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Fer

By: GrandTeton



Jennifer d'Angelo was slim and svelte, adequately but not over endowed, attractive even if not beautiful, and crazy as a bedbug. There was a d'Angelo family with roots going back to the first Spanish settlers of California. Unfortunately, Fer (as she referred to herself) was not of their lineage. It appeared that her father had adopted the name for various purposes, all of them frowned on by the law, and potentially to avoid child support claims after he left her mother, sometime in Fer's sixth month of life. She never missed him and rather thought her mother didn't, either.

For some reason she had the idea that the marriage had been bigamous, possibly his fourth or fifth without having disposed of previous claimants to the title of Mrs. d'Angelo or whichever name he had been using at the time, but perhaps not. She had no proof either way. She held it against him that he'd deserted her and simply thought the worst of him. 

Fer's mother never chose to divorce the man. It might not have been a matter of choice, since he would have to be served with the papers and not having any idea where he was, or even who he was, made that a touch chancy. On the other hand, maybe her mother still had a regard for him or thought he was the Prince of Gallicia in disguise, or something. She hadn't considered her marriage vows to be any impediment to liaisons with other gentlemen, and some not so gentle men, so Fer got used to a mixed bag of uncles, potential stepfathers, just good friends and even once a "what a great fuck" (when she was older and her ears plainly couldn't be made any more impure than they already were). There were a bewildering number of them.

Of course, Fer's mother being a mother, whenever Fer did anything the least bit crazy - most of the time, that is - her mother blamed it on her goneaway father. "That's just like something he'd do." Fer, not having ever really known her father, nor remembered even what unknowing might have occurred, could scarcely object. That may have been the point.

On the other hand, when Fer managed to achieve anything significant, like the English prize in Grade 5, obviously her mother's genes had managed to make a brief showing.

That sort of thing happened in most homes even when both parents were around, as she knew from her friends and their families. She had a lot of friends, since even though she was batty she was definitely a nice person and never said anything bad about anyone - that came from her mother, apparently, though you could never tell by listening to her. Mrs. d'Angelo was surprisingly catty for a single mother who went through unattached (and some loosely attached, too) men like tissue. Bathroom tissue, Fer sometimes thought after a string of particularly odious specimens.

Unfortunately, either the male specimens her mother chose to dissect were not wealthy (a definite error according to the romances Fer started reading when she was about nine) or they were ungenerous (a worse error). They didn't add to Fer's standard of living in any way. She got most upset about this when she really, really wanted the new CD and her mother explained that there were distinct limits on what they could afford on an office assistant's salary, and unfortunately food came first. Fer couldn't see why a man who was interested in her mother wouldn't want to buy off the daughter to make a little progress on the home front. She was quite prepared to compromise her morals for a satisfactory price, and it was a wonderful CD. Her friend Jessica had a copy and played it incessantly.

As the years passed Fer grew into herself (so her mother said), which really meant that she went from a conventionally skinny and strung out little girl to one with some curves and a little allure to, eventually, someone who attracted a fair amount of male interest. On some days the clouds of testosterone surrounding Fer were almost visible. Unfortunately (fortunately, her mother thought), the early clouds of testosterone had been attracted by a rather earlier development than other girls her age had attained. As they got older and the other girls grew into themselves - past that, in some cases - Fer's brief term as the centre of male attention ended and the boys paid more attention to the spectacular blondes with rather mammoth chests, at least in comparison with hers. The focus shifted from the merely adequate to the incredibly excessive, and there happened to be three girls in the class with that attribute. Fer still received attentions, but not so much from those who possessed what seemed to be the feminine ideal: massive thews, tall, good looking, braindead.

In her last two years of high school Fer slipped out of her niche as the fifth ranking in academics to number one. There wasn't any point in playing to the braindead any longer since they weren't paying attention. They had other things on their minds, actually, pairs of other things. It might be a good idea to see whether a scholarship was out there somewhere, since she was going to have to fashion higher education on her own nickel. Her mother had nothing to contribute, and while she knew she had grandparents somewhere, her mother refused to see them. The reason had never been stated.

Fer was a nice girl, but not a "nice" girl. She didn't believe in leading a guy on and shutting down just when things got interesting. Besides, she was an experimenter. Her first time had been a little less than the ethereal experience the romance novels had led her to expect, but she was a researcher and all the sex manuals said the first time was usually a little iffy. She kept prodding the boys, not enough to get a reputation as the school roundheels, but enough to avoid the Ice Princess designation. She concluded that if they were trained correctly, boys might very well add substantially to her personal pleasure. So far it had been enjoyable but not earth-shattering, not something to be chased after but to be accepted when it came - or he came, actually. She knew all about climaxing and was quite able to arrange for it, but only as a solo effort, so far.

It was like oral sex. Boys enjoyed it and she was rather good at it. However, when she brought up the fact that oral sex quite often involved the male also pleasuring the female, she tended to get blank stares even after she showed her current paramour pictures of the classic sixty-nine position. "Oh, gross." It seemed that the thought of putting their mouths to her private parts was icky, while it was quite wonderful for her to put her mouth to their private part (well, given how far most of them jutted out, they actually weren't all that private). Made her want to bite some days. Ricky winced when she told him. He didn't ask her out again. So much for trying to train them.

Along came graduation and the scholarship she'd been praying for, a touch better than she'd hoped for because it was semi-athletic. Fer had managed to develop a killer serve in tennis and that had attracted the eyes of the tennis coach at the school she was angling for. She was nowhere big enough to play professionally, but she'd be a good doubles partner at the college level. She had excellent court sense.

That summer Fer passed over the job market, weak as it was, and luxuriated in the fact that she actually had enough money for first year. She was going to end up working her buns off to keep that scholarship, she knew, and she did have to stay in shape for the tennis part of it as well. None of that meant she couldn't have fun, finally.

The last summer before college was a time for play and cheerful idiocy. While a lot of her contemporaries spent the summer with boyfriends, in most cases the last they'd ever see of each other, at least until the twenty-fifth class reunion, when they'd each thank heaven for a lucky escape, Fer pretty much avoided boys. She went out with Arnold Havensack a couple of times, nothing more than a couple of kisses, mostly because Arnold had trouble talking to girls and she rather liked the shy little mouse. She wasn't taking him on as a project, though.

It was escapade time. There was a bungee jump into a deep canyon about twenty miles away. Fer borrowed her mom's car one day and went over. The cost was a little steep even though most of the onlookers were too scared to try. The guy in charge noticed her eager look and guessed at her flat wallet.

"Free jump if you go nude," he told her. That was all it took. Fer wasn't ashamed of her body and had no need to be. She was as modest as the girl next door - Chloe was a confirmed nudist - and free was free. She cheerfully shucked her clothes and took the jump, down, down, down into the canyon and then the arrest and the bounce back upwards. It had been glorious. The onlookers had peered at her body descending into the depths and then bouncing back. It had been glorious. They'd taken up a collection to get her to come back the next day, but she'd already done that. Time for other achievements. The summer would be over too soon if she simply repeated what she'd already done.

She played tennis with the club pro once a week to keep in practice for the fall. When he wanted to get into a real set, and offered a prize to whoever could beat him, she took her clothes off and played nude. He lost. Badly. He couldn't keep his eye on the ball. Fortunately it was early in the morning and few of the members were around, so she wasn't banned from the club. Those few members who had been around weren't prepared to jeopardize the possibility of a rematch, and had words when the club manager (a woman) suggested she be thrown out. As with most of her experiences, Fer didn't repeat, so they were all disappointed.

The summer went by with more escapades. Fer was just outrageous enough to have stories to tell her daughters, and shock them, if she ever had any. At the beach all the girls were wearing bikinis. One day Jerry Kelly, a strong swimmer, flicked the tops off five or six girls (including Fer, but she thought that might have been a mistake) and made off with them. Fer was the only one who chased after him. Got the tops back, too. Jerry was too busy staring to hold tight.

