cigarette was now a soggy ruin, Chasity absentmindedly tried to take a puff anyway, receiving a trickle of nicotine-infused beer. The pulpy fag was flicked away with a sneer of disdain, flying a good three inches in the fumbled attempt and landing at the Manticore’s feet with a soft plap. 


Talking to yourself was one thing, Danielle may even be able to accept arguing, but performing mild self-harm under the illusion your vagina was taking the piss? How much hassle would it be to try and convince Chasity to call it a night? There was only so far the promise of a kebab and blowjob could get you before payment was demanded. The kebab wasn’t a problem, but Danielle held reservations about getting on her knees for Chasity. Very few had anything to do with pride. Afraid she may relapse after a long-awaited taste of manti-cum. 


Watching the Manticore instigating a fight with her silently mocking tail while groping at her dampened T-shirt; making sure the fabric rubbing against her hard nipples was suitably patted and fussed over, Danielle groaned a long, mournful sigh, carefully allowing herself a moment of self-pity. It wouldn’t do to become neurotically melodramatic. Nowhere near old enough to go through her mid-life crisis, dye her hair a horrendous primary colour and dress like a teenager again. How any woman thought it would help was a mystery to the Minotaur? 


Sadly, she’d be the one expected to keep Chasity under some semblance of control now that Chantelle had disappeared. Dirty little slut was probably sniffing around Francesca for a ride. Not that she’d get far. You’d have thought she would’ve given up by now after five years of polite rejection. Francesca may be happy to kiss, cuddle and casually molest another female, but the Kobold was surprisingly reluctant when it came to sleeping with them. 


Surely it was only through Chasity’s influence the Kobold had eventually lost her virginity in the first place? Let’s face it, there weren’t many gay men willing to be pumped by a woman and even fewer straight men open-minded enough to accept a girl with a dick, never mind the fact it was significantly larger than the tiddler they had stashed away.  


It just seemed like a cruel waste, gifting a demure Kobold with such an impressive walloper and an unwillingness to put it to good use. You’d be as well give a sober, three-fingered lumberjack a chainsaw with no safety guards. 


There had been a time; like most women who discovered Francesca’s big secret, Danielle had lusted after the Kobold. Even going so far as to pin the poor girl against a wall, prepared to take her in a maddening hunger. Only Francesca’s pleading, tear-filled eyes stemmed the Minotaur’s unbridled passions. Though Chasity smacking her across the back of the head with her tail helped as well.  


Regarding her friend once again, it was hard to believe this socially inept wreck was an unwitting corruption of the soul. Similar as to how mould and damp would weaken the integrity of a building by its very existence, the Manticore slowly eroded a person’s morality through sheer bloody ignorance. Possessing the unique ability to coerce you into doing things you naturally rejected. Radiating animalistic magnetism and a kittenish grin that compelled you to cast aside your pride and delve into depravity and sin alongside her. Hell, Danielle knew this fact first-hand, seeing as Chasity had popped both her cherries in the same night. Ah, fond memories of a misspent youth.  


Now she felt really old. 


The wind whistled past the scant shelter, spectral hands tousling the Minotaur’s hair as she fought the urge to shiver. It wasn’t that Danielle didn’t usually feel the cold, but possessed far too much pride to admit it. She had a reputation to uphold after all. Very few people knew about the garishly pink blanket of Chasity’s she liked to cuddle in the evening. Even her husband just thought it was an adorable little quirk, oblivious of the sentimental value it held. Just a pity it was emblazoned with anthropomorphic ponies.  


Secretly, Danielle wished Francesca decided to make an appearance. She would be willing to put up with the Kobold’s inquisitive fingers and insistence the light molestation was just harmless fun for the warm furry bundle snuggled into her breasts.  


Denying her innermost desires, embargoed by an unwelcome sense of guilt displaying the subtlety of an interfering mother-in-law, Danielle pointedly disregarded the propaganda published by her libido, hoping to catch Chasity in a rare flourish of affection. To have the Manticore swoon into her arms, throw an affectionate paw around her waist and lean against her for support. There was absolutely no wish to run her hands through the soft, fluffy ruff she had buried her face in countless times during savage lovemaking. Or tease Chasity’s velvety ears between her fingers.  


