Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8537806.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Original_Male_Character/Original_Male_Character
  Additional Tags:
      POV_Second_Person, Werewolves, Knotting, Come_Inflation, Xenophilia,
      Rimming, First_Time, Threesome_-_M/M/M, Oral_Sex, Anal_Sex, Poly
      Relationships
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-12 Chapters: 6/? Words: 45857
****** Adolescent Lycanthrope ******
by xax
Summary
     Sometimes your best friend turns out to be a werewolf. Sometimes
     that's a thing that happens.
Notes
     i should specify that this isn't "{character}/reader"; the narrator
     is definitely an established character, it's just that it's all
     second-person from his perspective. parts 1-4 were originally written
     as twine 'games'; you can see them in their original context here;
     the second-person is kind of the conceit interactive fiction has,
     even if these are not really "interactive" in the sense of having
     branching paths.
     tagged 'underage' because they're 17. you know, regular teenagers
     with huge shredded muscles they keep showing off the to camera. tv
     teenagers.
     yeah i WONDER what the inspiration for this could be. i wonder. it's
     so unclear!!
***** Chapter 1 *****
So the way it starts is that you're making out with your best friend.
You've known him since you were like seven, and everyone says you're like
brothers, and in the ensuing decade your feelings have gotten, uh, pretty non-
familial. It's never — like, you never even came out to him, you were so
anxious about him not taking it well or whatever.
But now his tongue is in your mouth and he's shirtless and things are
progressing, like, really fast so evidently you really didn't need to worry. So
that's nice. Except then he growls at you.
At first you don't really notice, since, like, you're making out, and it's
comfortable and casual and involves you sprawled out on his bed, kissing on the
lips but also down over the slopes of your shoulders, biting at the junction of
his neck where he's tanned all dark — he makes such great fucking noises, holy
shit — that, like, whatever, growling, it's not like you're not making weird
noises sometimes too here. You're really liking the noises you can get him to
make.
Then come the claws.
"Holy shit dude you've got claws!" is what you say, staring down at his hand —
which yes, has five very distinct yellow-black claws instead of something more
reasonable like fingernails.
"Fuck," he says, except it's kind of weirdly muffled and — yeah, yeah, he's got
fangs.
"Uh," you say.
"Wait, are you a werewolf?" you say. "Oh my god tomorrow is the full moon, you
are, how long have you been a werewolf?!"
He makes some kind of guttural growling/snuffling noise into your throat, which
you should maybe be worried about, because, you know, fangs, wolves, throat,
but whatever, he's basically a puppy and also you've known him for most of your
life here.
"You were on that dumb jock camping trip last full moon!" you say. "Did you get
bitten? Is the whole football team werewolves? That would explain so much."
"Yes, no" he says, and then he adds "can we go back to making out?" a little
plaintively, into your neck. It's kind of rough and hot, rasping through his
fangs.
"Your werewolf voice is hot," you tell him. "Also did you seriously get bitten
by a wild animal — or like, hot older counselor? I'm not judging here — and
then not tell anyone, what is wrong with you."
On reflection though: he'd been a little clingier than usual after he got back,
which you originally figured was just because you were awesome and it was
totally reasonable for someone to miss you a lot after a two-week camping trip
in the middle of nowhere, but now in retrospect he'd been a lot more...
tactile, and then, also, after school let out, a few hours ago, he'd pressed
you against a wall and breathed in your air and then slowly inched forward
until your lips were touching and then he kissed you, slow, unhurried, easy,
and that basically lead in increments to you sprawled on on his bed, now.
It was pretty awesome but maybe less so if it was just werewolf-induced.
"Wait, this makeouts thing isn't just because you're a werewolf and you've got
all these primal urges you don't know what to do with, right?" You shift
around, letting him nestle his head against your chest. "Pop quiz: did you ever
think about me in a sexy way before a month ago?" It's actually kind of like a
shock of ice-water, like maybe he's not actually into you, he just needs to get
out some weird full-moon vibes and you were the closest person.
