No Warning

Happy Halloween!

I never quite know how to handle the Halloween theme, but this year I feel like I stumbled on a fun little story that, hopefully, you can sink either your metaphorical or Kyle's literal teeth into...

This one's a present. I hope the recipient likes it.

Make sure to read all the contest entries and vote on your favorites!

* * *

The plates chinked loudly as the busboy loaded them up, that flat clank that's almost more of a click, that tells you you're not dealing with bone china here. Not at Kiloton's Diner. This was institutional ware bought by the pound, and the fork in Kyle's hand had enough bent tines to reinforce the impression. He sighed as he dug back into his chili and tried to focus on what Wayne was saying, but it was hard. Work had been rough today, with Anna riding his ass mercilessly.

"Again?" Steve shook his head at Wayne, not without a brief chuckle. "Dude. You've got to stop doing that. It's the kind of thing that could get us all fucked." He sucked some diet Coke through the disgusting paper straw. "And not in the good way."

"I know." Wayne leaned back in his chair, a king at his feast, obviously showing no sign that he'd stop doing that. "This is like four times now." He said it with that special male tone that said he knew that, yes, four times was ludicrous, that the whole situation was unsustainable, that by golly he'd need to be more careful in the future, but that to stop doing that was completely out of the question. "Four times," and he smiled a little.

Kyle tuned back in, chewing slowly at his onions. "Different hospitals, I hope."

"Yeah, no, we're pretty careful about that." Wayne had shoveled his food carelessly into his mouth, clearing his plate with his usual haste. "Dude," he went on, spreading his hands helplessly. "What can I do? She loves me, and she loves that wolfcock." He elbowed Steve. "Y'know?"

"Oh, I know." Steve was looking haggard. He was a tax lawyer, and the fiscal year had just started. He was working insane hours and, from the looks of things, he was having trouble balancing... well, everything. "Julie won't fuck me anymore, boys," he admitted heavily.

Wayne's eyes bulged, and Kyle felt his mouth drop open. "No sir!"

Steve sighed hard into his fish 'n' chips. "It's because of two months ago," he explained. "Full moon? Remember it was an early moonrise, with nice clear skies?" Kyle was nodding. That had been a rough night for him, too. Impossible to control himself. He'd had to tell Eva he was sick, which was true in a way. "I was fucking crazy, man. Like, I don't even remember most of the night."

"Been there," Wayne belched. "Done that."

"All's I know is that when I woke up the next morning? Julie was all over me. She told me it was the best sex she ever had, that she loved me... all that shit." The others nodded sympathetically. "You know how it is." It made an impact, coming from Steve. He knew what he was talking about. He'd been at this business the longest, and Kyle felt a weird twinge of hopelessness: if even Steve was still getting stymied by women, then he was in real trouble with Eva.

"Once the ladies get the Wolf," Wayne agreed, patting his belly, "they don't want the man." He was ogling the waitress quite shamelessly. She looked about twenty or so, her ass perfect in black yoga pants. All the waitresses here at Kiloton's Diner had perfect asses, especially as the moon moved toward the full.

"So." Steve sighed. "She put out a few times after that, when I wasn't wolfing, but she told me it just wasn't the same." He stared reflectively into his mineral water, then shrugged. "Still. The Big Night's coming up, boys."

"Hell yes." Wayne's voice was a growl. "She'll have the stitches out by then," he mused, his eyes slitting as they wandered around to search for the waitress.

"Dude." Kyle pushed his empty bowl away. "How bad was the damage this time?"

"Oh, y'know." Wayne laced his fingers behind his head. "It was punctures, not scratches. Last time, remember, she was bleeding like a stuck pig." The others shuddered. Apparently it had been gruesome. To hear Wayne tell it, he'd been banging his wife (from behind, naturally) and the Wolf had come on, but they'd both been so into it they hadn't noticed his foot clawing at her thigh. Long, angry rents in her flesh, Wayne's claws digging in, and by the time they'd both cum the bed had been red. "She almost went into shock that time. This? Not so bad." He glanced at them both, sagely. "The claws came out."

"Ah." Kyle nodded. He'd had that happen once, a girlfriend long past; as a matter of fact, that night had been the reason she'd left him.

