Bite of the WolfbyLadyTabitha©
It was a mistake, coming out on a night like this, when it was so close to the full moon. It was getting harder to control the urges, the instincts...the fifteen shots of pure whiskey he had downed didn't even damper the feelings simmering inside. Then it hit him like a fist, the crawling on his flesh like a hundred ants traveling over his skin, the body temperature rising, and the bile rising in his throat. He doubled over, moaning, clutching his stomach and squeezing his eyes closed tight. "Don't change, don't change, not here..."
It became his mantra, repeating over and over in his mind, as he rocked back and forth, fingers clutching his sides so hard his knuckles were white. His inhuman hearing picked up the men snickering all the way at the other end of the bar, calling him a "featherweight" and joking about how the pretty boy couldn't hold his alcohol. He heard the women across from him whispering if he was okay, and the bartender mumbling something under his breath about "damn college kids".
He tried to block it out as he fought to keep under control, and then strong hands were grabbing under his armpits, dragging him to the back door of the bar. He heard the door open and felt the rush of night air engulf him, then he was being set down against a wall outside and heard someone tell him to head home, to walk it off. And then he heard a voice that was pure sweetness, telling the man who had dragged him outside that she would stay with him until he was better enough to go home. The bar door slammed shut again, and he felt a woman's cool hand touch his forehead.
"Sir, are you alright?" He wanted to scream at her, tell her to take her ass back inside before she got hurt. That was the human side of him. Instead, the animal side of him opened his eyes, and focused on the concerned woman leaning over him. She was a waitress for the bar that he'd just been thrown out from, barely past her twenty-first birthday. The starched white shirt and tailored black skirt that the bar dress code demanded could not hide the youthful beauty of her body, and she needed no makeup to enhance her pretty face.
"Are you alright?" She repeated, her green eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from her eyes.
"I'm fine." His voice came out huskier than he planned it to. The tingle was getting harder on his flesh, more like bee stings than ants now. The rest of his abnormal senses were kicking in now, and he found his mouth watering as he stared at the girl. He could smell her perfume, and the sweat on her brow, and the deodorant she had put on that morning. And beneath all the cosmetic scents, he could smell her essence, the dusky fragrance of her sex. It made human thought slip away a little faster...if he didn't get her away from him, she'd be at the mercy of the beast that was going to claim him soon. "You can go back to your job now, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" She asked, and squatted down beside him. "I thought you were going to be sick there. That much whiskey will make anyone drunk, and Murphy dragged you out here because he thought you were going to puke in his bar." Her chatter made his head ache. He stared at the way her blonde hair billowed and tangled in the night breeze, the way that same chilling wind made her nipples strain against the thin man-like shirt. He couldn't summon the strength to push her away anymore; it was all he could do to keep the last shred of humanity about himself. She took her silence for a cue for her to keep talking.
"You probably don't recognize me, huh? I'm Amy. Amy Davenport." A pause while she waited for the name to mean something, then she continued. "We share the same college classes, you know. English and Spanish, I think."
"Amy." He moaned. He did remember her, the studious woman that always sat in front of him. He didn't recognize her without her glasses or her casual clothes. "Amy, you have to go," he pleaded. The control was slipping now, and he knew if he didn't get her away, in a minute he'd be helpless to control his emotions. She was still staring at him with those big green eyes when his human half died.
He doubled over, and let out a half groan, and slid into unconsciousness. The beast was in control when he came to, and he sat up, looking directly at her. He still appeared human to Amy's innocent eyes, but his thoughts were anything but. She was no longer a classmate, a friend, a helping hand...she was a female, and the smell and sight of her was driving him mad. He got to his feet, and grabbed her wrist. There was fear in her eyes, but something else too, desire. This prey wanted him, a female in heat, and he could smell her grow moist as he pushed her back against the alley wall.
"What are you doing?" She hissed, struggling only slightly as he pressed his body against hers eagerly. "People will see..." But there was no one coming, the streets were dead and no one from Murphy's Bar could hear them over the loud jukebox inside. He silenced her protests with his tongue, tasting her. Amy shivered when he pulled his mouth from hers, and ran his tongue over her neck.
Her pulse was a fast tattoo in his ears, and her fear and arousal were as much of an aphrodisiac as the strongest drug. He picked her up effortlessly, her long shapely legs wrapping around his waist. He ground his crotch against her, and she gasped when she felt the fly of his jeans rubbing against her, the erection tenting the denim in blatant evidence.
