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Among Wolves

By: Cheiron



Along the frosted ground his paws softly picked their way among the fallen leaves and twigs of early autumn. He'd hidden in the high mountains of the distant range for months living off of small game and the occasional wild goat to stumble down from the craggy peaks. But autumn had arrived unexpectedly, driving much of the wild game down into the low lands and he'd been without more than a rabbit for days. 

While water flowed throughout the winter and the green slopes of the highlands rarely browned, he had only just returned to these lands after ages and not fattened himself accordingly to survive the harsh winter. In truth he had come here seeking less sustenance, the feeding always detracting from the thrill that was the hunt. The guilt always terrible, but lessened by killing only lesser beings; he a beast that did not whole heartedly accept the bestial life. 

Now starved, ragged and desperate, he begrudgingly left the flowing hillocks of the high country for the dense woods below, ultimately wary. Twice he'd come upon human markings and twice turned further into the wood away from them. His resolution was simple: hunt, kill (a deer if possible) and then drag it up to higher ground. The further, the better. Yet there was a scent on the wind he could not resist.

Indescribable, it was a mix of cotton and flowers. From his palette, and the saliva gathering there, came a single thought: Food. His tongue snaked between sharpened teeth as he lifted his snout to the air, drowning it in the scent as if it had substance. The last signs of humans had been at least two leagues behind him, away from the heart of the dark woods. Here in the grizzled night of a hard frost was a smell lovelier than blood heated from the chase. It caressed his nose and infuriated his hunger driven senses.

Though he neither saw nor heard his prey, he knew it to be afraid. There was an acrid, acidy tinge to the smell in the air and it pulled him along. His great dark eyes beneath the ridge of bone and hair that was his brow seemed to dilate. His breathing became shallow and his body stretched out in the stalk. Each muscle along his legs and back tensed with each step, all thoughts on stealth and finding the source of the intoxicating scent.

Suddenly the woods opened to a moonlit glade. Since first visiting these woods and finding the interior too inhospitable, man had cleared such areas as paddocks for their livestock. Food aplenty for a time when many of his kind roamed these woods. Now, in the middle of a phalanx of trees, was a small clearing perhaps half an acre wide and bare save for a single rock lying in the clearing. The last remnant to a past colony which had no doubt moved to the lowlands when the wood had revealed its secret children. 

Such areas were abundant the closer you moved to the lowlands, all advantageous growth ground to dirt either by man's hands or the mouths of their animals. Was it any wonder that the wood would had retaliated in kind? Sending forth beasts such as him to devour the animals which had offended her? Some faint memory tickled his mind, pulling his attention from the hunt, but it was lost as the smell's origin came to view and he was reminded of his hunger.

In the clearing sat a huddled figure of cloth upon the mossy rock. From the darkened edge of the wood he surveyed the mass, unsure of how to react when it suddenly shifted. It was alive. Sometimes wayward humans unable to care for the sick or elderly left those with no senses in the wood to be disposed of. His previous caution returned, yet he did not leave. Instead he hunkered closer to the ground and pawed his way around the ring of darkness. 

Turning around the glen, the moonlight played off the folds of cloth, sometimes making the intruder seem large and other times small and slumped. And still the smell played with his nose, enticing him. This was not the smell of either the infirm or the decrepit. It was light and soft, of life, and of youth. And suddenly, peering from below the sweeping boughs of a fern, he found himself staring into the face of a young maiden.

She had not seen him creeping around the clearing's edge. She sat calmly as if casually waiting for someone. Raven dark hair framed a pretty, fair skinned face. The mound of cloth was actually an emerald green cape bunched around her, evidently too large for her. She was dressed plainly as one of the low land folk: a simple muslin skirt and blouse with goatskin moccasins upon her feet. In the dim light his keen eyes noted how her eyes widened at every sound of the night, her breath shuddering in her chest—her chest beneath the thin muslin shirt rising painfully at each twitter of a night bird. Her bosom swelling at each intake.

It was not uncommon that young pretty girls swayed by romantic tales of virgins met by unicorns in woods like these would often seek them out. Letting themselves to be led like children into the dark forbidden places of the world, assured of their safety and purity since Unicorns only appear to virgin maidens. Innocent beings led astray by the coaxing words of young suitors more intent on their lover's body than her heart. And how those hearts were broken when they find the mythical white-mane, one-horned beast replaced by a red blooded male with a single horn of his own...and that innocence is taken.

