M(O)NSTERH(o)(o)D (fantasy, F/beastiality) - start of story

Standard disclaimer: I’m not a native English speaker and no one competent in English has proofread this.

Note: Be wary of spelling errors jumping at you unexpectedly and without warning from the bushes, trying to kill your progress. Stay true to the path through the story and don’t get waylaid by grammar intent on luring you deep in the maze of no return, so you might never finish.

Chapter 1

“Lupe! You’ll be late for the school if you don’t hurry, and it’s your first day as a freshman in the high school.” Father shouted from the kitchen.

“I know. I’ll skip the breakfast.” I yelled back, tugging stockings to my feet in a haste, hopping on one foot, nearly cracking my head on the night table when my only outwardly visible monster features made me lose my balance with their swaying between my legs.

“You know it’s unhealthy for a growing kid like yourself to skip the day’s most important fare. I’ll make you a sandwich, which you can eat on the way.” Father rumbled disapprovingly.

Aha, there was the garter belt. Couple of quick clips and it was in place keeping stockings up. Next I needed to find a bra from the chaos that was my room – there, under that pile of unwashed clothes. Hunting for clean clothes and throwing on what I could find in a rush, I ended up with mishmash attire, my reflection in the mirror resembling an apprentice scarecrow. Not bad – for me.

Judging by the looks I could be a vampire or any other undead expect for my smell and tanned skin – and freckles. No vampire has freckles, ever. Why wasn’t my skin mottled green like dads or hairy, same as mothers? I don’t smell like the undead, or any other resident monster clans for that matter either, and the undead can sense if you are a living thing. My hair, the long silver tresses, the same color as my mother’s pelt, hang to my back, framing a face and a body fit for the nymph clan, which is odd since I’m a daughter of a werewolf and a swamp troll.

Resembling one of the fitter undead, or a normal human, is a hard fact in a young kid’s life when you live and belong to that hairier monster side of the town and want to blend in. As a kid I had painted my skin green with crushed leaves mixed into milk on one occasion not thinking about how I would end up smelling. Getting licked and bitten all over by bovines that thought me as a tasty vegetable treat was embarrassing – and painful.

Before leaving my room I made sure my discernible monster parts in their encasing magical limiter, which is reminiscent of a leather sock with a pair of big pouches adorned by buckles, bulged prominently in my crotch with its foot and a half length. The full moon was only couple of days away and the limiter was emitting an intense silvery light you could read by, a detail that I had taken advantage of once again last night under my bedcove