Touched by the Moon Pt. 03

03.

The Meet

The sky was grey and heavy with the promise of rain, so naturally the wisest thing to do was to climb onto the back of a motorcycle. Having never ridden on one before, Sam found it to be equal parts terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. She wore her oversized jacket, and on her Dad's advice, she put on a pair of jeans, her thickest socks and his spare helmet, which covered both her head and face, same as his. It was still a little loose even after she'd cinched it as tight as it could go.

Taking the seat behind Phil, Sam curled her arms tight around his waist as he flipped a switch on the handlebars and the bike sputtered and roared to life. The rumbling between her legs was pleasant, actually, and once he slowly rolled down the driveway, onto the road and picked up speed, it was a very pleasant vibration.

"Can you hear me okay?" he said; the sound of his voice came from a small speaker installed inside the helmet near the pads covering her ears.

"I think so. Can you?"

"Just fine. Good--I haven't actually been able to test my intercoms before."

"Never had a passenger to test it with?" The road up ahead passed over a nearby interstate, but for the most part the two-lane road they were using cut through the trees with only the barest hint of civilization--single-story houses, a couple of run-down trailers and a dirty-looking old church sitting at the back of a torn-up asphalt lot. The scenery was sad, like no one had come down that road in a long time.

"I got the spare helmet in the hopes that somebody would use it eventually, but it's not like I had many chances to test it out, no." His voice had a touch of amusement to it, but Sam could hear a hint of bitterness there as well.

They rolled over a pair of train tracks and turned onto a four-lane highway. There were trees and open fields on both sides of the road, as far as she could see in every direction. As they picked up speed, Sam hugged him a little tighter around the waist. "Well, now you do. So when are you going to tell me where we're going?"

"We're going to a Meet."

"A 'Meet.' Who with?"

"Few of the locals."

He said it so casually that Sam almost missed his meaning. "You mean...locals-like-us-locals?"

He nodded. "We find each other through scent, word of mouth, that sort of thing."

"Wish I'd had some locals," Sam said, grumbling.

"Maybe that's for the best: you don't have to learn the ropes on your own this way. We're not the only 'half-humans' out there, Sam--knowing other people means having ways to protect the weaker ones, when we can. That's the idea, anyway."

She gave a little smile. "Weaker? Like me?"

Phil hesitated a moment. "'Inexperienced,' then. You never had a pack out in California?"

"I never met anybody like me. I told you that."

"Then listen: we haven't had a Meet for about half a year now. If this meeting turns out the way I think it will, some weird things might happen--especially since the full moon is so close. So don't freak out about it."

Sam saw a train rolling down the same train tracks they'd passed earlier. They had the highway all to themselves. "Like an initiation? Maybe sacrifice a goat or something?"

"Or something," he said; she could hear him smile. "Also, we don't have 'alphas' or 'omegas' or anything like that. It really doesn't work that way."

"More Hollywood bullshit, huh," she said, snorting.

"Hey, it ain't all bull. Most of the group are just subservient by nature, just like humans--most people are wired that way. You'll just have to decide how to handle that when the time comes."

An old, rusted pickup truck sputtering thick fumes came rattling down the highway and passed them on one side. The driver had his arm out the window, wearing an old ball cap and a work uniform of some kind.

"Is anyone going to start any trouble?"

"Maybe." Phil shrugged. "By and large, everybody gets along with everybody. I'd like it to stay that way." He shook his head. "Anyway, just remember that you're not alone. If someone tries to force you to do anything you don't want to do, I'll be there to back you up. I don't expect anybody will try something stupid."

"Just so long as nobody starts humping my leg or anything."

After a few more minutes of riding, they arrived at a small, rectangular building in the middle of nowhere, framed by a thicket of pine trees near an old dirt road with no street sign. It looked like some kind of diner, except the windows--which, surprisingly, weren't broken--had all been blacked out. The sign by the highway was removed, leaving just a squat, concrete base with bits of rebar poking out.

There were mostly cars in the parking lot: some sedans, a small blue two-door hatchback, a silver minivan with a dented front-end, a bright pink convertible with a pair of those God-awful accessories gave the headlamps eyelashes. There was a tall, four-door matte-black SUV that probably cost more than the old building it was parked next to. The rusted pickup that had passed them was idling nearby, still putting out foul-smelling fumes.