And sometimes the truly innocent found the courage to venture out and test the myths for themselves...alone.

Such was the picture of innocence in his eyes at that moment. Her lovely features were acutely defined by the pale light and the tinge of madness shrouding his eyes. Her lush, full, red lips seemed to hold so much promise. The cold air had chapped and reddened them, filling his thoughts with ideas of tender flesh...and blood. And how he ached—his whole being racked in pain by hunger, desperation, and the overwhelming smell coming from the young girl. The washed linens could not block the lilting scent of her skin, of her sweat and sweet breath—nothing else. There was no lingering stink marring her perfection; suggesting she had not come with anyone else. She was...alone.

Confident, blinded by need, the beast within him rose, overwhelming all senses, and he tensed to pounce. A soft growl slipped his lips and he surprised himself. Suddenly aware she was no longer alone; the maiden gasped and stared fixedly at his hiding spot. Thus exposed he no longer cared to stalk in stealth and quiet, he enjoyed watching the mix of emotions splay across her face as the he emerged, an enormous wolf, from beneath the ferns and shadows. 

Both stood their ground, transfixed, one watching the other intently. Seeing her open fear, feeling her eyes upon him and seeing she knew him for what he was exhilarated him. A snarl exploded past his lips as his legs stretched out in front of him and propelled him forward. Rushing the young maiden, his eyes grew larger; his tooth studded mouth widening, he cared for nothing but sating his blood lust and silencing both the hunger and the raging monster within him. 

And yet something was not right. The tickling at the back of his mind returned at double strength despite his blind charge towards his hapless victim. Powerful hind legs dug into the soft ground as he surged to launch himself into the air. It was as his back feet left the ground, his forelegs extended outwards; that he knew what was wrong.

Even through the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the hungry beast urging him on had dulled his senses, he knew something was not right about his prey. She stood her ground, her eyes screaming, and yet the corner of her mouth twitched...upward. She was afraid, but not entirely of him. In the last second he twisted his body away from her, a feat for all the mass behind his leap, and out of the corner of his eye he watched her arm, a blur of pink and silver; lash outwards in a sweep before his flank burst into agony.

Crazed or not, everything unfolded before his eyes as if in slow motion. In brushing past her, she had merely dealt him a scratch from the dagger she'd concealed within her cloak instead of impaling himself head on. She'd stood not out of reaction, not to run, but to brace herself for his attack. Throwing the cloak aside, she stood now, arms bared with the stiletto held in front of her ready should he lunge again. Yet no immediate retaliation was forthcoming.

Landing, he rolled his body along the ground to break the fall, transforming before his first foot hit the ground. He crouched low, his belly a whisper above the ground, toes bent, and the newly formed fingers digging into the dirt. With the change the wound in his side narrowed to a sliver of a mark but did not totally heal. Silver...

He slowly pushed himself upright into a squatting position, his eyes never leaving his challenger. The girl stood perhaps twenty feet from him, her legs locked in the same battle stance. But the looseness of her hips told him she would have no problem closing the distance and getting in a good swing before he'd have time to recover from the change. Such a quick metamorphosis sapped even the oldest and wisest of his kind, and should this young huntress grow brave he'd be completely at her mercy for the next few minutes.

She still held the silver dagger in front of her, but now she grasped her wrist with the other hand. A small tremor running down the lengths of both arms. A young Huntress. There used to be many more of her kind; always tracking and hunting his kind as his kindred stalked weaker humans. But that had been the Time Before and there were less of her kind as his kind had dwindled and nearly vanished. The faint trembling of her limbs, the wanton fear in her eyes; all belied the truth: she was young and inexperienced, this perhaps her first hunt; but she'd had the common sense to wait for autumn to bring the Lycanthrope down.

He cursed himself and his luck—he'd not indulged in humans since his first change and awareness of what he'd become. Since the end of the Time Before. He'd avoided most of humanity since, he'd lost track of time. He'd not even seen another of his kind in years, not that he cared. Most relished their existence while he simply wished to live, not having the courage to end his own life. He allowed himself a small mirthless grin at the irony, a treat since the Wolf's muzzle never offered such pliancy. 