Then it came time to start classes at college. Fer retreated to mousiness, a sure way to turn off the boys who might otherwise have taken up far too much of her limited time, and to attract favourable attention from the women professors and many of the men. There were only a few of the male professors who ignored classic scholars in favour of the more gorgeous specimens who littered their classes. If you were actually interested in your job and tenure, finding someone bright enough to ghost write a few papers was worth a lot more than the eye candy. The university was extremely hard on any of the teaching staff who proceeded past the stop sign at "Look but don't touch", and termination of employment was only the start of their problems.

Fer wasn't that good at mousiness at first, being inclined to defend her own theses quite vehemently, but she was a smart girl and learned that college professors weren't any different from high school teachers at heart. They all hated to be contradicted, especially if you were right.

During the freshman activities, Fer hooked up with, sort of, one of the seniors who was responsible for managing the mixers, the activities designed to let the members of the freshman class to get to know each other and, incidentally, one would think, provide fresh meat for those of the upper classes who were so inclined (all of them). Strangely enough, the orientation committee never lacked for members even though it meant returning to class ten days early.

Paul Racinette was one of the tall, handsome (though not particularly well muscled) classic upper class gods the first year class was meant to adulate. Fer wasn't into adulation and not into gods, either, so she was a bit of a challenge. His betrothed, or at least the woman he lived with, wouldn't be returning for another week, so he had a little time and more energy to devote to convincing her that some, at least, of the deference due the upperclassmen was deserved. She was a lot of fun, too. It would be an interesting seduction.

"What's your real name?" he asked after he'd introduced himself.

"Jennifer."

"So why Fer, and not Jen or Jennie?"

"When I was little my mother would repeat my name and point to me. I could only remember the end of the name, so I called myself Fer. It stuck, at least in my mind. I never did figure out who this Jennie was that Mom kept calling."

Paul was attracted to Fer, mousey as she seemed, mostly because of her sense of humour and her very infectious laugh. She was very comfortable to be with. He found himself gravitating toward her at any function, dancing with her from time to time, sitting beside her at the concerts. Fer didn't push him away. He was an intelligent and interesting companion.

They had spent a good deal of time together at the various mixers so Fer was not particularly surprised when Paul invited her to one of the fraternity parties that were being given throughout the orientation period. He'd been good company, so she accepted without reservations. The fraternities (sororities, too) were looking for potential members. They wouldn't actually get into rushing potential members until the end of September, and then there would be six weeks of making life difficult for the pledges, but a chance to size up some of the potential in the new students was not to be sneezed at. Nor was a party, of course.

The fraternity (not Paul's) had gone a touch overboard for so early in the year and held a toga party. The theory was that all the guests came dressed in Roman regalia which would prove to be very easy to remove. Everyone was aware that a toga was only a strategically deployed sheet that came off at a touch. Many of the women eschewed undergarments, which made the loss of the sheet a very tempting endeavour, and all of the men went commando as part of the fraternity code. The amount of nudity by the end of the night tended to make a naturist resort look positively prim.

"Hey, Fer, I know it's a little racy, but I just found out the party I invited you to is a toga party. In case you didn't know, that means you wear a toga, usually made out of a sheet, with nothing underneath." Now Paul was misleading her a touch, since no undies was not a prerequisite, at least for women, and he had known it was a toga party when he invited her. He was running out of time. Rachelle would be back in three days.

Fer wasn't the innocent he thought, though. She was quite aware that the prohibition on undergarments applied only to the men. However, she was prepared to lure Paul into an indiscretion. Even though social pressures no longer required him to marry her if she succeeded, she rather thought that an experience with him would be worth having, a benchmark that she hoped would set the bar higher for other men. After all, he had convinced a woman to live with him. He couldn't be that pathetic as a potential lover.

"Oh, that sounds a touch risqué," she laughed. "I didn't think toga parties were allowed the first week back."

"They're jumping the gun a bit, true, but a toga party's usually a lot of fun."

"Okay, I'll go, appropriately attired. I may never get another chance."

When Paul picked her up from the residence he was almost smitten. She did look quite lovely. It was not what he'd expected from the mousey girl who stood up for herself. At least the fraternity brothers wouldn't be giving him sympathetic looks. Fer had dressed correctly in a properly draped toga, sans underlying tunic, that seemed to go on for miles. Actually, it was regulation length, twenty feet or so. He was amazed that she'd found woolen cloth long and wide enough. Unlike most of the guests, there wasn't much of Fer to be seen. Not with that much cloth. He wondered how he'd ever get it off her, even if he was successful in his attempt to seduce her.

He walked her over to the fraternity house, one of those fairly close to the campus. Phi Omicron had been banished, but Omicron Kappa was still in good odour. It would be a problem for them if dissipations like an early-term toga party continued. Not his problem, though. His date had turned out to be much more interesting than he'd anticipated, and that's what he was concerned with. Better looking than he'd thought he was getting, too. She was gentle and kind, with a temper, and a willingness to do almost anything. No sweet product of the rectory here, boss. He had no idea whether she'd heeded his instruction to forego underthings. How could you tell under all that cloth?

When they entered the party was beginning to pick up spirit. The organizer had gone for a modestly refined toga party, not a wild debauch the way the one had been last March. There were a couple of posters of Roman ruins and some kind of plastic pillar that looked like it came from a classical temple. The only picture that was the least bit naughty was of the Venus de Milo. Fer took him right over to inspect.

"Don't you think the sculptor did a marvellous job on her breasts?" she asked.

"Looks like someone took a bite out of her left nipple. Must have been delicious," Paul answered.

"Probably. She looks happy about it."

"Would you feel happy if someone took a bite out of your nipple?"

"Maybe just a little nip," she laughed.

There wasn't any slippage in the toga Fer wore when they danced or ate the olives, cheese, dates and grapes with pita bread scattered about the room. When they slow danced she felt quite enticing in his arms, warm and seductive. Paul's toga sheet started to feel more like a tent. That started when he discovered that she hadn't worn a bra. He couldn't be sure about panties yet.

Less than an hour after they arrived, togas started slipping. One or two of the women protested feebly when their tops went down - there were no protests from among those who'd come braless - but none of them were very quick about pulling the sheet back up. A few of the guys were wearing waist length togas shortly, measured from the floor up. Whoever was running the music started mixing in more slow songs, and a little of what they called swamp music, slow and sensual.

Paul was almost certain he'd seen Fer undo a few safety pins around the room. She had fast little hands. His toga, made from an old sheet and a couple of pins, suddenly lost one of the strategic catches. He thought he saw Fer putting another pin in her pouch. He grabbed the top of his toga and shoved it into the waist, partly to keep from tripping and partly to make it harder to undo his waist. If he wanted to avoid being the first one nude he was going to have to watch Fer's hands. Since he'd decided he wanted to watch other parts of her, especially her face, it was a more difficult task than it seemed. She'd been pretty good, he realized, since she apparently wasn't interested in embarrassing him in front of everyone. Just keeping him up with everyone, he guessed.

Dancing close to her half dressed was a sensuous experience, the soft wool of her toga brushing across his breast, fluffy little pillows pressing into him. He let his hands roam and encountered a delicious derrière somewhere under the wool. He pulled her into him. She came willingly. He bent to kiss her and her lips, sweet and full, pushed into his face. It had been a long time since a woman had kissed him first.

Fer found the atmosphere of the party strangely titillating. Paul was definitely turned on by the atmosphere, the increasingly sultry tones of the music, the increasing nudity. Most of the women were topless by this point. A couple had bras but were being coaxed out of them. One or two of the men were already completely naked. A liaison with an upperclassman might give her an insight into what the boys she'd slept with before had been missing, the kind of thing she was sure she'd have to teach her chosen man, once she'd figured out who that would be. Paul was a pretty decent sort, likely able to provide that kind of lesson and make it fun. It might be a good time to commit to a lesson, too. She knew there were only three days before he became unavailable to her.


Fer



Paul pulled her to him, caressing her body as well as he was able through the soft woolen folds of her toga. Felt pretty good.

"Would you like to make love, my little darling?"

"That's what we're here for, isn't it? Isn't that what a toga party's all about?"

"Perhaps. I know a couple of the guys. Want me to borrow a room?"

"Some of them are going to do it right here, aren't they?"

"Probably."

