The Harpening, part 2

The Harpening – part 2

Entry 10
Today I looked up some wildlife sanctuaries around the good ol’ state of LA. It’s not right or responsible to let “Pigeon” keep doing this to herself. Yes, I’m calling her Pigeon. I had to come up with a name for her eventually, and if it’s unimaginative, who cares? It’s not like she understands English. That I know of.
There are only a few bird sanctuaries around the state—Governor Orky Jindal made sure that the majority of state money is running into dragon coffers and sphinx hoards. Thanks, Orky. But if I can lure Pigeon into the back of my pickup truck, I might be able to get her to sit still long enough to drive her out there. She should be in the wild, hunting and living with other free monsters. Not gorging herself on garbage. I have to tell myself, no matter how hard I get when I look at her big soft butt, she doesn’t belong here.
And if I let her stay much longer, I’m not sure I’ll be able to control myself around her. I try not to take advantage of girls, but a man can only have harpy pussy in his face so many times before he eats that rug like it’s groceries.
Entry 11
Today I tried to get her out of the back lot. It’s a small area, fenced in by three fast-food buildings and a literal chain-link fence. You’d think it’d be easy pickings, getting her out of there. You’d be wrong.
For one thing, she’s a big girl now. Over two hundred fifty pounds of bird-girl, most of it in her stomach. I went around to the entrance after dark and tried to encourage her to fly up into my pickup truck—I was thinking I could lay down a tarp and get her to stay still with the five boxes of Hersheys bars I’d bought. I found out the hard way, she’s not going to be flying anywhere for a while.
God knows she tried. At first she started hopping and flapping like one of those failed helicopters they experimented with in the thirties, feathers flying, fat jiggling. (That stuff is hypnotic when it gets in motion, by the way. The sound her rolls make when they flop against each other… Call me a pervert, but it’s one of the most sensual noises I’ve heard in my life!) But she couldn’t get more than a foot off the ground, not even with her impressive nine-foot wingspan. So hovering was a no-go. Then she tried a running start, but she’s gotten so top-heavy lately that her fat carried her nearly face-first into the asphalt. She scrapped up her belly and boobs and I had to grab the first-aid kit; she didn’t even want me to patch her up at first, hissing at me like a cassowary or something. Finally I managed to get her to sit still, got an arm around her and disinfected her wounds. A couple Band-Aids and she was right back to eating leftover chile and cheese fries again.
After that, though, she wouldn’t come anywhere near the truck. I could’ve tried lifting her, or even drugging her to get her out of there, but to be honest? I felt bad. The Dumpsters are her home now, wherever “home” used to be for her—fantasy Greece, alternate-dimension bird shop, whatever. She’s happy just living here, eating things other people left behind, and getting fat. All things considered, I can’t blame her—it’s a pretty cushy lifestyle, after all. But it’s only a matter of time before my boss or one of the other employees notices her. And what about other people? Druggies, muggers, and rapists are all pretty common in New Orleans. No offense to the folks down here, but they make downtown New York look absolutely civilized by comparison. If one of those people comes across her while she’s in a food coma, or stoned on fermented tomatoes or something…
Going to try and not let myself think about it. If I worry too much about her, I’m going to give us both away and get canned, and she’ll get carted off to monster jail or wherever they put homeless harpies. I can’t let that happen. She might be a lazy, ditzy, shortsighted fat-ass, but she’s MY lazy, ditzy, short-sighted fatass. I can’t let her get hurt on my watch.
Maybe I should bring in a second opinion, though. I’m not exactly an expert on monsters…
Entry 12
I’m in luck! An old college buddy of mine tipped me off to a monster biology expert in Baton Rouge. I called her up and sure enough, she does courtesy calls for vagrant monsters, free of charge.
I do sort of wish he’d told me she was a medusa, though. That was a bit of a surprise.
When she slithered out of the Camaro and onto the curbside I nearly shat a brick. Like the majority of monster-girls, she had a rack so impressive that at first I thought she was hiding small watermelons inside her crisp, no-nonsense lab coat. Snakes twisted and hissed on her head in place of hair, a long braid of them twining down over each shoulder and slithering over her enormous chest. From the waist down, she was one giant snake, and the hand that she stretched out to shake with was scaly and clawed.
Fortunately, she was wearing sunglasses.
“Hi. I’m Chad—”
“You gave me your name over the phone.” She adjusted her lab coat, which made her torso move in very interesting ways, and pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of her pocket. It was about then I noticed she wasn’t wearing pants. “Show me the avian, please.”
“Uh… Okay…” I led her around the back of the fast-food plaza and through the fence. She slithered after me, the slide of her scales on the sidewalk a lullaby of menacing sound. The “veterenarian” creeped me out, I’ll admit, but if she wanted to help I wasn’t going to say anything.
We found Pigeon gobbling actual grease from a bucket one of the restaurants had left out back, for whatever stupid reason. I shooed her away, knowing full well that it was disgusting. Why did I like her so much again? Why did I put up with this strange, embarassing creature?
Oh, that’s right: The puppy dog eyes. She gave me her best whimpering pout, having already learned she could get anything she want—including massages—with those big green eyes. Then she saw the medusa, and freaked out.
“Snake!” she squawked. That floored me, mostly because her voice was so scratchy and hoarse—did she have some kind of throat problem, or was it just average bird-person voice? But I was also blown away because holy shit, Pigeon could talk. This changed everything I knew about harpies! Which, granted, wasn’t very much to begin with.
“Out of the way.” The medusa lifted me by my shirt collar and placed me to her right, with all the ease of hefting a puppy. Damn, that woman was strong. And hot. She was just soft enough to broadcast a quietly MILF-y vibe without even trying: chunky yet muscular upper arms, a thick powerful waist, and a “butt” (okay, really just a large bulge where her torso met her snake body, but I confess to thinking with my dick on this one) that was both enormous and wouldn’t quit. “She’s alarmed. She may hurt you.”