"No, yes," he says, though, in his long-suffering kind of way, so that's great.
He's rolling his eyes; you can tell because when he rolls his eyes he also does
this head roll, like his eyes are dragging the rest of his face around, and
he's doing it now against your chest.
"Oh," you say. "Good."
"It might be a little more — I don't know, stronger?" He says this while
sucking hickies over your collar bone, in wet sloppy kisses that leave your
skin shiny and flushed. "When I got back and I, uh, smelled you" — "Rude," you
say, kissing the top of his shaggy head, and he grins against your skin — "and
I just — I really like you, so it was just like, go for it, you know?"
So werewolf-encouraged, then. That's fine, you can work with that.
"Cool," you say. You've had better one-liners. "I really like you too."
You grin like doofuses at each other for a while. He's got a set full of
chompers, big toothy werewolf teeth.
"You're still all claw-y," you say, after a lot more kissing. He's even more
fang-y, which, if you're going to be brutally honest here, is actually a huge
turn-on.
"I have to like — concentrate? They just kind of pop out, and it's, uh, really
hard." His dick's been digging into your thigh for the past half-hour, so yeah,
you can believe that. You've always wanted to feel his dick digging into your
thigh while you make out extensively on his bed, so like, you haven't really
been in a hurry to move things along. "I'm not really used to the whole
werewolf thing yet."
Still: "you know what else just kind of pops out," you say, and grope him. He
makes another kind of growly yipping noise and jerks up into your palm. He
looks really embarrassed about it; it's super hot.
He's getting progressively more wolfy as time goes on — well, as he gets more
turned on, probably, but right now that's the same thing. His hands are all
furry, with stripes of hair growing up his forearms. His ears are getting all
pointy, and he definitely has more facial hair than when you started, even if
it's basically still just regrettable stubble. He's also, uh. There's some
chest hair spreading over his pecs, which is in this weird place where it's
jarringly thick compared to the rest of his body but it's not quite "fur" yet,
so it just kind of looks like he's got a whole lot of body hair and waxed
everywhere but his chest. That's not what caught your attention. What caught
your attention was his dick.
Or rather, the thick-and-thickening trail of hair-slash-fur creeping up his
stomach, above the waistband of his pants.
"You're such a furry," he says, and wow, busted.
"Think of how awkward this would be if you hadn't just been turned into a
werewolf!" you say, playing with the shaggy fur just above his cock. He moves
into the touch, until you're basically scratching his belly. "I'd have to very
seriously break the news that I want a weird dildo or something." You're mostly
blustering to distract yourself from how your face is hot and getting hotter,
until it feels like you should be glowing. Um. Like, you knew he knew you were
probably into some, uh, kinky stuff, but it was just something you didn't talk
about, like, ever.
So, one, he's wearing these really bright colorful red-with-lime-seams briefs
that you've never seen before, which means they're new because sexual or not
your relationship is such that you've seen basically every single pair of his
underwear, and these are a lot fancier than his usual ragged boxers; second,
the instant you unzip his jeans his bulge basically explodes out from the
zipper, huge and like, wetly humid, and the fabric is molded around his cock,
actually dark at the tip, with a wet blotch slowly spreading; third, he's
basically got a pelt up from his crotch, a shaggy trail of red-brown fur that's
slowly spreading across his stomach even as you watch, and the shape of his
dick is definitely not quite human at this point.
And it smells like — okay, he smells like sex, like sweat and salt and it's
really nice, especially when he's draped all across you, hot and solid and
there, but you're gonna be honest and say his dick smells amazing. Like, salt
and jizz, which isn't really a very specific or appealing description, but...
but there are notes. Undertones. It smells great. You want to get your hands
all over it, followed rapidly by your mouth.
So you touch his dick — even through his underwear — and he basically
immediately faceplants in his pillow and makes a noise you would definitely
call a howl. There's a lot of friction going on between your dicks, him rutting
against your stomach, hand pinned between you, and wow he's like, dripping
here, wet runny trails seeping through his underwear.