At this the girl took a sharp breath, shocked at the malevolence she no doubt felt in his gaze though he did not intend so. Still crouching, he lifted his fingers gingerly off the ground and flexed them. Invisible spiders scrambled the lengths of the long, thing digits—so unlike the stubby clawed talons that usually stood in their stead. He could not remember the last time he'd assumed the shape of his human side. 

Watching him her eyes wavered, first from his fingers to his grin before focusing on his eyes below the tussled brown locks draping across his forehead. Her mouth was a straight line, pursed so tightly the blood seemingly drained from them. And yet her arms still shook just so slightly. She still looked so young despite her obvious determination and the faint red haze along the tip of the proffered dagger. 

Bemused, he lifted one hand to his head and ran his dirty fingers through his tangled hair, waiting for her reaction. When she merely held her breath he grew disappointed. He would surely die here, having neither the will power to take her life nor the strength to change again and escape. The least he could do was find some entertainment in losing his life to such beauty. He had regained enough strength to stand and did so, slowly and carefully; mindful of the protesting muscles in his haunches. He'd taken to walking on all fours for so long that at first he had to shift his weight from one leg to the other to avoid falling down.

This at least produced some response from the maiden as she took a step back unsure of his actions. From this vantage he had a whole new perspective—she was nearly as tall as he, full in limb, and with a buxom figure. Her porcelain face framed with its dark hair flowed to a blithe neck and shoulders, spreading to the comely bare arms she held aloft with their deadly silver dagger. Her ample chest rose and fell heavily, if he were in his Wolf form, he'd no doubt hear her heart thundering. His eyes wandered down her length to the narrow waist and shapely hips. This was closest he'd been to a woman since the Time Before and her beauty pleased the man within him.

Seeing the thin material of her skirt cling to her legs in the damp, chill air, he was suddenly aware of his nudity. Even with the knowledge that this wondrous image would be his killer, he'd already been excited by the stalk—seeing this woman as only a man can see a woman intensified and changed his need of food to a need for something else. Unabashedly, he drew himself to his full height and turned to face her completely. He did not need to look down to see the throbbing erection sprouting from his hairy thighs.

The only sign the maiden gave that she'd noticed his arousal was a soft gasp between parted lips. Her eyes were now locked on his, and even in the dim light with his weaker human eyes, saw the tinge of blue to their coloration. He slowly started to walk around her, one step at a time should she decide to rush him. As he turned first one way, then another; she stood fixed to the ground.

Neither spoke; indeed, the whole world had gone silent. Not even a cricket chirped from the meadow's edge, their breathing the only sound. He paused and gave her another toothy grin. This time the maiden did not show any signs of fear, she was still frightened, yes, but straightened her back and dropped one arm to her side. The hand holding the silver blade lowered slightly, but still held out, a look of righteous indignation upon her angelic face...the message clear.

The grin dropped from his face as he dropped his eyes to the ground. He let his head hang as he gazed at the ground, he slumped inwardly. He would have to go to her...and again a buried memory strained against the years forgotten. Lifting his eyes to hers he found himself resolved as had been before he lunged. This time he chose as a man and tensed to lunge.

His mind blank, feeling a burning from within not caused by hunger, he darted forward. He was not as agile as his Wolf form, but he was swifter than any normal man. He was upon her in a breath, and she, ready; let fly with her gilded weapon. Again memory screamed at his consciousness and instinct took hold. At the last possible second he feinted with his left and let his right leg go out from under him. Her blade streaked past his neck, the intended target, and slipped past his left shoulder, nicking him slightly.

As he fell, he twisted, turning his back to the ground. His right arm grabbed her about the waist and pulled her with him. Thus unbalanced, they fell together with him landing on top of her. The sudden pull shocked her and she hit the ground hard beneath him, driving the air out of her lungs. Her arms struck the ground above her head, stretched out; and he desperately climbed his way up her as the dagger skittered out of reach. 

Dazed, the maiden Huntress was slow to react and he grabbed both of her wrists. Stretched out atop of her while she struggled to regain her breath, she writhed beneath him. He clamped his thighs around hers to keep her from kicking. Her desperate breaths tickled his cheek and his ear as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder. 

