Full Moon Blues

Ingredients list (mild spoilers):

2 cups cis-female werewolf / cis-male human sex

1 cup nostalgia and sadness

1/2 cup body transformation

2 Tbsp sad hipster music

1 pinch of mild blood

Thanks to

Privates1stClass

and

Rob_Royale

for beta-reading! Thanks to

Brandnewbuddy

for the post on the Literotica Story Ideas forum that inspired me to write this!

The last gloaming light turns from blue, to amber, to peach, to purple, back to blue again, deeper, darker, and finally black. You can't see many stars here, too much light pollution. But I know they're up there, far above both our skies.

The Moon is out, swollen and full, pale, bright enough to overpower the lights of streets and traffic and office buildings. I moved here for education, for work, for culture, opportunity. I left you behind. You didn't want to move, didn't want to change, content with the life we had in that dying town, empty main street, overgrown baseball field. I left, you stayed, the Moon shines over both of us.

I slip out into the hallway of my apartment, down the back stairwell, out into the alley. Wearing only a robe, barefoot, the soles of my feet soon filthy from the dusty stairs.

I change. My arms lengthen and stretch, shoulder muscles bunch and knot and shift. I untie the robe before my fingers turn to claws and become too clumsy, letting it fall in a soft pile on the ground.

I shiver in the cold air, goosebumps prickling on my arms and shoulders at the sudden exposure, nipples hardening, areolas crinkling. My breasts swell and expand, and I gasp and grab them with my paws, squeezing them pleasurably. A second pair of dark nipples erupts from my stomach below my normal human pair, growing to a petite half-handful, followed by a third pair of smaller, tender buds.

You used to love my breasts when I was human, used to sneak up behind me and cup them in your strong hands, towering over me, breathing on my neck. You used to love them on the Moon night too, running your hands up and down my flanks, feeling each in turn, nipping at them with your teeth and making me growl.

My short brown hair lengthens, coarsens, turning into a shaggy mane, expanding down my muscular back and spreading across my body, soon covering me head to toe in a thick dark fur. The soles of my feet stretch and shift until I'm standing on thick-padded clawed toes, digitigrade.

I feel my soft palate stretch uncomfortably as my nose and lips and mouth grow into a muzzle, my teeth pushing out of my gums, growing into razor sharp fangs. I lick my canines, feeling their points with my long thick tongue

The worst part of the change is always the tail. I wince as I feel my vestigial human tailbone uncurling from in-between my hips, erupting through the skin above the cleft of my round bottom, growing and thickening, filling out with fur and muscle.

I lift my snout to the air and breathe deeply, the smells of human civilization make my nose wrinkle in disgust.

Shit and piss and greywater from the sewage pipes, endlessly flowing like a rotten aquifer below the street. Diesel exhaust and tire rubber from the street one block over. Trash and food waste and fryer oil from the dumpster behind the bar two blocks away. Ozone and printer ink from the office complex three blocks away.

But faintly intertwined, a current of air trickling in from miles away. Sage and grass and earth.

I drop to all fours and stretch, downward-dog style. I start running. A slow steady loping gait on two legs as I slip from dark alley to dark alley, making no sound, easily avoiding people and cars, sensing them by sound and smell long before they can see me.

Soon enough I'm at the edge of the city, the flotsam zone of industrial parks and storage centers, empty lots and freight yards. Then I'm beyond the city lights, in the scrub land where the suburbs haven't yet expanded to fill. I drop down to all fours and pick up speed, claws finding easy purchase in the dry soil, faster and faster until I'm a dark blur on the landscape.

At first I just enjoy the breeze on my fur, the silence of the plains, the clean natural smells filling my big canine nasal cavity. I don't need to think about the first draft of the brief I need to finish tomorrow morning, the partner meeting that I'm presenting in front of, the bag I need to take the laundromat. I empty my mind and run.

I feel my heat growing gradually in my dark, feral cunt, nestled in a thick scruff of fur, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I have a gnawing hunger, not to eat, but to be filled.

I dimly realize what's happening, what direction I'm heading, only now aware of my instinctive course and destination. I should turn, following the North Star into the mountains. Spend the night hunting deer, smelling pine, tasting blood, the way I usually do on my Moon nights.

