The Healer and the Werewolf Ch. 01

Part 1: Potpourri Bath

'Oh why does she have to be left behind?'

As a gifted healer with a keen mind, creative spirit and sharp eyes that seemingly miss nothing, she pleads with Sirius to take her with him on the battlefield.

Cynthia still has a desire to help in the fight against the werewolf packs in whatever way she can, but alas her husband refuses to honour her wishes. Instead, he opts to hide her in a tiny cottage in the English countryside.

Cynthia has been lying in wait for months waiting to hear word on the status of the war, when he finds her.

It is an unusually hot mid-July afternoon; an almost subtropical heat wave has been coursing through the village for the past week or so making it nearly impossible for Cynthia to do any strenuous gardening or housekeeping chores.

With perspiration surfacing on her forehead, her rose-tinted cheeks, the bridge of her well-defined nose and a stream of sweat now running down her back, she makes the easy decision to run a bath.

Unlike so many other women she knew, Cynthia is lucky enough to have access to an enamel claw foot tub. It is one of the few things that she has brought with her when she made the move from her lavish estate to the shabby cottage. Now her permanent residence, the cottage is also meant to be a safe house for vigilantes who were resisting the werewolf invasion.

Unfortunately, for a very bored and lonely Cynthia, nobody ever comes by.

Cynthia strips off her silk dressing gown and bends over to pick up a silver pail of fresh goat's milk. Not thinking twice about wasting such an expensive commodity, she dumps it unceremoniously into the bathtub, along with some fresh spring water.

She adds a half a cup of Epsom salt, a spoonful of honey, a dab of rosehip oil and a basketful of potpourri. She puts together the potpourri mixture herself, making sure to add orange peels, lavender flowers, juniper wood shavings, lemon balm leaves and jasmine buds.

Feeling satisfied with how she's drawn her bath, she eases herself in, breathing out a sigh of relief as the knotty feeling in her chest and belly loosen. Her body is now fully emerged in the milky water, save for her voluptuous breasts that peak just above the surface.

For a few moments, she allows her thoughts to shamelessly roam to impure scenarios. Fast thrusts, panting, sweating, grinding -- Cynthia closes her eyes to picture her handsome, aristocratic husband claiming her body over and over again as she screams for release.

Wishful thinking.

Almost two years into their arranged marriage and they have yet to consummate the union. For a time, she thinks that the problem lies with her. That she is not beautiful enough, not feminine enough, not clever enough for him to fancy her.

However, the day she catches him feverishly plowing into another man like a pig in heat, she understands instantly. Her beautiful, kind husband is a common pillow-biter.

That never stops her from dreaming though.

Gingerly, she lets her hand roam over her breast and down her midsection. Gently, she teases her secret nub adding pressure every so often, causing a light moan to escape her lips.

Lost in her own fantasies, she begins to rub against her maidenhead furiously. Her moans become louder and louder. For once, she is glad that she lives alone.

Feeling frustrated at the lack of friction, she rubs at herself harder. On the brink of a powerful release, she inserts two fingers into herself, rougher than strictly necessary. Because she does it too fast, too hard, not thinking to at least clip her fingernails before engaging in an act of self-pleasure, she hurts herself.

Cursing like an escaped convict, Cynthia withdraws her fingers and groans in defeat throwing her head back, not in ecstasy but in agony. She won't be climaxing today.

Disappointed, she climbs out of the tub and wraps a fresh dressing robe around her naked torso.

That is when he chooses to make himself known.

It happens uncharacteristically fast. A rough hand grabs her raven locks from behind and slams her forehead against the side of the tub.

Cynthia cries out before her assailant does it again. Her arms flay about her, but it does little good. The intruder grabs her crudely around the throat.

"You should have closed your windows," a raspy voice hisses into her ear as warm blood drips down the side of her face. "I could hear you panting for cock a mile away."

With that, he slams her head into the tub one more time before the world goes black.

--

Part 2: Taken

Groggily, her eyes flutter open slowly taking in the warm sunlight.

"Up, up, get up girl," strong hands yank her to her feet, sharp nails digging into her flesh. "Mama wants to do an examination before I fuck you."

Cynthia has been lying on her side but now she finds herself standing upright, dizzy from the earlier beating. The man behind her reeks of sweat and stale whisky.

His voice is coarse from disuse. In some ways she is grateful that he is supporting her weight. If he didn't, Cynthia would surely tumble to the ground. Her legs feel like jelly.

