Full moon.
It means savagery. It means surrender. Bright, cold, gleaming impassively over the
blue and sleeping world, it makes the blood turn to freezing silver and then
burning, boiling scarlet, takes away the man and leaves only beast. The flesh disappears under pelt; teeth become
fangs; body becomes something in between that of man and canine, a knot of carnivorous hunger, ravaging, barbaric need.
The big werewolf is hunting alone. He's left his alpha male and his pack behind
him to chase the scent of a female. She
is one like him, one that wears the shape of the she-wolf when the moon sings its seductive song. As the male follows, his
greed intensifies with every breath. The
she-wolf smells of fervor, ripe and excited, like the burning season, like
autumn leaves aflame. Her scent is magnificent—she is in heat.
The scent leads through cool, dark
wilderness, mingling with the earth smells of soil and roots, the sweet scent
of decaying flowers and blooming berries.
The male follows somewhere between the mind of man and wolf: one foot in
front of the other, tracking slowly, crouching to press one hand against the
damp dirt and center his predatory mind on her trail. His breath is a silver fog in the cold night
air. He snorts once, listening.
The ears of a werewolf hear everything. He hears the patient call of night-birds and
the flutter of bat wings in the darkness; he hears the teasing whisper of the
cool breeze through the oak leaves. He
can hear for miles, down the
mountainside, into the canyon and valleys where prey waits, men around
campfires muttering in their low voices.
Any other night he would follow the smell of their bare skin and tear
them asunder with his talons and teeth, devouring them without thought—but
tonight the female is waiting. Her trail leads further up the slope, and her
scent has him transfixed.
He stands again, twitching one large
pointed ear, salivating as he climbs further up and further in.
Urine marks a tree trunk to the side of
the path, acrid and pungent like sour wine.
It gives him cause to hesitate.
There is another male running in this territory, a wolf that is not a
wolf, a man that is not a man. A low
growl catches in the big male's throat and he quickens his pace; already his
prominent cock is erect and provoked—searing awareness floods his muscles and
he picks up into a run.
The female will be his. His will be the shaft
she opens to, his will be the seed
she takes into her in joyous supplication.
Wolves mate for life, but werewolves do
not. Werewolf females allow only the
biggest and strongest specimen to mount and fuck them in their heat, and
werewolf males collect as many females, as many willing cunts, as they can
manage. Sex in werewolf packs is a sign
of nothing less than supremacy and dominance—there is no other goal but to mark
territory, satisfy lust, gratify vice like rutting animals in the wilderness.
The scent of the rival male buzzes in
his head like a fever. The big werewolf
is barely aware his mouth is hanging open, saliva dripping from his fangs as he
pants, running forward, pulled by the luscious promise of the female's hot,
open cunt yielding to him. There are low
creatures in the underbrush, prey animals scattering and fleeing at the sound
of his footfalls as he runs, but he ignores them. The only thought on his mind is of finding
the were-bitch somewhere up ahead. Soon,
though, he is aware of the sounds of a scuffle.
He smells sweat and damp fur, the scent of sharp female arousal. Dropping to all fours he barrels through the
brush, growling with furious determination.
The other male has already beaten
him. On the banks of the river they are
already in flushed coitus: the sleek red female on hands and knees, supplicant
under the frantic pounding of a slim gray creature—a yearling. A damned yearling werewolf from the big male's
own pack.
The snarl that erupts from the older
wolf is like the sound of thunder. The
two creatures glance up suddenly, their eyes full-black with intoxicated lust
until they recognize the intruder, and their faces sour suddenly into shocked
fear. It's enough to make the yearling
hesitate—but then, registering the intent of the bigger male to take the bitch
away from him, the pup snarls in return, firming his grip on her pretty hips
and resuming his thrusts in blatant defiance.
The female is large and savagely
gorgeous. Her red mane is glossy and
fully, tumbling from her pretty head like a royal mantle; the light dusting of
fur along her regal limbs, lost in the primal shape-shift, wears a sheen of
lovely, pungent sweat. She is a wolf
that might be the beta of her own pack, dangerously
vicious and deadly alluring. Her ample
breasts sway as her partner fucks; her tongue lolls out of her mouth in a
taunting smile at the newcomer, showing her teeth in an expression of bliss.
