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Exhausted I slumped, my legs were trembling and my breathing came in pants. I was warm now with the exertion of our mating and the soft fur along his body. Carefully he lowered us to the ground, still bound together as my pussy throbbed, stuffed full of him and his cum. We laid there upon my cloak and clothes, as his tongue lazily licked over my skin, tasting the saltiness of it. It was some time later that he was able to pull free, I groaned loudly at the soreness and the regret of having him leave my body. I looked up at him and he down at me, the eyes searching into my soul somehow with their melted amber color. Quietly he turned and easily disappeared back into the shadows with a graceful lope. I watched him go till the chattering of my teeth brought me back around, reminding me I was with a stitch of clothing.
Quickly I dressed, trying to pull the few sticks from my hair and picking up what had once been my under clothes. I stood for a moment and groaned as cum leaked from my swollen and sore pussy, wetting my thighs as I reached down to pick up my cloak. I looked back towards the direction my werewolf had gone but saw no sign of him. I wouldn't have Erik hunt him down. I couldn't. I needed him now as my pussy clenched just thinking of him, squeezing more cum out I groaned and fastened the red wool of my cloak about my neck, pulling the hood up and headed back to my home. In my head I counted the days till the next full moon.
- COMMENTS
Anonymousabout 10 years agoWow this reminds me of when I was a teenager and I stayed on a friends farm one Christmas break. I let her dog lick my pussy one afternoon in the barn - still the best orgasm I've ever had! I fantasise often about if I'd let it mount me and knot me!
Mevanvyalmost 11 years ago... I think I may have ever read here:
"The creature was tall and towered over my form with ease. It walked in a crouch almost bent forward with the breath drawing in and out of its open snout as a dark red tongue lolled out."
Whenever I read the descriptions of these half-wolf, half-man, Lon Chaney, Jr.-esque wolfmen, I just get this goofy Hanna-Barbera-like image in my head, and that kills the mood.
Your description is great. It makes sense that a wolfman would walk in a crouch, not just to catch interesting scents but also to track. White men described how some of the Native Americans they ran across (especially in the woodlands) tracked in a crouch, hunkered down and watching the ground as they moved. You can see that hunting/tracking posture weaved into some of their native dances.
And the red tongue lolling out... Grotesque, depraved, beastly, perfect!
Anonymous before me said it could have ended better, and yeah, you might have been able to give it more of a bang, but for the wolfman description, you're getting five stars from this reader. Good imagination and writing!
Anonymousover 11 years agoI wish I could say that I enjoyed this. It has such promise but in the end it was lacking.