"Let's go back to your place."

"Now?"

"Yeah, I've had enough party. I want you to myself for a while."

It didn't take long to walk over to Paul's apartment. Fer knew it was the one he'd be sharing with Rachelle when she got back in a couple of days. It felt a little strange to know she'd be having sex in a short while with a man who would soon be completely off limits; maybe he was off limits even now if she paid close attention to her conscience. But she knew he wanted her, and she wanted him, even for a short time, maybe even just for the night.

They kept their talk on inanities, though they held hands. It was a little cool for just wearing a sheet, or a half sheet. Or a sheet halfway up. Paul shivered slightly. Fer walked closer to him to share a little of her warmth. She was snug in her woolen toga. The toga was probably too warm for a party, even if it was supposed to come off, Fer thought as they walked, their hips bumping from time to time. Each time, she could tell Paul reacted, as did she. Her mind shifted into anticipation of a new experience, not new in itself, of course, but hopefully new in quality and in her reaction to it.

And then they were there.

Once in the apartment, a decent one-bedroom, Paul moved closer to her. He reached for her, slipped a hand behind her head and started to kiss. Her lips softened under his pressure, his tongue slowly licking along her lips from one corner of her mouth to the other. She opened her lips slightly and drew him in, feeling the length of his tongue as it glided over her teeth. She met his tongue with her own, caressing it. She could hear Paul's breathing getting faster. She lanced her tongue into his mouth, sharp pecks from the point exploring him, his masculinity, his warmth, his very self. Her tongue wrapped his for a moment, then the roof of his mouth, the insides of his cheeks, back to his teeth. His tongue was making similar forays in her mouth, too, weakening her knees, warming her depths.

Paul felt frantically for the openings of her toga, the pins, the fastenings, but none were apparent. There, a part of the fabric parted. Beneath: more fabric. He groaned in frustration. He could feel a soft touch at his waist and his own sheet, barely on anyway, tumbled to the floor. He pressed his erection against her. He could feel her heating as he held her close, one hand on the small of her back, the other on her rump, pulling her in against him. She was as active, one hand roaming the planes of his back and the curves of his buttocks, the other pulling him into her.

"Damn, Fer, if I can't figure this thing out I'm going to rip it off you."

She laughed, stepped back for a moment, undid the massive broach at her shoulder and dropped the toga, slowly unwinding it as she stripped before him. He simply stood, looking, glowing as she posed for him. He shook his head and reached for her again. Their two nude bodies came together. They kissed, their naked bodies pressed together as one, their hands and arms entwined, each reaching to touch, to caress more and more of the other. Paul's hands rested for a moment on her bottom, sweet, exquisite, firm, rounded, soft as silk. His hands roamed over her strong back, memorizing the strength, the softness, the seductiveness of her. She caressed the cheeks of his rear, slid her hands down over his thighs, revelling in the strength and the sex of him. One little hand came to rest on his erection and grasped, softly and firmly, before it started to milk him.

He pushed her toward the bed. She pushed back into him, the hot tips of her erect nipples torturing his chest. She moved into him once more, her mouth driving for his, her tongue reaching, entering, forcing him. She put one hand on the back of his head and tipped it slightly, and her tongue ravished his mouth slowly, pulsing in and out, curling to stroke the roof of his mouth with exquisite strokes. He moaned. He gripped her shoulders with both hands and pushed into her mouth. His fingers entwined themselves in her hair. Her fingers stroked over his temples and into his hair. There was a serious question as to who was seducing whom, but neither of them asked it.

Their hands stroked each other then, stoking the fires of their desire. With firm palms and fingers gentle and sensitive their explored each other, inflamed each other, seduced each other. Their touchings roused every nerve ending, over their shoulders, down their arms, to the elbow, to the hands. He roamed over her breasts, catching the taut nipples and rolling them with his fingertips, scraping his thumb gently across the tips. She did the same for him, soft little hands fluttering over his chest and abdomen, returning to tweak his nipples, rousing his desire to previously unattained heights.

Her nipples were hard and aching with the force of her need. He broke their kiss and dropped his head to her breasts, washing them with his tongue and his mouth and his kisses and his caresses. He pulled one nipple gently into his mouth and she gasped with the pleasure of it. He suckled gently, then transferred his attentions to her other breast. He was rewarded with the same gasp. He gasped in turn as she put her tongue in his ear and swirled, catching his earlobe in her teeth when she pulled out, trailing kisses down his neck.

He slid his hands down her sides, feeling the taut and slender shape of her, brushing the sides of her breasts, down over her waist and hips, in to her stomach, over the smooth skin of her shaven mons to cup her between her legs, absorbing the intoxicating feeling of having caused her labia to swell for him, then down her thighs and curling behind to cup her bottom, to circle and squeeze and caress her buttocks, pressing his hardness between her thighs. His mouth, temporarily sated with her breasts, followed, kissing and licking as his head dropped down from her chest to her stomach to her abdomen to her inner self. A lick and she jumped.

Her hands had explored the hard muscled length of him, her palms coursing over his muscled back and chest, caressing him with her fingertips, gripping his buttocks, rubbing her breasts against his chest and her stomach against his. Both were soon hot and wet with sweat and other juices. She moved back against him, wrapped her arms about his neck, kissed his lips, pushed her womanhood into his manhood, openly ardent and awaiting him. Her legs were weak with her wanting. She pulsed and throbbed with need. 

He had no more to give her. He thrust her back on the bed and knelt between her legs. He shuffled toward the end of the bed and dropped his mouth to her centre, the focus of the spreading fires within her. His erection pulsed; a small drop of liquid was secreted. He strove to restrain his need to plunge recklessly into her.

"Are you protected?" he ground out. This was no time to have to find a condom. He felt that he'd die if he couldn't take her immediately.

"I'm on the pill," she forced through her lips. "Keep going."

He flattened his tongue to caress the hot, swollen lips of her outer labia.

"Oh, so good," she moaned.

She wanted him, wanted him inside. She could think of nothing else. He continued to caress her with his lips and tongue, the tongue thrusting into her, feeding off the moist drops of her arousal on her inner labia, hot and awaiting him. He slid his tongue out, tasting her, slipping over her clitoris, flipping the little nub, and then he leaned in and ever so lightly closed his teeth on it.

"Wow!"

He suckled gently as his fingers lightly caressed her labia and the inner pressures that had been mounting for so long burst free and she lost herself, far away, somewhere where pleasure was the only law, so distant she didn't even hear her own scream of delight. Slowly, slowly she returned to the living, cradling his head in the faint light, staring deep into his eyes.

"Wonderful, Paul, wonderful. Thank you, thank you."

Paul rose to his knees and slid forward, the head of his erection pressing against her hot folds, slipping on the juices she had produced in her passion.

"So warm, so tight, so wonderful," he muttered as he slid slowly into her depths. She lifted her hands to his face and cupped his cheeks gently.

"I want you, Paul, I want you," she murmured.

He kissed her and his weight bore down on her as he slid deep inside until at last there was no more. He stayed, holding, enjoying, cherishing. She was stretched and filled and aching with need for him. He withdrew, returned, withdrew, returned, the deep, slow rhythm of life. He could feel the coils of heat within her. He could feel her grasp him and release, in perfect tune with his movements. She moved her hips to match his thrusts. Heat and pressure rose in him as he moved and his perfect rhythm sped up. Faster and faster until she seized him tightly with arms and legs and internal muscles and screamed again, then he released and his essence flooded into her. He held himself above her, his weight on his elbows, as she recovered. After several minutes, while they both stared deep into the other's eyes, he softened and let her go, sliding out in a mix of their secretions.

"Wonderful, Fer, you are a wonderfully passionate woman. You fit me so well."

"You have proved that upperclassmen know more, Paul. I've never had an orgasm from intercourse before. It is so marvellous. Thank you."

They continued to make love again and again, each time as good as the last, and then again on waking. Then Fer dressed and went home, regretting a little that such a lover should be taken. He was a keeper, she thought regretfully, but someone else was keeping him. Paul seemed to think that they'd repeat the next night and the night after, but she refused. He'd taught her just how wonderful sex could be, and she told him so and thanked him for it. She was a generous person. Not again, though. Time for other achievements. Paul regretted her departure. She'd touched something in him. Something no one else had managed to touch before. He had no idea what to do about it.