The crotch of his jeans is hanging down mid-thigh, still stretched tight
between his legs because he's straddling you, and you keep grinding against
that, cock basically exactly as hard even though it's a lot less, uh,
impressive than his.
The overwhelming sensory experience here is just... contact. He's on top of
you; you're pressed together. It's weight and solidity and the heat of his skin
and the slightly-humid billowing air coming off him, and he's spread out in
front of you like something from some really pornographic, uh, werewolf porn,
and it's basically fantastic all around.
"I was really looking forward to touching your dick," you tell him. He's still
got his face buried in the pillow, making noises that, even muffled, are almost
too loud. You keep touching on and around his dick. "And that was before I knew
it was a weird werewolf dick."
"I'm glad you don't just like me for my weird werewolf dick," he says, almost
incoherently, into the pillow. You scratch his belly more, which is basically
like petting a cat, or, you know, a dog, only a whole hell of a lot more
sexual.
You're considering actually touching his dick when his briefs just like, rip
apart. The bulge of his cock has gotten more and more obscene (and also weirder
and weirder if you're using any kind of human dick as a reference), so it's not
really a huge surprise when the seam over his hip starts popping stitches. The
y-front is stretched out like a handspan from his crotch, with his cock knifing
straight up, the fabric sticking to it all wet and glossy. They basically snap
apart, suddenly a huge strip of his furry thigh visible, and then the elastic
snaps and they're just gone, his cock and balls hanging all out with the seams
hanging down neatly framing it. You think you make a noise, maybe, but it
basically feels like your brain's exploded. You can't even think about it, you
can just live in the world of completely unfiltered sensory experience (of his
dick) and let it all wash over you.
He groans and fishes the ruined briefs from out of his jeans. "Aw man, those
were new," he says, mournfully.
"Yeah," you say.
"I, uh, wanted to impress you," he says, "Instead of just wearing those ratty
boxers."
"Yeah," you say. You shake your head and end up still staring at his cock. "No,
that was... that was really impressive. I'm impressed."
"You're seriously into my cock." He says it like he doesn't believe it, like
somehow even now it's unexpected, like this is a new and happy surprise. His
breath rasps across your ear as he leans in close. "Touch it," he says, and you
fucking whimper.
It's a really nice cock.
Here are the deets: like, huge? And entirely wolf-like. You assume, you've
never actually seen a wolf cock before. Much less, uh, erect. Jesus Christ, it
looks so fucking absurd against the rest of his body, shaggy fur sprouting
across his hips and like, framing it, except it's so fucking long the tip juts
up against the bare skin of his stomach, leaving behind milky white smears of
precome wherever it touches.
It's blood red and like, shiny? Glossy. It doesn't seem altogether real, and
not just because you're a virgin staring at your first cock. The first cock
that's gonna be touching you in a whole lot of increasingly-filthy ways. But
it's... smooth. It doesn't have a texture: skin has a texture, kind of crinkly,
little uneven shapes. This is just... smooth. Like it honestly could be some
kind of freaky dildo, all smooth glossy rubber. Except the color is just as
subtle and nuanced as skin, "red" except in layers, like raw muscle, purplish
where the flesh of it is the most solid, and with these tiny red/blue filaments
under the surface everywhere, vivid colors that shift-ever-so-slightly with his
heartbeat.
Speaking of his heartbeat: the entire thing shudders, even more pushing out
from his sheath, and it drools out precome in milky strings, painting his skin
in blotchy patches. And his sheath: it's fucking clinging around his cock, the
skin at the very tip stretched pale under the soft, stubbly fur there. His
sheath is basically just about the size you were expecting his dick to be.
Lengthwise. It's a lot thicker than you were thinking. And it's covered in red-
brown fur: thick and shaggy between his thighs, curling in wet coils around his
sheath, glossy and dripping up over his stomach where his cock is pressed
against his body. It swells in the middle, hugely fat, and fuck you bet that's
his knot, right there, right in front of you. His balls are not-quite enveloped
by the explosion of fur between his thighs, each of them huge like fucking
lemons, in this huge fucking lump under his sheath, filling the space between
his thighs and the crotch of his pants, fur erupting in curls at the edges of
his jeans.