An old woman with thinning hair, a curved spine and a mouth with no teeth limps toward her. Cynthia takes in her surroundings as the haggard woman approaches. Dozens of men in tattered clothing begin to encircle the three. Looking around, Cynthia notices that most of them have untidy hair, dirty hands and scars all over their faces.

She freezes in fear. Werewolves.

The woman yanks Cynthia's robe open and the men holler their approval at being able to see her stark-naked body on full display. She wiggles against the assailant holding her upright, like a small child throwing a tantrum.

"Stop doing that girlie," he grunts. "Otherwise I'll have to take a bite before I fuck you."

Cynthia stops squirming immediately. A werewolf bite would infect her with his disease, a deadly curse in their world.

Werewolves are monsters who have an uncontrollable thirst for human flesh. They experience painful transformations during every full moon and are fully ostracized from all aspects of normal human society.

The woman runs her hand over Cynthia's creamy nipples, pinching and prodding to test their firmness. She smiles evilly to herself.

Against her will, Cynthia's nipples become heavy and erect with the stimulation.

"Adequate for nursing as is," the hag murmurs. "They'll get larger when you've impregnated her though."

The crowd around them grows denser as it becomes obvious that their alpha is putting on a show. Cynthia shudders when several of the men begin to pull out their erect cocks and begin stroking them diligently, hungry eyes focusing on her pink pussy and rosy nipples that are now stiff in response to the prodding.

"Please don't do this," Cynthia cries. "I'll do anything, please."

"Quiet!" the woman yanks her left breast painfully. "Let an old woman have peace."

Cynthia's face melts into ugly sobs as Mama continues her examination. "An ideal figure for childbearing. Nice trim waist, rounded wide hips, and a firm bottom. You chose well this time, Fenrir."

The other wolves howl in approval. Some choose to focus on pumping their throbbing cocks. Some are barring their teeth at her.

"Good set of teeth," Mama pries open her jaw forcefully. "Make sure you're careful when she takes you in her mouth.

"Thick head of hair too," the hag strokes Cynthia's beautiful locks. "Probably high born. Well preserved."

Cynthia makes eye contact with a tall man with light brown hair flecked with spots of grey. Tight wiry muscles bunch against light-olive skin, leading Cynthia to believe that he is younger than what his hair would lead you to believe.

Ugly scars mare his innocent looking face and broad shoulders. What strikes Cynthia the most is the fact that he wears a heavy steel collar around his neck and is completely nude save for a tattered loincloth tied loosely around his pelvis.

To her unexpected disappointment, he has a hand underneath his covering, lightly stroking himself just like the others.

"Can I take her? The men are getting antsy," Fenrir asks gruffly, licking her exposed neck causing shivers to trail up her spine.

"Almost," Mama whispers.

Mama pulls a navy-blue tin out of her pocket and clicks it open. Cynthia glances down to see that it contains some kind of translucent gel.

Acting quickly, Mama scopes a handful of goo with her fingers and violently penetrates Cynthia's centre, stuffing the substance deep inside her.

The maiden jerks upward and the crowd wolf-whistles gleefully at her misfortune. Mama's hands are rough and wrinkled from years of labour.

"You'll thank me later," Mama hisses to Cynthia before turning back toward Fenrir. "She's clean. I see no lice or traces of disease."

Fenrir grunts approvingly, "She's fertile too, I can smell it."

"Two to three times a day should do the trick," Mama says clinically. "Make sure to rest her in between so that the seed takes."

Fenrir brings his hand to her stroke her clit, "I'll take care of it."

"Son," Mama coos, a small smile tugging on her chapped lips. "You'll enjoy this one. She's a virgin."

Men in the crowd cheer loudly and several high fives are exchanged. A short, stout boy no more than sixteen cums all over his fist, looking highly embarrassed.

Fenrir gripes Cynthia's throat tighter and inhales the scent of her hair. His hands snake down to her pussy, parting her lips teasingly.

"Fucking hell. Can I mount her now?"

The old woman nods before hobbling away. The men draw closer to get a better view. Fenrir wastes no time. He kicks Cynthia forward so that she is on her hands and knees, gravel digging into her soft skin.

He violently yanks her silk dressing robe off her body and throws it to the semi-nude, chained man. He rakes his razor-sharp claws over her desirable bottom before beckoning two men to step forward.