A couple of weeks later Paul called, wondering if they could have another go. Rachelle was out of town for the weekend. She told him no, she didn't have sex with men who were taken - though Paul had been taken even when they made love that wonderful night. Perhaps it was just that she didn't want to cheapen her memories.

***

Fer thought about Paul a few times in the next couple of years, usually after she'd had sex with some willing but essentially untutored man who was convinced he knew everything he ever needed to know about sex and women simply because he'd been watching porn for years. Men like that hadn't learned much more than the way it went in and that there were a number of positions to do it in. She knew that. Paul had taught her. There were ways to make a woman moan with desire, long for erections to be buried deep inside her, scream with the joys of passion. Paul had taught her that, too. Pity that no one else seemed to be aware of those possibilities. She was sure that somewhere out there were some men who were aware of women's needs, women's passions, women's desires. It's why she hadn't retreated within herself. There didn't seem to be too many of them, though.

She didn't pay as much attention to something else Paul had taught her: that sex was better with someone you were comfortable with and had a regard for. It could be an expression of affection for someone, not an athletic competition where points were awarded, and not a way of keeping score, either. Where there was affection or regard, sex was better, or maybe it just felt better. Was there a difference?

Once or twice Fer had a tryst with a man she actually had real regard for. It wasn't love. She wasn't ready for love, and what was love anyway? Even if she hadn't come to a mad screaming climax, she had always felt better afterwards. Purer, somehow.

She had maintained her guise as the mousey little scholar. Only Paul had ever managed to pierce the disguise to find the passionate woman within. Perhaps that was a part of her problem. The only men who would date her were those who considered that a mouse would appreciate attention from any man, would provide him with a modest sexual experience no matter how ineffective his own performance. Fer didn't date all that often, but true to her code, if she did she would usually end up in bed with the man. She didn't believe in teasing and she knew that most men considered sex to be part of a date. Sex was an interaction Fer looked forward to. Unfortunately, she was often disappointed in the result. She hadn't found anyone that she looked up to, that she liked, that she was comfortable with, that she could perhaps love, after she'd let Paul go. Perhaps next year.

The next year, her final year before graduation, Fer let go a little. Now and again she banished the mouse. Professor Hardy, who'd employed the mouse as a researcher, much more capable than most of his graduate students, started to look twice at her, and not because he was questioning her results. Unfortunately, he was married to a rather good looking doctoral student and they were very much in love. He was at least interested.

Time for the Hallowe'en ball, and Fer had just gone crazy again. Normally, she didn't much like Hallowe'en, since people hid themselves even more behind their masks, adopting a phoney persona, pushing their luck since it was unlikely they'd ever be held to account. In her first year, Fer had attended out of a sense of duty to the class, dressed as a saucy witch in a tiny minidress, her modest breasts pushed high and her red panties peeking out at every step. She'd been mauled quite heavily, which at least helped her ego, but the devil she'd finally chosen to make whoopee with had bad breath and she left him before they could go the rest of the way. By that time of the evening there was no one left with whom she could endure any intimacy. She'd ignored the dance for the next two years.

This year she decided she'd try again. It was her last year, and even if she went on to graduate school she didn't intend to come back to this university. Time for one last experience. She glowed a little with the secret of her costume. She had decided to go as one of the superhero comic book women, in one of their skin tight figure-hugging costumes designed to give teenage boys hard-ons. Her character was an elegant and very desirable female who, like the rest, wore a skin-tight costume. It seemed that one could see every part of the heroine under the costume. She was sure she could fit into a costume like that and turn every eye, at least for a few hours. The tennis kept her fit and tight. No unseemly bulges. No one would expect it of her, the very essence of a secret identity.

"I can't find a costume I can fit into," she complained to her friend Lisa. She had left it rather late, and most of the available costumes presumed a 42DDD woman quite a bit taller than she was, which was likely why the costume was still available. Somebody built like that probably went as a whale.

"Isn't that one of those costumes that looks like it was painted on?"

"Yeah, really sexy if you can get it to fit."

"What if we just paint it on?"

"You're kidding, right?" Fer's eyes were glowing. This would be an escapade to be proud of. Her future daughters, maybe daughters, too, would be proud of her.

"Not really. The lights are low; it's supposed to be skin tight. No reason it can't be. Of course, it would take someone with a lot of chutzpah, or maybe just nerve."

"I ever tell you what I did the summer after high school?"

"No."

"I've got the nerve. Can you paint it on?"

"Sure. I've even got the body paint. Just don't get it wet and try not to let anyone get too close. I'll be over at six."

"Wonderful!"

Lisa came over with a container of paints, a sheaf of stencils and a box of brushes. According to instructions, Fer had showered and shaved and dried. Lisa made her get undressed completely and ran her hand over her skin.

"Well, if I wasn't into boys I could see getting into you. You're precious!" she laughed. With a little sigh of regret she started painting. The basic colour was, of course, black, and Lisa laid it on, brushing it into a smooth finish.

"If we'd had more time and I had more ability, we could have done something really special. As it is, it should be as good as the others."

"Are there going to be others there like this?"

"There are always at least five or six. You know, with the paint you hardly look nude. There will be people there a lot more nude than you are!"

Lisa continued, painting her limbs, her body, her breasts, all one continuous coat of black.

"Are you going to paint down there?" Fer asked in some trepidation.

"Are you planning on wearing a cache-sexe?"

"A what?"

"Something over the naughty bits, at least the lower ones."

"Well, I had thought a thong."

"That'll spoil the lines, you know. Kind of like panties under a tight dress."

"Can I get by without?"

Lisa looked consideringly at her friend.

"Yeah, you look pretty good. Just don't get all hot and bothered," she laughed.

"Why not?"

"Might make the paint crack."

"All right, the point of all this is to go out and strike them dead, and you tell me not to get excited?"

"Yeah, well, you can get excited, just not that kind of excited."

"I'll try. Haven't had to worry about that for a while, anyway."

Lisa completed the basic paint job, then inserted silver zippers in appropriate places with her stencils. She changed colours, and with her different smaller brushes she added whiskers and a few highlights to point up Fer's eyes.

"What if my nipples crinkle?"

"I thought you said you didn't get that kind of excited these days."

"Well, maybe it'll be cold."

"Not with that many people there. Besides, the paint should be good for a little change, there's some flexibility."

"Oh, okay."

Lisa slipped into the bathroom to change into her costume, a conventional sexy witch. On the other hand, with Lisa's assets it was quite unconventional and very sexy.

"When did you get those fabulous tattoos?" Fer asked.

"Painted them on this afternoon. They're still there, aren't they?"

"They look great."

Both women got their coats and walked over to the dance. They paid the admission, checked their coats and wandered onto the dance floor. Fer thought her painted nudity was a combination of embarrassing, freeing, thrilling and naughty. Mostly it was fun.

"Just watch out for male superheroes, OK?" Lisa laughed.

"Why?"

"They seem to have an affinity for female superheroes like you, and you make a great one."

"Oh . . . thanks, I guess."

"Don't worry, you'll be fine. Stay away from the slow dances. I'm off. George Verger is around here somewhere, and he might like to check out just how far under my costume these fake tattoos go, and I might just let him."

With that, Lisa was off on the prowl. Fer hadn't expected her to hang around, not dressed like she was. Fer had her own look around, and circulated a bit to see what was available. There seemed to be a reasonable number of potential partners. She danced when asked, which was most of the time, except for slow dances. Those she used to continue her own prowl. She noted that Lisa had managed to waylay George, who looked quite happy to be waylaid.

There was an intriguing superhero a ways away who seemed to be on his own. She didn't think she knew him, but there was something familiar in the way he stood that drew her. She moved slowly in his general direction.




Fer



***

Paul hadn't intended to go to the Hallowe'en dance even though it was for everyone at the university, staff as well as students and faculty. His friend Carl had talked him into it.