She'd been gorgeous, a bubbly vibrant girl who slung coffee down at some shop by the water. They'd been dating five or six months by that time, and every full moon he'd been cautious: working late, or visiting his parents, whatever. He'd been careful during sex, too; it was always difficult to keep the Wolf away when you were aroused, but some guys were better at it than others.

Wayne, for example, was not good at it.

That night she'd been extra sexy, her skirt hem and her neckline approaching each other in a most tempting way when they'd gone out to see that a capella group, the famous one with all the albums and the Grammy nomination. It had been one of those magic, horny nights, the two of them all over each other during dinner and then drinks at Memento's, and it was probably the mojitos as much as anything else that had caused Kyle to lose control that night.

They'd been perfect that night, in synch the entire time, from the moment they'd sat on his leather couch. When he'd leaned in to kiss her, she'd been tipping her head at the same time; she'd opened her legs, the skirt creeping up her lush thigh, just at the moment his hand found her leg. Completely in tune.

Greta, her name had been? Gretchen? Something like that.

She'd been perfect on his dick, her little mouth opening wide in that way she had, with her big sexy eyes squarely on his as he penis disappeared between her ruby-red lips; she'd left lipstick slicking his neck and cheeks, too. He'd leaned back, a gurgling moan escaping him, his hand resting lightly on her French braids while she worked him industriously. Vaguely he'd noticed that something was different; usually she used one hand on his balls and the other on his shaft, but that night his balls had dangled alone, and he'd peered down along her body with one boob already peeking out of the tube-top, and both of them had felt his dick give a lurch when he realized she had a hand on her own clit.

Things had moved quickly after that, and rueful memory told him that had been part of the problem: too fast. He'd been too hard, wanted her too much, gotten her on her hands and knees on the floor before he'd had a chance to collect himself and keep the Wolf at bay. She'd been panting, her eyes blazing as they looked back over her bare shoulder at him, and he could still remember the sight of his dick, impossibly hard, trembling toward that bubbly butt she had. If he'd been paying attention, he'd have noticed that even then, his pubes had gone darker, thicker, the hair sprouting higher toward his navel, but no. He'd ignored all the warning signs, and when her wet pussy had taken him all the way they'd both groaned.

It had been great. So fucking great. Until suddenly, it wasn't.

He'd been driving her into the carpet with long, punishing strokes, the sweat flying, gripping greedily at her wildly gyrating hips, and when he'd heard her start to cry out with her approaching orgasm he hadn't been able to control himself. And, then and there, with his cock splitting her open and the fur starting to spread rapidly up his chest, he'd felt his grasping fingertips burst with his emerging claws. Kyle had jerked his hands free at the last moment, horrified that he'd come so close to sinking his paws into her and causing real damage, but he hadn't been fast enough.

"Oww!" she'd howled, twisting indignantly around, her ecstasy bypassing pain and going straight to sheer white-hot rage. She'd shrieked, "Get out of me!" and he was sure he'd remember the venom in her eyes for a long, long time.

He shook his head now. She'd only taken ten little pinpricks along her hips and butt. There'd been remarkably little blood, but it had been enough. "What the fuck are you, fucking Wolverine?" she'd snarled, pulling her panties back on with angry force, glaring her way out of his apartment. He couldn't imagine letting his claws grow fast enough and sharp enough to require stitches. "Like, how deep?" he asked Wayne, a little awed.

Wayne had found the waitress, his eyes tracking her as she argued with the hostess. "Deeper than the other time it happened." He shook his head, clearing it as the waitress headed for the kitchen. "What am I, a doctor? I dunno. Deep enough. She had me try band-aids first, but you know." They all nodded; band-aids were never enough when the Wolf came out. "She didn't want the stitches, man. She just wanted me to fuck her again." He shrugged helplessly. "So, you know, that's why she lost so much blood."

"Wait." Steve pushed his glasses up his nose. "You fucked her again? Before the hospital?"

"Dude," Wayne appealed. "She's my wife! I love her! When she wants the wolfcock, she gets the wolfcock." He shrugged. "It was fine. The doctor said it wasn't all that bad, but that I should train my dog." They all nodded. That was always the way, when the woman needed medical attention: blame a pet. He finished his iced tea, his eyes once more narrowing at the waitress. "I want to go hunting, guys."

Steve stirred and followed Wayne's eyes, squinting across the diner. "What? The waitress?"

