Cryptid Cravings

By Foxxi Smolder

From tall tales told around a campfire to conspiracy theories floating around the web, cryptids have a way of capturing people's interest. And fascination is only one step away from desire, as the protagonists of this collection are soon to find out! Bigfoot, reptilians, and the Goatman each make an appearance in this thrilling compilation of cryptid-themed erotica, which blends both horror and romance alike. From a curious photographer with a fetish for big feet (and Bigfeet) to the intrepid reporter who learns her boss may be hiding scales - and a taste for sexual energy - under her crisp Armani suits, you'll find that cryptid porn will frighten and arouse you (sometimes both at once)! Read on for three stories of cryptids and the ones who love them, including foot fetishism, outdoors sex, hypnosis, girl-on-girl, shapeshifting, and monster dongs you won't forget! Over 20,000 words of creepy cryptid tales that will make your toes curl. Mature readers only.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foxxi Smolder
• Release date: Oct 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463042021

Foxxi Smolder

Confirmed bacheloress by day and scribbler of indecent material by night, Foxxi Smolder has been writing sweet, smutty short stories since 2015. She is dedicated to bringing her readers works that embrace kink without sacrificing sex positivity or a sense of humor. When not writing, she enjoys tending her rose garden, doing Tarot readings for her cats, and adding to her collection of fainting couches.

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Cryptid Cravings

© 2019 Foxxi Smolder

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cryptid Cravings

By Foxxi Smolder

This compilation collects the following previously published works:

Big Big Love: Clinton Campbell isn't really that interested in Bigfoot - he just joined the hunting lodge to make friends, maybe take a few photos. But when he's left behind by his fellow hunters and accidentally stumbles upon the Sasquatch himself, he'll find out just how friendly the hairy, gargantuan cryptid can be! To Clinton's surprise, Bigfoot isn't as scary as the legends make him out to be. In fact, he's a gentle giant named Chiye, and he's happy to let Clinton get close to him... very close indeed. Now Clinton has a chance to study the cryptid in the flesh, and see if the old adage about men with big feet is true! Sweaty Sasquatch smut.

Reptilian Rapture: Carmen loves her job as a reporter at the Metro Gazette, a prestigious publication run by the iron fist of editor Veronica Lennox. But when she starts to suspect that her boss may be hiding an alien identity, Carmen might find she's sitting on the scoop of the century - if she can escape Veronica's lustful clutches first! It all starts with an innocent piece on conspiracy theories that Carmen pitches to Veronica, but her boss's reaction to the word reptilian arouses her suspicions. Supposedly, reptilians can disguise themselves as humans and use hypnotic suggestion to sway their victims. A reporter like Carmen can't pass up the chance to investigate, but if her theory is true, she might be in some very sexy trouble with her very scaly boss! Steamy, scaly, girl-on-girl smut.

The Goatman Cometh: Naive Anna Kingsley leaves college and enters the wild when she decides to hike the rocky trail of the state park. But what horrors are lurking in these woods, she has no idea... and what they can do to her, she's about to find out! The Goatman is known and feared across America for his eerie ability to change shape and mimic voices. He isn't as notorious for his passionate, animal lovemaking, but after Anna's trip off the beaten path, that might be about to change! Erotic horror featuring dirty, scary cryptid smut.

Big Big Love

The firs of the Pacific Northwest were called grand for a reason: they towered over huge swathes of land like benevolent lords, deigning to scatter largesse to their subjects below all year round. Squirrels made their homes in the lower branches, elk fed on their dry pine needles and young seedlings, and bears sharpened their claws against their bark. Right now, a youngish human was bracing himself against just this type of fir trunk, using it as support while he tried to remove the lens cap from his camera one-handed. He succeeded, only to have it drop to the ground and go rolling; he spent another five minutes looking for it amidst the dead leaves and other debris on the forest floor, squinting through thin wire-rimmed glasses as he did so.

The human's name was Clinton Campbell, and it was clear he didn't belong in the forest. Clinton didn't belong much of anywhere, really - he was habitually uncomfortable, tended to walk around looking hunched and hunted as if someone, at any moment, was about to throw a wadded-up paper ball at him. This was a strange look for him, since appearance-wise nothing about Clinton was particularly objectionable. Quite the opposite: he was slender but not stick-thin, showing well-proportioned arms and lightly muscled chest, his face was clean-shaven and his hair tousled but not greasy or over-styled. Even with the glasses, he could easily be compared to a young Ryan Phillipe by a kindly observer. 

But therein lay the problem: Clinton hated to be observed, and the people who did so anyway were, in his experience, usually less than kind.

Take that hunter, for example. When Clinton had shown up at the lodge in his simple white shirt and khaki shorts, the first thing that the burly, lumberjack-looking fellow in the center of the room had done was yell, Hey! Look at the boy scout! and point directly at him. The comment drew gales of laughter from the men who had taken up all available space in the common room, all lumberjack types themselves. It was almost enough for Clinton to turn around and leave right then and there, but he forced himself to stand fast, and even walk into the lodge towards the reception desk. The pretty young thing at the counter checked him in with a smile, but his voice never rose above a mutter and he didn't look her in the eye.

Because he had the worst luck, Clinton and the lumberjacks were at the lodge for the exact same reason, which meant he had to endure their presence for the whole 3-day weekend. The one who'd yelled at him introduced himself as Dirk Grassley, head hunter and the organizer of this little event. He called everyone in the common room to circle up, and once the others had gathered together - Clinton trailing forlornly off to the side - he began what was obviously a rehearsed speech. During it he variously thumped his chest, spread his hands and gestured with them, narrowed his eyes, and at one point even clapped the man next to him on the shoulder with a force that made Clinton wince. The speech itself was full of boasting and bloviating and banality, but the gist of it (as far as Clinton could discern) was this: We are men! We are hunters! We are hunting Bigfoot!

On the first two Clinton was inclined to waver - whatever Dirk meant by man and hunter, he didn't want to have even that much in common with him. But the last point was a certainty. Clinton had come here to hunt Bigfoot, to find him, and to capture him.

On my camera, of course, he explained to one of the bearded, burly, utility-vest-and-flannel-wearing men who had been hiking somewhat alongside him. I'm a bit of a photography aficionado, you see, and-- 

The hunter waved him off with a scoff and trudged faster, leaving Clinton by himself on the