This story was a little different for me. It's shorter and lighter
than my average stories, but I liked the imagery, and the characters
that inhabit this domain. I hope that you will enjoy it, too.

My proofreader appears to have disappeared. Sometimes these
things happen. 

I was going to release the story caveat emptor, but our friend 
Denny stepped in to fill the gap, and I really appreciate his 
work and dedication to the group. I know that his help improved 
the rough draft of this story, and it is better because of him. 
However, any blame for mistakes must ultimate rest on my shoulders, 
not his.

A word of warning. With all due respect to Uther, I include some
generic story codes for those of you that like to filter. For the
most part they are accurate, and will give you the gist of the
content. However, they are limited, and you may find things included
in my stories that don't quite mesh with the codes. C'est la vie.
Sometimes story codes can ruin a storyline, and as such, sometimes I
choose to limit how much I give away before you even read the story.
Besides, you all know how I write by now, don't you?

As always, this story contains erotic imagery. If you can't handle
that, or are a minor as deemed by your locality, then go away. What
the heck were you thinking? Also, I believe that we, as humans, are
blessed with an imagination. If you absolutely require meticulous
descriptions of slippery hydraulics (we all know how it works, don't
we?), then you might want to skip on by, too. I simply don't write
that way. I really don't have to hold your hand with this, do I?

This piece of writing is copyrighted by Crimson Dragon. Please freely
enjoy the musings herein, but, please ask permission from me if you
would like to use it in any other capacity. This includes reposts, or
redistribution, beyond my initial offering through my websites and
Usenet. To be clear, this prohibits any inclusion into any archives,
mailing lists, or publicly accessible collections without written
consent from the author. I'm easy to contact.

Any comments, praise or derision, may be directed to
dcrimson@yahoo.com. I respond to nearly all correspondance except for
spam.

Now, if you're still with me, then onwards to the story.

- Crimson

/~Crimson_Dragon
http://members.tripod.com/~Dragon_Of_Crimson


========================================================================

                    Coyotes Never Die 

               [MF, group, cons, rom, oral]

========================================================================

       (c) May 2001 - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

                    All Rights Reserved

========================================================================

"... and within the currently negative economic climate, our outlying
branches will be forced to aggressively upscale their production
while downscaling expenditures. These graphs will show the revenue
percentiles for each of our twelve hundred and eighty-six
subsidiaries ..."

The atmosphere in the room was dry and cool. Light filtered lazily from
overhead fluorescent fixtures interspersed with harsh halogen spotlights.
Not a single window graced the drab four walls.

Erin stifled a yawn with the back of her hand, settling back to her
original pose, elbows resting on the table, chin cupped in her
upturned palms. Her eyelids threatened to close, but she forced them
open with an effort, shifting her weight and re-crossing her legs. 
The monotone from the suit standing at the front of the long 
conference table droned on. And on.

                        <---===***===--->

In a scene that would have impressed even the Coyote, an old
blacksmith's anvil dropped from the ceiling, smashing through the
fluorescents, and landed squarely on monotone man's head with
a sickening crunch.

Erin blinked and then gasped as the room fell eerily silent.

Near the head of the table, the only other woman in the room, a
vice-president, leaned over the edge of the table where the stricken
speaker had fallen. Recently promoted, young, dynamic, daring, and 
blonde, the VP had an exotic name that Erin failed to recall from
her earlier introduction. As the well-dressed girl straightened from
inspecting the carnage, her lips set in an easy smile, she spoke to
the quiet room.

"Hi-ho, the windbag's dead," she giggled.

Erin shook her head, brunette hair dragging across her designer
jacket. She blinked, but the vice-president and the remainder of the
table didn't disappear or change their expressions of relief.

The vice-president slowly stood, her hands planted on the gleaming
mahogany of the tabletop. She smiled at Erin.

"With the windbag finished, maybe we should start ..."

The woman began to unbutton her dark grey jacket.

"Sh-shouldn't we ... call 911?" Erin stammered. Why wasn't anyone
else pulling out their ever-present cellphones and dialling? Why
wasn't anybody performing first aid?

The vice-president slowly shook her head as the jacket dropped
crumpled to the floor.

Erin began to rise out of her chair, only to drop back with the
gentle touch of the man beside her. Johnson, wasn't it?

Without moving, Erin watched as the tall, blonde, poised woman 
continued her striptease, slowly removing her clothing until she 
stood bare at the head of the table. Without fanfare, the VP climbed 
up onto the table and stood easily there, hands on her bare hips, 
high heels planted amongst the former speaker's notes. The other 
ten executives in the room were all male; all eyes, including Erin's, 
remained glued to the nude vice-president atop the table.

