Werewolf

The very first sound
is the shredding of your nightgown
as my claws bifurcate it,
throwing it open it to reveal your

trembling human flesh. Your doe eyes
open into my reflecting orbs, casting your fear
and the cold moon's light
back into your pathetic human soul.

I rise
over your quivering torso, my claws
raking your breasts as I descend,
my furry wolf's cock

encased in the cleavage of your cunt's
grasping lips.
My fangs pursue the whiteness of the moon
as it dances on the pale skin of

your neck, and I can hear
the corpuscles speeding down your arterial highways,
propelled by your racing rabbit heart as I
taste your neck, the soft groove beneath your jaw,

my impatient canine cock
already sliding in your groove
as my tongue roves up to your frightened dancing eyes.
I lick your lids, mesmerized by a taste

no human will ever know.
I feel your eyeballs as they flutter beneath their lids,
lost in a dream of hopeless pursuit,
desperately seeking a nonexistent way out.

I lick your brow then,
tasting your ancestors, from
lemur to reptile,
a billion years of want

about to be consummated.
I grow in your groove then, sliding
up and down its clutching length, as I
take your head in my claws

that could so easily
rip it from your willing neck,
instead lifting it to bring your ears
to my fangs and searching tongue.

My incisors etch their wildness
into your throbbing earlobes, as my tongue
probes the dark passage that brings
songs to your soul.

Your ears are delicious, and I could eat them now
but instead descend over your unknowing mortal nose,
and take your upper lip between my fangs,
sliding them back and forth in time with my

happy wolf cock as it presses even harder into your grasping
cunt lips and clit. I run my tongue along your lips, parting them,
tasting your bloodless antiseptic meals of things
already dead.

I descend to lick the pumping carotid conduit
in your helpless white neck,
tasting the iron smell of your thin
human blood,

then devour your precious teats,
teasing their buds with my fangs and tongue,
my wolf shaft now embedded in your welcoming cunt.
I scent the milk that will come, not yet,

but when pulled by my hungry pups,
your nipples erect as I suck them,
my razor claws opening crimson rivers
in your arid white flesh.

You moan as you feel their heat,
raise your breasts in supplication,
swallow my wolf cock with your surrendered cunt
as I nip your nipples, paw your flattened breasts,

then lick my way below,
through the faint down on your arched tummy,
to the perfection of your navel, circling that place
of birth with my eager tongue,

my claws puncturing your breasts,
squeezing them as I sink even lower,
finding your scent, that urine ambrosia
hidden in your lovely lupine pubes,

I drink it in, offer my nose to its symphony
as my tongue finds your pleading cunt.
I lap it slowly at first as you arch, seeking greater pressure
which I grant you, forcing my tongue against you.

You take my head in your hands and press it tighter,
as my claws puncture your breasts like bowling balls,
my tongue now frantically licking your hood,
tasting the blood spoor of your heat,

lapping your vertical lips, your clit,
gaining entrance to the passage whereby all things are born,
seeking burial within you as you
press me harder against you as you come in a fury

of trembling legs and surrendered body.
You rise and turn, standing on four limbs,
offering yourself in sweet supplication as I taste
the sweetness of your ass,

knowing your soul with my tongue, my claws raking
your trembling thighs as I rise to mount you, drive into you as I force
your head against the satin sheet, push your shoulders down
as I gain entrance to your vanquished cunt

and ride you, my claws once more grasping your shredded tits,
kneading them, as my tongue laps the nape of your perfect
swan neck, tasting the blood rushing to your frenzied brain,
as I drive into you, pounding you as I hear you cry out,

your body shuddering, your thoughts stilled as I pour myself into you,
and we stay there, interlocked in the light of the quarter moon, which even now draws me, begs me to open your neck. The game you would have me play
grows more dangerous with each passing night.