The Model

Cyril crouched down, watching the little road runner as it hopped back out from behind a sagebrush, heading toward the top of the saguaro-crested ridge some twenty feet away. He held his camera steady and started snapping pictures; the film was a little too low-speed for action shots in the pre-dawn desert light, but it was worth trying a few frames.

The bird reached the top of the ridge, hopped a little more, then suddenly took off like an arrow.

“Okay,” he said softly, standing back up. He’d come out for still life shots, anyway; the sun would soon be rising over the next ridge, and the spotty cloud cover promised a dazzling light show.

The rabbit smoothed down his unruly headfur a little, and trudged toward the top of the ridge. And nearly fell over.

The adobe house toward the base of the ridge he knew about. But the landscape had a new addition this morning, starting about thirty yards down the sandy hillside from where he stood—a coyote girl, lying on her back, digitigrade footpaws resting near the adobe’s little cactus garden. But it was well over sixty yards down the hillside to the property line; from toes to ears, the coyote was a good ninety feet long.

She was sleeping, as near as he could tell, eyes closed. And she was nearly nude. Her fur was greyish-tan in front, shading closer to the color of red clay over what he could see of the rest of her and down to black on eartips and her hands. The black color nearly matched what she did wear: just a plain black bra and matching panties.

Cyril sat down on the ridgetop, just staring stupidly. He’d not only found a giant—not that he’d been looking for one—but she was an exhibitionist. Perhaps when your paws are nine feet across, you figure nobody will have the temerity to chide you for immodesty?

He shook his head, then squeezed his eyes closed. The rabbit counted to ten, took a deep breath, and opened his eyes again.

The giantess was still there.

“All right, so much for that theory,” he whispered, running a hand along one of his tan ears nervously. Cyril rose to his feet, dusting off his shorts, and padded down the ridge, as silently as he could.

He’d still been half-expecting her to fade into mist as he approached, as the light shifted, but as the distance between his body and hers dwindled to a few yards, he could feel the warmth radiating from her, could hear her breathing, could sense the clear scent of a clean, peppery musk. He realized he was shivering. He’d never really given much credence to social scientists who blathered on about “species memory” linking modern rabbits, coyotes and the like with their unevolved cousins through distant ancestors, but he’d rarely seen an evolved carnivore more than a few inches past his own five-foot-ten height. The coyote’s lips were parted just enough that he could get a glimpse of her teeth, a knee-weakening image.

After a moment he shook himself free of the spell, and kept walking around her, about four yards out from her body. God, if she was anything approaching his own scale, he’d have been trying to flirt with her already. Assuming she was fully dressed. If she was dressed like this at any size he’d be reduced to staring and stammering. She was right at the juncture between cute and beautiful, a combination that all too often left him tongue-tied.

By the time he reached her huge footpaws, the camera was in his hands rather than hanging around his neck. He backed up a bit and started snapping photos, about twenty feet away, walking slowly toward her head again. After he got a few of these, ones with extreme perspective, he’d step back and try to get as much of her in-field as possible.

Cyril had no idea what he could possibly do with the photos, other than hide them in a drawer somewhere to occasionally take them out and stare in wonder. He doubted anyone who didn’t get close enough to feel the coyote’s body heat themselves would believe they were anything other than clever fakes, and he doubted “kook with giant coyote pictures” would get him as high-paying assignments as “moderately famous nature photographer” did. But he’d have to be a real kook to let the opportunity go past.

He took two shots from right by her feet, then moved up, one near her hips, and one near her chest but focused on her face—he couldn’t resist the temptation to have what amounted to a bust shot, but would at least make it slightly artistic. Then he took one as close to her face as he dared, zoomed in a little, so the shot was centered on those huge, perfect teeth, parts of the rest of her form visible.

After a moment’s pause, he climbed back toward the top of the ridge, and took a shot of her from right between her ears, focused on the house. He blushed slightly at the shot of the cleavage that produced, but it gave a clear idea of just what the size of the woman he was looking at was. Now what? Maybe a shot from the house, or in front of it. There was an adobe archway by the garden, and he could maybe get a shot of her through that.