He had not totally gone unscathed in the fall himself, his head glancing off the hard packed dirt floor of the glen. His ears ringing and the sound of his own heart beat pounding in his ears; he thought he heard a soft mumbling. Within moments he realized it was neither mumbling nor the sound of his heart he was hearing. It was the blood rushing through her veins. Her heart resounding in his ears. 

He was disoriented. Confused. Feeling her move against him only drew forth a curious burning in his loins. He could feel her heavy breasts, unfettered within their cotton prison slide against his bare chest. She pulled against his arms and rolled her hips trying to get out from underneath him. The sensation of her hot hips digging against his already swollen member aroused him further. Blood swelled, its length lay sandwiched between them, an iron rod. 

He moaned softly into her hair as his own hips rocked against hers, the bulbous head of his erect phallus catching against her mound through the flimsy skirt. Suddenly she leaned her head forward and bit at his right shoulder. Instead of shock, he relished the pain. With the burning in his shoulders and side, the coursing fire made everything he was feeling intensify. Again he moaned.

Feeling her release her teeth from his shoulder, he bolted upright and suddenly kissed her. His lips crushed against hers, he let he hands fall from her wrists to clasp the side of her face. Without warning, her right hand snatched a small dirk from a leather bracer she wore on her left wrist. He deftly caught her wrist before the blade penetrated his chest over his heart. By the dull color he saw it was steel, and true; its tip did not burn with the intensity of her silver dagger as it barely pierced his skin.

His mind swarming and confused, he knew her. He knew his need. And to prove it to her, he guided her hand holding the tiny knife across his chest. They held like that—he straddling her waist, his prominent, proud erection sticking straight out, her eyes glued to their hands as he made an arching cut up the left side of his chest. She stared mystified by the rich, crimson blood that seeped from the shallow wound, a solitary tear running down his defined chest. 

Now complacent beneath him, he plucked the small dagger from her hand and brought it down to her neck line before she could react. Tracing the back of the edge along the curve of her neck, she lay frozen. Her eyes fearfully locked on his, her arms limp at her side. 

A dense fog encroached upon the glen and cast a blue haze over everything. Within the damp mist he brought the single edge of the maiden's knife under the hemline of the girl's blouse and slowly dragged it down. As the fabric gently ripped away, the girl's breathing became shallow. She grew aware of the cold ground beneath her and the fiery vision laying across her...most noticeably the glowing ember that stretched the length of his groin to just below her navel.

As he parted the flaps of her divided shirt, exposing the soft, pale, succulent globes of her breasts to the sullen, wet air; she twisted her hips against him and the heat she felt between his legs. Again he locked eyes with her, a curious look upon his face as if lost, far removed from the animal that had crept upon her in the glen. And again, she wriggled her hips softly beneath his pressing legs even as he raised the knife a second time. 

She was only aware of the damp and heat between her own thighs as she watched him bring the edge of the dirk between her breasts. Holding her breath in anticipation, he traced a lined with the back of the tip from between her breasts down to her exposed navel. Her nipples stuck out tersely in the cold air. And she did not make a sound as he deftly, gently cut her along the inside curve of her right breast. 

It was not until she saw the trickle of blood and his head craning down upon the red line along her pale breast, that she uttered a soft moan. She gasped frantically as his tongue traced the small cut, lapping at the blood that flowed. Moving his mouth around, he clamped his lips around her nipple, sucking it deeply into his mouth and swirling the tip with his tongue. Releasing it to the cold air, he returned it quickly to softly nibble at the erect nipple, sucking in his breath as he did so. 


Among Wolves



The maiden swooned beneath her assaulter, lost in the mixture of pleasure and pain she ground her hip upwards again. In response he groaned fiercely and rubbed his hardened penis against her. Taking his mouth from her breast he gazed down on her. She stared back at him wild eyed and somehow demanding. He swiftly leaned down and kissed her. His lips smothered hers, desperately forcing them apart and snaking his tongue into her open mouth. 

She gently bit his lip as her hands ran down his tense back, raking her nails along the way. She got the desired response and he writhed on top of her, pressing his enraged organ into the wet mound between her eager thighs. He sat abruptly and placed his hand upon the wound across his chest. With his other hand he gripped the hair at the back of her head lifting it up off the ground.