Fiddling with the thick, golden band around her finger, Danielle stood upon her manicured lawn; dotted with tasteless ornaments she loved nonetheless; and leant against the sturdy picket fence surrounding her. The pointy, whitewashed cliche providing both a comfort, prison and a convenient place to stake her less desirable and downright annoying character flaws. It would appear Youthful Lust was away to experience a nasty encounter with a nail gun.  


Scratching her chin, thoughts aimlessly meandered down a dark, dangerous path overgrown with wild vegetation. Displaying a complete disregard for all forms of common sense gleaned from overused plots in horror films. She knew the grass wasn’t greener, afflicted by patches of scraggly, prickly moss, but there were secluded areas in the shade of tall, imposing trees where it was soft, lush and vibrant. There were no fences, a vast expanse of uncharted territory, begging for adventure. Never knowing where the edge of the cliff lurked. The Minotaur gave an inward sigh, knowing there were already three chairs in the unkempt wilderness.  


“How you getting on with…” Bugger! Danielle struggled to remember the name of Chasity’s current fuck-toy. Which was a worrying turn of events, considering he had briefly occupied her thoughts less than half-an-hour ago. 

“Joseph?” Danielle snapped her fingers and made an educated lunge in the dark. Judging by the twitch of Chasity’s ears, she had caught ignorance a hoof to the bollocks, who was left whimpering in a heap, wishing his namesake for the pain. 


In saying that, only Francesca used his proper name, and even then, he’d often be reduced to those horribly cutesy titles couples used like sweetie, honey or some other sickeningly twee expression. Calling her husband pumpkin behind closed doors was an entirely unrelated matter, though Danielle had the decency to blush at the contradiction. 


There was an uncharacteristic pause from the Manticore, an event that often triggered the onset of worry in Danielle. It didn’t help that the argument between Chasity and her vagina had escalated into both parties trying to surreptitiously strangle one another. Untangling herself from the tail wrapped around her neck, a sly smile hovered over Chasity’s lips. Mirth crept into her eyes, bringing with it a sparkle of mischief. Or maybe she was suppressing the need to chunder? Either way, it told Danielle everything she needed to know. 


“For somebody who claims nae tae be a poof, he disnae half like the cock,” Chasity flashed Danielle a menacing grin, her tail mimicking the sentiment, “took a wee bit a training mind you, but he’s a dirty wee slut wee the right motivation.”  


Rolling her large, earnest eyes, Danielle allowed herself an inward sigh. It was just like Chasity to try and hide her innermost feelings behind a mask of vulgarity. Especially emotions considered to be ‘sappy’ by the Manticore, alongside other frivolous feelings such as pride or morality. Not that Danielle had any right to speak in regards to honesty with oneself. 


“You and Francesca still getting on ok? Can’t be easy sharing.” Danielle always felt Chasity and Francesca were an odd pairing. The Kobold was practically nobility, or at least a meticulously well-bred pedigree. Polite, well-educated, but possessed a naive optimism that came from an unbearably sheltered life. Chasity, on the other hand… well, you didn’t get a more common denominator than the Manticore. Yet between the mess of character faults and strange little quirks, the pair almost made an emotionally; if not morally, well-rounded individual. It was such a shame they loved one another to the point of aggravation. 


“That wee fuzzball? Jist like back in Uni, I suppose, ‘cept we’ve been sharing my fuck-buddy for seven months now. One minute we’re best of mates, the next we’re at each other’s throats like cats and bloody dogs.” Chasity subjected Danielle to another anxious pause while the Manticore ran a paw through her hair with a thoughtful pout. 


