by Circe
(05/23/07)
A little background: Coyote is often called `Coyote Old Man' by the Natives of the Southwest U.S.A. He is a mangy, good for nothing, wise-assed Trickster. Part of his problems have to do with body parts getting away from him and his search for them. Other problems have to do with his complete disregard for socially acceptable behaviors.
Fuck religion!
Coyote would have, but there was just too damn much neglected pussy at those revival meetings. Every time the preacher got preaching hot, the booty started dripping and squirming, and eventually got up and raised their arms in a frenzy of praise.
And didn't Coyote just know what to do with that! The first phase was the "Oh, yeah, Preacher -- you tell it like it is!"
That got everybody's attention. It was negative attention, because there wasn't a creature in the kingdom who didn't know he was the sorriest ass skag in the desert. Whatever he did, nobody else better because it was either illegal, immoral, or fattening. Usually it was some of all of that and more.
Negative schmegitive, it was attention, the only thing Coyote loved more than poon tang. And poon tang was definitely next on the menu. Because he played to the image, the `Gowward, I am such a pitiful shit head' thing which inevitably lead to some respectable twitch trying to bring that sorry ass to the Lawward.
If he played it really right, they might even pray with him. And once those female eyes were closed, they never saw his paw reaching up the skirt or down the blouse. Truth told, once the eyes were closed and the action started, a lot of `em got this peculiar smile on their face and prayed all the louder. Especially when he hit the button that tripped the trigger.
Damn that was sweet! All he had to do was brush his furry paw over some pert little nipple and it raised itself right up into a very welcoming `how de do and what can you do for me?' Coyote could do plenty, especially if the rest of the congregation was swaying and moaning and praising the Lawward with their eyes closed.
First he would brush that sassy pink beauty with his paw until he had it thrusting hard and heavy and looking for more. Then he would use his claws to gently pinch it. That usually got a gasp and some serious moisture going on between the legs. A bit of a lick with his long, wet tongue behind the ear added to the Lawward's praises being uttered ("Gowward! Oh Gowward have mercy!"). A lot of his cock pressed between the crack of the modestly clad butt checks put the whole thing into a rhythmic chant that called on Gowward and Jaysus, and the holy Mutha of Mercy! for more.
Coyote always gave `em more. His next move put his slippery fingers right up the skirt, right to the crotch of the panties, and then an inside move to the puffy little button standing up all twitchy and tingly. A few good rubs on that baby and the body attached to it went into something akin to St. Vitus' dance. Then Coyote put in a few beats to the rhythm with his pussy pounder and they both gave Gowward the glory.
And did he ever get caught bumping the booty that way? Hell, no! Everybody else was so busy with their own jumping and swaying and yelling "Hallelujah!" nobody saw a damn thing. Or, if they did, they totally admired Sister Whatever the Fuck Her Name Was and Who Gives a Shit's religious fervor.
Yes sir. When it came to revival meetings, Coyote definitely had it laid in the shade. Until the day his penis got it into its head to go out and get the business done on its own. Coyote objected loudly, but it didn't do much good.
"Gawwad damn `er to hell, you can't do that!"
The sixteen inch prick just smirked at its now detached body and snipped,
"You're a gawwad damn voyeur -- watch me!"
Coyote did, and it pissed him off royally. The one eyed son of a bitch was even sneakier than he was, and it wasn't a tenth as noticeable. No sir. All it had to do was wait for the tail to stand up and raise her hands high in zealous adoration. It was up the skirt then and in horny heaven before the repentant sinner could take another breath. And did the cadence of the petition change then!
"Praise the Lawward! Oh praise Gowward, my prayers have been answered!"
So had Chief Cumsalot's. Coyote's, however, had landed somewhere between `get serious' and `no chance in hell.' This took him right straight back to his original impression of things.
"Fuck religion! I'm gonna get enlightened."
Coyote's road less traveled left a lot to be desired. Particularly so, since his god damn penis had more than one use. A bladder full and no place to put it seriously distracted him from his meditation practices.