He wasn’t sure the shot through the archway worked as well as he’d have liked, but it did give an interesting view of one paw. Cyril stopped by her side again, about forty feet away, considering. The sky was definitely lighter now, the clouds picking up the fiery red-orange of the sun. Cyril guessed it’d be over the rise in another minute or two.

The rabbit caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and realized the giantess had just blinked. Her eyes were open.

Cyril licked his lips nervously. Had she seen him yet? Could he leave without being seen?

“You’re not finished yet, are you?” she said, her voice a soft alto that still somehow rattled his bones from its resonance. She didn’t turn her head toward him as she spoke, gaze still on the sky.

The rabbit began shivering violently, despite his best efforts to remain stock-still.

“I thought it was common for photographers to ask models to pose, for instance.” She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her elbow, and fixed her gaze on him. Her eyes were green, beautiful, and unsmiling. “And to ask for permission.”

“I…uh…” Nothing else seemed to come out of his mouth. He suddenly missed being back in Africa facing charging rhinoceri. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, voice hoarse. “I…thought you were asleep.”

She said nothing, remaining still other than shifting her paws slightly. Her gaze remained locked on him.

“I can g-go if you’d like. I’ll destroy the film. Uh…” He took the camera off his neck, reaching to open it. “Look, I’ll just—”

“Stop,” she said, voice sharp. He froze.

“If you want to keep the film, you can simply try asking me,” she continued, a hint of amusement in her voice, “for permission.”

Cyril gaped up at her. “Uh…m-may…may I photograph you?”

The giantess moved into a sitting position, her huge form shifting nearly silently, muscles rippling under the fur. The rabbit swallowed hard.

“If you give me a good explanation for it, yes,” she said, looking down at him.

He stared at one of her paws, very close to him again now, then back up at her face.

“You’re surely not out here this morning because you want to take pictures of a giant coyote,” she said.

“No…to take pictures of…the sunrise.”

“That’s what I’m out here for, too. To see it.”

“Why…nearly nude?” He smiled a little nervously.

“It’s the way I usually sleep. It’s comfortable.” She tilted her head, and waited for an answer to her question.

“Ah. Well. I just…came across you…and…who could pass up that kind of opportunity?”

“Hmm. So you normally take advantage of sleeping girls?”

The rabbit’s eyes widened, and then he blushed. “No. You’re making me sound like quite a cad.”

She laughed. “I’m trying to see how you’ll react. I half-expected you to start running away the moment I spoke to you.”

Cyril swallowed. “I feared I might come to an abrupt, fatal end if I did that.”

The coyote grinned, leaning toward him. “Well, it’s true you wouldn’t have gotten very far. But I think you should take a few more pictures, hmm?”

Forcing his breathing to stay regular, he nodded, stepping back and lifting the camera.

“Any poses you might particularly like?”

“Uh…I’m a nature photographer by trade, so I’m not used to asking my subjects to strike poses. How about you just do what you think looks good?”

She laughed, then sat up straighter, moving into a kneeling position and facing up the hill. She arched her back, accenting her bustline, and looked down at him, head tilted slightly to the side. It would be a classic “come hither” pose if she was smiling, but she wasn’t—her expression was sharp and challenging. More of a “come hither if you dare” pose.

“Uh…good. Good.” He licked his lips nervously, and took a picture from where he stood, then crouched by one of her paws, taking another, and took a third by her knee, each time focused on up on her face.

She parted her lips slightly and drew her tongue slowly along her teeth. Cyril took three more pictures as she did that, hoping at least one wouldn’t be ruined by his shivering.

“Very n-nice,” he said, taking a few steps back and lowering the camera.

“Do you want sexy? Dangerous? Just relaxed?”

“Maybe…with the sun coming up over your shoulder…” The sun was just over the top of the ridge behind her now, and he moved further back, walking to the side and crouching down slightly.

The coyote girl grinned, a more or less normal pose except for her size.