You could honestly write an entire fucking paper about the way his dick is put
together. You're not gonna describe, in explicit detail, exactly how it smells.
(It smells fucking hot.) But you could.
So the thing is you spend a really long moment staring at his cock, and then it
moves, because he's actually, you know, leaning towards you, and it drags hot
and wet across your teeshirt, his slimy precome instantly soaking through to
your skin. It's hot, both viscerally and in terms of literally being hot
temperature-wise. He presses his nose wetly against your neck and drags
upwards, lapping over your skin. It turns into a kiss, his stubby muzzle — he's
got a muzzle now, at some point — lolling open as he basically just unfurls his
tongue in your mouth, and then you come in your pants. It's so abrupt you
hardly even recognize it, the pleasurable frustration of your cock grinding
against his hip suddenly bursting into something that leaves you basically
screaming into his mouth, rutting against his body, dizzy with reflected
pleasure, and then it's over and you feel loose and also like your boxers are
clinging to all kinds of places.
He sniffs across your chest, which is honestly more than a little unnecessary,
because you were not subtle at all. "Did you just come in your pants?"
"Shut up," you say. "You're hot."
So then you touch his cock.
He's like, super slick from drooling precome all over the place, and his cock
is just glistening in the dim light of his bedroom, wet streamers sluggishly
drooling down it and spilling over the lip of his sheath, making a god-awful
mess of his fur. When you finally touch it, it squelches, thin watery pre
oozing up between your fingers.
He was in the middle of saying something, probably about you actually getting
naked, but he cuts off in a ragged snarl and fucking bites down on the pillow,
his whole body shuddering as his cock spills lines of precome all over your
hand. Like, you're honestly not sure if he's coming all over your hand right
now or if this is just more pre, but it doesn't seem to be stopping any time
soon.
Slowly, like, over the past few minutes, he's gone full-wolf, or at least, you
know, full huge-looming-humanoid-wolf-monster. Fur spread up his stomach and
arms in rippling waves, over his face, and then it bulged out into a muzzle,
and his ears got all perky, and now it's basically like, hey, you've got a
werewolf in your bed.
Technically you're in the werewolf's bed, but whatever, quibbles.
Also, he's still wearing his jeans. It's just like every monster transformation
out there: he gained enough bulk in his upper body to probably shred a shirt,
(you add that to your mental list of things to ask him to do because wow that
would be hot,) but his jeans are still intact, if stretched skin-tight from his
new bulging werewolf muscles. Only here, of course, his cock is just hanging
all out, drooling all over the place as you jerk him off.
His hips pump forward in an erratic rhythm as you stroke him off, each stroke
slopping and squelching as gummy precome smears all across your hand. He
snarls, pushing you back against the headboard, and, uh, he's still got the
pillow in his mouth, ragged stuffing poking on on the sides, and it's
remarkably cute for all that it also shows off his immense fucking murder
teeth. He's groaning into it, breath puffing fast and ragged as you jerk him
off, the solid weight of his body pinning you without him having to actually,
like, do anything about it.
Since you do, in fact, have the refractory period of a 17-year-old, it's
basically a few minutes of jerking him off and you're hard again, chafing the
inside of your boxers all wet and uncomfortable. Mostly that's his fault
though; he's drooling — like, actually, from the mouth — all over your
shoulder, smearing his gross drool-pillow against your cheek, and his cock is
spurting still-not-sure-if-he's-actually-coming fluids all over your stomach,
and the end result is you're basically soaking wet all over, and also steaming
gently from the heat. It's dizzying, like actually, physically dazing you, so
you have to lean back against the headboard and just let him rut against you,
cock sliding with wet squelches through your loose fist, snapping and tearing
at the pillow until it's just gross wads of stuffing.
