Just a foreword: this is meant to be all in good fun and was written as a challenge from the following prompt:
“So what if the human female is a young evangelical woman who works at this museum, and the dinosaur is in fact one of the models, who comes to life at night, and they have a clandestine relationship?”
The sun had nearly set against the pinkish sky and charcoal clouds when Shelly looked out the Creationism Museum window. The outdoor zip line stood erect in a portrait of the setting sun. It had been a long and rigid day, nearly dusk, with every model and décor in its usual place. The Garden of Eden, Adam, and Eve harmoniously nestled with the dinosaurs of times past.
Something’s not quite right, Shelly thought, as she glanced through one of the spectacular exhibitions of the soaring, proud ancestors of the American bald eagle, the original bird of prey, the pterodactyl. A shriek from outside and an empty station where it had ought to have been. No, it couldn’t be, could it? Shelly thought. I must be dreaming.
Shelly walked back to the window. Another shriek from outside and the glimmer of a great, scaly bird standing atop the zip line calling hither, hither. I shouldn’t, she thought, as she eyed the bird through the lulling pink hues of the setting sun.
Her footsteps carried her weightlessly through the museum and out the door towards the zip line. By the time she had gotten to the top of the hill, the bird was gone. She felt weak in the knees from her hazy trek and barely knew how she had gotten there. I guess I can take the zip line back down. I am tired. She thought.
She strapped herself in and took one leap forward off of the ground with her legs spread and feet wailing. Just as she left the ground, another shriek seared from above, and the pterodactyl was soon upon her. First, a chilling finger upon her shoulder, then another upon her neck, slowing time still like ice as she rode the zip line with the bird of prey inching his way around her body.
Shelly tried to make a sound, any sound, but felt the bird’s fingers slowly swipe across her chest, cutting right through the shoulders of her dress. The dress fell, leaving her pale breasts exposed to the cold, rushing night air. Again, she tried to make a sound but her voice was tethered to some inescapable place.
The pterodactyl’s fingers gripped Shelly’s neck gently but securely as he rolled his tongue across the angle of her neck and mouth, sloshing and sucking, sending a jolt of euphoria through Shelly’s spine. The pair continued to drift down the buzzing zip line, the pterodactyl’s lower legs creeping slowly down Shelly’s belly and still sloshing her neck.
We’re going to crash right into the ground! Shelly thought, still in a haze, but conscious of the impending landing at the far end of the zip line. The pterodactyl’s feet began to swipe and tear at Shelly’s waist, tearing bits of cloth from what was left of her dress and panties. Shelly reached to hold the shreds of cloth to her waist, but it was futile. The pterodactyl’s fingers tightened around her neck.
“Hold on” said the pterodactyl as they neared the end of the line. Shelly did not trust the predatory bird with its fingers around her neck and feet clawing at her waist, trying to undress her on the zip line. But would she rather fall, or see what the bird had in mind? She thought. Shelly took a small leap of faith and quickly hugged the pterodactyl before they fell. The bird of prey soared off in a lateral vector and then up into the sky with light flaps of its gliding wings. Shelly’s feet were dangling as she held on for not only her life, but what was becoming some excitement to see where this relic of a scaly bird was taking her. Shelly muscled what momentum she could and swayed to lift herself on to the back of the pterodactyl, but losing the remains of her clothing in the process.
The rushing, cold night air kept Shelly’s bare nipples of her ample, pale breasts erect as the pterodactyl glided in an orbit around the Creationism Museum. Shelly’s sensibly trimmed public hair formed a triangle over her vagina, which was slightly more plump than usual from being confined to the harness and her panties, though such details could not be farther from her spirit.
One window of the museum was still open with its blinds contorting with the wind. Shelly’s eyes were closed and she felt at peace soaring above the ground, the toils of the day a distant memory. No more visitors to guide, no more exhibits to clean, no paperwork to do, everything was behind her and she felt only bliss.
The pterodactyl swooped downward and Shelly hugged him close to duck the edge of the window. They cleared right through and the pterodactyl landed softly the nest exhibit that Shelly had noticed it missing from. As the bird stood up right, Shelly fell backwards right into the soft hay of the nest, calm but full of zesty pleasure.
“Do you know the best part of being a pterodactyl, Shelly?” Asked the scaly bird. “No. Is it that you can fly?” said Shelly. “Close, but not quite.” The bird stepped closer to Shelly so that he stood directly over her. He removed his stylish, Mesozoic loin cloth to reveal, to Shelly’s delight, a biblically correct, throbbing, dino-cock. The pterodactyl raised its wings and shrieked with its cock erect. Startled briefly but not taken aback, Shelly pounced upon the dino-cock eagerly. She twisted it gently with both hands and swathed the tip with her tongue.
After a few minutes, the pterodactyl shrieked again and flapped its wings once to send a rush of wind that pushed Shelly back upon the nest of soft leaves and straw. The pterodactyl opened its mouth to boast a long and agile serpent’s tongue, pronged at the tip. Shelly’s still-plump and tender vagina pulsated with a volcanic energy as the pterodactyl stepped close and began to massage and mop and lather her clitoris with the ferocious cooperation of each prong of his tongue.
Shelly moaned with a sordidly high pitch that she had no control over. The pterodactyl’s tongue was too intense. She pulled him close and said “Fuck me like a dinosaur.” For what seemed like half an hour but was really three hours, the pterodactyl and Shelly romped like missionaries, like the dogs of missionaries, the cattlemen and women of missionaries, and all those that came before them. Just as the sun had begun to rise new, the pterodactyl shot his dinosaur-load in line after line across Shelly’s abdomen and breasts. Shelly closed her eyes and arched her back in embrace of the dino-spunk and in her satiated blur of consciousness opened her eyes to find the bird of prey gone and as extinct as ever. She went to get a mop to clean up all of the mess, humming a sweet song all the while.