"Nice place," Sam said, once the engine died and she pulled her helmet off.

"Used to be a Huddle House--local breakfast place. Been shut down for years, but Bubba inherited the property and we all threw money in the pot to get it fixed up. We hold our pack meetings near here; rest of the time, Bub keeps it closed up."

"The owner's name is 'Bubba?'" Sam didn't bother keeping disbelief out of her voice.

"It's a varied bunch here, Sam, but try to keep an open mind. Sometimes the safest place is amongst your own kind, and there's not a lot of us to go around."

"I guess you're right. Now what?"

"Right now, let's start those introductions I talked about earlier." Phil unzipped his jacket and then climbed off the bike before leading the way over to the rumbling pickup truck. "Howdy, Wren."

The driver, who'd been staring out into space, preoccupied with his own troubles, gave such a jump in his seat that he slammed both hands hard atop the steering wheel. "Shit!" Wren winced and rubbed the palms of both hands. Sam thought he looked angry, but it melted away when he recognized Philip. "Oh, it's you, Phil. Who's your friend?"

"This is my, ah, kid--Samantha." Phil sounded awkward when he said it.

"The one you mentioned before?" Wren pulled open the door and stepped out; it gave such a squeaking sound that Sam expected it to fall off the hinges.

"The same. She just got into town a couple of days ago. Sam, this is Wren."

As he stepped out, she got a better look at the man--he was tall, taller than Phil even, and she saw how well he filled out his coveralls, which were only zipped up to his breastbone. He had dirty-blonde hair under his old cap, which was so stained with old sweat and dirt Sam couldn't tell what team it had once belonged to. He also wore cowboy boots--that she definitely didn't expect.

An oval patch on one breast said Skip's Auto & Salvage; on the other was one bearing the name Warren. He was rather good looking under the grease stains, Sam thought, and could imagine her taking hold of that zipper in her teeth, dragging it down past his waist as she went to both knees, then opening her mouth wide to--

Phil gave a loud, forced cough and nudged Sam with an elbow. She blinked, saw Wren watching her, eyes narrowed slightly, his hand outstretched.

Sam coughed as well and took the man's hand. Wren had a good, strong grip, which gave her all sorts of ideas that were bound to get her into trouble. "Wren? Or Warren?"

"Wren's fine." He had a southern twang like Phil, even a little stronger. "Ol' Skip ain't got more than ten teeth left, pro'lly--he's been calling me 'Wren' since I was knee-high to my Daddy, so everybody else calls me that, too." His smile was small, but it did confirm that he had all his teeth--point for him, at least.

"And you're one of..." Sam's voice trailed off, unsure how to finish her sentence.

Wren caught her meaning: "Yes ma'am, I'm here for the Meet, too."

"I didn't think you'd be here," Phil said. He sounded concerned, hinting at something Sam couldn't decipher.

Wren's smile faltered; he glanced at Sam, then back again. "Figured if you were hosting, that might be alright." The smell and look of him was all wrong, Sam thought; he tried to keep his tone neutral, but his flared nostrils and a smell of new sweat showed that was a lie.

"Well, reckon that the rest are waiting on us," Phil said. "C'mon." He led the way towards the door of the restaurant, carrying his helmet under one arm while fishing a key from his key ring and unlocking the door to usher them inside. As soon as they entered, he locked the bolt again from inside.

The interior of the building wasn't anything like Sam had expected. Her image of a diner vanished when she saw most of the booths had been removed. A bar was along one wall, and an assortment of stuffed chairs and other seats were spread around the space. Several large TVs were mounted to the walls, which were otherwise covered in framed photographs and other paraphernalia; neon beer signs were a common motif. There wasn't a soul to be seen, but plenty of piles of clothing and personal articles--some were folded neatly together, others were tossed in piles or strewn about on the floor.

Sam looked around in confusion, then back to the men, only to see that they too were beginning to shed their clothing. "Okay...?"

Wren, coveralls unzipped to his waist and his shirt half-off, looked at Phil in surprise.

"She's new," Phil said, as if that explained everything.