"Wanna fuck you," he says, after he finishes spitting out all the drooly wads
of like, foam? Did he honestly have a foam pillow; that seems kind of absurd.
"Okay, awesome," you say, because you're entirely down with that. "Wait, fuck,
like, lube? And do you even have — can you even wear a condom?"
"I'm clean!" He pouts at you. "I never, um. I mean, you know I never did
anything with anyone else."
"Uh, lycanthropy? I mean, do you know just how transmissible it is?"
His wolfy eyebrows are still pretty expressive. "You can't honestly tell me you
wouldn't love being a werewolf." He's definitely got your number.
"Still, I mean, right now I wanna stick to being the fragile human debauched by
werewolf cock." You're still stroking him off through this whole exchange, and
at that his cock sprays pre all up over your stomach. You look up at him and he
just grins all toothy at you, tongue lolling out of his mouth.
"You totally would've made me wear a fursuit or something, wouldn't you."
It's a distinct possibility. "Maybe. I would've waited until after our first
time, at least."
"Anyway, I think it's just through biting."
Which, sure, okay, except: "You've already like drooled a pint of viral
werewolf saliva down my throat." He looks kind of grossed out when you put it
that way. You lean forward and kiss him, pushing back his rubbery black lips to
lick into his mouth, and his tongue just kind of... unfurls into your mouth,
wet and slick and yeah, drooling a whole hell of a lot. He rumbles, high in his
chest, and you suck on his tongue, which feels kind of ridiculous but he seems
to really like it, his shuddering breath billowing across your face as you
basically kiss his tongue. You end up swallowing a bunch more mouthfuls of
werewolf saliva in the process. "Um," you say, voice wet and clotted when you
finally pull back. "My point was, if that's the infection vector it's already
way too late."
"Look, we're talking about werewolves here, I think it's just magic." He does
jazz-hands at 'magic', which is even more hilarious now that he's a huge
fucking werewolf. You laugh into his shoulder, which grinds his cock up and
down against your stomach.
"Yeah, okay," you say. "Still, lube, because that thing is seriously huge." You
roll over, sprawling backwards on the bed, and that means you get to watch him
turn around. He's seriously hot, maybe even moreso as a hulking werewolf. His
shoulders got a lot broader, and you can see the rippling movements of his back
muscles even under his shaggy fur. His tail — he got a tail, you totally missed
that — is basically wagging constantly, raised high, and his ass is fantastic,
like, look, he has a nice ass as a human; after he joined the football team you
ended up seeing him changing — you're kind of a hanger-on; you're god-awful at
sports — and it fueled a lot of personally revealing fantasies about the both
of you naked. It's basically just as nice as a muscular werewolf ass, though in
practice you think the hair might be kind of a hassle.
His jeans are still caught between his thighs, fur erupting out around the
legs, and they're clinging to the huge fucking massive muscles of his legs. He
turns towards you, silhouette contorted and monstrous, leg muscles shifting,
eyes glowing red, cock bloated and red and dripping and fucking enormous and
Jesus Christ this is like something out of your filthiest fantasies.
He basically just rips your shirt off.
It catches across your back, tight, and then the faded fabric gives out and
shreds itself. He ends up holding a scrap, torn out with his claws, the rest of
it lying across the bed.
"I liked that shirt," you feel obligated to say, even though honestly it wasn't
your favorite.
He stoops down, pressing his mouth against the wet coating of his own jizz all
over your stomach, and starts licking. You can feel his teeth digging into your
skin at the end of each rough lap. Fuck, even you would not have anticipated
having werewolf teeth against your soft vulnerable underbelly would be a turn-
on. You basically writhe on the bed as he licks all across your stomach, over
your sides — ticklish; you accidentally knee him in the side of the head once
trying to squirm away, and he growls up at you and bares his teeth, which,
again, super hot — and over the wet mess of the crotch of your jeans, nose
snuffling against the hairs leading up your stomach. He bites the button of
your jeans off, showily, which, rude, okay. And then he just yanks them down
your legs, digs his claws in and rips downward.