“How about this?” she said. She leaned forward, placing her palms flat on the ground, and threw her head back…and howled.

Cyril’s ears flattened. The sound wasn’t as deafening as he’d have thought it would be, but it was still like standing a few feet from a speaker at an outdoor concert, and with that pitch the noise would carry for miles. He managed to get a picture in mid-howl, then heard another voice.

A middle-aged fox had just run out of the house—and stopped dead in his tracks, gaping up at the coyote, his terrycloth bathrobe rustling in the morning breeze.

Locking her gaze onto him, the giantess leaned forward, so her nose was nearly directly over the fox’s head. “You don’t mind if we use your house as a backdrop for a few more photos, do you?”

The fox’s tail poofed up visibly, and he stood in place, mouth closing and opening again without producing any noise.

“Hmm?”

After another moment the homeowner cleared his throat in a way which made it sound like his mouth had filled with desert sand. “I…don’t…uh—erk!”

Her hand had closed around him and lifted him up at arm’s length over her head, holding him so his legs were unsupported. She looked up at him while he dangled; Cyril started taking pictures almost as a reflex.

“Let’s be clear on this, Farmboy,” she said, a faint snarl under her voice. “You don’t really have a choice—this is just a polite formality. If you say ‘no,’ I do what I want anyway, except that then I don’t like you. I haven’t had breakfast yet. You want me to like you.”

The fox whined, twisting back and forth in her hand, kicking his legs frantically. “No! I mean yes! Do what you want!”

“That’s not very friendly-sounding. What happened to ‘yes, ma’am?’”

Cyril kept snapping pictures, trying to focus on her sharp-toothed muzzle and the squirming fox.

“Y…yes, ma’am,” the fox said, sounding exactly like Cyril had imagined someone frightened nearly to death but trying to be cordial in spite of it might sound like.

“Thank you.” She smiled, and set him down again on the patio. “You have homeowner’s insurance, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaked. “Can…can I go inside now?”

“Sure.” She grinned, tail swishing. “If I need you I’ll knock on the roof.”

He bolted inside.

“You wouldn’t really have eaten him, would you?” Cyril murmured.

The giantess swiveled her ears, then leaned way over toward him, so her nose came within about three yards. She grinned. “It’d have been quite a shot, hmm? Fox feet kicking frantically as I pulled them into my mouth…not quite as cute as bunny feet would be, I bet, though.”

Cyril swallowed hard, trying to fight the reflex to bolt. “I’d rather not find out. Should I call you ma’am? Mistress? Goddess? Anything’d be quite acceptable.”

She laughed and sat back up, the huge teeth moving away. Cyril started breathing again.

“There’s a definite appeal to those, but I can’t claim divinity, and you’d probably want to think hard about letting me be your mistress.”

“Mmm. My choice in the matter would be, as you said, a polite formality, wouldn’t it?”

She grinned. “I’m not looking for either a rabbit snack or a rabbit pet this morning.”

“What are you looking for, then?”

The coyote stretched her legs out, swinging one over him to place him between her knees. He sat down hard.

“I don’t know,” she said, gazing down at him with a quirked half-smile. “I should be looking for breakfast. And no, you won’t be volunteered.”

The rabbit shivered, then folded his knees up against his chest. He realized he was staring at her chest, and dropped his gaze straight ahead—erk. He closed his eyes. “You won’t be offended if I point out you’re a wild impossibility, will you?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Am I dreaming this?”

“Could be.” She laughed softly. “You won’t know until you wake up.”

He opened his eyes, and let his gaze wander back up to her face, sure he was visibly flushed again by the time he met her eyes.

She grinned again. “Lie down on your back and take another picture or two for your pillow book.”

If he hadn’t been flushed before, that certainly did it. He did as instructed, though.

As he photographed—several times—she stood up, directly over him. Put her hands on her hips. Slid one into the side of her panties. Then slide the panties down, letting them fall right on him.

The rabbit scrambled back, now acutely aware of not just a blush but a raging erection. He whimpered as she crouched down again, slowly.

“Now drop your camera,” she whispered.

