[Author's note: you discover that not all monsters are beasts in bed, but variety is the spice of life right? Don't worry, the next story is really good if I do say so myself... ^_~ This is a little palate cleanser, a breather between all the fucking. As always, you don't have to have read other stories in this series (see pinned list for links). The premise of the series is that a mysterious phone app sends you monsters to "date", or more, if you're game...]

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in want of sexual gratification from a dating app must get more bad offers than good. Your time spent on Tinder, Hinge, and even Bumble, had only reinforced the core warning you had received from other women: dick is abundant of low value, and for every virile stud capable of fucking you into a gratified stupor, there are three inadequate men convinced that they're studs, and five men with redeeming features who have been hollowed out into insecure shells because they know the studs are out there overshadowing them. A dehumanising meat grinder, to be sure, but where else can a lady hunting for meat go?

For some reason, you had hoped that perhaps this very human dynamic might not extend to the "monster dating app" that your best friend invited you to. By her initial description, it was a ticket to an all-you-can-fuck buffet of big, bizarre, and universally superior-to-normal inhuman cocks. An unending parade of mythical paramours who step straight out of the pages of folklore and leave her with curled toes and a tingling pussy. But your mileage has very much varied. The new app has certainly had higher highs than you’ve experienced on the human meat-market (especially your now lost first match), but the middles have been weirder and smellier, and the lows, well…

You once again sit slightly overdressed in your apartment, the scene of every monster date you’ve had so far, nervously waiting for your mysterious fifth match to arrive. You find your usual excitement replaced by tense reflections on just how poorly matches number three and four had recently gone. Your date with match number two, the shark-man, had gone well enough for you to invite another date based purely on the stated preferences “Limbs – Elongated” and “Phallus – Multiple”, but it is painfully clear in retrospect just how much your imagination had failed you in terms of what a male meeting those criteria could look like.

Your mistake, of course, had been assuming that any creature that had both the sapient mastery of language to use the app and a specific interest in having sex with a normal human woman, must be at least some flavour of humanoid. Talk about making an "ass" out of "u" and "me", because when you heard the tapping on your bedroom window on the fateful night of your third date, you naively felt a twinge of excitement that some man with Spider-Man-like agility was about to wall-crawl in and rock your world. But your breath caught in your throat when the window opened, and four tremendous hairy probes jutted through the opening, hauling behind them the hulking, nightmarish face of a full-fledged, pony-sized spider!

You thought you were going to die, either from a heart attack or being eaten alive, and you scrambled backwards across your floor, only registering the sound of your own screams when you heard the massive spider begging with you in raspy, spoken English to calm down.

"Please, don't be afraid! I'm your date! From the app!" it gurgled, its eight eyes reflecting your own horror back at you.

You were as apologetic as you could bring yourself to be while staring down something so viscerally frightening. You gently, but matter-of-factly, explained that you simply couldn’t ‘get in the mood’ for a partner so obviously non-human, and you hadn’t been aware of how wide the range of creatures on the app were. In a manner absurdly similar to every fugly man who’d ever tried to talk you into "giving him a chance", the colossal arachnid made some mildly pushy attempts to draw your attention to the engorged penile palps on either side of his head.

“You did say you like multiples, if you close your eyes, women say they feel amazing…” he had rasped, in a mockery of a coy upward inflection.

“No, sorry, but when I say I’m not into it, I mean it.” You replied, surprising yourself with how easily you were able to switch from "fearing for your life" to "read the room and put your dick(s) away".

At first you wanted to praise the monstrous bug’s respect for boundaries, as he immediately turned, crestfallen, and climbed straight back out your window, but then you remembered the intrusive observational power of the mysterious app. These monster boys had a keen understanding that these dates are invisibly chaperoned. You had previously cursed the app for exiling your amazing first date for the technical "rules breach" of creaming your insides after agreeing to the profile condition that he wouldn’t. But as the massive hairy spinnerets of a giant, horny tarantula disappeared out of your window, you suddenly felt grateful for the mysterious surveillant forces that these inhuman creatures seemed to fear and respect. If only Tinder had this kind of power to ensure women’s boundaries were being honoured.

As you let out a breath of relief watching the spider ambled away, you were back in the app deactivating your limbs and phalluses preference as fast as the lagging interface would let you. Recalling the little crosses you saw next to each entry on the drop-down list, you decided to take the reverse tactic. Playing around with the preferences and advanced settings, you landed on:

✓ Monster/Non-human - subtype: "surprise me"

☓ Arthropods: no

☓ Aquatic: no

You felt a little guilty about the latter one, that hunky shark-man had made you cum hard while briefly double-stuffing your pussy with his twin prongs. But it only took a single deep breath to remind you that you still hadn’t fully removed the briny odour of his fish-smelling salty cum out of your carpeting, from the section of your living room where he’d carry-fucked you and then let you drip his overflowing load all over everything. If you were going to continue to be a homebody AND a monster-slut, you had to consider the pounding your security deposit was going to take, as a side-effect of securing poundings for pussy.