But I keep on my current path, running hard, breathing heavy, following an invisible trail back to our hometown. Back to the cracked asphalt of your cul-de-sac with the flickery buzzy street lights. Back to your little house with the peeling paint and the broken garage door. Back to you.

I have so many miles to think about why this is a bad idea, to change my mind, go anywhere else. But I don't. I just run.

I smell your scent from blocks away. Your soap, your aftershave, the unnatural chemical smells that humans cover themselves in. But underneath that your breath, still smelling faintly of the fussy pour over coffee you make for yourself every morning. Your sweat from the bike ride you take after work when the weather is nice.

Your primal masculine musk, barely noticeable to human noses, but powerful and delicious to me, washing over my tongue and snout, sending electricity directly to my cunt, flooding it with arousal and need. I shouldn't be here.

I approach your house from the dry creek bed that runs behind your yard. The light in your kitchen is on, and I see the shadow of your form pass over the window as you move to your living room. I plod slowly to your back door, as if I'm stalking a prey animal. I sniff, whine, scratch at the rusty screen door, then step back into the shadows and sit on my haunches like a dog, waiting.

I could rip the door off its hinges if I wanted, but I'm not here to fight.

I broke one of your coffee mugs once, and felt terrible about it for weeks. I was venting about my shitty job at the Kmart, my sexist manager. You tried to cheer me up by saying he'd retire in a few years, nobody else in town knew the job as well as me, I'd be first in line to take his job.

I didn't want to be the manager at Kmart. I wanted to leave town, go to college, start a real career. I wanted to see people that I didn't see every Goddamn day. I wanted to be in a crowd where nobody knew my name, knew me from high school, knew me from the embarrassing community Easter play when I was seven.

You didn't understand, you loved our town. The narrow street where we would cruise up and down on Friday nights, stopping at the Penguin Drive-Thru at the end of the drag to buy cokes and bullshit with friends in the parking lot. The Fourth of July "parade," where the farmers would put garland on their tractors and drive them through town square, tossing handfuls of Tootsie Rolls out their cabs at the kids. Knowing everyone's name, everyone's lives, everyone's quiet little dramas.

I got mad, said I felt trapped, threw your mug across the room and watched it shatter against the wall in your kitchen. I cried, apologized. You hugged me, said I didn't have anything to apologize for, stroked my hair. It was longer back then, I wore it in a country girl braid.

You walk up to the door, open it a crack, peer out into the darkness of your yard.

"Hello, somebody out there?" You ask.

I wuff softly, trying not to startle you. It doesn't work.

"Jesus fuck!" You almost fall down the three concrete stairs, barely catch yourself on the railing. "...Oh my God, June? Is that you? Shit, it's the full Moon. Get in here before someone sees you! George is probably still up next door, he'll think you're a coyote and shoot you."

I stand up on my hind legs and follow you inside, ducking through the door, half a head taller than you. You take one last searching look outside, then close the door and lock it.

Your house hasn't changed much. Same shitty kitchen with the olive green fridge. Same splintered wood floor that still needs to be refinished. Your stupid cobbled-together pawn shop sound system is still propped up on cinder blocks and two-by-fours. You've got a Magnolia Electric Co. record playing. "

It broke my heart to leave the city,

" the singer croons. "

I mean, it broke what wasn't broke in there already.

"

"Junebug... What are you doing here? We haven't talked in what, two years? Haven't seen each other in-person in... three years? Four? And you show up at my house in the middle of the night, no warning, no text, wolfed out?"

I make a close approximation of a shrug, letting my tongue hang out, lolling to one side, trying to smile. Even if I had vocal cords and could speak, I wouldn't know how to answer you. Two years and five months. I called you when your mom died, we talked on the phone for hours. But I didn't come back for the funeral. Couldn't face you, couldn't handle seeing your family or mine.

You're wearing an old raggedy T-shirt with our stupid high school mascot on it. A beaver with a hard hat on, go Busy Beavers! The shirt is too tight for you, you've been developing a little bit of a belly since the pandemic. But your shoulders are still wide and strong, biceps still powerful from lifting tires in the shop, your forearms still veiny and well-defined. You're wearing a pair of thin grey sweatpants, the kind that shows a little hint of the outline of your dick when you move. I always loved you in sweatpants.

