Like An Animal: Erotic Tales of Werewolves
Click on image to enlarge.
by Cecilia Tan, Bethany Zaiatz
Category: Erotica/Paranormal Erotica/Dark Fantasy
Description: Seven stories of werewolf erotica. We all struggle with the lustful animal that lurks beneath the skin. What more apt lens to explore the erotic possibilities, but the mythic creature of the werewolf? These stories run the gamut from playful to intense, exploring pack dynamics, magic, and the natural world. [Warning: Explicit sexual content.] Includes: Lunacy by Elizabeth Reeve, The Moon Is My Mistress by Vicka Corey, Carolina Jasmine by David Hubbard, Carnival of the Grotesque by A.D.R. Forte, Dark Divine Light by Becca Ovadia, Lupin House by A.N. Cortez, and American Werewolf In Budapest by Joe Nobel.
eBook Publisher: Circlet Press, 2008 2008
eBookwise Release Date: December 2008
12 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [164 KB]
Reading time: 101-142 min.
It's come to the first night of the full moon. She's on my bed, propped up on an elbow, naked. She watches me brood. It bothers her. She'd said many times before she'll do anything to make me happy. I just have to tell her what I want. How can I tell her what I want when I'm not even sure of who I am?
I excuse myself as I run into the bathroom to shave and trim my nails. Yeah, I'm turning.
When I come out, I see her in the light of the moon. Now she's lying on her back, touching the headboards as if she were tied up.
"My, how freaky you look tonight," she tells me.
"All the better to sink my teeth into you, my dear," I say with a growl.
"How sexy," she says. "Come hither."
I pounce on the bed. Straddle her. Pin her arms above her head. I bend down to her. Breathing on her neck ever closer.
She kisses me.
No! That's not how it's supposed to happen! The victim usually screams in terror at this point.
She somehow pulls free of my grip. My half-transformed wolf claws aren't the greatest for pinning down a girl's arms unless I want to tear them to shreds. And I can't bring myself to do that. She strokes my face.
"You've changed," she says. "It's the moon, isn't it?"
I roll off her and get up. I look over my shoulder at the full moon bearing down through my picture window.
"Get dressed," I tell her with a distant look. "We're going out for the night."
I in my Armani, she in her little dress, we walk out into the hot summer night. I think I should have shaved one more time. She doesn't say anything. She must know what I am by now, only a fool would be blind to this kind of transformation. She isn't bothered by what I am. And she isn't scared.
"Are you going hunting, Mr. Wolf?" she asks as I drive with the top down over the chain bridge from the Buda to the Pest side of the city.
"I tried resisting the urge at first," I say, as the lights on the suspension chains rush by overhead. "But the call of the moon always wins. If I don't fight it, go along instead, I can keep a small part of my rational self. This way I take only those that are forgotten, those who have no one to grieve for them--the dwellers of storm drains, for the most part. Think of it as culling the herd of its weakest at the fringes. Just like in the wild."
She listens to my petty rationales, not arguing perhaps from some fear of me. Well, she should be afraid--at least some. Then she speaks.
"Why not go back to your homeland and do your damage there?"
"Because, it's your country that did this to me." I look to my right shoulder, where the healed scratch lays under my suit jacket. She knows its there, we'd explored our bodies enough in those intimate moments. Surviving the wolf when those around me perished is not a war story I brag about to my lovers.
She leans over and kisses me on the shoulder, where the wound is. Yes, she understands. But, what's this? She now moves down along my body and fits her head between my lap and the steering wheel. I hear my fly going down. And feel her fingers reach in and fish out my cock. And feel her lips descending on its head. I stray onto the yellow divider then swerve back quickly.
"Be careful up there," she says in a muffled voice.
I make my way off the Pest side of the bridge onto Roosevelt Square, keeping one eye on the road as her lips circle the head of my cock. There's not much traffic as I pass the Intercontinental Hotel and make my way into the heart of Pest. A car pulls up beside me at the red light at the intersection of Bajczy-Zsilinszky Ut. A kid driving an SUV gawks at Gabriella going down in my lap; he's about to hoot or whistle--until he gets a look at me. He hits the gas, screeching his tires, despite the red light.
When the light turns, I pull across the intersection, cruising slowly down Andrassy Ut. I stroke Gabriella's head as she bobs up and down. I pull the seat as far back as it goes, giving her head more room. I pull past the Opera House with kids, pretty babies fresh from their discos, waiting on the curb for their taxis home. Gabriella goes deep and long. She moans as if it was her on the edge of coming. We cruise past the museum called The House of Terror where Nazis then the state secret police interrogated their prisoners. She changes pace again, now rocking up and down with fury. At the far end of Andrassy Ut, I turn right onto Hero's Square. Gabriella teases the tip of my cock with her tongue.
"Aren't you going to come yet?" she asks.
"Keep sucking," I tell her, as I push her head back down my shaft. "You started this on your own."
I cruise around Hero's square, under its classic Greek columns. She continues her rhythmic pace, as I guide her with my paw on the back of her head. Okay, they're still half hands since I can work the steering wheel, but they could slice through her if that's what I really wanted. Having circumnavigated the square I return to tree-lined Andrassy in the opposite direction.
She circumnavigates my tip with her tongue, infuriating me with intense pleasure while she squeezes the base of my cock in her grip. I stay in the slow lane for I'm about to come. I push her head down, all the way down. I hear her muffled moan. A sports car rushes past, beeping his horn. That's when I give her my release.
I like the way she doesn't let even a drop stain my pants. Nothing ruins of a pair of well tailored pants like a splotch you-know-where.
"I hope this won't shut you down for the night," she says as she sits up. She checks herself in the passenger mirror.
"No chance of that," I tell her. I look at myself in the rearview. Then I look up to the sky, locking eyes with the full moon. "No chance at all, my dear."