---

It was less than a day before your re-shifted preferences had been processed and honoured, with a new date offer coming in from a fourth new match. You were still a bit rattled from your encounter with the big spider, and a wave of relief had washed over you when you heard your apartment intercom buzz, indicating that your chosen date was arriving on foot, at the front door, just like any sensible humanoid would. As you buzzed him into the building, your first verbal exchange has been a deep but nasally “it’s your date for tonight”. Nothing that sounded like puckering mandibles. Another low bar cleared.

The knock on your door had sounded strong and assertive, exciting you a little, so you were surprised to open the door and be greeted with the hunched over form of an elderly, overweight woman, wearing a thick jacket, a vaguely eastern-European head scarf, and dark glasses. He must had read the confusion on your face, because that deeper more masculine voice immediate insisted “sorry about the disguise, it was the only one left that fit”. Stepping into your living room, listening to sound of you closing and locking the door, he continued, “mind if I get straight out of it? It’s hot in here.”

You’d nodded, and watched the human suit roll back uncannily and expose the bold green skin underneath. A smooth scalp, pointed ears, taut ropey muscles around the shoulders and arms, and small sharp tusks at the corners of his mouth, framing his hooked ridgey nose. You being you, your eyes next immediately darted to his crotch, covered in a near tan pair of loin-cloth-like shorts cupped around his bulge. The movement of your eyes emboldened him a little, and he smiled when your eyes returned to his. “Never seen an orc in the flesh before?” he asked, puffing out his chest a bit and stretching up to his full height.

His full height, however, was only a few inches taller than the old woman disguise he’d arrived in. Not diminutive, really, but noticeably shorter than you. Perhaps you were too influenced by fictional depictions of massive, thick-muscled orcs, but your date struck you as much more closely fitting the description of a ‘goblin’, and those social connotations were a lot less favourable. You recalled that, at least by Tolkien lore, "goblins" and "orcs" really are the same kind of being, but this short, twitchy-fingered green fellow calling himself an "orc" had exactly the same vibe as men you’d met up with who swore up and down that they were "basically six feet when wearing the right shoes". The male tendency to imagine yourself wearing stilts runs deep, it seems.

While he was ugly, no question about it, there was a kind of charm to his ugliness that only a woman pretty desperate to finally get fucked again would be capable of seeing. Kind of like those odd-faced character actors whose uneven looks grow on you the more time their character spends on screen. The two of you had only chatted sitting on your couch for a few minutes before the obvious and impressive anticipatory bulge at his crotch caught your attention, and when he came at you with an unexpected raking of his long tongue up the side of your arm, you found your hand wrapped around his turgid manhood, guessing at the strange but enticing bumpy texture you felt through the cloth.

He proceeded to roll you back with your legs in the air, peeled off your panties in a smooth lifting gesture, and began putting his long rough tongue to use on your aching lips and clit. While you thought you’d cum in seconds, as he plunged his tongue deeper, the complication hit: the tusks. His curved little mouth-horns were as sharp as they looked, and while it was a little exciting feeling them jab at the outer edges of your pussy and the undersides of your thighs, as he gave it more force the scratches and pokes got worse and worse. This delayed, but thankfully didn’t completely prevent, your much-needed impending orgasm, and as soon as you’d gushed in his mouth, you were happy that he pulled back and yanked down his waistband for the main event. Or at least, you were momentarily glad, until his penis sprung into view.

Women like your best friend, who make a real sport of fucking monsters, must have pretty strong stomachs and pretty open minds. You broadly thought of yourself as possessing both, but you’ve recently been pushed to your own limits more than once. His dark green cock was clearly a point of pride for him, he brandished it from its base like a sword, its impressive length looking tremendous compared to his short goblin body. But that bumpy texture you had felt did not match how you had thought his dick would look. Each node was a bulbous, shiny round swelling, with a taut brownish outline and a bright yellow colouration across the top. They were irregularly positioned and varied in size, with the biggest of them bulging out like ancillary cock-heads surging out at odd angles. As he rubbed his red-purple tip up and down your labia, you knew, intellectually, that this was probably just part of his species anatomy, and that like a weird-looking dildo it would likely feel spectacular one it got to massaging your insides, but one haunting word stuck in your head and wouldn’t dislodge itself: pustules. His dick looked genuinely diseased, and there was no stopping the crushing sensation of arousal being replaced by disgust. There was no way you were letting that thing inside you.