I approach you slowly, put my claws on your hips, careful not to scratch you. "What... Uh..." I push you down onto your janky fourth-hand couch, the one we made love on, cuddled and watched movies on, fell asleep on. I always hated your couch.

I stand over you, gazing intently, expectantly. You look up at me, let your eyes wander over my body. My six tits, firm and full and perky in this form. My long muscular torso. My cunt at eye level with you, the fur covering it soaked and matted with need, hot enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from it.

"June..." You breathe. I can hear your heart beating faster. I can see your cock rising in your sweatpants.

You accepted it so easily, when I shared my secret with you. Your girlfriend was a fucking werewolf! So what? You loved me, you weren't scared of me, you'd never tell anyone. You didn't see a curse, you saw the girl you fell in love with. Just being supportive at first, driving out into the woods to make a fire and camp out while I went roaming and hunting, ready with fresh clothes when I came back to my senses and stumbled out of the tree line. Eventually I let you be with me while I was in my beastly form. Eventually we made love while I was a monster. You got off on it, I think. The strangeness, the exoticism, the thrill of it.

I grasp the legs of your sweatpants and pull at them roughly, sliding them down your legs and letting your big, thick cock spring free. I lick my lips and snarl. I climb on top of you, straddling you with my long lithe legs, your cock standing at attention in-between us.

"I don't... I'm not... Fuck. Fuck it."

You reach for my waist, tracing your fingers up my flank to my smallest row of tits, gently rubbing the palms of your hands over their small, sensitive buds. Then sliding up to the next row, the half-handful that you nicknamed my "High School Pair," grabbing them with your strong callused hands, sinking your fingers into my fur, into my dark grey flesh. You pinch my puffy nipples and tug at them, knowing that I like it rough in this form.

It's hard to kiss a werewolf, so we make due with our mouths in other ways.

I nuzzle your neck and the sharp line of your jaw, licking at your stubble, nipping at your pale skin, careful not to draw blood. You bring your face to my chest, nuzzling the fur out of the way with your nose, latching onto a thick dark nipple of my largest row of breasts, biting down hard and making me whine like a bitch in heat.

I can't wait any longer, enough foreplay. I raise my rump off of your thighs, lean forward, sit down hard, impaling my soaking wet werewolf pussy on your hard length. You moan in surprise, relief, scratching a four-year itch. I flex my muscles, squeezing your shaft tightly, making you gasp and chuckle. I bounce up and down on your cock, feeling your thick cock head scraping the walls of my hot tunnel.

You push your hips up to meet me, and soon we're falling back into our old rhythm like no time has passed. You know how to read my sounds and movements, you know my angles and my buttons.

You reach a hand down to the wetly matted fur around my cunt and find my thick swollen clit, rubbing it with your thumb as we fuck. I drag my claws across your back, ripping your shitty high school T-shirt to shreds, drawing out tiny lines of red that bead up with blood, making you hiss with pleasure and pain.

"Oh fuck, June... I'm gonna cum..." You groan. I'm close behind you, heading to my own powerful orgasm. We were always so compatible, our climaxes in sync like twin moons caught in each other's gravity. I've had other lovers since leaving you. Good guys, smart, ambitious, kind, attentive. But the sex is never like this.

I feel your thighs tense up, you arch your back off the couch and pour your cum into me. My heightened senses feel each hot jet as they paint my insides, and I howl -- I actually howl -- as my own orgasm rocks me like a tidal wave. I grind my clit into your pubic bone, my thick fur rubbing against your skin. I flood your lap with musky wetness. Your couch is going to smell like me for days.

Eventually we slow our frantic movements. I relax into your lap, still holding your softening cock. I pant like a dog, while you catch your breath.

"Um, wow. It's been a while! God, June, I've missed this..." You stroke my hips, running your fingers through my fur, making me tingle. My tail starts wagging involuntarily. I always found that embarrassing, you found it endearing.

"I know, you can't talk when you're like this. I can do the talking for a while. Life is pretty good, June. Been working extra hours at the shop. Oh hey, I'm taking night classes at the community college! Working on my associate's degree, business management, can you believe that? Spreadsheets, inventory, basic accounting... Joe's emphysema is getting worse, he's working on getting his disability. Once it comes through, he's going to sell the shop. I think I'm going to make him an offer, see if I can take it over!"