"Erin?" the woman spoke, her voice husky and low.

Erin couldn't find her voice, no matter how much she wanted to scream
or move. Some higher force kept her quagmired in molasses.

The sultry voice continued. "Care to join me?"

Erin shook her head savagely. Suddenly, she became aware of all the
eyes in the room resting on her. Pushing herself back into her plush
leather seat, she tried desperately to control the flush that she
knew was rising into her features. Her breasts rose and fell under
her blouse and jacket with the increased tempo of her breathing.

"Feel free to join in," the girl standing on the table said with a
smile. With that, she heeled off the fashion footwear, leaving herself
barefoot.

Slowly, she dropped to her knees, crawling through the paper on the
table-top, her knees pushing the useless statistics to flutter
towards the floor.

The naked girl kissed the executive who had been seated across
from her. The man hesitated only a moment before responding, kissing
the lady enthusiastically, his hands rising to her pert breasts.

                         <---===***===--->

Erin's breathing had increased, her body clamouring insistently.

The vice-president lay on her back at the head of the table, legs
spread wide, her lips parted in a moan of ecstasy. Men in various
states of undress pawed at the naked woman as she squirmed on the
table. One executive, Johnson perhaps, had his head buried between
the woman's thighs.

Gently, the woman extracted herself from the men, rising to her
knees. She looked back at Erin, still rooted to her chair.

"You're missing all the fun."

Erin shook her head again, found her voice.

"There's a dead man up there."

Such a comment should have torpedoed any party. But like everything
about this strange experience, the girl failed to lose her easy
demeanour.

The naked vice-president cocked her head to the side, absently 
brushing away the latest penis to be offered her way.

"Erin, deary, when did the Coyote ever die?"

That didn't make any sense. Erin, in a flash of anger, stood and
stalked through the orgy until she stood at the head of the table.
The men parted for her passage, like the sea before Moses.
Nobody blocked her; nobody tried to touch her. She stared at
the floor. No monotone man. No gruesome, head-caved-in, boring
executive. The anvil lay harmlessly on its side; the man's pointer
lay broken beside it.

"When? How?"

The lack of a stricken victim seemed to release her sexuality,
previously reined in by confused distress. Her breathing came in
short bursts; her nipples cried out for a touch, any touch. She could
feel her excitement rising as if she weren't in control of herself
any longer.

"See?" the vice-president cooed from her position in the middle of
the table.

The girl sank to her hands and knees and crawled up the table while
the males watched her without interfering. What was her name? 
Something starting with an 'L'?

As the crawling girl reached the edge of the table, she again rose up
on her knees, her eyes level with Erin's. Her fingers reached towards
the designer jacket, slipping through Erin's hair on their path to
Erin's buttons.

Christ, she shouldn't be doing this. Not here. Erin's fingers 
refused to brush away the naked woman and her jacket fell to the
floor without a protest.

"Coyotes never die," the woman whispered.

The soft touch of the girl's lips sent electric shivers pulsing
through Erin's body, finally converging in the small bundle of nerves
hidden between her legs.

Christ, she shouldn't be doing this.

She moaned, as her fingers reached for Johnson's erection, and the
naked woman still kneeling on the table let her tongue travel down 
Erin's soft throat to slowly circle her left nipple.

                         <---===***===--->

"Erin?"

The electric pulses fired through her nerves. Johnson's penis
remained hard and yet soft at the same time. She wanted to touch it,
stroke it. With her tongue.

"Erin?"

She wanted to drop to her knees, let them all touch her, satisfy her. She
needed ...

"Erin?"

... she needed that annoying voice to stop interrupting her enjoyment of ...

"Erin? Are you all right?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she offered a small scream to the
boardroom. Her face flushed automatically as she glanced around at
the twelve pairs of eyes glued to her. She cringed back into the
chair. The vice-president, fully clothed and as professional as she
always was, wore a concerned look on her face.

"Are you all right?" she repeated.

Erin swallowed, the daydream vanished, but her body still insistently
complaining. Unaware of the rude transition from fantasy to reality,
her body desperately wanted to be touched. No amount of mental
coaxing was going to convince her clitoris of the difference between
this dull boardroom and her daydreamed orgy room.

The monotone windbag had ceased presenting, his restored pointer aimed 
towards graph three-hundred and forty-two.

"I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"You looked flushed, dear. Are you sick?"

Erin glanced around at the eyes. Could they see her arousal, her nipples
like diamonds beneath her jacket? Could they see what had transpired 
in her mind? Had she uttered anything incriminating?