"I can already tell this is gonna be a relationship where I go through a lot of
clothes," you say, mostly to distract yourself from how now you're naked and
he's, like, looking at you.
In this equation you're the one who's not a huge fucking hot muscular werewolf.
You're actually kind of gawky and lanky and pale. He's, uh — his cock is
straight-up drooling, like in a constant stream, and it patters down in
translucent droplets over your stomach, just above-and-to-the-side of your
cock. Your cock isn't bad, but it's not huge or anything, and it bends a
little, and, most notably here it's the one that's not a huge oversexed knotted
wolf cock.
His throat works, lips sliding back and forth over his teeth, and his eyes are
still literally glowing red, shot through with golden flecks, luminous and
reflective. He groans again and dips his head, lapping messily over your
nipples, down over the almost painfully sensitive skin of your stomach, and
then he rasps wet and rough in a long stripe up your cock and that's it, you're
done. You try to hold it in, tensing weird internal muscles, but then he licks
again, long and wet, eyes gleaming over your stomach, just a massive fucking
red-brown shape at the head of the bed, stooped over, lips and tongue dragging
over your cock.
You last maybe ten seconds, and that's being generous, and then you come all
over his face with a keening sigh. Which is also super fucking hot, wet lines
and droplets of your jizz clinging to his shaggy fur, webbing across his
muzzle, across his cheeks. He laps you through your orgasm, his wet flexible
tongue smearing all over your cockhead, and you just go limp, mind thoroughly
blown. "No fair," you hear yourself say, dimly. "I wanted to suck you off."
Then he starts licking lower.
Over your balls it's mostly just ticklish, whiskers pricking at your thighs,
but then — wow, rimming on the not-even-first-date. It's, uh. You mean, you've
got a dildo, it's great, you're totally accepting about how your ass can feel
good when you play with it, but he keeps doing these long slow strokes down the
crack of your ass, catching just-barely on your asshole, and it's like — it's
like eating wasabi and suddenly having precise 3d perceptual awareness of your
sinuses as burning bean-shaped blobs of pain, only instead of sinuses it's the
shape of your asshole and instead of pain you keep whimpering and grinding your
ass against his muzzle. You kind of wish you could bring yourself to talk,
because you want to say that to him and then watch what a werewolf looks like
when he's laughing so hard he starts to cry.
You might actually be crying; it's hard to tell. You're definitely sobbing, wet
ragged gasps as his tongue catches over your asshole and digs in just-slightly.
You're amazed how fast it goes, opening up for him, basically riding his muzzle
as you keep arching up into him. He spreads your cheeks, claws ten precise
pinpricks, and you whine just at that, your ass loose enough you feel the
muscle part just from that, winking open.
He basically fucks you with his tongue. He's fucking enthusiastic about it,
drooling all over the place until your cheeks are dripping and squelching and
you feel fucking depraved, the long heavy roll of his tongue prodding at your
pucker and just... sliding inside, pushing deeper, opening you up. His nose
bumps wet and cold against the root of your cock, just above your ass, his
mouth wide open, so that you're basically sitting in his mouth, his tongue
buried so deep inside it basically feels like he's already fucking you.
You might come just from that, again, dizzy and shaking and muffling an
incoherent moan as you just spill all across your stomach, asshole convulsing
around his tongue. He hits something inside you, tongue a huge soft pressure
coiling around your insides, and it just feels... good. It feels real good, and
you keep coming, and it honestly seems like it lasts minutes, waves of
sensation crashing through your body, up through your ass, like you're full of
water and it's just crashing from one side of your body to the other.
You're basically boneless, legs thrown over his shoulders through no effort of
your own, asshole gaping as he eats you out, ass — like, your whole ass —
literally dripping with spit, the rest of your body tacky with jizz and precome
and sweat.
You have to admit, this was not how you were expecting your first time to go.
You know, candlelight, soft music, something other than your best friend's
brightly-lit bedroom, blanket scratchy against your ass.