"Look, Paul, even if you're just looking it's the best night of the year. All the women take their costumes seriously, and most of them want to look sexy and available."

"Does anyone go nude?"

"Actually, yes, if you don't count the bodypaint they use. There are usually four or five brave souls. And lots of the other costumes are nearly nude: slavegirls, harem habituées, cavegirls and the like. It's a feast for the eyes, especially for an old married man like me."

Carl had been married two and a half months ago. Paul had been his best man. Carl and his wife were deeply in love, and seemed like they intended staying that way. Paul envied them. He'd thought that he'd had that forever feeling with Rachelle, though obviously she hadn't. The only other woman he'd ever felt anything like that about, even stronger and deeper for all that he'd really only connected with her for one glorious night, was the strangely-named Fer. She was at the university somewhere. He hadn't seen her since he'd started teaching in September. He hadn't gone looking, either. He was trying not to spoil his dreams with reality. She might have a boyfriend, she might not remember him, she might have changed, his memories might over-glamorize her. Better to stay away.

Paul dressed as a superhero, a character for which costumes were always available. Carl and his wife dressed as Cyrano de Bergerac and his amoureuse, Roxane, who had a very low neckline and graced it well.

"You'll have to find another superhero, Paul, superheroine, actually."

"Why?"

"She would be your character's favourite girlfriend. Besides, they all wear skintight costumes!"

"I'll keep an eye out. Thanks for bringing me over. I'll find my own way home. Go have fun."

Once they were at the centre where the dance was being held, they donned their masks and entered the fray. Cyrano and Roxane were soon lost to sight. Paul noticed Carl had been right. From where he was standing he could see three women who obviously had on little but body paint. Somehow, they looked more fully dressed than those women who were showing a fair amount of skin. One of them mixed a lot of skin with the body paint. She looked sexy as hell, but not as sexy as the slim woman who was elegantly dressed as an Egyptian flute dancer, bare bosom, diaphanous robe and all. Not much farther away was a depiction of a Cretan snake goddess, bare breasted and fierce, complete with faux snakes. Paul certainly hoped they were fakes; he hated snakes.

There were several female superhero analogs, all with that skin-tight costume, proving that most superheroes weren't total asses. There was one who attracted him somehow. Maybe it was just that she reminded him of Fer, same general body shape. Though there was a vast gulf between little brown mouse Fer and the sensuous creature he was looking at. Of course, Fer hadn't been a little brown mouse during their night of passion. This version of the heroine/villainess was extremely seductive. He wasn't at all sure that there was a costume involved after all. Maybe it was body paint. It wouldn't be easy to tell without touching, and she seemed to be fending that off.

There was something about her that attracted him. Paul made his way over to her.

"Care to dance?"

"Sure."

She moved sinuously as she danced, somewhat like a cat, in fact.

"You take your role seriously," he managed to tell her over the noise of the music and a thousand other conversations.

"To take on a character is more than costume," she replied. "Take you. You fit that costume very well, and you have the appropriate air of menace that no mere costume can provide."

Fer was fascinated. The man she was dancing with looked a great deal like Paul, but twenty pounds of hardened muscle heavier. He might have gained that much in four years. His voice was similar, as much as she could recall. He was positively attractive. She sensed some kind of connection with him. It was as if her Paul had come back, though that couldn't be. Paul was a thousand miles away, married to his Rachelle by now. Maybe she could make do with whoever this was? Maybe she shouldn't try to remake the memories.

She'd avoided slow dancing all evening, but when her superhero gathered her into his arms as the slow dance started, she gave in. It wasn't worth fighting him off when it felt so wonderful to be in his arms. These were warm, comforting arms. Something she'd missed for so long.

He gazed down into her eyes. Somehow she could see his soul behind. He was looking deep into her eyes, watching the awakening knowledge and recognition.

"Fer?" he asked, amazed that his little brown mouse was dancing here naked but for her paint.

"Paul?" She was equally surprised.

"It's been four years."

All the heat and the memories flushed through each of them. They could enjoy each other for this one night before they were caught up again in reality, couldn't they? After all, wasn't that what Hallowe'en was about?

Her conscience caught her before she could run off to find her coat.

"Paul, are you still with Rachelle?"

"No, dear, there's no one. Or no one but you, I should say. Hasn't been for more than a year. You?"

"No, not until now. Let's go to my room."

They found their coats then and left, walking together hand in hand across the campus, not speaking, their minds back to the ten minutes before she'd left him four years before.

***

Fer, as a senior, had a single room. Since she hadn't been interested in much beyond her tennis and her studies, she had stayed in the residence. It beat having to cook her own food. The scholarship had continued to provide her basic needs - tuition and residence fees - and just a bit left over.

Paul followed her in silence from the dance to her room. They avoided touching. The sparks could have set off a fire neither of them could tame. By silent agreement they retained their half-masks.

"How easy is it going to be to peel you out of that outfit?" Paul asked.

"Easier than you think," Fer answered, barely suppressing a giggle. She was sure Paul knew the costume was just paint. For all that, she felt certain he had known who she was before he had approached her. She had been sure he was Paul from the moment he asked her to dance. She didn't know how and she didn't know why, maybe just the feel of him or the sparks or the excitement. He'd sent her a note, once, mid way through second year, from some place on the west coast. His graduate work was going well. He and Rachelle planned to marry in the spring. He wished her well in her studies. Yet he was with her now.

"Mine will be a little harder." Paul pulled off his costume in a few seconds, laying it aside for later, when he'd have to go. Fer wasn't too pleased with the "have to go", though she could scarcely stash a man in her room for snacks, no matter how delicious he was.

Paul picked her up and he slid the two of them into the bed. He pulled her against him, skin to skin and some paint. His attentions had left less and less paint on her body. At last they discarded their masks. No surprises.

"I knew it was you, Paul. I don't know how. Why are you here?"

"Later. Now it's us, Fer."

He pulled her into him, accepting that however much he wanted her, patience was needed for her to get over her surprise and for him, too, to get over his elation at finally finding her again. There had been only that one night, more than four years ago, still seared into his memory. It was what had sustained him when Rachelle had decided, only a week before the wedding, that she'd be happier as the mistress of a full professor than as the bride of a mere lecturer. Perhaps he hadn't loved her. Whatever it had been, it wasn't the same as what he felt for the squirming woman beside him. He felt protective, warm, comfortable, companionable and lustful. He hadn't felt any of those emotions for over a year. Some he hadn't felt for four years.

As the seconds passed, Fer's body nestled tighter and tighter against his. Neither was inexperienced, but to Paul's mind, it was almost like his first time, coming back to her. He hadn't realized to just what extent he'd missed her. Fer was fitting into him, one curve into a hollow, recalling their night of passion so long ago, but still so clear in her mind. She knew, somehow, that this was the way it had been meant to be for them. She had no thought beyond the sense of belonging.

It felt so wonderful to just hold her that Paul simply lay in the bed cuddling her against him, enjoying the moment. He listened to her breathing, soft exhales whiskering over his skin, smooth inhalations. He could feel the steady beat of her heart. His heart, he hoped. The joint warmth of their bodies was comforting, not heated, not yet.

Then the urgency of his need for her took over his body again. His pulse quickened. He could feel her body responding to his, the body he could bring to fulfillment so easily, her joy bringing him joy as they shared pleasures. What had been between them four years and more ago was simmering again. Her hips hard against him bumped into him, once, twice, signalling her need even while she enjoyed the peace of their reunion. She knew what she was doing, the minx, thrusting herself against his erection until he was aroused almost beyond belief.

The desk light by which he had disrobed was still on, letting him look into her face, so calm, so dear to him. She opened her eyes and looked deep into his soul. He was lost, then, joined with her soul. Fer's hands crept over his chest, almost tentative, her fingers lightly touching, pressing, certifying that he was indeed there; once convinced she ran her palms over him again, creating new tactile memories for a long future. Wherever she touched his muscles rippled, tightened, released, rolled with pleasure. Paul groaned faintly into her hair.

Fer pressed her mouth to his chest, his shoulders, the base of his throat, in a storm of kisses and then lingering laps of her tongue as she tasted him the way he'd taught her so long before. He pulled her tightly against him.