His incessant pulling brought tears to her eyes. It hurt more than the cut along her breast, but she knew he'd place his mouth over it again if she complied. Through damp eyes she looked up at him, the cut they'd made together mere inches from her face. She looked into his eyes and saw the sadness there. She saw the longing and the loneliness and when she next glanced at the cut leaned in without hesitation. His blood still flowed freely from the cut and she drank deeply. 

At first there was the usual copper taste, but then she noticed something else within his blood. It was thicker than normal, it lay across her tongue like oil and the sugary hint to its flavor reminded her of honey. Honey and blood. It incensed her and she played her tongue across the narrow cut pressing her mouth against it as hard as she could, her hands pulling him into her. His hand gripped her hair and pulled her away. She'd become lost in savoring his taste, absent mindedly digging her nails further into his back. His blood smeared across her lips she dazedly stared at the crimson crescents of her nails. 

Innocently staring up at him, she licked her finger tips clean. His gaze dropped to her chest and her own weeping wound. Her eyes followed his and continued further down. Her eyes glued to the massive red shaft grinding against her sodden mound. Beneath her skirt her delicate slit seeped its clear fluid as the cut on her chest wept red. She moaned with frustration as his hard pole was moved away as he slid down her body.

Her frustrations were soon alleviated as he again suckled at the cut along her breast. Looking down into his eyes, he stared back up at her even as he opened his mouth and bit down on the other breast's nipple. A groan escaped her lips as one hand cupped the back of his head, the other pulling at the other nipple. She suddenly felt the cold tingle of steel against her skin—this time against the flat of her side. The sharp edge was hooked into the waist band of her skirt, pulling away. The thick, bunched material at her hip was more resilient that the muslin blouse, and with a savage yank, he tore the material away, but not before nipping the flesh leading to her sensitive gentle regions.

A soft whimper escaped her lips feeling the scratch but stifled her self as she felt one rough palm touch her right above the thigh. She felt him shift and he turned toward to look down. She held perfectly still, watching him look over first the cut he'd made...and then the one the gods had made between her legs. 

He seemed composed. Since he'd tasted of her, an odd calm had over taken him. The wild face she'd seen earlier was now replaced with a plain, expressionless mask...it belied the great dark eyes peering out of his gaunt face and the sadness therein. Looking into them again she saw that sadness dissipated. The same sense of peace and composure she felt emanating from him was now reflected in those dark depths and she fell into them.

In control of himself, he stretched out with his hands on either side of her head. He leaned down and tentatively kissed her softly on the mouth before turning away and moving downward. She watched him with amazement, moving around on all fours like that, she saw him again as the beast that had entered the glade. Her attention was caught, however, when she felt his breath against her stomach. He was still looking up into her eyes as his chin brushed the small tussle of hair sprouting between her legs. He glanced downward for a moment, staring intently at the gentle folds of skin hidden there. His face scant inches away—surely he smelt her wetness, her desire for him.

Instead he turned to the exposed hip and the small scratch there. She lay there tensely waiting for his next move, struggling against the urge to scream. To rage against him, curse and threaten. To plead and beg him to just touch that sensitive spot. Slowly he leaned over and kissed the spot on her hip as he ran his tongue down to the tiny nick. A shiver ran down her spine and she arched her back to expose her steaming nether region to the cool night air as he placed his hand on her belly pushing her back down. 

His hand splayed across her stomach and insistently held her rocking hips down. It spread out over her navel and slowly moved down, dragging across the sweaty, taut skin. Then his palm was pressing into her mound. Again she wriggled upward, grinding her hooded clit into the meaty palm. And still it slid further down. She felt his fingers lay over her wet slit, cupping her soaking sex. She recalled all the nasty terms she'd heard muttered describing the weeping organ between her thighs. His finger tips brushed slowly against her, rubbing gently. 

Her mouth opened and she let a moan boil out of the depths of her soul. Then his hand was gone, his mouth still working the minor wound. Instead she felt the ragged tips of his nails drag against the tender flesh of her thighs. The sensation ran through her entire body and her leg involuntarily spasmed in response. So blinded by the feeling she was totally unprepared for the gentle pinch on the other inner thigh. She gasped as his rough cheek pressed to her inner thigh, his mouth opening slightly.

