Author's Note: This is a story of a man pulled from our world into one filled with wolf people, elves, orcs, lizard people, horse people etc.
The first chapter focuses on the wolf people, as well as introducing our protagonist, antagonist and the first love interest. It primarily shows off their motivations and personalities and sets up the skeleton of the internal mythology of the world. It also contains a good deal of non-consensual sex, some light SM, a little POV swapping and a great deal of non-human action. I have always believed that with erotica the plot is what gives the sex impact, and I hope my story shows it. Anyway I hope you like it, and please give me your opinions and advice at the end.
P.S. If you're turned off by the initial love interest having an attraction to a character that's NOT just the protagonist, I would look elsewhere.
Steven Smith had a problem. A problem that was suspended at a guess about 3 inches above his right eye and maybe half an inch to the left, it also seemed to him to look remarkably like the tip of a spear. Although with the sun in his eyes, it was difficult to confirm the legitimacy of this unlikely claim. The fact that Steve's eyes had not yet become accustomed to their return to the world of daylight was forcing Steve to keep blinking in an attempt to avoid more obnoxious red streaks being seared across his retina. All in all, his environment was not aiding him in identification. The twenty one year old data entry clerk sighed internally.
The fact that this seemingly sharp object on a long stick in front of him, was in fact a spear tip refused to register with him on an emotional level. Spear tips, by and large, were not something he had been expecting to encounter in his day to day living. He had been raised in a middle class family, in a peaceful suburban home, in the middle of Leicester. Spear tips were just not naturally native to that environment. His mind quickly dismissed the object as unlikely to be a spear. Steve's mind immediately began seeking out an alternative, and more familiar answer to what this mystery object was. One that preferably did not have a high chance of him wearing an eye patch for the rest of his days. Or worse.
Thinking back, his subconscious mind sifted his through his accumulated knowledge. It honed in on similar experiences of having objects waved in front of his face immediately upon waking in a lying down position, with the distinct feeling of grass on his back, sun on his front and a painful throbbing sensation on his forehead.
The only thing that came to mind was the time when, in the middle of a football game at his local high school, he had been kicked in the head by, what was according to a third party "a flawless roundhouse kick by Sean Mathews".
The upcoming ace of the school football team and general all round prick, with a chip on his shoulder. The head-kicking had occurred when Steve's attempts at head-butting the airborne ball had been countered by the sudden arrival of Sean's foot. An accident that to a more naïve mind could have put down to youthful exuberance and enthusiasm for the game. In Steve's mind it was likely the result of Steve having been subtly flirting with Sean's girlfriend during a party a week or so back. An act that while worthy of some irritation, was hardly a great reason to unsubtly kick someone's head in.
The resulting blow rendered Steve dazed, likely concussed and flat on his back. A state that eventually caused him to be dragged off the pitch by his less than impressed teammates, when it became apparent that Steve would not be continuing the game.
At an unknown point later on in the game, one of the nearby onlookers in a stroke of genius, decided that rather than call for medical aid, as any reasonable well-adjusted individual might do, decided that the best thing to do was poke Steve in the face with a stick until he regained consciousness. A move most medical professionals would advise against, and yet still stands as a time tested treatment, used by immature dipshits the world over. This moment was defining moment in highlighting to Steve a scarcity of common sense and compassion in the British public school system.
An important life lesson he took from this epiphany was this; someone else's pain, can and should be your profit.
Thus was born the Steve Smith that he was today. He had become well known by his graduation three years later, as a master of situational profiteering, expert evader of consequences, and 'that guy that beat the shit out of Sean Mathews, when he cornered him with his pants down in the C buildings toilets'.
Steve having now subconsciously found a prior occasion for this stick waving event, jerkily moved his hands forward, and generally in the direction of what he concluded must have been a large stick.
What he expected to happen was this. The offending object to be removed, with some stifled giggling at his expense. Much to his surprise, he found this was not the case, as he immediately felt a dull thud followed instantly by an intense pain in his stomach. A feeling that corresponded to being stomped on by someone's heel, eliciting a wheezy exhalation of air from him and a command of his full attention to his current circumstances. A surge of focus that before had been somewhat lacking due to his recent revival from unconsciousness. Never let it be said that waking up in an unknown location with partial amnesia was any excuse for inattention.
In reality he shouldn't have been too surprised by this turn of events. He himself having stomped on more than a few prone figures himself in the last few years. He might have laughed at the karma of the situation. If only laughing at the distinct possibility of serious organ damage weren't the actions of a silly git. More importantly the feeling that someone has just run you over with a small truck does not exactly do wonders for ones sense of humor.
The person in front of him had finally coalesced into a bleary dark and undeniably massive humanoid figure. Although most people look a lot larger when they are in a position to cause you serious harm.
The facial features of his assailant were still obscured by the sun high in the sky behind them. Steve subtly used his eyes to look down, using a barely perceptible tilt of the head, carefully avoiding the sharp object above his eye. He found the figure did indeed have a foot firmly placed on his stomach, in addition to the now confirmed spearhead hovering above his right eye. Yep, definitely a spear. This was definitely an escalation from the usual attacks on his persons. He took a quick moment to be depressed by the phrase 'usual attacks on his persons'.
Steve was not by and large a violent person. If a fight did start his usual reaction was to run. In the opposite direction. As fast as he could. To others this behavior was seen as cowardly. To Steve this behavior was seen as not fucking retarded. If Steve was ever the one responsible for violence, it was always on his own terms. His own terms being typically from behind, with a large easily swung blunt object. The fact that he would have to wait for his opponents to drop their guards and forget they were even in his bad books, meant that when he did finally get even, his target had no clue why. This made for a cycle of revenge that kept Steve's social interactions very interesting.