"I've thought about this for so long," he moaned.

"It's us, Paul, just us, for now and for however. But for now, this moment, love me."

They kissed, not a rough, rampaging sexual kiss, but one of friendship, something more, their lips touching without force, more sensual than any kiss either had experienced before. It set off the heat within them. Their mouths opened and their tongues emerged, friends, slickly riding over each other as they explored places familiar but almost lost, refreshing memory as they stoked the fires within.

"I need you."

"I want you too, Paul."

He let his hands run over her breasts again. They had to be perfect. She was perfect. He caressed her. She lay back for a moment to enjoy his attentions. He took the opportunity to take her nipples into his mouth, her stiff little nipples, first one, then the other, lipping them into fierce hardness, then suckling. She gasped with the pleasure he gave her. She shivered with sensitivity, with lust, perhaps even love. Her hands grasped the muscles of his upper arms, her fingers digging into him with the intensity of her feelings. He moved now to kiss her lips again, this time no hesitant loving kiss, but a kiss of fierce passion. Her hips lurched beneath him. He cupped her breasts and teased the tips with his fingers and thumb, slowly tweaking them, revelling in the passion he was creating, feeling.

Her stomach rose as she tried to match him, her hips lunging for him. He pulled back, then swiftly dipped his head as he tongued her navel, drawing yet another of those delicious moans that boiled his blood. He licked lower, floating over her smoothness, tasting her, the paint residue and her delicious smell, part soap, part something else, part her. His lips dropped to her swollen labia. He kissed, then thrust his tongue between, eliciting another moan and a fierce upward thrust of her hips. She was delicious, just as he had remembered her. The taste and the smell inflamed him. Slowly, slowly, he told himself. Joy lies in the anticipation as much as in the event. He almost didn't believe himself.

His tongue withdrew and circled, circled, flicking the little nubbin of her joy on each pass.

"Oh love me, Paul, love me, join me," she cried, louder than he thought safe even at that hour. "Oh Paul."

Fer's legs gripped Paul's sides tightly, the lower embrace he recalled. This was no shrinking violet he was making love to. This was a woman of passion and desire, as inflamed by need as he was, as willing to share in their lovemaking as he, an equal partner in lust. "Lovemaking"? Was that why it was so wonderful with Fer? Was there love? There were feelings he'd never had with another woman.

He licked again, flicked her clitoris and then suckled gently, a small nip and she was over, exploding in his face, her hips plunging, driving into his face as she crested an immense orgasm. She screamed his name as her pleasure hit her, took her far away and only reluctantly allowed her back, panting with exertion.

He was beyond thought, now. He rose above her and entered, sliding deep within her moist channel, luxuriating in the warmth, the closeness, the security, of her body. He was home. She clenched around him, holding him, then thrust upwards toward him. He withdrew, then plunged again, driving towards her core, stopping only when his pubic bone hit hers. He changed angle, withdrew and entered anew, forcing himself even deeper. She gripped him again, tightly, releasing as he pulled back, gripping as he drove forward again.

It had been too long. His long deep strokes quickly became faster as he strove to drive himself through her. She kept pace, her hips thrusting, both wild with the conflicting needs to prolong their pleasure and to attain release. The heat boiled up into him and he jetted into her, his semen forced deep within her. The feel of his release, the almost scalding force of it, brought her to a second peak and she writhed beneath him in the ecstasy of orgasm.

Paul and Fer continued to love each other, to make love to each other and to enjoy their bodies with each other well into the night. While their bodies recovered they brought each other up to date. Fer explained how she'd been unable to find anyone who could make her feel the way Paul did. Otherwise, she'd made the state finals in tennis the year before, her best showing yet, and was ranked ninth all state even though she was more successful as a doubles player. She'd been fourth in mixed doubles and third in women's doubles. Academically she was an honours student, likely to graduate well up in her class.

Paul told her how he'd taken his business planning process to a university out west. They'd been very impressed. As a part of taking the process public, and commercial, the university indicated they wanted to attach their name to it and market it through their innovation office. Paul had agreed, at a price.

"So now I am Herr Doktor Racinette, mit der sheepskin und everything," he joked.

"And Rachelle?" Fer asked reluctantly.

"Well, we were about to be married, about a year ago, when she decided the grass was greener with tenured faculty. Something like that, I guess. Anyway, she left me, dropped me. I'd probably have fallen apart worse than I did except that I kept thinking of a crazy coed I once knew. That's how I knew you at the dance. You'd be crazy enough to go in painted skin, though it wasn't that easy to tell it was only paint the way you stayed away from slow dances."

"So how did you end up here?"

"I'm an assistant professor in the business school. You wouldn't run into me, since you're mostly math, and tonight - last night - was the first function I've been to since I started in September."

"You're faculty?"

"Yes."

"Then you have to get out of here. The university is fierce about faculty mixing with students."

"I remember something about that. Doesn't it only apply to undergrads in the first two years?"

"Not here. Anyone taking classes is off limits. Professor Inderid was bounced for playing around with Professor Greenhand's wife just because she registered for an art appreciation course. Faculty orgies are only acceptable if they're limited to faculty. No fraternization with students. The only exception is if you're married. Not having a fling, not living together, just genuine certified marriage."

"Damn, that's out of the dark ages. We'll have to be careful, then."

Fer nearly melted. Even with the prohibition and potential ruin if they were to be discovered, Paul still wanted to be with her.

She melted into him instead and they made love once more, just as the sun was rising. Then Paul left her, her superhero once more, and exited down the back stairs, sneaking out into the night, anonymous where he wanted to shout out to the entire university that he'd found his love and she was his.

***

Over the course of the next several weeks Paul and Fer made many opportunities to be together and to express the love they had for each other. It wasn't the brightest thing they could have done. Paul was on the teaching staff, albeit a newly minted assistant professor with his brand spanking new Ph. D. Fer was a student, graduating well come spring, but a student nonetheless. A totally prohibited relationship, but not one that they could avoid. They were meat and drink for each other.

Their rendezvous were mostly in his rooms and occasionally another place they could rent or borrow. The prohibited nature of their relationship made it hard for Paul to approach anyone, even Carl, to borrow a room or a cabin. It was totally impossible for Paul to visit Fer in her room. The girls gossiped worse than a Hollywood columnist. If what they were doing came to the attention of the administration, Paul would be out on his ear with no severance and no recommendation, only the stark "dismissed for moral turpitude" on his record. He would never be employed teaching, even at universities with more liberal policies. Even in the private sector he would face severe problems. Best the authorities not learn of their connection. Even better, they should end their relationship, but neither could face that.

Fer would likely survive public knowledge of their relationship. Part of the medieval rule was that it was always the man's fault. There were some virtues to inequality.

Of course, all would be well if they were married - the piece of paper that could apparently cover all sins, at least in this institution. But they weren't married. Paul wasn't thinking of that when he asked Fer the most important question in his life.

"Fer, will you marry me?" Paul asked on bended knee one evening in January after they'd made love in his rooms.

"Of course. After graduation?"

"That would probably be best. We can go ring shopping Saturday if you'd like. There's one I have my eye on but I want to see if you like it too."

"Oh Paul."

"Not now, unfortunately. We both have to get back. Next time."

"Next time."

She'd been sated and pleasured to exhaustion, and still she wanted him. He couldn't raise an erection if his life depended on it, but there were still stirrings. Both were deeply content with the prospect of an enduring relationship and putting a frame around the love they felt for each other, and were sure would continue.

That Saturday Paul showed Fer the ring he'd been looking at. It was a small diamond, perhaps a quarter carat, on a bed of sapphire chips.

"Oh Paul, it's lovely."

Fer tried it on. It was too big, by far. The saleslady undertook to have it resized. She carefully took Fer's ring size, tested the fingers on her other hand and then re-tested her left hand ring finger to be sure. Paul took the opportunity to choose a wedding ring, a slightly decorated gold band.




Feral



Story is copyright to me and all that jazz, so don't take and post it elsewhere. Otherwise, haven't written anything in years for this site and felt like I needed some good writing to get done and had this idea for a story so….enjoy.