Wayne didn't need to answer. Kyle and Steve could both see his fingernails thickening, sharpening. "Are you insane?" Kyle wanted to hit him. "Get control of yourself, dude!"

"What?" Wayne wasn't good at control. "Live a little. Let's go outside and hunt." He sniffed the air. "I'm hungry."

"You just polished off a three-egg omelette," Kyle began, but then Steve's eyes widened.

"Dude." Kyle glanced around and saw that the waitress had turned around. And Steve was a boob man. "Shit, man. Look at her."

"Guys," Kyle warned, but Steve was digging in his wallet to throw his cash on the table. Wayne's beard was already thicker, and Kyle sighed in resignation. The night was dark, and even though the moon was just a bit past half, the Wolf had come for his friends. By pulling out his money, Steve had given his all-important approval, and now there was nothing standing in the way when the Wolf came for Kyle.

He knew he shouldn't. But it was so easy to sit back and let it come, to go roving through the night with the others, to feel the savage joy of the hunt.

So Kyle reached for his own wallet, and when the diner closed a few hours later the waitress, tired, heard howls in the woods as she got to her car. "Huh," she told herself. "That's weird." But she'd seen a news report about coyotes encroaching on the suburbs, and figured that was probably it.

* * *

When should I tell? That was always Kyle's problem.

Normal people had the same kinds of problems, he knew. A single mom is on her fourth or fifth date with a nice guy and hasn't yet told him about her three-year-old. Or a man knows, say, around Date #2 that sex is inevitable with the winsome lass he met at the deli, but he's not sure at what point he should mention his herpes. Some dude from Finland or someplace can't quite bring himself to tell his new flame about the wife he's got back in Vaasa. A nice-looking woman with a furtive manner really, really likes the new guy she found on Pixboox.com, but she's not sure how to tell him about her fraud conviction and the three years it led to, courtesy of the State Corrections System.

People have secrets, in other words, and telling them to the special few who might... might... become something more? There's no manual for doing that, especially when your secret isn't a bastard, a social disease, a misplaced spouse, or a jury trial. Kyle was having that problem now with the lovely Eva

He'd met her under the most horrible of circumstances, when her ambulance had been the one that showed up at Grob-Ligner when Carl had fallen from the mezzanine and smashed his head open in the lobby. It had cracked like an egg, the pieces poking visibly up under his scalp, but at least most of them had stayed inside his skin. "Dude!" Kyle had been strolling by with his morning coffee. "Just don't move. You're, uh, gonna be fine..."

Poor Carl had never lost consciousness, frowning in a puzzled way while patting his skull back in place like a church grandma taking care of her curls. "Huh?" He'd been enroute to the big Norbera presentation, like half the rest of the firm, and he blinked numbly down at his spilled notes. "Fuuuck, man. I can't be late."

"Just sit still, Carl." Kyle had heard the rising note in his voice, the panic, and suddenly he felt the itch behind his shirt as the fur began sprouting. He viciously suppressed an urge to howl. "Be still, man." Lynsey was screaming at the main receptionist to get 911, but the screaming didn't last long. This was the middle of the city and the paramedics showed up in minutes.

He'd stood there uncertainly, fighting to keep the Wolf where it belonged, deep down inside; this was the day of the fucking Norbera thing. He couldn't possibly wolf out now, but stress always made it harder. And now Carl, with the competent-looking paramedics working hard to reassemble Humpty fucking Dumpty despite the dozens of employees gathering around to watch... "Sir! Can you hear me?"

Kyle blinked, dragging himself back to consciousness, realizing the cute young paramedic was talking to him. "What?"

"I said, do you know this patient!" the medic was rapping out, her voice loud but even, and that's how Kyle had found himself in the back of the ambulance, careening through rush hour with Carl grinning stupidly on the gurney and the cute medic leaning over her patient, which had the effect of shoving her fine little ass right in Kyle's face. He'd given her his number (for the report) and then, taking a deep breath, the Wolf still not far below the surface and growling at the paramedic's pert little tits, he'd asked for hers.

Not for the report.

She'd frowned. "Are you for real, sir?"

"I'm Kyle," he'd replied quietly, Wolf-calm, the lupine part of his mind unconsciously seeking the vulnerabilities in his quarry and trying to exploit them. This chick wanted someone stable. Someone steady. Someone strong and capable and dominant, and the sprouting fur was really fucking itchy now and he'd gazed deep into her eyes, counting on the golden glow in there to do its work.