“I—I—”

“Not even a polite formality. Drop your pants, too.”

He dropped the camera, and started very awkwardly undoing his pants, feeling like his fingers had become numb. “Am I about to be raped?” he squeaked, voice about an octave higher than he’d expected it to be.

She picked him up in one hand gently, and brought him in front of her muzzle, eyes lingering on his revealed erection. “That depends on whether or not you want me to do something about that, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, eyes so wide it hurt.

The coyote lowered her whisper another register, to a more husky growl. “And do you?”

He nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.

His captor laughed, and opened her mouth slowly in front of him, tongue lazily flicking out between his legs. Then she pushed him forward lightly onto the tongue as it curled, and drew his whole body into her mouth to begin sucking on him.

My God, I’m going to die, he thought, even as the sensations flooded through him in time with the saliva washing over him. She’s just been…play…play…ohh!…playing with her food…rrr…

The pressure around him increased slowly as she held him against her ridged palate, brushing him back and forth over it with her tongue. She swallowed once, twice, a third time, in a quick succession that sent shuddering pulls through his body—and brought him closer and closer, tauntingly, to the back of her throat. And then she tilted her head back—

“No!” he finally screamed.

She swallowed, hard.

His climax came right then, and it felt like his entire body was exploding out, all the sensations around him fading into a wet electric heat.

When the stars cleared from Cyril’s vision, the pressure gone and the air around him suddenly cool, he at first thought he had woken up from a dream-turned-nightmare, his subconscious sparing him before he dreamed being borne down her gullet. As the rest of his sensation returned, though, he realized he was in the giantess’ hand, soaked through with her saliva and panting hoarsely. “Oh…God…”

Her voice came from above him. “It’s far too late to shout ‘no’ when you’re in my mouth,” she said, sounding more amused than ever. “But I told you I wasn’t interested in eating you. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough time to make you return the favor.”

He looked up at her, still breathing too hard to speak, but she read the question in his eyes.

In response, she just looked meaningfully down between her own legs. “Next time I catch you,” she murred.

“N…n…next time?”

She set him down on the adobe’s patio, and put his clothes and camera by him, then stood up, pulling her panties back into place. “You’ll come back looking for me, and eventually you’ll find me.”

“Not if…I know you’re going to…make me a sex toy.”

“You don’t know that,” she said with a smile. “The next time we meet I might be in the mood for a rabbit snack rather than a rabbit toy. But I think you’re too intriguing to eat.”

Cyril rose to a shaky sitting position. “Thank you…I think. I don’t know if we’ll really meet again—”

“We will,” she said. “You’re too intrigued by me for us not to.” She grinned very mischievously. “Even about the sex toy part.”

He swallowed.

“Now,” she said, “I’m going to go off and lie in wait for breakfast.” She stretched, and started to pad off.

“I can’t imagine you can hide very well,” he called, half-grinning.

“Maybe the reason you haven’t met other giant coyotes is because we can hide very well,” she replied without looking back.

By the time he’d dried off passably, using a dirty cleaning rag on the patio, and gotten back into his clothes, she’d long since padded over the hilltop. He raced after her, looking in the direction she’d been travelling.

Nothing. The rocky soil and brittle high desert plants barely showed traces of her walking—flattened sagebrush, yes, but nothing that would suggest many-tonned pawpads had just passed through. She even managed to miss the cacti.

“Damn.” He hastily screwed the telephoto lens on to the camera, and looked through it. She’d headed toward craggier mountains; some of the shadows were suggestive, but only because he was looking for a coyote shape. Hell, he could nearly pick out individual trees, but no giantess.

Then he paused, a shiver running down his spine. He knew the terrain he was looking at—part of the Pacific Crest National Trail. It’d still be pretty active this time of year.

Cyril hurriedly lowered the camera, and high-tailed it back toward where he’d parked his Jeep. He hadn’t gotten the pictures he wanted for his real assignment yet, but he needed a little civilization for the next few days.

Read about Cyril’s later encounter with the mysterious coyote giantess in “Smoke.”