"Oh, god," she moaned, and he bit at her neck playfully, nipping and sucking and licking the skin until her head fell back against the wall. The beast wasn't patient; he reached up with one hand and tore her shirt across the front, making her gasp in surprise. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the open material exposed her petite breasts and the top of her firm stomach. Amy couldn't have been over a B-cup, the small mounds pale and perfect on her little body, her nipples aggressively large for her size. He growled his appreciation and took one in his mouth. He wasn't gentle, using teeth and tongue and lips to suckle her hard. She seemed to like it rough, for her fingers twisted in his hair, tugging his mouth to her other exposed breast.
"This is fucking wild," she sobbed as he feasted on her. "I've been wanting this for months, wanting you. I never thought you wanted me...oh, Jesus." His hands came down, grabbing the hem of her skirt and bunching it up around her thighs. Amy wore simple cotton briefs, French-cut to ride high on her soft hips. She still had the youthful, slim body of a high school cheerleader, her thighs muscular, her calves tight against his buttocks. Beneath the thin barrier, he could sense her wetness, and he hooked his fingers beneath the crotch of her panties, ripping it away.
He grabbed the flaps of his jeans, sending the buttons on the fly spraying into the alleyway. He didn't wear underwear, and his erection sprung free of the gaping front of the pants. Grabbing her hips, he pulled Amy down, feeling his cock press against the slick folds. She was tight, almost too tight, and it took three full thrusts to work all of himself inside, the head touching her inner back wall.
"You're too big, slow down," she pleaded, but he began thrusting fast and furious in her satin sheath, ignoring her cries. She soon got used to the speed, her back rubbing hard against the wall with every thrust, her wetness dripping down his shaft and coating his pelvis and balls in sticky fluid. Amy came without warning, going stiff on his cock, her pussy contracting violently around him. It sent him into a frenzy, and he ripped his manhood free of her, turning her still-quivering body around to face against the wall. He plunged into her from behind, feeling her pulsing depths draw him in, the soft globes of her ass slapping hard against his stomach.
He couldn't hold his human form any longer...with her still impaled on him, he began to change. His body grew taller, broader, slightly hunched. She tried to free herself as she heard the bones popping and reforming but he held her in place, the hands on her hips becoming longer and forming thick claws at their tips. She screamed as his face flattened and contorted to the wolf-like muzzle, but no one could hear her.
When his body exploded with dense, thick black hair, Amy passed out and went limp. He didn't care; his already-large cock swelled inside her, filling her completely, the thick head becoming so full that he couldn't withdrawal from her pussy if he tried. Like two dogs joined in mating, he began a rapid fucking, pulling out as much as he could, and then plunging back in. She stayed knocked out, his hands manipulating her unconscious body like a rag doll. Her body reacted on a primal level, responding even though she wasn't aware of what was going on.
The slapping of his flesh against hers, the sounds of his rough breathing filled the air, and he reached around to wrap an arm around her stomach to pull her against him even tighter. His thick, clawed hands opened on her stomach, the lower half of his palm brushing against the tiny tuft of pubic hair that rested above her stretched sex. With every plunge, the over-inflated head of his sex rubbed her inner walls, stimulating the tiny G-spot even though she wasn't awake. When the knocked-out girl came again, her sleeping body milking him, it excited him to the point of his own orgasm.
He pushed deep, as deep as he could in her soft wet hole, and came, filling her with hot jism. He grunted and thrust again, sending another wave of white sperm in her pussy, body tight with his pleasure as he let out a low howl. When his thick organ had deflated enough to withdrawal from her body, he pulled free, and laid her limp form on the ground. The rush of pleasure had sapped the last of the lupine urges from his body. His head began to pound, and he blacked out again.
When he came to again, the human side was in control, the body restored to the normal appearance of a twenty-five year old boy. He stared down at Amy's figure, at the ripped shirt and exposed sex, the seed he'd planted there dripping out of the pink lips and pooling beneath her. He stared down at his own nakedness, at the limp member still smeared with her pearly juices, and he grabbed his head in despair. He knew what he had to do. Gathering Amy up in his arms, crooning to her how sorry he was, he made his way through the back alleyways to hide their nakedness, until he could get to his apartment a few blocks away.
He left Amy in the care of a local woman's shelter, leaving some money with the head caretaker for her keep. She'd be all right with time, and her brain would pass the memory of his attack as just a bad dream. Amy seemed the strong sort, and he only hoped he hadn't gotten her pregnant or accidentally given her the disease that plagued him. His apartment he left abandoned for the landlord to reclaim once he realized the rent wasn't going to come in anymore.
Taking only the clothing he owned and all the money he had to his name, he caught the next bus out of town. Like he had a hundred times before, it was time to move on, travel to a new city and make a new name for himself. Maybe this time he'd control himself a little better, get to a safe place when the cycle of the moon was high. It was his curse, and he had to learn to live with it properly. After all, once the bite of the wolf had you, it didn't let go. You just had to learn how to bite back.