He'd stayed out too late and when he got back the night sky was grey. He was pretty proud of himself for resisting killing a man tonight, while the taste of deer blood was still in his maw and staining his fur in places. He would have to wash before he got into his shorts and back into bed with the first woman to take him like he was, willingly. For maybe another day. He knew he would have to leave her behind after today.
He almost hoped he would be called to testify against Dale Durbanks, who by now must be thinking he was crazy, hunted by a talking wolf (Ha!), he would have to come to town again.
He drank and cleaned himself in one of the streams as best he could, mindful of the wound to his shoulder that was already almost healed. He made it to his truck, and was about to morph when he realized she was sitting on the porch.
He just managed to stop himself. She could barely see in the pre-dawn light, but she called out to the grey shape she could just make out.
"Ben?" she asked softly.
And for a moment he thought she knew. She couldn't of course, but she expected Ben -- the human -- to be around the cabin somewhere. He stupidly didn't flee back into the woods like a normal wolf would, instead, he
whined.
She froze in silence; he heard her breathing stop. He should flee. She started breathing again, unafraid, and the sun was starting to make him more and more visible.
"Oh, what a beautiful beast," she whispered softly.
The way she said that moved things within him and suddenly he wanted her to touch him. Unthinking, he moved towards her, head down, tail tucked away between his legs. He whined softly again.
"Look at you," she whispered again, her voice reverent, "Just like my dream."
Now
she
did something something stupid. She got up from where she sat and came down the steps to meet him, hand held out.
He was frozen in place. Was she sleepwalking? He had to hope so, and that she wouldn't remember their encounter, at least not until he could tell her... if ever.
She walked softly to him and placed her hand before his snout. He sniffed at it: it still had some aroma of their earlier lovemaking on it. He licked her fingers, then moved his head forward so she could run her hand over his head. He closed his eyes, berating himself silently.
She could see him better and better, and she ran her hand softly over his head and down the nape of his neck to his back, not quite petting him like a dog. Her touch was more of a... caress.
"Easy now," she murmured, then "oh, poor beast, you're hurt!" She'd found the wound in his shoulder. He turned his head and his snout bumped against her legs. She stood still, expecting.
What is she doing?
He thought it strange she didn't move away, then he realized she considered him like any canine, and expected him to sniff at her crotch. So he did what any dog would do, and pushed his snout to sniff at her.
That was a mistake. She was still damp from earlier and the scent called to him to push further in. He breathed her in long huffs he let out forcefully and she let him, her body reacting to the stimulation.
Between them, a physical reaction was taking place, a feedback of hormones that wasn't supposed to happen between human and canine. She pet his head, murmuring "good boy, I know you know who that is. Is he coming back?"
He whined again, and then grunted. And then all was lost. He pushed the robe's fabric aside to discover she hadn't put anything on underneath. His snout found only short sandy curls to protect her.
So naturally, he gave her a lick.
In this form, his tongue was several inches long, made for snaking into hard to reach places, and extremely sensitive. He felt her flutter to his touch. She let out a little yelp, and now she did push him away.
"I can't," she said, moving back. "I'm not sure."
It was too late, he was becoming erect. He did the stupidest thing a werewolf could ever do.
He told her.
"Lana, it's me. It's Ben."
"I
am
dreaming," she whispered, and she let the robe fall open completely.
Ben knew women dreamed of beasts. Of monsters. He knew it was a way of letting some wildness live inside them, when the world held them to impossible standards of purity and restraint. The woman before him had had enough of restraint.
And so had he.
He moved forward to do what the werewolf could do: ravage her. He growled, and in the predawn, she laughed and sprinted towards the river, running softly in her trainers, robe fluttering behind her.
She knew the path and advanced unerringly until the midway point, where she stopped and let him come up to her, backing up against a tree.
He reached her and immediately began to lick her thighs, the smoothness of her skin and then the slick of her excitement tasting more than anything he had enjoyed before, the full strength of her pheromones hitting him like a freight train. It was like lapping up heaven. It was exactly like he had dreamed it would be. Even better. It was addictive.
She pushed on his snout and he growled at her, refusing to stop this impossible pleasure, and she shivered with fear and he had a flash of worry things would go wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.
What if she changed her mind? Would he have to kill her?
He couldn't think, only lave at that throbbing pussy that glowed pink in morning light, while she moaned and pushed at him, almost sobbing in pleasure, turning from him and running again, but not very fast, and he knew she wanted him to
catch
her. He loped beside her, lunged and caught her robe in his fangs and halted and she pulled on it only a second before letting it fall away. Now she had only her shoes on, running before him, naked and free and wild in the woods.
It was a hunt. A hunt like he had never done before. He had never killed a woman, he had never revealed himself to one in this form. He had never thought he would meet one who could accept him like this.
He bound around her excitedly, yipping and whining, nipping delicately at her flesh, licking her fingers when she pretended to push him away, telling him "down boy!" but laughing as she did so, and he followed her to a clearing in the woods less exposed than the riverbank. There she stood, glorious in her nakedness, awake yet in a kind of stoned stupor, and he understood now was the time to bring his prey down. He caught her ankle and she fell forward to lay in the soft moss, on her stomach and face turned away from him.
She surrendered to him. He padded over her, nuzzling at her, seeking more of her scent and taste, her armpits, her feet, her buttocks, her hair, everywhere. He growled as he circled her, occasionally seizing a limb in his dripping maw, and she reacted in ways he never imagined, breathing and moaning in excitement, fear and ecstasy roiling inside her and letting him know he could do with her as he pleased.
He howled, briefly, not a call, just an announcement he had found his prey. His kin would find him insufferable, bragging like that, but he couldn't help himself.
Then he turned back to the task of devouring her. She writhed and made to crawl away, but he held her firmly by one ankle with one half-hand, half-paw, licking up her leg to behind her knee and picking the line of sweat there, and then he continued up her thigh, his tongue cleaning whatever dirt she had picked up during the chase, and she panted like any bitch would, and the thought stuck in his mind. That he had found his bitch; maybe even his mate.
She continued to crawl forward, crushing moss under her knees and elbows and breasts, becoming covered in green forest smells and dark soil, as if she was becoming one with the earth.
Holding her thighs open with both claw-like hands, he continued to lavish her, his tongue reaching deeper into her than any man's tongue, and he finally wrestled her first orgasm from her. She silently
hollered
into the moss.
He was so excited by his success his pelvis was thrusting forward of its own volition. He was leaking a steady stream of lubrication onto the forest floor. He moved from between her spread legs and she turned to look at him then. Her eyes rounded in fright. She was awake now.
He sat.
What had he done?
She was groggy but she lifted herself from the mossy ground, her front covered in green moss and bits of twigs and leaves stuck in her pubic hair and she looked like a mythical Sylph. He lay down and crouched before her, grunting and whining, human speech unable to express his feelings.
