Touched by the Moon Pt. 01

"Samantha?" Philip's voice was muffled on the other side of her door, and it got clearer as he got closer. "You alright? I heard a door slam."

"I'm okay!" She cleared her throat and tried to calm her frantic heart; her naked body had broken out in a sweat. "I was on my way to the shower when I heard the door."

"Oh! I'm sorry," he said, "reckon I didn't mean to scare you like that."

"It's alright," she said. Her skin felt tight all over; now she could smell him on the other side of the door--that masculine scent from the woods was back, combined with the smell of oiled leather and motor oil.

For some reason, she was horny as all fuck. That was unexpected. Probably the full moon that was coming.

"I'll go take a shower now, if that's okay."

"Sure enough," he said. "Sorry again for scaring you."

Sam was more excited than scared--she'd almost gotten caught. If she wasn't more careful next time, it was up to the moon's own luck as to what would happen.

--

Sam had a love-hate relationship with the moon. Her destiny was bound to it, and had been ever since her body began changing--she felt its hum in her body, in her blood. When it got closer and closer, her physical hungers--the need to change, to run, to fuck--grew stronger and stronger, sometimes becoming impossible to control.

After her father nearly discovered her, all Sam could think about was getting out of the house, sliding into her fur and running again. Once her appetites started getting the better of her, running was what helped her cope. She could burn off as much energy as she needed back home, roaming the city streets or heading down to the beach near her mother's old, rundown house. With senses like hers Sam always knew how to avoid getting caught. She had some close calls, but nothing she had to worry about anymore.

Now she was in a new state, in a new town, and had a veritable forest to roam for miles around...if she could just get out from under the eye of her father. Sam wasn't ready to talk to him about that part of her life yet, and those trees were tantalizing and torturing at the same time, like candy under glass: so close she could practically smell them, but impossible to touch for herself.

Philip was a quiet sort. He worked out of his home as a programmer, so for a lot of time during the first couple of days after she'd arrived, he spent a lot of time in his office. He kept odd hours too, sometimes working overnight and sleeping during the daytime hours. When she asked what he did for a living, he tried briefly to explain the work he did--"building educational platforms for third-party contractor resources"--and Sam, who knew her way well enough around a computer, still felt her eyes cross and decided not to ask anymore questions.

Those first days after her arrival, they both carefully navigated around each other: feeling each other out, making polite conversation and such things. Philip made the first move when he suggested that they share lunch together--he ordered pizza from a local place, and they sat in the living room, eating and talking. It was a more relaxed, comfortable affair, at least for Sam: she laid back in a set of sweats and fuzzy socks. He'd picked her favorite toppings--mushrooms and banana peppers--and she chewed with an amount of relish she only saved for good pizza. And that pizza was, she had to admit, really goody pizza. Maybe not California good, but still good.

"So...tell me about my Mom," she finally said.

He paused in-between bites, giving her a cautious look from the across the room, and swallowed before answering. "What do you want to know?" Philip had picked off every pepper and had a sizable pile on his plate; it was sweet of him, letting her pick dinner. He took a sip from a warm can of soda.

"What she was like before she went psycho."

He coughed. "I'm not sure I'd put it like that."

"Sure, you didn't live with her for eighteen years." When he still hesitated, Sam sighed and put down her plate. "Look--" She didn't know what to call him, and sputtered a moment before continuing "--you were super-amazing to take me in, and I'm not going to do anything to make you regret that, but one of us has to rip the band-aid off eventually. May as well be me."

"So...what made her a psycho?" he said, but his mouth twisted up at the word.

"She was angry all time, until she wasn't. She'd scream and throw things, call me a cunt and a liar, then hug me and break down crying when she felt guilty about it a day later." Sam pressed her lips tight together and was quiet for a moment. "I wanted to hear a little about what she was like before...all of that."

He considered that, then nodded. "Fair enough." He thought about it for an moment. "I met Esther the one semester I went to college--I hated it and dropped out after that, but not before I met your mother." Philip sat back and got a faraway look in his eyes. "She was smart and fun, everything that a naive, depressed, lonely guy like me needed." He met her eyes. "She saved me, Samantha."

Sam picked up her plate again. "Saved you how?" she asked, taking another bite.