“Bit of an arse she gets him every night, but then I get tae play wee him as much as I like fan I’m back.” Treating Danielle to another lecherous grin, Chasity slipped back into silent contemplation. The recently dejected tail tried to save face by burrowing into an empty pint glass, attempting to investigate the amber dregs at the bottom. Danielle would be damned if she was helping Chasity free that… thing again. 


Last time, Chasity had somehow gotten her tail wedged into a fishbowl; suspiciously bereft of fish, at a friend’s housewarming party. There was no point in asking, Danielle already suspecting alcohol was the answer. After a few minutes of cursing, arguing and a liberal drenching of water, Chasity’s tail was free, regurgitating water and some traumatised fish while the Minotaur received two spines lodged into her hand for her trouble.  


Thirty venom soaked seconds later found Chasity pinned to an, as of yet, unchristened bed in the spare bedroom, suffering the effects of an untamed Minotaur hammering at her pelvis. One wild hour later, Danielle collapsed into a spunk covered, sweat-slicked wreck, the bed having since shifted three feet across the room, tearing the new wallpaper and buckling under the savage pounding it had endured. Crisp white bedsheets now a tattered, soggy mess strewn across the floor, peppered with red hairs from when Danielle had gotten lost in her passions.  


And still, the Manticore had been mooching about for more, finally wandering off to rattle the happy homeowner’s wife over a virgin billiards table in the games room. The pristine green felt looked as if it had been shredded by a vicious animal, handle of a snooker cue soiled and six of the balls finding their way into Chasity’s tail for some intensive Kegel exercises. The friendship abruptly ended sometime afterwards.  


Danielle idly flicked through the string of messages on her phone. Daemon Lord bless whoever had invented the stylus! There was a drawer reserved for the shattered remains of phones, victims of Danielle’s frustratingly fat fingers from the pre-stylus days. Many innocent devices had lost their lives in those dark times of ignorance. 


One of her friends from work was away skiing over in the continent. Lucky bitch. No matter how many times she dropped unsubtle hints such as leaving several brochures for skiing holidays on the coffee table, Keith resolutely denied their existence. Karma must have taken pity on Danielle, as the next update detailed a tree-related broken arse, splitting the Minotaur’s face into a callous smirk.  


The most recent messages were from Chantelle, displaying a picture of Francesca causing havoc among what appeared to be a Hen Party. The Kobold was snuggled up to a somewhat bewildered-looking woman dressed in a pink sash and learner plate hanging from her neck like an outlandish locket. Francesca had managed to work her way in as she was want to do, one paw on the bride-to-be’s breasts and the other clutched a bottle of…  


“Daemon Lord! Not Aftershock.” The Minotaur muttered to herself, shoulders slumping at the sheer thought of dealing with Francesca afterwards. What was worse? Chasity having just snorted a line of Mothman dust or Francesca after a few shots of Aftershock? Both posed a severe hazard to a woman’s modesty. 


“Hey, Chasity! Think we’d better- fuck you doing?” Confronted by the Almighty Fuckyou’s most numerous of minions; Sudden Perplexity, cavorting before her like a giddy mime on crack, Danielle directed an open-mouthed stare towards the Manticore’s winged back 


Slumped into the corner of the shelter, Chasity rested her head against a paw, whistling an unrecognisable tune to herself broken by noisy intermissions of excess slobber. Her tail swaying along to the disjointed melody while attempting to maintain balance. Whether for Chasity’s benefit or its own was debatable. A worrying thought barged to the front of Danielle’s mind, jumping the cue of possible scenarios in an impressive flurry of elbows and insincere apologies. 


There was a satisfied grunt before a proud Chasity turned to face the Minotaur with an eager smile, tail slouched on her shoulder once more like a malignant guardian spirit. From the tattered rent in the front of her jeans, Chasity’s proud cock stood triumphantly, the Manticore holding a freshly filled pint glass in paw. Suspicious globs of… something, hung in the cloudy yellow liquid as wisps of steam danced in the crisp night air. 


“Onybody for a warm, spicy pint? Nae much different fae Budweiser tae be honest.”  