"Please, I'm begging you. Don't do this!" Cynthia is frantic as the two men hold her hands down, keeping her firmly in place, prostrating her in front of their alpha. "I'll give you gold."

Fenrir laughs humorlessly, "And where do you keep your gold? Up your cunt?" The crowd jeers at the defeated woman, who is now in tears in anticipation of what is to come.

"Just do what he says. It'll hurt more if you struggle," the chained man's voice cuts through the mob of aggressive, lustful werewolves.

With a wicked grin that goes unseen by Cynthia as she is not facing Fenrir directly, he undoes his own trousers, letting them pool around his ankles. He sniffs the air. Perfect.

He spits into his palm and begins to frantically pump his enlarged member. His eyes gleam darkly with want. He has not fucked a confirmed virgin before.

"Oh yeah, look at that cock! He's gunna fuck her bloody!" Fenrir growls at his wolves but cannot locate the source of the outburst.

Cynthia turns her head to look behind her. The sight makes her knees weak.

She has never properly seen a man's shaft in real life before, but she know that what she is looking at is not human.

She and Fenrir make eye contact for the first time.

She takes a moment to observe her kidnapper. He is a physically large, vicious-looking man with matted grey hair and whiskers. His yellow pointed teeth and long nails are sharpened, adding to his bestial appearance.

His penis is enormously wide by any stretch of the imagination and purple veins cover every inch of in. The mushroom-shaped head is swollen red, barely oozing a whitish substance. Salt and pepper curls surround his member and lax hanging testicles.

"Now you see me," he purrs mockingly.

Cynthia turns her head forward again, not wanting to see anymore. She struggles against the men kneeling next to her, who were holding her firmly on all fours. Her gold wedding band presses painfully against her ring finger.

Fenrir approaches her, grabbing the part where the apex of her thighs meets her hip bones. With a low groan, he attempts to slide his enlarged penis inside her warm centre. His head doesn't go all the way inside of her, despite the lubrication his mother has just forced inside her. He pulls out and tries again.

Stretching her further, she cries out at the painful intrusion. On the third try, her body was able to accept the entire head but not his shaft.

"Grab her tits!" Fenrir barks at the two kneeling men. "She's still too tight."

Equally aroused and afraid, each man begins to palm a breast. Their handiwork is sloppy and too clumsy to be considered erotic. One man twists her nipple in such a way that causes her to shiver outwardly, subconsciously leaning into it.

Fenrir takes notice of course. He wonders to himself if her breasts are always this delightfully sensitive or if it's the warm air of the day that is causing her to now pant like a bitch in heat.

Her hips begin to sway, and Fenrir jumps to shove his full cock into her. Cynthia feels something, some kind of barrier rip and then something starts to drip down her leg. It is incredibly painful, but the added moisture helps easy the pain of the friction. She can feel every unfamiliar ridge and vein of this beast's organ now inside her pulsing womanhood.

Fenrir looks down to where their bodies are joined, his dark curls up against her silky, smooth cunt. He hums aloud. Fenrir is happy. People in the crowd are now hollering crudely as Fenrir's full girth is now able to freely enter the deflowered woman up to his balls. Cynthia coughs, feelings of pain constricting her abdominal muscles.

He does not give her a moment to get used to his length, before he begins to thrust. She squeaks when his gonads slap against her thighs. Squelching sounds from their coupling combines with hoots of praise from the crowd.

Sweat from his face is falling onto her backside as he rides her into submission.

Closing her eyes, Cynthia can hear the lewd noises of their bodies coming together, a primal sound. It frightens her and excites her all at once. The two werewolves next to her are still pulling at her breasts, but they have both let go of her forearms. They are using their free hands to feverishly play with themselves.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Cynthia feels her breasts heavily thump against her chest as he pounds into her from behind, his big balls simultaneously slapping her inner thighs.

A violent rhythm is building. She cannot control herself. She moans weakly.

She pants and cries out every time he thrusts into her, forgetting that she has an audience watching her. Cynthia knows from her healing practice that he has to be close to the end, as she feels his cock twitch inside her.

Fenrir grunts and groans, but otherwise he is not very articulate. His sharp claws dig into her ass cheeks painfully, holding her tight in one spot.

Soon his trusting becomes so intense that Cynthia begins to curse in every language she can think of. Pain and pleasure now clouding her vision. The air reeks like the inside of a brothel.