Erin nodded. Suddenly, her stomach performed a few cartwheels.
Her nipples and her clitoris steadfastly refused to abate their 
insistent throbbing.

"I ... I think I need some air."

The vice-president nodded and leaned back in the chair.

"It is warm in here," she remarked.

Erin began to gather some of her notes into her briefcase.

"Erin?"

Erin looked up, not having to feign being unsettled.

"What does 'coyotes never die' mean?"

"I think I really need some air."

The woman nodded, turning back towards the monotone speaker, who
continued, presumably where he'd left off at Erin's interruption.

Quietly, Erin slipped out through the double oaken exit doors. The
vice-president gave her a reassuring smile. "I hope you feel better,"
she whispered as the heavy doors closed behind Erin.

Erin leaned against the doors, her head tilted back until the pulse
beating in her temples began to lower into a reasonable range. After 
a few minutes, she began to walk slowly towards the elevator.

Along the route to the elevator, she dipped her head into a water
fountain, drinking greedily. After her throat was satisfied, the
shakes receded from her body, and she glanced back towards the
boardroom. The image of the female vice-president kneeling naked on
the table returned full-force. Erin's swollen nipples and clitoris
began to ring their resounding bells again.

She glanced towards the elevators. They descended all the way to the
parking garage. Her eyes returned to the heavy oak doors of the
boardroom. They beckoned. One thousand, two hundred and eighty-six
subsidiaries?

After a moment, she made up her mind.

Under the gentle pressure of her index finger, the small down arrow 
lit up like a turn indicator, but pointing ninety degrees in the 
wrong direction.

                         <---===***===--->

The warm desert air whipped through her hair like a tornado. A
compiled eighties compact disc competed with the rush of the wind to
exhilarate her ears. The '67 Mustang convertible hummed across the
blacktop, her hands nearly effortlessly guiding the tuned machine, and
her destiny, along the dead-straight road. The blacktop almost seemed to
extend forever through the sand dunes and cacti, only the occasional 
transport thundering by her with a rush of wind to keep her company.

Her thoughts turned to the stuffy boardroom in the hotel. A three day
conference? Ending with mindless statistics? God! He was probably
still prattling on. No wonder she conjured up some fantasy.
She felt sorry for the executives still stuck in the windowless 
room. But enough of that, she was free.

She laughed. A plane, while faster, could never replace this: the
wind ruffling her, the open desert air.

It would be hours before she arrived, but it was worth it. He would
be waiting for her.

The jacket had long since left her shoulders, fluttering in the wind
trapped in the back seat. Her shoes hadn't taken long to join them.
Driving barefoot? Wasn't that illegal?

She didn't care, and after the daydream, she wanted desperately to
remove the rest of her clothing, tossing her modesty and inhibitions
carelessly into the wind.

Erin resisted that urge with a pang of regret. While she probably
wouldn't get arrested for driving barefoot, she might for driving
naked. Her nipples voiced their approval for the thought, though, and
she forced her fingers from rising to caress her breast through her
blouse.

No. Time for that later. Drive, m'lady. Drive.

The wind caressed her as the car rushed on through the warm
afternoon.

                         <---===***===--->

The warmth began to seep from the air as soon as the fiery ball in
the sky kissed the horizon. Off to her right, a small pack of
dog-like creatures loped through the desert under the dying light.

Traffic was sparse here, but she no longer cared if a trucker
received a cheap thrill, and she had no fear of coyotes.

Her blouse, skirt and underwear lay neatly in the otherwise empty
passenger seat. Her body had throbbed, mostly in anticipation, as she had
removed her clothing while the Mustang idled at the side of the road. 
Stripping while behind the steering wheel had been a challenge, but
the urge had been irresistible, like a tsunami.

Her body was going to have to suffer. While she knew her fingers were 
more than capable of easing her body's frustrations, she needed to
hold off sweet release. He would be waiting for her.

The leather of the seats felt strange to her bare skin. She loved the
car, but surprisingly had never made love in it, so the seats were
virgin against her skin. She cherished the softness of the leather for a
moment.

A transport loomed large, like a lumbering dragon, in her side mirror. 
She unconsciouly covered her breasts with her arm until she realised 
that such false modesty wasn't necessary in the middle of the desert. 
Coming from behind, the trucker was unlikely to see her charms anyway.

After the transport passed with a roar of engine and dust, she opened
her door. The gravel and sand of the shoulder soaked residual heat
into the soles of her feet.

The tick of the engine merged with the hum of the dusk insects. She
touched the hood of the Mustang. It was warm, but not hot enough to
burn.