"I was a college drop-out with no prospects or plans for the future, no parents to fall back on, and nobody else to look to for support." He finished his pizza and put the plate, banana peppers and all, on the coffee table. "I probably would've done something drastic--or permanent--if not for her."

"Permanent how?"

He didn't answer out loud, just made a mock handgun with his fingers and put it against his temple. "Like that," he said, deadpan.

"Oh." Sam chewed for a moment, letting the awkward moment pass. "Did she drop out, too?"

"No, she had family paying her way." He paused, reminiscing. "She talked about them sometimes. I'm surprised you never met them."

"I was named after my grandmother," Sam said. She stretched over, picking up his plate and began to nibble on his unwanted peppers. "That's as much as I ever met any of them."

Philip gave a disgusted face. "Those things are nasty."

"Hah! More for me." She grinned and made a show of chewing. "Mom never talked about family and never took me to see any of them. I don't think they ever called--there's 'falling out,' and then there's whatever my Mom did to the rest of her family."

He shook his head. "That's just so bizarre to hear. Up until she disappeared, Esther was just so warm and kind, the sort of person I was thanking my lucky stars for finding every single day." Philip sighed. "It about killed me when she up and left: no goodbye, no warning just a letter and no forwarding address." He gave her an apologetic look. "Samantha...if I'd known you were out there--"

"Don't." She shook her head. "Don't beat yourself up. Really. That's why I came to see you, so we have a chance to make up for lost time." She smiled, wanting to soothe him. There were other reasons she'd come, but she needed the right time to bring up those. The right time would come--she just had to be patient.

He sat back, quiet, and she had a few moments to fully observe and watch him. He smelled of his own musk, like he needed a shower, but that wasn't an unpleasant scent. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was also pleasant to look at: purely as a man, her father was attractive, the sort of man she liked looking at. Sam had always gone for older men: first out of necessity, than out of personal preference. And he was practically a stranger, so she didn't have any shame in looking, either. Who was going to know?

"Well, I'm sorry anyway," he said, pointing at her. "You didn't deserve to grow up that way. Maybe we can make up for it, somehow."

"Maybe." She smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good. Me too." He yawned--it wasn't the first time, either. "I think I'm tapped out now. Gonna sneak in a nap and check out of work early for the weekend."

Her heart surged in her chest. "Okay," Sam said, keeping her voice neutral.

"I'll check back in on you later, then."

"Okay, I'll clean up. Thanks for the pizza, and for...y'know, talking some more."

"My pleasure." He gave her a farewell smile, then headed for his bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Sam made herself clean up, being meticulous about all of it, down to the last crumb. By the time she was done, almost a quarter-hour had passed, and everything was silent behind the master bedroom door.

Returning to her room, she quickly and quietly undressed, then counted to sixty with slow, measured breaths. Nudity wasn't a requirement for the change, but peeling herself out of clothes meant for a human body when she was on all fours was a challenge. Changing while naked was a hell of a lot easier on her wardrobe, too.

Nothing stirred or made a sound as she slipped out of her room, shutting the door behind her. Sam quickly crept to the back door, slid outside and pulled it closed. Going down to her knees, breathing in the smell of the ground and the grass--it still made her nose wrinkle--she slid into her fur coat and was off at a full run in seconds.

Running was just as good that day as the one before--better, maybe, because the moon's energy was just a little but stronger and her hunger was stronger to match. She took the same direction as the previous day, but only until she found the smell of the male wolf and confirmed her suspicions of the day before.

It was her father's smell.

Sam would stake everything she had left--which, admittedly, wasn't much--on her hunch. Her sense of smell was stronger when she was on four legs, and now she knew it for sure. It confirmed everything she'd been able to find out about people like her, people who were somewhere between humans and wolves. She didn't like the term "werewolf"--it was too mainstream, too cliche--but it sufficed for lack of something better. If she could slide from one form to the other, that power had to come from a parent, and her mother was too schitzo for Sam to believe it was her. That only left Philip.

That only left the obvious question: how could she ask him?

The smell of him, of his scent as a beast, was doing things to her body and her mind that were both welcome and surprising. Sam hadn't changed to four legs to deal with her lust, but given how much she was panting and the potent surge of her own desire made it impossible to ignore her pounding heart and aching loins.