Wren nodded and went back to undressing. Under the coveralls he looked like Sam had expected, with a broad chest and a figure she didn't mind staring at one bit. She started to tilt her head to one side when he turned away, and as Wren started shimmying his coveralls past his hips, Sam was all too happy to--

"Sam!" Phil snapped his fingers next to her ear, making her jump with a gasp. "Either rub one out in the ladies' room or get undressed. We're wasting time."

"What?"

Her dad gave a firm snort. "Stop eye-fucking the boy. Everyone leaves their things here--you won't need them anyway. We'll leave our stuff here, run to the Meet, and then come back to collect before we head home. Got it?"

Sam saw Wren already walking behind the bar, stripped past his waist and probably below it, except she couldn't see, damnit. She had to force herself to look back at Phil again, only now noticing he had his shirt off and was in his bare feet. "So... Naked. Right."

Her dad nodded. "Nobody will mess with your clothes; ain't no way to get in the building without a key. Anytime you're ready, but now would be best. Hurry up." By that time he was stripping off his trousers, and she could tell he was impatient to go.

It took Sam a few moments to follow suit, feeling a touch ridiculous and more than a little self-conscious, but rules were rules. After folding her things and leaving her helmet on the bar, Sam let Phil usher her behind it in the same direction Wren had taken, which led into a large back room: just four walls, a buzzing fluorescent light overhead and a heavy steel door with a metal handle.

Her dad slid to his fur coat and four legs so easily that Sam was a little envious as she had to go down on hands and knees before sliding into her other shape. When she sat up, she saw the pale wolf watching her, waiting, still looking impatient with her somehow.

A small metal grate at the base of the metal door lifted up and a silver head appeared, looking from father to daughter, then pulled back to let the hidden opening swing down into place. The pale wolf pushed through a moment later, and Sam followed, resisting the urge to sniff--exiting out a makeshift doggy door felt a little insulting.

The other males ran into the trees behind the old restaurant and Sam followed them--they picked up their pace and she was forced to run hard to keep up. Thankfully the run only lasted a few minutes, taking them into the foothills far from the four-lane highway and into the thicker woods, where the canopy was so full it blocked most of the sky. The grey clouds continued to bellow and roar with thunder, but the rain still refused to come. It made Sam uneasy until her hackles were up; she could smell the lightning on the air, even smell the rain now like Phil had back home.

Then she smelled something else: fire and ash, and the stink of sweat on bare flesh. Wren and Phil slid back into their naked, furless shapes, and Sam did the same, pushing up from hands and knees to her feet. The soil was thick and hard, stained red like old blood in places. Up ahead was a large bonfire, and a crowd of humanoid shapes gathered around it.

"What happens now?" Sam asked.

"Suppose we go up and say hello," Wren said. Up close, he was a tall, shapely man with strong limbs and a backside Sam wanted to sink her teeth into. He looked back at her and she tried not to flinch, or to wrinkle her nose at him--she thought he was attractive, was that such a crime?

"Easy, Sam." Her dad's hand was at her arm, and she looked up to see him trying to soothe her: his facial features, his stance, even his tone was softer, yet with an underlying tone of authority.

Sam felt a tension in her begin to unravel as a rush of goose flesh run across her bare body. When she took a deeper breath, the strong scent of the woods rushed into her, and her frantic heartbeat began to slow. "What's happening? Is it the moon again?"

The two men looked at one another. "Wren, take care of her."

The taller man nodded. "Yes sir." He stepped to take Phil's place and rested one hand on Sam's arm as they followed Phil towards the fire.

"What, what's going on?" she said, frowning up at Wren. "I don't need a babysitter."

"That ain't your Pa's intention," Wren said. He jerked his chin towards the bonfire that they were rapidly approaching. "Can't you smell them?"

Sam stopped in her tracks, forcing Wren to do the same. Then she raised her head and took a big whiff of the air...and something hit her upside the nose like a brick of cocaine: her nostrils flared, eyes dilated, the hairs at the nape of her neck stood up; her naked flesh broke out in a sweat, and if not for Wren's hand on her arm, she would've fallen over.

Sex. Lust. Desire. Whatever the word, it had a scent, and Sam was high on it like high schooler at her first college frat party.

"Shit," she said; Sam hardly recognized her voice at that moment. She realized that they were walking again, and had caught up to her dad at the edge of the clearing.