His grunting becomes louder and his thrusts more determined. He is an animal. He roughly grabs at her hair pulling her head backward, penetrating her core over and over again.

Soon Cynthia feels him stiffen and then he exhales. He cums violently inside her and she grimaces at the feel of his warm seed inside her. She shudders at fullness of her pussy.

The men next to her begin to scamper away when they realize that their alpha is done. No chance that he will be sharing a virgin. Former virgin, that is.

"Lie down," Fenrir huffs in a commanding tone. "I want my seed to take root."

Exhausted, bleeding, and sweating profusely, the newly deflowered healer does not protest his order. Cynthia curls up into the fetal position, still naked and afraid. Her heart beating erratically.

The pack disperses completely now that Fenrir has taken his new broodmare. The show is over. The man with chains lingers in the shadows. In his hands, he holds Cynthia's robe.

"Remus will take you into the castle in a moment." Fenrir towers over her, pulling up his trousers and readjusting the belt buckle. "I'll come for you later."

With that, he melts into the shadows.

--

Part 3: The Mousy Werewolf

It's the petting that wakes her from a dreamless sleep. Groggily blinking her eyes open, she clears her throat and tries to sit up. A young man kneels beside her, rubbing her exposed right breast, watching with wide eyes as her nipple perks up involuntary.

"Bastard!" Cynthia pulls back sharply, tugging at the clothing she is wearing to help cover herself. "What do you think you're doing?!"

The young man startles so quickly that he trips over his own feet, his small half-erect cock now hanging limply under a bush of dark pubic hair. He looks like he wants to cry. He is completely nude.

"I'm so sorry," he whimpers. "I just wanted to touch you."

"Fuck off!" Cynthia spits out. "I've already been raped today by your alpha; I'm not looking to repeat it."

"I'll bring you water. And food. And bandages for your head?" Cynthia can see that the young man is thinking fast.

"In exchange for what? You want to fondle my breasts?" Cynthia sneers.

"Let me put it in you for a few minutes." the mousy brown-haired boy pleads. "I'll be really quick and then I'll get you whatever you want."

Cynthia takes a quick turn about the room, meticulously taking in her surroundings. She is in some kind of below ground dungeon. There are two makeshift mattresses on either side of the cell and bundles of hay are strewn about everywhere. There is a wooden chair and table and a small barred window, too tall to reach. The room is hot; it makes her skin felt sticky.

She fixes her gaze on the young boy. He is slightly too plump with badly styled hair and pale skin indicating that he never goes outside. He tries to smile reassuringly under her gaze, but his bucktooth grin makes him look foolish and uncouth.

Cynthia swallows uncomfortably. She is so thirsty.

"I'm still sore," she turns her head. "And I don't have any ointment..." She really does not want this boy's member inside her.

"I have some!" the boy exclaims joyfully, gesturing to the small navy-blue tin she had seen earlier. "Nicked it when Mama's back was turned."

Cynthia hesitates, biting her lip. She is very thirsty and very hungry. She wants to urinate. The healer recognizes that he is the same boy that came all over his fist earlier that day. The one that looked embarrassed when he did it.

"What's your name?" She asks, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"Peter!" he squeaks a little too eagerly, "And yours?"

"Cynthia."

"You're very pretty," his eyes shift to the floor and he kicks a stray pebble. "And you have nice tits."

"Where are we Peter?" the healer ignores his pathetic attempt at flattery.

"I'll answer all of your questions after we..." he looks up, eyes pleading. "Alpha will be back soon, please. I'll be quick and I promise not to cum inside you."

Cynthia pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. She needs food. Water. Information. And if this spineless, sexually aroused adolescent is her only way of getting it, then shouldn't she at least try? Groaning internally, she makes her way to the bed and gestures for him to follow.

"Hurry up before I change my mind," she bites through clenched teeth.

Fidgeting slightly, the boy hikes up her robe just up to her waist, making them both feel awkward. He presses his warm member against her lower thigh and both of them jump in surprise. Cynthia is still not used to the idea of the male penis. Fenrir's monstrosity made her want to vomit in disgust and Peter's makes her want to ask aloud, 'Is that it?'

Trying to keep her expression neutral, she watches Peter climb over her and position himself so that he is hovering just above her core. He chastely tries to kiss her lips, but she turns her face so that he manages to only graze the side of Cynthia's mouth.