He'd bit her gently at the crux of groin and thigh—his saliva drying in the cool air so close to her hot wetness drove her mad with desire. Her intended plea only became a ragged cry as his tongue finally, gently, probed between the tender, pink folds. 

It quickly teased the swollen lips of her sex apart, exposing her core to his hot, coarse breath. His hands brusquely grasped her legs and thrust them apart, spreading her open to his oral ministration. Since he'd tasted her blood his mind had cleared. Years of being a beast stripped away for the want of this one young girl. 

Between his legs his hardness bounced against his stomach, eager to replace the tongue snaking its way inside the writhing lass. Her legs worked back and forth beneath his stomach, occasionally a calf would grace the underside of his hard shaft sending a thrill down his spine. Tasting the sweet nectar of her essence, he remembered his place in the world as a man.

He too had been a Hunter. Many years ago he'd come to this valley seeking to help rid the dark woods of the Lycanthrope. He'd taken board with a farmer, his wife, and their innocent little girl. Her face loomed in his mind, the farmers' daughter. A darling child, she'd developed an innocent crush from her first shy welcome behind her mother's skirt. As a lonely wanderer; the child's crush had made his short stay seem all the sweeter. Then the night came that he'd gotten lost in these woods and been attacked from behind.

Then ended the Time Before and the Change had come. That first time he'd killed a neighbor of the farmers who'd given him room—the idea of being so close to harming such gentle people with their precious child drove him away. That had been decades ago. And now his young admirer had found him...as he found her all grown up.

The cloak had been his, the dagger too. He had a faint memory of a promise to a porcelain doll with raven black hair that he would out last the sands of time to wait for her to mature and take her for his wife. The madness of his loneliness in all that time in exile and her desperate hope to avenge his mistaken death overwhelmed him. As she coursed through his veins the beast within him died and he exulted in triumph for a life once lived and a love realized.

Her hands gripped his tangled hair, pulling his face closer to her; working her dampness against his compliant mouth. When she'd seen him change it was a miracle to her. Lycanthropes always reverted at death, and of all the faces she'd seen slain by her hand, his was the only one she'd ever dreaded seeing. Now here he was, untouched by time. One of the monsters she hunted, yet still the same man. Doing things she'd only dreamt of as she'd blossomed into a woman. And she too remembered that distant promise. From within her came a burning need. As skilled as her lover's tongue, it still could not touch that persistent itch deep within her. She needed that glowering rod bumping against her legs. She needed him. 

From between her thighs he could only hear the desperate rasping of her breathing as he sucked at her clit between her teeth. Then it came, a hoarse whisper almost imperceptible: His name. She was calling to him. Again and again, never above a wind's sigh. And then there was another word:

"please."

Then she was begging him. Pleading in the names of all the gods to end his ceaseless, accursed teasing and give them both what they wanted most. 

Crawling up her body, he gently worked her legs apart with his hips, laying the length of himself along the soaking entrance to her. He propped himself above her, starring down into her eyes. She reached out for him and pulled him down on top of her. At first he merely lay there, looking back at her, before kissing her deeply and slowly on the mouth. 

She parted her lips and welcomed the curious tongue that entered, entwining it with her own when she felt his hips stir, positioning himself. The engorged head of his hard phallus pressed to her parted lips and she gasped feeling its sheer size. This was not like those she'd seen or had her friends describe. This was what she'd heard called such remarks like "cock." As he worked it gently against her opening she spread her legs further to make her self more accessible to the swollen plum delving at her...pussy. 

As her glistening fluid gathered on the enlarged knob, he nibbled gently at her neck, licking tenderly at her ear lobes and whispering her name. Suddenly he froze and lifted himself up slightly, looking into her eyes as he slowly pressed downward with his hips. At first her tight opening refused to let him enter...but as he lowered himself she raised her hips to meet him and the tip penetrated her. 

Feeling herself spread around the massive head made her gasp and she bit her lip as she closed her eyes. A rough hand settled across her sweaty brow and brushed several wayward strands back. She slowly opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, motionless, a gentleness pouring from his dark eyes. He leaned down and again kissed her. This time as their tongues met he slid the head completely in; her shocked moan smothered in their kiss.

Breaking away, he placed his face along side hers and breathed deeply as he rocked his hips gently letting her tight hole expand around the meaty cock head buried in her. She felt his hips against her legs and knew he was far from being in her entirely despite how full it already felt down there. And that burning itch was yet to be reached. 