Sam blamed it on the moon again--she always did that, mostly because there was nothing else she could do. As she ran, she tried to work out the energy through her pumping limbs and thrusting body, churning away at the distance, burning up energy as she ran, but the longer she tried to ignore it, the harder it was to resist that desire.

Eventually she reached a glen, a small parting in the trees with a wide patch of clear, open sky above. The smell of grass and pine trees was thickest here, and she guessed that her father's house was only a few minutes of hard running away. It felt like a safe place: the only animal smells she could pick out were old, so old she was fairly certain nothing larger than a squirrel had walked here in days.

Sam lay down on a patch of thick weeds and grasses and slid back into her bare skin. Even though it was late in the year, it was an unnaturally hot day and she immediately began to sweat from the lingering exhaustion of her running, her increased heart rate, the ambient air temperature trapped in that little clearing, and from the intense heat aching between her thighs.

"Oh, fuck," Sam whispered as she lay back, opening her legs. Just the touch of her fingers set her clit to throbbing, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.

Philip's face flashed in her mind. Sam had a choice to make, to indulge herself on a fantasy that a part of her knew was wicked, or to resist its potent pull at the back of her mind. It wasn't much of a contest, and soon any reluctance melted like the sweat clinging to her pale brown skin and trickled away, creeping across her breasts, tingling at her nipples, and slithering down into the crack of her ass before it was gone.

"You want me, don't you?" she whispered. "God, I want you too." Sam whimpered, not having to care or worry about who could hear her. She slid a finger in-between her pussy lips, sliding up and in, giving a long, soft grinding against her G-spot. It wasn't powerful enough for her to cum--not without the help of some of the "accessories" she'd brought along in her backpack--but this was just a quick session to get herself off before she got back to the house.

Moaning, grinding at the sweet spot deep in her cunnyhole, Sam licked her lips and used the one thing she loved to arouse herself with more than anything else: her voice. "Do I smell good? Do you want to touch me? Stroke your little girl's pussy...? Mmm!" The heat of it, of her dark fantasy, made her shiver all over.

A hand--his hand--reached out of her imagination and started swirling its fingers around her clit, around and around, using the same motions she was pleasuring herself with. She could imagine his face, the way he breathed in her scent, or how he licked his lips.

"It's so bad," she said, mewling like a tiny beast, bucking her hips. "But that's what makes it so good, too. Mm! More, please more!" Round and round her finger went while she sucked and nibbled at a knuckle on her other hand. Sam wanted to cum so bad she was trembling, spotting with more sweat; her juices were thick and hot, and she stopped to slide two fingers into her mouth, sucking them clean.

Rolling onto her knees, face in the grass, and opened her legs and stroked her clitty with a quick, practiced method that she hoped would end it quickly. "Doesn't my pussy look so good? You want to touch it? Taste it?" Sam shivered as she took a breath. "Do you want to fuck me, Dad? Daddy? Daddy! Oh, Daddy, yes! Cumming!"

She climaxed with a burst of light at the corners of her eyes and a burst of fire in her belly, rushing out to her upraised pussy and ass, which tensed up and tightened from the intense force of it. Sam whined like the little bitch she was, closing her eyes and shaking again, letting the pleasure overpower every sense she had. It lasted longer than any orgasm she'd had in recent memory, and by the time it was done she wanted to melt into a puddle and lie there for a long, long time.

When she came to some moments later, Sam rubbed at her face and picked the grass out of her hair. She felt a little foolish, but also felt an urgency to return--she had to get back before he woke up. Shaking herself, Sam pushed down, raised her ass up, slid into her fur coat again and made for the familiar smell of her father's house.

As suspected, she got there in a few more minutes of hard effort, and changed back to her softer, ganglier human body. The air felt cool and pleasant on her skin, enough to make her wish she could've lingered outside to rest. But yesterday had proven how risky going out was, so Sam carefully crept to the back door and pushed it open...

...just in time to watch the bedroom door on the other side of the living room do the same thing as Philip walked out.

They both froze as their eyes met. Sam wouldn't be able to dart into her bedroom this time--she was caught.