And what a sight it was. Sam knew what an orgy was, had even been in one before herself. But the scene she witnessed in that place was an orgasmic rush of scents, sights and sounds so strong that her moon-lust nearly made her skin split open. Nearly a dozen people were gathered around the bonfire. What Sam witnessed was as simple as one fat man sitting on a log while a redhead was on her knees in front of him, hair pulled to one side while she sucked his cock, head quickly bobbing up and down; at the other extreme on the other side of the fire, a blonde leaned back on one hand while seated atop one man, with another between her legs and two more standing on either side--she had a dick in every hole and the fourth in her hand. The woman's eyes were closed and she glistened with sweat, shining in the firelight like she was about to melt.

"Wow," Sam said with a dreamy giggle. "Is she--"

"Yep," Wren answered.

"And are they--"

"Yep."

"She must get all the boys." Sam giggled again.

"You have no idea," Wren growled. He sounded angry, but there was a frustration as well, something Sam was feeling all too strongly on her own. She saw his eyes scanning the small crowd, head turning quickly, looking from one figure to the next. He seemed to be searching for someone, but Sam couldn't begin to guess as to why.

The men outnumbered the women, but the women could satisfy more men on their own. There were cocks aplenty and always a warm, wet hole to fill them with. Sam counted three women including herself, and found it very funny that there was a redhead, a blonde, and another brunette--she found almost poetically appropriate, somehow. She was also the only Asian there, although she did spot a black man sharing the brunette, and a Hispanic of some indeterminate origin was between the blonde's legs. Every single person there had a partner, and some had an extra to spare. The lone exceptions were Phil, Wren and Sam, and she was most definitely feeling left out.

"Wren." Sam stuck her feet in the clay, refusing to move further. The air was so thick with musk and sweat that she could have sucked it in-between her teeth.

The man halted, looking at her but not speaking. The sexual energy was affecting Wren physically, she could see it: his cock was hard and swollen between his legs, jutting out like a pale blade--no wonder the man was frustrated.

It made Sam's mouth water to see it, and she couldn't hold back. Going to her knees before him in the dirt, she opened her mouth and took him into it, sinking her fingers into his thighs before he could get away. The moon's power was in her and Sam could no more deny it than she could stop breathing.

"W-wait--!" Wren started to protest but then the wet, warm confines of her mouth trapped him and he stopped with a shudder and a hard grunt. He set his feet and curled his hands into her hair, gasping aloud, eyes drifting closed for a moment while he savored the pleasure she was giving him.

It wasn't that Sam was unused to sexual desire or pleasuring a stranger, she'd just never felt so fucking hot as she did at that moment. She was a slave to the energy of that place, so much so that it sent her head to swimming and Sam half-expected to burst into flames herself.

Wren's earlier hesitation melted away like the lines of sweat sliding down his bare chest. When he looked into Sam's eyes, she could see lust and desire burning in him, and she could tell he was already hers. His cock twitched in her mouth and it tightened under her hands.

Taking a breath, Sam pulled her mouth off of Wren's dick and stroked him, long and hard, right in front of her face. There was a curious swelling at the base of him, a knot of muscle near his nest of dark curls, but she didn't trouble herself with that--all she cared about was pleasing him, making him howl as he came all over her face or she drank him dry. Maybe she'd turn around on all fours and present her ass to him, or drag him to the ground and make him please her with his mouth next--Sam had plenty of options.

They were surrounded by so much hunger, by groping hands and thrusting cocks, slurping wet holes and moans of need and satisfaction. It was to be expected that they'd both be swept up in that, so Sam saw little need to fight it. "Is it good?" she asked Wren, looking into his eyes. She closed hers and slid her tongue up the length of him, feeling his cock jump in her hands. "You can cum for me. I want it. I need it, Wren." Sam smiled and opened her mouth to start sucking his cock again, stroking him with eager speed, wanting him to cum. She wanted it bad.

Giving a sound somewhere between a gasp and a snarl, Wren tightened his hands around her head and shook so hard she thought he was about to faint. The swelling at the base of his cock was even larger now, which Sam found unusual, but there was no time to concern herself about that. "Cumming!" he grunted, saying it through clenched teeth, fingers trembling. For a second Wren looked to be in pain, but it vanished with a long, satisfied groan as his climax came over him.