“What are you going to…” But the medusa’s tail was already sliding towards the harpy. Pigeon tried to get away, hopping and jiggling and flapping her wings like crazy, but the vet was too quick and coiled her fat little body in a loop of snake-flesh.
“Hush, little bird.” There was a strange, eerie rustling, and I saw the medusa had a rattle on her tail, just like a desert sidewinder. The shivering noise was strangely soothing, almost… hypnotic. The snake-woman waved her tale back and forth, slowly, in front of Pigeon’s face, and the bird girl’s eyes went wide and dopey. “Rest for me… Relax.”
Pigeon went as limp as a sack of potatoes, the momentum making her small boobs bounce and wobble. Her stomach oozed between the snake-woman’s coils, a Playdoh display of flesh, as the Medusa pulled her closer.
“Hey. Be gentle with her, okay?” I said, somewhat nervous now. I started wondering if maybe this was a scam—if maybe the Medusa didn’t track down and eat little innocent monsters like this one. It would certainly explain her spare tire…
“This harpy is morbidly obese.” The monstrous biologist poked and prodded at the harpy with a pair of cold-looking metal calipers. Plucking a stethiscope from her vast reptilian cleavage, she pressed it to the girl’s chest. Pigeon giggled, her head lolling on her neck.
“Yeah, well, that’s not my fault.”
“Humans keep pets that die from heart attacks due to overfeeding. Forgive me if I do not assume humans are not responsible here.” She began feeling Pigeon’s fat rolls, and I thought I saw a little saliva gathering at the corner of her full lips. I really hoped I was off with that whole “secret cannibal monster” thing.
“I didn’t feed her! She just… Wound up here.” The Medusa pinched the girl’s nipple and she whimpered, cheeks getting red. “It’s not my fault.”
“I see.” Pigeon belched, and the Medusa held her nose. “She reeks of human food. And… Human emissions. It is sad, to see what our kind has come to. Scavenging off of the refuse of others.”
I saw her point, but I didn’t really see how it was my fault. Also, I was getting a little distracted by her ridiculous balloon tits—those buttons looked ready to blow. “I’ve been trying to help her. I just need a little advice.”
“She requires exercise.” The Medusa spanked Pigeon’s belly, and the girl’s thighs clenched, clawed toes curling. “Fortunately, the magic in the blood of monsters prevents them succumbing to human ailments such as your… Cholesterol. However, she is already too fat to fly. Without exercise, she may become so obese she cannot walk. Which I imagine, would be very bad for a monster that lives outside, competing with other scavengers.”
“Other scavengers…” I had a lot of questions in that moment. Would Pigeon even stop eating, if she started getting too fat to stand? Would she even slow down? And why was I aroused by that? Seriously, what the hell was wrong with me? In some ways I felt like a monster myself, but I had to admit… I liked her like this. Flabby, overfed, nearly helpless. Having her grow dependant on me had been morally questionable, but that didn’t make it any less enticing. Letting her lick bacon grease from my fingertips and shove her head into a bowl of cream I’d poured for her had gotten me going more than any girl in NY ever had.
The Medusa’s eyes, mercifully covered by those pitch-black shades, seemed to track me as I leaned against the wall, trying to conceal my erection as best I could. “You are pleased by this,” she said. It was not a question.
“I… No! Why would I—”
“It is not a bad thing.” She uncoiled, and Pigeon slid to the groud, glassy-eyed and grinning stupidly. She must have been much more vulnerable to that rattling tail than I was, because all I had was a light buzz and a sleepy feeling. “Human perversions are revolting, but you are the only one who has shown kindness to her. If that springs from a desire to mate with monsters who are far in excess of their healthy body weight…” She shrugged one plush shoulder, and a button on her coat gave way, shooting into the Dumpster beside me. “At least she will get her exercise, in some form, with you.”
“I’m not going to fuck her!” I tried to make it sound convincing, but in her stupor Pigeon had spread her legs, and I saw she was soaking wet—from the hypnotism or the pinching, or maybe both. The soft pink mound of her pussy was glistening with moisture, and I could smell the musk from where I stood. “That’s not right. I don’t care how you justify it. She’s just an animal.”
“Not true.” The Medusa seemed to have turned her attention towards me, leaving her chubby “patient” behind. Nervous, I watched her soft coils wind around my feet. She was definitely salivating now, drooling so much that lines of it dripped into the green canyon of her cleavage. “Harpies are non-verbal, but they are intelligent. Now if you don’t mind, I am rather… Vexed, after handling such a juicy morsel. I became a vegetarian after reaching your world for the same reason I wear these glasses, but I still have needs.” She licked her lips, and even with the shades on I could see she was sizing me up. For a meal, or for a boy toy, I couldn’t tell. I was suddenly very scared.
“Uh… If you get off on handling prey, are you sure it’s a good idea to be a vet?”
“Silence.” The snake-coils lashed around me, and when I struggled, they squeezed my cock against my crotch in a cruel bondage imitation. She leaned forward, and two more buttons snapped clean off, well-fed snake-flesh pouring out to quiver on the edge of release. Her braids slithered over me, smelling of snakeskin and leather. “We monsters do not act by your human morals, though we are capable of showing restraint when needed.” Her forked tongue slithered out to play over my lips—smelling me. “Now quickly, before she wakes. I would like my payment.”
“Payment—Mmf!” She wrapped around me in a torrent of soft, motherly strength, and for a while everything was suffocation and hot, hungry pleasure.
I showed up at the ER for snake bites that same evening.