You scratch your chin reflectively, and look at me with that goofy self-effacing half-grin of yours. You gently push me off your lap, get up off the couch and walk bare-assed to the kitchen, fill a glass with water from the tap, drink deeply.

"Shit... Probably sounds pretty small town to you, huh? You're probably almost a partner at the law firm by now. I see when you post pictures on the socials, but I never work up the nerve to like them. You look amazing, like a movie star or something! And the view from your apartment balcony, pretty great. I'm really proud of you."

I follow you to the kitchen, getting down on all fours to stretch my limbs like a dog, tail curling over my back. I never told you how much I actually cared what you think about me. How much I still care.

"I miss you, Junebug. I think about you all the time. I almost came to visit you, a few times. Hell, I even drove to the city once. I wanted to surprise you at your work, take you out to lunch. But I talked myself out of it as I was driving on the highway, ended up turning around and coming back home. I figured you'd moved on, you didn't need me stomping my shitty work boots through your office, looking like a hick."

I pad over to you and give you a long slow look. You smile at me sadly. I know you can't really read my emotions when I'm like this, but right now neither can I. Coming here was a mistake. I should leave. I'm intruding on your life like a ghost, haunting you instead of moving on to the next life. I should leave.

I crouch down onto my haunches, reach around and put my claws on your ass. I lean forward and stick my long rough tongue out, and lick the length of your flaccid cock, tasting your cum and my juices. I lap at it like it's a cold winter stream.

"Ohh fuck... June... You don't need to..."

I growl threateningly at you, then I take your cock into my mouth, careful not to bite. I feel you growing again, and you put your hands on my head, grasping my big triangular wolf ears like handles, humping into my muzzle.

My claws grasp at your ass to pull you in closer, leaving little pinpricks in your cheeks.

A trickle of salty precum dribbles onto my tongue, and I swallow it with pleasure. When I can feel that you're completely hard again, I open my mouth and let go with a loud wet slurp.

I pull away from you and turn around, walking back to the living room. I get down on your shaggy rug, sticking my ass up in the air, exposing my wet aching cunt, swishing my thick furry tail invitingly. A pearly dollop of your first load of cum oozes out from my puffy lips and drips onto the rug. I look over my shoulder, staring into your eyes, daring you, begging you.

Your cock twitches visibly, and your face takes on a hungry expression. You stumble to the living room and pounce on me, entering my feral pussy from behind with a single rough thrust. I whine with pleasure as you take me like a wolf, pushing my face into the rug as you fuck me.

You're forceful, but not in a hurry for your second round. You take your time.

You grab my tail and give it a sharp tug, making me yelp in surprise. A gush of fluid pours from my werewolf cunt in response, and I hear you chuckle.

"We were so good together, Junebug... You always knew how to get me going, and I always knew what you wanted."

You give me a playful smack on my furry rump, making me wuff in response.

"I should've gone with you. Should've left this all behind, gone to the city with you. Maybe I could've gone to law school too, huh?"

You grasp my hips and hold still for a moment, still inside of me to the hilt.

"Yeah, probably not. I was never as smart as you. Never ambitious. I never wanted... more. This place was enough for me. You were enough for me."

Your voice changes as you speak, gets hard, bitter. You pick up the pace again, slamming into me roughly. You approach the point of no return, you couldn't stop if you wanted to, now. I push back to meet you, a harsh growl rising in my throat.

"You were... all I... ever wanted... June!" You mutter, then thrust into me hard, cumming inside me for the second time tonight, gasping for breath. I grit my teeth and whine through my second orgasm too, trying not to wake the neighbors with another howl.

You sigh and pull out, and lean back against the couch. You don't speak for a long time. I join you sitting on the floor, thigh to thigh, resting my big predatory head on your shoulder.

"I've met someone else, Junebug," You say at last, almost a whisper.

"I haven't done anything with her yet, we're not a couple or anything. Her name's Sarah, she's the new outreach coordinator at the extension office. I fixed a flat for her, on her first day in town. She likes it here. Likes the quiet, likes the people. She's sweet."