Not
under a simple dog,
the big male rages in his head. She should not be beneath a simple goddamn
dog less than a year into immortality… she should not spread her legs for a
little scrap of shit like that!
With a roar he charges them, driven into a fury by the
smell and sight of the younger werewolf, eager to tear at his throat and belly,
eager to spill blood for the female. The
bitch snaps at him as he gets near but the pup drops back with a whimper of
surprise, his weak cock slipping out of the she-wolf as he falls into a
defensive crouch.
Claws fly for eyes, teeth for flesh as
the bigger male leaps onto the dog. The
little one's hands come up to protect his face and he cringes down, his
cock—still glistening with the wetness of the female's sex—shriveling quickly
in fear. But as the larger wolf knocks
him to the ground the pup falls into a roll, taking the attacker along and
throwing him down on the shore of the river.
Then, to the werewolf's surprise, the pup actually snarls, bearing his
vicious little fangs, and advances to return the attack.
The show is unforgiveable, a posture no
lower member of the pack should ever take
up against an older werewolf. The intoxication of the female's bitter musk is
scrambling the little dog's senses. The
big male lunges to his feet, returning the snarl—they circle, biting,
snapping. They lunge and swipe, claws
tearing through thick fur and drawing blood.
During all this the bitch has
backed away. Out of the corner of his eye
the werewolf can see her crouching down with her tail curled over her naked
cunt, arms shielding her flush breasts and the excited points of her nipples.
The bigger male turns his attention on
her instead of the pup. Lunging, he
topples her to the earth and with a bark of rage she snaps at his face.
The scent of her is hot and feverish,
all over her body. He rubs his face in
it, running his tongue over her velvety flesh, licking up the taste of her
sweet, pungent pheromones. Like heady,
potent drugs they set his brain aflame, make his cock twitch with eager hunger.
The little dog advances, trying to shove
the bigger wolf aside, but a slap of canine talons tears open four wide gashes
on the pup's face and sends him reeling.
As the pup stumbles back the bigger male forces the female to open
herself; pushing aside the brush of her tail he enters her violently, bragging
her wrists as her claws come up to fend him of, pinning her to the ground as he
swiftly drives his cock to the hilt in her, burying himself between her thighs
and running his long, hot tongue over her breasts. Her cunt is already wet and already fouled
with the pup's feeble scent. She snaps
at the big male and he snaps back, fucking her harder. Soon, she yields, a lascivious grin crossing
her face as he fills her with more suitable flesh, a bigger, harder shaft
invading her deepest parts.
There is a snarl in his ear as the pup
attacks him again; the little
creature pounces and topples the bigger werewolf, dragging him away, cock
slipping out of the bitch's warm cunt.
The big male bellows with rage and they fall into a wrestling match,
rolling over and over in the grass until finally the older wolf brings one knee
up to pound the rival dog's gonads.
With a pitiful yelp, the pup goes limp.
The bigger male snaps at him again and
strikes him twice in the stomach with closed fists. Defeated, the little dog can't stop himself
from vomiting in pain, curling into a ball in surrender.
With a low, vicious snarl, the werewolf
climbs to his feet. He looms over the
audacious little whelp. It is the
female's scent: so strong, so intoxicating, so undeniable. That is what has driven this yearling to
offend.
Shrinking under the bigger animals'
glare, the little gray wolf tries to crawl away. If the moon were not full and mercilessly
bright overhead, perhaps the gray fur would have disappeared, the claws
becoming normal human hands. He could
escape some of the pain in the act of shape-shifting back to man's form. But the moon means savagery, surrender: no
one marked as a werewolf can shed the Shape of the Beast when the moon sings
her song.
The bigger male stomps one massive foot
down on the pup's retreating tail.
Another yelp of pain. As the
little creature mewls, the big werewolf jerks at his own still-raging erection,
and in seconds he is coming fiercely on the dog's quivering belly and face.