She'd blinked up at him, the mask of professional competence melting at once: the Wolf knew. The Wolf was never really wrong about these things. His balls were throbbing. She'd nodded, her mouth a silent O, then she'd quietly written out her number on the back of a post-it note. "I'm, uh, Eva," she'd squeaked.

He'd called her that Friday, taking her out to celebrate after Grob-Ligner had landed Norbera and he, Kyle, the geek from the fourth floor, had been put on the team. In Carl's place, but still. She'd shown up still smelling like the hospital, but when she'd left his condo in the pale-blue dawnlight of the following morning, she'd smelled more like their sweat and his cum. And she'd left blinking, feeling like she'd just woken up from a dream, because falling so quickly for a guy like Kyle just wasn't her usual MO.

It had happened fast, though, the two of them joined at the hip from that first date. He found her sane, beautiful, funny, and sexy, all of which put her way above his usual girlfriends. While, in him, Eva found a sweet, ruggedly handsome man with an excellent job and a really nice cock. But, when she was being honest with herself in the dark, after he'd given her yet another orgasm and then gone to sleep with her petite body dragged into the circle of his strong arms and stronger legs, she knew there was something... not wrong, really, but more like off, about her new boyfriend.

She couldn't point to anything specific. But it was there, tickling at something deep in her brain, at the same part that reacted to open closet doors in dark bedrooms, to passing motorcycle gangs on late-night streets, to weirdo men coming across her Pixboox Personals feeds. He had something dark in him, something ominous, something somehow heavy in his soul.

He always stirred as soon as she started down that mental rabbit hole. Always, as though her hindbrain had a bell that tinkled to rouse him whenever she thought about him that way. She lay in the dark, thinking, trying to quell the unease, and as soon as she started doing that, every night they stayed together, no matter what time it was, no matter how deeply Kyle was sleeping? Every time those thoughts began stirring in her brain, his cock began to harden.

It was like his libido had a direct line to her skittishness, like there was something in him that looked for any opportunity to find her doubts and bludgeon them into submission through the power of his thick cock.

And it always worked.

She'd hear him growl first, quietly, low in his sleepy throat, a dull savage sound that was part comforting, part menacing, and all thrilling. "Mmm," she'd respond, pressing back against him, and it was at times like that that she felt him most sensitively, every corded muscle and wiry curl hot around her body. Like his hair was thicker, somehow, at chest and groin. "Take me, Kyle."

That's all it took, her low whisper in the dark, to unleash him. It took her breath away, even after all these months, how enthusiastically he claimed her. It started with the growl, then that twingey hardness in his dick, always comfortably lodged in her asscrack when they spooned after sex.

His lips hot and thick and strong on her neck, roving up from her shoulder, suckling just enough to remind her how easily he could mark her. She tossed her head into the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut, giving him her throat, her jaw, her face, and he crawled on top of her slowly. Like a hunting beast on the prowl, topping a rise with predatory caution. Slinking along her naked body, his saliva dropping onto her, leaving her with a perverse thrill every time.

She'd never dated a guy with so much spit!

She rolled to her back, reaching down, knowing what he wanted and aching to do it for him. He was right above her now, his teeth bared in a fierce horny grin, and her pussy gushed uncontrollably as his eyes bored into hers. They got very intense at times like this, his stare hard and unforgiving. Almost feral. He paused there, dominating her with his hot moist breath and his hairy body, saying nothing, with the whole bed trembling with the sounds coming from his throat. There was a vague sense of dread in those sounds, of threat, of terror; he watched as she scrambled to prepare herself for him.

Almost as if he'd literally claw her apart if she didn't please him.

Her hand found his dick, the fingers quaking as they locked around that thick, hot flesh. He was quivering, always, his balls jiggling with the pent-up excitement of waiting to sink into her body. There was always such urgency in him; he never had to tell her to hurry, she just knew, and so she seized his shaft and pulled it straight to her pussy.

The moment his head touched her, he reared up off her, crouching, her fluids and his mingled at the tip of that savage cock. He reached down, batting her hands away as he always did, and then he ran his penis slowly across her belly with an air of dominance. Marking her. Making certain every other lover knew she was his.