“Wait, stop, I just..!” you blurted out, scuttling backwards with your hands press over your mouth, which was flooding with saliva as a wave of nausea hit you, “I’m so sorry, I know its probably supposed to look like that, but I don’t think I can…”

He rose up and reached his clawed fingertip is a shushing gesture, aiming for your lips but not quite reaching them as you slid to the corner of the couch, clamping your thighs together. “Look, I know orc cock is bigger than you’re used to with humans, but I can go slow, you just tell me how deep to go.”

You try to stifle a surprised burp of laughter, which thankfully sounded more like a whimper through your clamped hands. His revolting dick was pretty big, and looked huge on his small frame, but it was definitely shorter and thinner than the two biggest human cocks you’d ever taken. In this very living room less than a week ago, you’d been stuffed full of two shark-dicks at once, and EACH of them had dwarfed his goblin member. But you regained your composure quickly, seeing the opportunity.

“I’m sorry, I’m just too scared, your huge go-, uhm, huge "orc" cock would just split my little human pussy in half. I’ve struggled with dicks half that size, and it’s really freaking me out.” Rejecting the spider was one thing, but you couldn’t look this goblin in his horny little green face and tell him his cock is so disgusting you’d rather drip it in acid than your pussy. You didn’t have it in you to be that cruel, especially not to a short king who was clearly proud of his grotesque equipment and was hoping to share it with willing ladies. Thinking back to the spider, even his penile palps were bigger and nicer-looking that this lumpy monstrosity. You tried your damnedest to keep a straight face.

“I understand…” he said, somewhat dejectedly, pulling up his pants with the unpleasant tip of his penis jutting out, pressed up against his belly, “I don’t want to put any pressure on you. My contact will stay in your date history, hit me up again if you get some more non-human experience and get curious about how much better big and bumpy can feel.” He flashed a roguish smile before turning to pick up and re-fasten his old lady disguise. You felt bad for this aborted dated but you were not so talented an actress as to disguise your revulsion indefinitely, and the sooner that diseased-looking dong was out of your apartment, the better. You gave him a peck on the cheek goodbye, which also scratched the sides of your face unpleasantly with his tusks, and to your great relief, date number four was done. Your "blacklist" grew three items longer that night:

☓ Tusks: no

☓ Goblinoid: no

☓ Hobgoblinoid: no

You weren’t even sure what that last one referred to, but it seemed like a reasonable precaution.

“Lol I just remembered, my ex-girlfriend is pregnant, and I should probably be there for her. I don’t wanna be an asshole.”

Let me tell you about when Mia Shepard learned about chemistry the hard way.

An Alliance friend set Shepard up on a blind date for shore leave. Shepard and this guy had been messaging for a while up until the date, and she was intrigued -- he was attractive in a sort of generic way, they shared interests, and he was showing interest in her.

They met up at an elcor comedy club on the Citadel. They had an easy enough time talking, although he laughed a little too loudly at bad jokes. She accepted his invite home, because it had been far too long since she had been in another’s bed and he was cute enough.

It started with him being a bad kisser. There was no passion in his kisses -- they were gentle bird kisses, the sort of kisses an elderly couple shared. His hands were sweaty, his touches too light, and there was no chemistry. At all. None. When she climbed on top, all that she received was a vacant smile.

Her greatest surprise was when they finished -- or at least, he did -- and he sighed about how amazing that had been and how he couldn’t wait to do it again.

Hey kids! Who wants to hear about the worst date I ever went on in my life? You do? Alright! Settle in, it’s a long one.

I met this girl on Craigslist back in…probably 2004 or 2005. Maybe up to 2007. It was a long time ago regardless, back in the days before LiveJournal had been abandoned. OkCupid wasn’t working out (some things never change), Craigslist wasn’t the absolute cesspool it is now. It was still pretty awful, granted, but you know, humans existed in reasonable numbers. Besides, I mean, I went on a 4chan date once. There was a whole website for it. Probably still exists. Compared to that, how bad could it be?

Well, exceptionally bad, it turns out. At least 4chan was just awkward and we had nothing to talk about. But Erica (I’m pretty sure that was 4chan’s name) at least wasn’t a terrible human being.

Looking back, it was not one of my more intelligent moments.

The entire fiasco was not, however, entirely my fault. Iliana looked at first glance exactly like every other predatory young thing that always crowded balls like this, giggling and fluttering her eyelashes at each and every available lordling in the immediate vicinity. If that weren’t enough of a cheat, her ice-blond hair had been piled on her head in a complicated style that all-too-conveniently hid the pointed tips of her ears from the unsuspecting.

I, naturally, had retreated to the library, drink in hand and a large chair blocking the only entrance. Just because Waverly insisted that it was part of my duty to hold a ball once a year didn’t mean that I actually had to attend the thing – as long as I let them use the space and paid for the hors devours, I considered my part in the festivities amply fulfilled.

Also, I was hiding.