Suddenly he kissed her neck, and whispered her name one last time before biting down. At the same time he thrust into her with all of his weight. His well lubed shaft sinking into her until his crotch ground into her tender mound. And still his teeth clamped down on the gentle skin along the point where her neck met the shoulder, his pointed canines breaking through.

She knew what such a bite would mean, but no longer cared. Her world was focused upon the enormous girth stretching her miniscule slit. The mass of her man pumping deep inside her. On each stroke he would pull almost all of the way out before lowering himself quickly, and forcefully, back into her. On each thrust she felt every inch of his shaft slide against her clit within its tiny hood. Every twist and turn of the veins that stood out so prominently sent pleasure throughout her whole body. 

She desperately wrapped her legs around his waist, forcing him still deeper into her. Her nails dug frantically at the back careless of any possible danger. She only cared to feel him pound into her and the feelings pouring out of her. And then it came.

He released his hold on her neck to kiss her. As their mouths worked together, their tongues dancing, she could taste the remains of her love juices on his lips mixed with her blood. Suddenly her blood turned to fire and the itch within her belly exploded. Her legs trembled and her legs clamped tighter around him. From around his lips she screamed his name, announcing her raging climax.

He could feel the damp walls of her vagina spasm around his length. On each stroke she shuddered and pushed up against him. She swore, she called his name, she urged him on, but above all else she declared her love of him. 

Without warning or a strength she'd previously shown, she rolled over, forcing him to the ground. She now sat, straddling his waist; her hips still gyrating with her fading orgasm. The sweet juices of her orgasm coated the length of erection, her relaxed pussy walls inviting him further in. 

She placed both hands upon his chest, holding him down. She bounced up and down, talking to him. The filthy things that rolled from the tongue of a girl he knew to be so innocent enthralled him. Her weighty breasts bounced with her motions and the shallow cut along her breast began to bleed again. Seeing this, she offered her breast to him and allowed him to lean forward to sup at the proffered wound. 

Thus sitting up right, he found himself buried in her up to the hilt, her moist mound grinding heavily in the base of his enormous shaft. Her breathing again became erratic and she forcefully pushed him back to the ground and lay upon him as she bit down on the side of his neck to keep from screaming. Her second orgasm lasted longer than the first, adding a fresh amount of wetness to her already soaking "cunt" as she called it.

Feeling her teeth sink into his neck and the wet, slick walls of her womanhood clamp around his aching length was too much for him. With a bellow reminiscent of his bestial form he came. His whole body locked in pleasure as she rocked against his hard cock, her pussy milking every inch of his shaft. Although already distended in ecstasy, his cock swelled to nearly double in size as his scrotum pulled in against his body and he drained his essence into her. 

Every ounce of his being was focused on his climax; it felt as if his very life was pouring out of him into her. Not once did she stop moving, and for the entire time his twitching member unloaded drop after pearlescent drop in her gaping sex. Locking lips with her again, the spasms along the insides of his thighs receded, the ache from between his legs fading to a warm memory.

She collapsed on top of him, pulling the rest of her ruined skirt and the green cloak over the top of them to act as a crude coverlet. They lay there quietly holding each other for what seemed an eternity, letting the sweat of their exertions dry in the chill of the night. Slowly their breathing returned to normal as their hearts ceased their pounding. He lifted her head and looked softly into her blue-green eyes before gently kissing her.

He glanced at the side of her neck and saw that the slight puncture wounds from his teeth had already faded to red welts. In a short time they would disappear altogether. She could not see what he looked at, but knew seeing his own marks fade. The previous slashes she'd made with the silver dagger had already faded and gone as if they'd never existed. The cut along his chest merely a red weal in the pale light. 

Contentedly she dropped her head back to his chest and closed her eyes. Feeling him draw the makeshift sheet closer around them, she heard him speak:

"I love you."

At the dawn, the sun rose over the glade to find two wolves sleeping soundly under the remains of a peasant girl's skirt and a dark green cloak; a large male and a slightly smaller female. Before long they stirred and emerged into the clearing as the last of the night's frost melted from the ground. They sniffed each other affectionately before turning and heading deeper into the dark woods.