tagGay MaleSheathed Moon Howling

Sheathed Moon Howling


I hear the boisterous laughter coming from beyond the brightly lit windows of the country inn—the only sign of life in this dark, dark night in the middle of the Black Forest—as a kiss is stolen from me. I accepted the coupling in the back of his carriage as fair payment for the ride this far from the provincial capital, but the kiss was a surprise. I had not discerned any affection in the heat that had risen off him as he was taking me on the leather seat in the dark of the carriage. As I stepped down from the carriage, my embarrassment was heightened by the sense of eyes watching from. . . somewhere. . . perhaps from that convivial chamber between the lit windows.

All laughter and talk skip a beat or two when I enter the barroom in search of supper and a pint, but I wait for it to resume before looking around. A surly crowd, wedged in the nooks and crannies of the small, low-ceilinged room crowned with smoke from their pipes. No doubt settled in for the ages, each to his own hard-won position until death snatched him away, to be replaced by a son or some other twin of the slow, close-to-the-earth existence of the forest people.

The need for food and drink fulfilled, the barkeep allows that the inn does have a room for the night but that it would need to be prepared before I could occupy it. My answer that it's quite all right, that I plan to take a walk in the forest before retiring, draws the disapproving attention not only of the barkeep but of all of the gnarled or hulking, depending on their ages and their lot in life, men within hearing.

"Best not be walking in the forest this evening, young sir," says the barkeep. "It's the night of the sheathing of the moon. No one goes into the forest on this night."

"Oh, vampires and werewolves, do you mean?" I say, somewhat too loudly and playfully, I fear. "Have I traveled as far as Transylvania? And shouldn't that be a full moon I've to fear, not a lunar eclipse?"

General silence in the room again. I have obviously touched some raw nerve here.

"I'll just be saying it has been proven unwise to tempt the fates of the forest on a sheathing of the moon night," the barkeep answers quietly, evidently not interested in pursuing that topic further.

"It's quite all right," I say, trying to make my voice as congenial and friendly as possible. "It indeed does not look like a good night for hiking. But I do need to stretch my legs after the days journey on the rutted road. I shall take just a short walk; I shan't go far."

* * *

I watched the well-made youth being kissed as he was about to climb from the carriage, and it sent my blood to roaring. Since the sheathing had begun, my body had ached, the muscles in my arms, my chest, my legs, had flexed and burned with my need for mating. And between my thighs, my organ strained to grow even longer and stiffen even harder. Longer and harder than it ever had been before. A great pole reaching out and curving up before me.

I am in my prime now, and the heat of the sheathing is upon me as never before. Such heat that I have already dragged two careless villagers into the forest and taken them to cool my lust. Holding them down with the animal strength the sheathing has given me and repeatedly driving my throbbing organ into their channels. They have torn my clothes from me and scratched and bruised me, as I filled them with my hot seed before abandoning them. Me all the time howling and moaning like the wild creature I have become in my desperate search for relief and release.

I am a wild and naked beast now. I am stroking my huge throbbing organ, slick with the juice that oozes and drips from its tiny eye. I am tied to the moon, and as it is sheathed completely and becomes a dull, blood red orb my lust has become an unbearable heat, driving me to the edge of sanity.


A strange forest this; it seems to swallow you as soon as you enter it. One moment the smoke from the inn's chimney and the lights at its barroom windows were close by, and the next moment I cannot locate them any way I turn. I could continue walking, but will I be moving toward the inn or ever farther into the forest? It's pitch black out here. The lunar eclipse is at its height.

I hear the howl and turn and see it loping toward me from the darkness. I can hear the panting. What is it? Man or beast. Another howl—an almost inhuman sound, but one I understand as voicing a deep want—a lustful intent. I turn and run. But the leaves of the forest are deep and wet and slippery from the dew of the fog-draped night. I hear the pursuit behind me and try to run faster, but my panicked increase in speed only serves to make me slip.

It is upon me as I go down. Hairy beast of power and guile and howling want. I struggle, but to no avail. It has me pinned to the wet leaves of the forest floor, hot panting breath in my ear, and that HOOOOooowwwl as it enters me and breeds lustfully and deeply. I'm unsure I can stretch to take it. Slippery and hard all at once. And probing, probing, probing, searching from the very center of me. digging a hole to bury its seed in. It finishes with a hot-flooding howl, face turned to the now-sheathed blood red moon.

And in that instant, I struggle free and slide, half scuttling across the leaves, trying to make the cover of the trees just over there. My legs feeling like rubber, my insides like a hot poker has rent me asunder. There is a howl of anger, strong, encasing arms, and renewed lust and the powerful, hairy covering possession and heavy-panting breath and that huge cock once again thrusting inside me, again, and again and again, beastly semen oozing outside of me and down my bruised thighs . . . as I struggle to hold on, to manage to stretch and accommodate until the freeing rise of the sun. Ahhhhhh. Who knew the beast could reach so far down inside me and could breed so relentlessly and with . . . so much . . . roiling cum?

* * *

He is unable to escape my powerful possession. Helpless creature. Helpless to escape me, I was already burning with need and his scent and cockiness were a drug, driving me insane with the need to mate and mate again. Sink the mighty pole standing out from between my lean hairy thighs into his tight, tight entrance. Hear him cry out and beg for mercy. Then send my throbbing organ deep into him, into the center of his belly, where I could finally find release. Howling in ecstasy as I pump out my hot fertile seed in gushes. Planting it deep. Deep in his belly. I feel its heat spread through him. Three times now I have sent my seed flooding into him. Now it is seeping into his blood, his bones. Now he is panting and starting to yelp and shudder as I continue to possess him, his passage now rippling up and down my pole.

* * *

The driving passion of the beast is waning, and I can now make out the form of the trees close around me. The lunar eclipse is waning and with it the wild, mad taking. But I have been touched, touched deeper and longer and in a more lustful way than at anytime before. As the beast's lust lessens, mine only increases. And now that the light is filtering back into the forest I can see that this is no beast; it is a young, virile, hairy man, handsome of bearded face, strong of curly haired limbs, ever-hard of cock. A face too powerful for the barroom swirl, but very likely the eyes I had felt on me when I arrived, watching when the gentleman with the carriage stole a kiss—knowing I could be taken by man.

And taken again I am, as I spread my legs wide for this moon god, still sheathed deep inside me, and clutch at his hips and thrust at him again and again with my pelvis, rippling the muscles of my stretched and sighing canal along the renewing power of his slippery cock. Both of us howling up to the now-unsheathed silver orb floating above the Black Forest on the night of the sheathed moon.

I can feel the flooding into me, through me of the essence of the priest of the sheathing moon. Alone at last, I lift my muzzle and howl to newly unsheathed moon. I must be near a forested village now myself for the next lunar eclipse. I cannot help myself.

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