"Go with the flow," his asshole suggested.
Coyote didn't need the suggestion. The damn hair lip giving him lip had also been giving him a hell of a lot more than advice over their forty day sojourn in the desert. Somewhere in all of the hallucinogenics he had devoured, his Hershey highway took a wrong turn. It went from solid shit, to LaBrea tar pits, to `will somebody turn the goddamn valve off before I drown?' in a matter of hours.
Now his hemorrhoids had hemorrhoids and he was seriously thinking of charging a fee to view the stalactites or of starting a religion with them (The Burning Bushes and Bumper Shop of the Mojave). The problem was, he'd given up on religion and he'd taken a vow of poverty when he decided to get enlightened. The poverty thing wasn't hard. He'd never had anything to begin with and with the way his lazy ass worked, he wasn't likely to get anything -- including or especially laid.
His balls let him know about that one.
"Don't be givin' me none a your shit! I'm the one blue, bulging, and ready to bust!"
Coyote wished Ass Hole would shut the fuck up and stop giving them all shit, but he didn't say anything. Cleansing was part of getting one's self ready to receive the Light, and he sure as hell was getting cleansed. And pissy. Without the smart assed prick around to lighten the load, he was definitely getting pissy.
The Chief didn't much care what Coyote was or wasn't getting, it was getting plenty. It was getting so much it could afford to play around with ways to either prolong the pleasure, intensify it, or both. Hard was good. Hard was always good. Hard and waiting and wanting and drooling -- damn! That was about the best.
Holding off---just a little more---yeah, just a little bit more, just until the ache was about to take over, just until the whole, damn thing was so tight an indecent dick couldn't bear it one more second -- oh, Gowward, yeah!
Cumsalot played that game exactly twice, until it ran into a rattle snake under a rock who mistook it for a puff adder -- a threatening puff adder. The son of a bitch bit him right square on the top of the head and ruined the nicest damn hose down the prick had ever built up.
The Chief paid him back, though. The damn fang face was still swimming around wondering which was piss and which was poison. The revenge was sweet, but Cumsalot still had a throbbing headache from the Big Mack Attack. He knew damn well he was going to have to get that taken care of and soon. He also knew the remedy, and the only skag skanky enough to do it.
"You want me to what?"
Coyote was incredulous. The punk assed bastard had run out on him just when things were getting interesting, and now he wanted a blow job. The dick head (fast becoming the big head of the two of them) explained it again.
"You gotta suck the poison out or I'm a goner."
"Then you're a goner, sucker."
"Think about it."
Coyote did. After forty days of wandering in the desert, three vision quests, and a fire walk he'd gotten himself pretty enlightened: you don't do shit like that just to get pussy. And who was the one always sniffing around anyway? It seemed to him like he was better off without the damn thing and he said so. Cumsalot had a cum back for that, too.
"Blue balls? Bum bladder?"
"I can live with that," Coyote sniffed.
There was a howl from Balls and Bladder, but Coyote ignored them. The dick without ears knew then and there it was in trouble and tried a different track.
"Look. You were right about religion, ok? Spirituality, that's the ticket. You got how many serious seekers stoned outta their goddamn minds seeking betterment in a button? Go for it, man! Pop some peyote with `em, wait until they're ready to see the Light, then shove me in where the sun don't shine. They aint gonna miss them dark places of the soul anyways."
Coyote had to admit the Chief made sense.
"Ok," he relented, "Just this once!"
"Just this once," Cumsalot promised.
So Coyote sucked. Cumsalot lost his head. Ass Hole clenched. Balls blew out a sigh of relief----and that's how the Old Man got enlightened. He found out spirituality had more pussy going for it, less problems getting it, and no offering plate being passed around. He also found out that after the incident with the rattler, his dick was a lot more inclined to stick with him.
So what else could a ragged assed, skanky Trickster want?
Except, maybe, a few ducks for dinner, but that's another story.