“Chasity!” Danielle wrinkled her nose at the fresh tang wafting in her direction. “Even I think that’s disgusting.” The sight of Chasity’s vicious looking cock, however, was quite the temptation, and Danielle’s gaze couldn’t help but drift towards the Manticore’s crotch. Those fleshy barbs could tickle a woman in all the right places. Standing proud, looking all sumptuous, just begging to be nibbled and sucked on. The heavenly cries Chasity would whimper when you caught a barb with your teeth, a little something Danielle had discovered would make the Manticore weak at the knees and shiver with delight. 


Looking at the horribly suspect glass, the sodium bulb from a nearby streetlamp cast a sickly yellow glow, highlighting the strings of protein floating in the freshly decanted Special Brew. Danielle was quite willing to believe the Manticore regarding the taste of protein piss compared to Budweiser, having never sampled either and content to live in ignorance.  


At least Chasity hadn’t pissed all over her feet this time. The Manticore had a terrible habit of unwittingly standing right where the yellow river was destined to flow. It was hard to plead innocence for the flooded doorway when the police could just follow the damp paw prints back to the aggressively defiant Manticore.  


“Anyway, how’d you know they taste similar?” Despite her wish for ignorance, Danielle just had to ask. 


“Ye ken, ye dinnae actually buy Budweiser. Only rent it for a short time.” Great, she was becoming marginally philosophical. At least by Chasity’s standards. Bypassing the question, both the Manticore and her tail regarded the glass as a large, gelatinous glob slowly bobbed near the surface, reminding Danielle of the old lava lamp her mother used to set on the coffee table when she was young. 


Face now set in a scowl of drunken determination, Chasity managed a few deceptively controlled steps before placing the brimming glass onto a picnic bench without spilling a drop. Someone had optimistically set-up a parasol in the middle of the table. With a satisfied nod, she made her way to Danielle with smug confidence.  


Up until her traitorous tail tangled between her legs, sending the Manticore tumbling with a curse like a spiteful clown who’s one custard pie away from a string of tragically hilarious murders. Humiliating stagger turned into an undignified glomp for both parties. Chasity somehow managing to twist in a complex, muscle screaming manoeuvre only capable by gymnasts and those made malleable through inebriation.  


A belittling cry of surprise was soon muffled by the Minotaur’s opulent udders as Chasity received a faceful of flesh, throwing her arms around the equally astonished Minotaur.  


“Ye dirty wee bastard! Nae tripping up yer ma or I’ll gag ye!” Treating Danielle to a friendly squeeze and toothy leer, Chasity scolded her treacherous tail, cradling the smug appendage under her own breasts like one of those handbag dogs while brandishing a clawed digit accusingly. The tail looked on in self-satisfied silence, strings of drool hung from the slathering appendage, content to be dragged or carried for the rest of the night. 


“Someone could drink that if you leave it there.” Danielle nodded towards the still warm pint steaming on the picnic table. From here it would easily pass as a robust and cloudy cider. She often found herself half-heartedly playing the role of Chasity’s morality, something the Manticore didn’t appear to have. More than likely drowned in the fetid depths of hedonistic depravity.  


“Hope so. Serves the dirty wee bastard right for mooching ony auld pish lying aboot.” 


Using Chasity to help ward off the chill air, Danielle pulled the Manticore in a little closer. The embrace brought with it echoes of previous assumptions and misplaced hopes along with a puff of pheromones. The Manticore still clung to Danielle for balance, resting her head between Danielle’s over-ripe melons like a voluptuous travel pillow. Just maybe, there was a little bit of affection in the embrace after all. 


Taking a moment to enjoy the familiar warmth and scent of Chasity, Danielle smiled as the Manticore idly cooed her tail. It had somehow managed to grab the Manticore’s finger, suckling on the furry digit like a newborn calf. Sometimes it seemed the tail had a mind of its own. Maybe even more lustful and malicious than the owner.  


Not for the first time, Danielle wondered if breaking up with Chasity had been the right decision. At the time, yes, but looking back… 


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