Her lips set in a smile, she crawled slowly to the centre of the hood,
settling down cross-legged facing the horizon. Residual engine heat
suffused her through her bare skin. She sighed.

Her pose reminded her of the naked vice-president perched on red
mahogany, beckoning, and the image brought a broad smile to her lips. 
Someday, she'd have to remember the name of that lady, though telling 
her about the daydream might be too much.

Her palms upturned on her knees, she settled her eyes towards the
setting sun. The last rays of the dying afternoon sun warmed her
chest as purple and crimson kissed the bottoms of the cirrus clouds
high above.

Another transport, rushing in the opposite direction, broke the
silence with a quick touch of its horn. Erin waved, but didn't allow
her eyes to leave the sunset painted before her.

"I'm on my way," she whispered.

                         <---===***===--->

The Mustang sat cooling in the driveway, its engine finally
resting, ticking into the cooler night air.

Erin stood barefoot on the wooden porch, staring at the door. Within,
she could hear the faint sounds of a sitcom, and she could see the
bluish flickering of the television against the sheer drapes. Her
shoes dangled from her fingers, and her jacket draped over her
opposite shoulder.

Dusty and tired, she sighed. She needed a shower, but not yet.

He wasn't expecting her so soon, should be delighted to see her.
Probably wasn't expecting her home with only one thing on her mind,
either.

She grinned. Maybe she would strip out of her clothes right here,
right now. Enter naked.

She glanced right and left. No sign of neighbours, but that didn't
mean anything. Time enough to strip down. She'd waited this long.

The door opened to her fingers, easily, the familiar touch of the front
door ceramic cool against her bare feet.

"Honey, I'm home ..." she called.

His voice echoed from around the archway, distracted by M*A*S*H or
some other classic show. He rarely watched the drivel that passed for
television produced today.

"You're home early."

She placed her shoes gently on the ceramic by the closet.
Her fingers finally unbuttoned her blouse, began to push her skirt
from her hips. Her underclothing remained in the Mustang, long
discarded with the departure of the afternoon. After her remaining 
clothes littered the hallway at her feet, she stepped lightly towards 
the television room.

He sat in a chair, faced away from her, eyes glued to the flickering
screen. He didn't turn as she leaned easily against the entranceway,
but he sensed her presence.

"I missed you. Did you have a good trip?" he asked.

Her nipples transformed to diamonds, erect and tough enough to scratch
glass. She ran her finger over her right nipple and shivered -- not
hard, but soft and aching.

"Awful trip. Except for one vision and the car ride."

"I was waiting for you to have dinner. Do you want to order in?
Pizza?"

"Later."

Erin entered the room, her bare feet silent on the flooring. She
slipped around his chair, settling at his feet, her hands clasped
over his jeans.

When his eyes finally fell to her, they opened wide.

"Oh," he exclaimed quite unnecessarily. After recovering, he stroked
her hair. "You're home early."

"Not early enough."

"You didn't speed to get home, did you? It's a long trip, nine hours,
isn't it?"

"Seven and fourteen minutes. And that's with a stop to watch the
sunset." She paused for a moment. "Naked."

His eyebrows raised. "You know that driving that fast is dangerous,
don't you?"

She shook her head, fingers reaching for the button on his jeans.

"Coyotes never die," she whispered.

Rising up on her knees, she leaned forward, her bare body rubbing
against his clothing. The television winked off as she kissed him.
She shivered as their lips touched, her body aching and insistent.

"Oh God," she moaned as his fingertips found her nipples. Her fingers
burrowed into his shirt, stroking gently at the skin there.

                         <---===***===--->

This long road, unlike the endlessly straight blacktop under the Mustang, 
wound lazily through the scenery, and she travelled it with pleasure.

At her destination, his tongue gently toyed with her, his fingers
entering her seductively.

Her first cry of release brought a smile to his lips, and tears to
her eyes.

                         <---===***===--->

After her third climax in as many hours, Erin lay panting, exhausted
but satisfied.

"Latrans," Erin whispered. Her breasts rose and fell as she struggled
for breath.

"La who?"

"It's her name. Latrans. Exotic, isn't it?"

He shook his head slowly as if the female of the species would always
exist to confuse him. Resigned, he sighed gently with a shrug of his
bare shoulders.

Erin smiled as his fingers again found her bare skin, caressing
gently. She groaned softly.

"What?" he whispered.

"Coyotes never die. But ... mmmmmmmm ... the road ... runner ...
usually ... gets ... ahhh ... what she needs ..."