*

Renee sighed as she rested on her hand slumped against the window in the SUV as her boyfriend, Nick, whipped down the bumpy and horribly maintained dirt road towards their campsite. She wasn't thrilled to be on this trip, as three days out in the woods wasn't exactly her ideal type of vacation, well at least not the way this trip would go. Four months ago when Nick proposed the idea, she was all for it, but the other couple they were supposed to go with had to cancel at the last minute, so now it was just her and Nick, which while romantic in theory, doesn't work when the past month had been nothing but fighting. The two had been together for the past year and a half, and while he'd always been slightly jealous, the last month had become ridiculous, as he was constantly accusing of her cheating due to working overtime very closely with a new boss, who was admittedly handsome, but still. 

The drive had been mostly silent as they had a screaming match before they left and the three hour trip into upstate New York had become almost unbearable, when Nick, out of nowhere simply muttered; "Almost there." Pulling off into a barely single-sized lane of a road and down a hill, Renee looked around, the area was definitely remote, the forest was thick and knowing the area from the map, only a ten minute walk from their site to the lake. The blazing sun of the late July weather would mean a lot of time spent in the lake as far as Renee was concerned and since the site was on the opposite side of the lake; seclusion was definitely a perk to the area. 

Maybe, just maybe she thought, this could fix things, a nice quiet weekend, just the two of them, all alone to do what they pleased in the woods. Maybe even go a little wild and indulge in some wild exhibitionist sex. Sex that was sorely needed, Renee sighed, as the two hadn't fucked in almost three weeks with the way they'd been fighting.

-------------

Close by…

The woods had been his hunting grounds for a few years now, ever since he changed, and the local wildlife kept him well-fed and in phenomenal shape as he hunted. His shaggy dirty blond hair covered his mysterious and dangerous-looking yellow eyes as he bounded through the woods, his muscled but still lean form allowed him to weave through the dense forest with impressive speed, and while he sometimes had dreams of his old life, all he cared about now was the present. But lately he felt a stirring need…he noticed his cock was rock hard again as of late…a large ten inches long, almost a solid five inches thick, just another part of him that became more powerful since all those years ago.

------------

Several hours later… 

Nick had finished staking down the tent and unloading all the supplies, while Renee, finished making a few sandwiches and fished out a couple of beers, for them. She walked over and smiled at her boyfriend and handed him a cold beer. Wiping his brow, he took a long sip and smiled back.

"I can't believe how quiet it is out here. A couple years ago when I went with my brother out to this lake, we stayed on the other side, so many damn kids partying, never any damn peace." Nick said as he stretched and gulped down his beer.

"I know, it's beautiful out here too, I can't wait to go take a look at the lake. Up for a little skinny dip?" Renee winked at him as she playfully reached around and hugged him.

"Gotta get a fire started first, there's some good starter logs in the truck still, but I need to cut some wood up, we can swim tomorrow. "

"No sexy midnight swims then? Geez, what a letdown--"

"Do you have to argue with everything I say? Christ Renee." Nick broke away from her embrace and took a final swig of his beer finishing it. He reached into the back of the SUV and grabbed his axe and took off into the woods. 

Renee sighed, shook her head and opened her bag and took out the novel she had just started. "Well, since this weekend is going to be more of the same nonsense, least I can probably finish the book." She sat down, made herself comfortable, and within minutes found herself buried in the novel. It was nothing too good, but it had turned out to be more erotic than she expected as the sex scene described in the book quickly got her mind racing…which quickly led to panties becoming damp as she read how the two lovers in the book fucked all over their house. Her nipples stiffened, straining against her bra, and all she wanted right now was a good fuck like the girl in the novel. Nick had returned with a good armful of wood and set it down. He was still fuming, as he began building a fire. 

"You going to help or am I doing everything this weekend?" Nick snapped at Renee, snapping her out of the book and the little fantasy in her mind. 

"Screw it Nick, if you're just going to a bitch at me for everything, I'm going to go take a walk to the beach, I'll let you work in peace. Ugh." Renee went into the tent and quickly changed, slipping her shirt and bra off, shrugging the tight jean shorts off. Looking at her bikini, she left the top in the bag, but she pulled her cute little lacy boyshorts off and replaced it with the skimpy string bikini bottoms. Slipping on the cute little sundress she had picked up a few weeks ago, Renee popped back out of the tent to walk down the trail. A good dip in the lake while Nick cooled down wouldn't be a bad idea she figured when she felt Nick grab her arm, glaring at her.

"Honestly? You think I'm gonna deal with this shit all weekend, you've been acting like a bitch all month, ever since you started working with that asshole Curtis. Hell you even look slutty right now Renee, nipples poking right through your damn dress." Shaking her arm off with a slight shove, she pushed Nick back. 

"You fucking asshole! I haven't done a single thing wrong and you've been acting like this since I got my promotion. Jesus, maybe Laura was right, maybe I should just break up with you--" 

CRACK!

He hit her. She stumbled back and fell, catching herself slightly. Nick had actually backhanded her in a rage. He looked so angry and shocked all at the same time, gripping his head. 

"Shit, shit, shit. I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Nick bent down to help her up but Renee beat his hand to side and got up on her own. Without a word, she turned around and ran down the trail leaving him standing there, frozen in a state of shock and anger.

-----

The Woods…

He sensed two humans on his grounds, so similar to him in a way, but yet nothing like him, not anymore at least. Occasionally he dreamed of his past, flashes of what it had been like when he was just a man. The female was running towards the lake now, the scent of her was strong; the smell of her aroused state is what actively caught his attention though. His cock twitched and grew hard again. Could this be a potential mate at long last?

She was by the lake in a dress, sitting on a rock crying, face buried in one hand as he studied her form. No more than 5'3", 110 pounds at most, a cute lithe little body. Her breasts were moderately sized, petite and firm from what he could gather, maybe a 32B. These numbers flashed in his head, just measurements he still simply knew. The auburn hair shielded her face, until she whipped around after hearing the sound of a branch snapping. A squirrel not too far away he noted. Her face was beautiful, pretty hazel eyes and just overall soft features. He wanted her. He needed her. Hopefully deep down she'll want this he prayed as he slowly rose from his crouch and began approaching…

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"Nick?" Renee looked around after hearing the sound in the woods and as she looked around, she was startled to see a naked man, with shaggy blond hair, a large sinewy body and frighteningly enough, an enormous hard cock. "Oh my god, oh my god"

Before she could react he was on top of her, his eyes burning into hers, burning yellow eyes, almost like that of a wolf. He pinned her to the ground as she found she couldn't even scream, it being stuck in her throat. He growled as she squirmed underneath him, she felt his hard member rub against her stomach as he used one hand on her throat to pin her and the clawed free hand slipped down her neckline, in-between her little bit of cleavage and without warning ripped the dress straight down between her legs. He pushed the material to the side as she froze, the fear paralyzing her. Renee couldn't help but stare into his eyes though as his rough hands moved over her soft skin, cupping a breast, squeezing it gently. The pink little nub hardened almost immediately under his palm as he caressed. He moved his face down, breaking the eye contact as his long tongue took a slow lick over her breasts. Licking all over her chest, he dragged it over her nipples, before taking a nipple between his teeth and giving it a tug. Renee let out a little moan, in shock at how good it felt as his fangs pulled harder on the sensitive pink buds.

No, this can't be right, I'm being raped by some psycho in the woods and it feels…ooooh good." Another moan as his sucked her small breast into his mouth and his hand moved from her chest to her cute little bikini bottom…and tore it right off. Her pussy lips shaved bare, with just a little light brown landing strip, was now at his mercy, but despite her fear, her pussy was already glistening wet. He looked down and smiled at what he saw and inhaled deep, Renee couldn't believe how wet she had become, although she was scared, it was no longer rape, the feeling of his finger dipping deep into her tight pussy felt so good. 