The scent will serve to mark the pup in
shame. With another snarl the big male
grabs his would-be rival by the hair and forces him to his knees, making him take
cock in mouth to lick it clean. The pup
submits with a little whimper, sucking obediently until the big male is
satisfied. Finally, he shoves the little
yearling away—it is permission to go.
Cringing, the pup crawls away into the
brush.
Finally, the werewolf turns his
attention back to the female. She hasn’t
gotten up.
Falling to hands and knees, he crawls to
meet her where she lies, belly up, searching his face with her glowing, longing
eyes. The scent of her heat, wet and
ready for him, is strong.
Then she wriggles a little in the grass;
her mouth pops open playfully and her long pink tongue lolls out in a
grin. One hand drifts to her own
glistening sex, and she rolls the bead of her clitoris longingly between two
fingers.
He snaps at her; she snaps mischievously
back. It turns into an embrace, his
tongue tangling with hers as he comes into a kneel, taking his cock in one
hand, giving her a little growl of command.
The bitch rolls on her belly and
wriggles closer. Her long tongue
explores the length of his wet, hot shaft and with a look of pleasure, she
inches closer and takes him in her mouth.
Within moments he is stiff again—smooth, mellow bliss ignites in his
loins.
She licks, long, indulgent. Her mouth opens momentarily and she salivates
over his head, playfully running her tongue around the bulging tip before
tracing it down to lav eagerly at his testicles, too.
He pushes her away without warning, but
the meaning is clear enough. The
she-wolf turns and lifts her hindquarters into the air, offering him her open,
reddened cunt. But first he must deal with the last traces of the other
male.
One hand on either curve of her
delicious buttocks, he presses his mouth against the lovely, wet opening. The smell of her is overwhelming, making his
temperature rise and his cock twitch hungrily.
He searches inside of her with his long, flexible tongue, caressing her
every inch and dragging whimpers of delight from her, more than enough to say
she is won over. He tugs at his own cock
eagerly as he licks her clean of every last drop of scent the little pup left
on her body.
With a grunt she wriggles herself away
from his mouth, and he growls at her.
She presents again, inviting him with the musk of her sweet arousal, but
when he leans forward to lick at her she pulls away.
He snarls. Seizing her by the hips he jerks her back
towards him, and with one hand guides
his cock into her wetness, sliding in slowly, letting her feel every solid bit
of his raging erection sinking into her body.
Sounds of pleasure escape her as he
enters. Her muscles squeeze tight around
him. The first hard thrust elicits a
joyous yelp and she presses back, opening more for him, panting in ecstasy and
inviting him to fuck.
The male is urgent, mad with his
hunger. He holds her tight in his hands
and snaps his teeth close to her ear, and she snaps back with an excited,
passionate snarl. The force of his
pounding picks up quickly, and she is dripping with wetness around his mean,
throbbing cock. She squeezes her little
cunt tight around him, moaning and panting with each satisfying thrust of his
hips. The big male feels loins tighten,
hot and stirring with indignant need, a desire to explode deep within her. He could, at any moment: he could release
himself, pumping her full of his semen, filling her until it bursts out around
his still-straining member—but he holds, steadily pounding her but refusing to
finish. She will feel his primal, savage power.
She will howl with madness and beg for him to strike up a crashing
fulfillment throughout her wet, quivering loins.
She bounces against him, and he growls
with pleasure as his member sinks even deeper.
She raises a delighted snarl, bucking eagerly against his hips.
It is coming—he can feel it. His climax will be immense: he can feel the
knot of tension growing deep in his loins, can feel the burning need to fill
her.
The female raises a keening howl as she
reaches her limit, throwing her head back as her body tightens around him,
quaking and quivering. He purposely
withholds his own climax, driving harder and deeper as she yips in glee:
finally, he is unable to deny it anymore—the hot gush of his seed bursts inside
of her, flooding her with his carnal, primal joy.
His howl joins hers, echoing through the
wilderness all around them with savage, enraptured harmony.
The full moon glows with smug, cold
light overhead.
It means savagery.
It means surrender.
~~~
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