Her moans slowly grew louder as he moved down her body, his hand leaving her throat, his claws dragging slowly, moving to her left breast, giving a firm squeeze as he ran his tongue over her flat stomach and spread her legs wide. He took a long slow lick of her sweet cunny, savoring the taste, the moan eliciting from her lips bringing a smile to his face as his long, wide tongue snaked its way inside the delicious pussy. Renee arched her back, pushing her soaking wet pussy against the man's face, humping his tongue.

"Mmmm don't stop…don't ever stop….uhhhh" Renee moaned again. She had never felt her pussy being eaten like this, his inhumanly long tongue driving her pussy wild. Her moans growing louder as his lips wrapped around her clit… Sucking harder she grabbed his head and pulled it against her sex as she quickly began cumming all over his lips. Licking it up, he slid two fingers into her tight pussy and kept working her orgasm as she kept cumming. A satisfied moan escaped his lips as he slowly slid his fingers out. 

Renee was breathing heavy, her body on fire, feeling so good, in shock at how much she was loving this. He moved back, standing up, freeing her from his strong grip. Logic screamed for her to try and escape, but her body made its own decision as she moved to her hands and knees, crawling closer. She wanted more. She needed more. That gigantic cock looked so good, as her hand moved towards it, grasping it…her hand barely fitting around it. Throbbing against her palm, she could feel its heat; she slowly slid her hand up and down, stroking him. It was so warm, and smooth, unlike his rough calloused hands.

Leaning forward Renee took a long slow lick of the shaft…her tongue sliding up the base all the way to the large purple tinted head. Wrapping her lips around it, she slowly sucked it in. "God, his cock is so big, I won't even be able to get half of this in my mouth….and Jesus I'm actually sucking his cock…mmmmm it's so good too…" Renee thought to herself as she had at least six inches of his cock deep within her mouth, one hand stroking the base. Her free hand had already moved down to her still dripping wet pussy, rubbing her clit fast. She felt him slowly starting to push his cock in deeper, hitting the back of her throat. Opening her mouth, Renee submitted and let the man begin throat-fucking her, something she'd never let anyone do ever, but the she couldn't help it, her body was on fire, and the precum leaking from his cock was so sweet, she had never tasted anything this good. His large hand gripped the back of her head by her hair tightly as he began thrusting harder, her mouth open wide, inviting it. 

The pleasure on his face was evident as she looked up, her pretty hazel eyes staring up at his sexy yellow eyes, as she felt his cock throb more as he slowly pulled it from her lips. He pulled Renee up to her feet, his hands running down her back and with a raspy growl;

"Become my mate….become like me…" Baring his fangs, he held her tight, and Renee pondered for a moment. Her pussy was dripping down her thighs, her nipples brushed against his chest sending shocks all throughout her body…and all she could think about was this monster of a man ravaging her. Her thoughts raced, of work, the stuffy city, of the men she had dated and fucked, how no cock had felt this good to her, the pettiness and foolishness of so much in her life. Nick too. He'd hit her. That bastard actually hit her! Maybe it was pheromones or just the offer to become his mate, to be like this man, he was strong, so strong and she could be like that, strong and free….

Renee grasped his cock, rubbing her thumb just below the head, her eyes looking dead into his..."Yes. I want it….make me your mate…" 

Without warning he sunk his teeth into her shoulder, biting down hard, his hands on her small ass holding her tight as his bite held for a solid minute at least infecting her bloodstream. The pain as far as Renee was excruciating, and yet her pussy simply grew wetter still, the pain was unlike the hit from earlier, it felt good. When he released her shoulder from her jaw, he slid her back down to her knees, her face inches from his cock….and again, that raspy growl "Drink".

Renee understood and quickly began sucking on his hard member, wrapping her lips tight around the head as she felt his cock throb more and more, until he growled in pleasure and filled her mouth with hot sticky cum. The taste of it, she couldn't believe how delicious his cum tasted as she slurped it down as he kept unloading. She sucked harder, stroking his cock fast, milking it, as it finally slowed down. Renee, now lightheaded, savored the taste as finally, she swallowed the last bit of it….and that's when her vision blurred and she passed out.

Several hours later…

Renee awoke to the most pleasant feeling…her newfound mate's tongue buried in her sticky wet cunt. She leaned her head back as his tongue probed deep within her pussy, licking up and finding all the right spots, as she felt an orgasm building, as his tongue began working faster and within seconds, she squirted cum all over his tongue. She screamed in pleasure and that's when she felt it. Her whole body was on fire, every nerve electrified. A feeling like none other, burning and tingling all at the same time as she scrambled to her feet and rushed out of the den, into the little clearing, the moonlight shining down on her.

"Don't fight it…" she heard the familiar raspy growl as she fell onto her hands and knees. Renee couldn't focus as the surge of pain coursed through her body, and yet at the same time, she'd never been hornier, her nipples were so hard; her pussy throbbed, getting wetter every second.

Renee fell and rolled onto her back and began fingering her pussy as hard as she could, three fingers slamming into her tight sex as her mate watched, licking his lips, stroking his cock slowly. Within seconds she felt herself cumming again, and then it truly began. She pulled her hand from her pussy and gripped the grass as her muscles tightened and she could hear the sounds of bones popping and cracking. Renee's jaw felt like it was being torn asunder as she began coughing, spitting up blood, and teeth. Razor sharp fangs tore through her gums knocking her old teeth out. As she felt her tongue stretch, her taste buds exploded, the bitter coppery taste of her own blood grew deliciously sweet as she ran her tongue over her sharp new teeth. Even her jaw felt stronger now, like she could tear into a deer as the thought flashed through her mind. Muscles throughout her body hardened and stretched, giving her newfound strength and adapted as her legs stretched and gained three more inches, her torso lengthened as well, at least another four inches as the muscles tightened turning her sexy flat stomach into a perfectly taught six-pack. She watched as claws burst through her manicured nails, as sharp as her teeth, her feet growing wider and rougher as her toenails followed suit, claws to dig into the ground had shattered her well-kept red painted toe-nails.

Renee grasped her tits, the small B cup breasts she always liked; the cute handful she always thought of them, squeezing them hard as they swelled against her clawed hands, growing at least two cup sizes. Her new large and beautiful breasts stood perfectly taut and firm upon her chest. Pulling hard on her small perky nipples, feeling them stretch from the quarter-inch hard to an inch long now, her areola expanding as well, the nerves were ten times more sensitive than they ever had been. Her crimson nipples stood hard in the cold crisp air of the night. Renee's auburn hair grew dark, almost black as it grew down past her shoulders. Even the perfectly groomed landing strip she maintained became a raven black. Overall she must've gained at least forty to fifty pounds in muscle all over as her body neared the finality of transformation. She felt her eyes sting a little as she closed them tightly and opened them wide and screamed as she felt an orgasm rip through her body. The transformation was complete. 

The pretty hazel eyes she had always been complimented on were gone, now the dangerous sexy yellow eyes that her mate bore compliment the still beautiful features of her face. Renee couldn't believe her newfound vision, seeing everything like it was daylight out, her hearing was going from being like a deaf person, to now hearing all the different animals running around the woods in perfect clarity. Her sense of smell had boosted incredibly as well, as she could smell multiple animals and scents in the woods, as well as her mate's arousal. Rising to her feet, Renee stretched, the pain was gone, and her new body felt electric, as she strolled towards the lake. The still water in the full moon with her enhanced vision gave her almost a perfect mirror. Renee gazed upon her body, running her hands down her body, If she was ever going to wear a bra again it'd have to be a 36D at least now she figured, even her ass had filled out into a perfectly formed curve. She felt the cool breeze on her clit as she rubbed it slowly and gently with a clawed finger. She was ready to masturbate to her own new beautifully deadly form, she knew she was craving. She felt a need. She wanted her tight, wet cunt fucked. Hard.

Her mate was looking at her, his cock as stiff as steel, dripping precum, and waiting for her. Renee stared at it, licking her lips, she couldn't wait for that cock to slam deep inside her pussy, wet and dripping. She ran forward and met him with blazing speed, knocking him onto his back and began kissing him hard, their long tongues intertwining as he dug her claws into her back. Pain and pleasure mixed as she adjusted within seconds and slid onto his massive cock, feeling it slide inch by inch at first and then she slammed down hard onto it, impaling herself.