You were also expecting less werewolves, but that was more to keep your
expectations down.
So back in reality, he pulls back, tongue dragging its way out, and you can
barely raise the energy to whimper sadly as he pulls away. Your asshole doesn't
even close, yawning wide open like a second mouth, its lips puffy and swollen,
flushed and hot. His nose presses just above it, whiskery lips kissing your
asshole, and then he pushes inside.
This was not even something it occurred to you was physically possible, but
you're slack, and open, and apparently stretchy, and he shoves his fucking
muzzle into your ass. It's too much, it's beyond too much — for the first time
it fucking aches, hot and uncomfortable up your spine, but fucking hell. You're
definitely crying; distantly you can feel tears rolling over your cheeks, but
you're rocking up against his face, every nerve alight from the pinprick
sensation of his soft-furred muzzle pushing inside you. He drools straight
inside you, enough that the wet slopping squelching noises are clearly audible
even to your ears, which should be at least a little gross, but you find
yourself just opening further, the pain giving way to a fevered, pulsing throb
as he forces your asshole just, way, way beyond capacity. His jaw is open,
tongue licking inside you again, and the little shuddering twitches through his
jaw translate into throbbing, aching stretches of your asshole, distending like
a fucking rubber band around his muzzle.
His nose jams into your prostate and you think you might faint, or yell, or
something. Everything goes black — you might have shut your eyes? — and you're
dimly aware of your cock spraying thin, watery jizz all over your stomach,
splattering across your chest and dripping down to your neck. You're sobbing,
wet choking noises as your stomach heaves, hands wrapped tight in the shaggy
fur of his thighs, wet and plastered together now that he's just spurting
precome everywhere.
He keeps that up for another fucking half-hour. Well, not that you're counting,
or even capable of summoning up the mental effort to consider keeping track of
time, but that's how long it goes for. In the end you're writhing on top of his
muzzle, the entire fucking thing shoved inside your ass, your asshole
completely fucking wrecked, filmy drool leaking out around his muzzle. You're
coming blanks, nothing but tiny wet droplets and hardly that. He pulls out —
again — and you let out this instinctual animal whimper, not even conscious of
it.
Then he slots his cock up against your fucking gaping, ravaged asshole.
For all that he's terrifyingly huge, it doesn't even hitch when he slides it
in, all the way. He stuffs his fucking sheath in there: he slides in to the
base, sheath kissing the swollen, hugely distended muscle of your asshole, and
then he keeps pushing. His knot pops out, in a wet gush, and it just slides in
too, fatter but still not that big compared to his fucking face, and then he
just... keeps pushing, sheath wrinkling back to show off the absolute root of
his cock, until it too eventually sinks inside your wrecked asshole, until
you're absolutely flush with his crotch, his balls these huge swells draping
across your back, your front basically buried in his fur.
He fucks you until you pass out. Like, maybe he doesn't mean to, but you're
fucking exhausted after coming your brains out like ten times, and he's just
been working himself up higher and higher before getting to the part where he
actually shoves his cock into something, and so he just rails you, the fucking
megalith of his cock plunging into your ass with a long, liquid squelch, drool
and precome overflowing and spattering out across his thighs. And then he does
it again, and again, the long solid plunge of his cock into your ass and then
deeper, ending with his cockhead in your guts and your asshole clenching around
his sheath.
He pulls you up into his lap, wraps his arms around you, licking and nipping
across your shoulder and back as he works his hips, as fucking inexorable in
his thrusts as a machine, though a lot more erratic. You breathe into his
chest, half-asleep, aware of the mess of fluids drooling from your ass, aware
of how your stomach swells out with each thrust, hollowing as he withdrawals,
but mostly just surrounded by him, body still echoing from your orgasms, cock
soft but dripping come as he pounds you, and that's how you drift off,
completely exhausted.
You wake up who-knows-how-long later, curling up in bed. You're... heavy. He's
draped over your side, shaggy fur enveloping you almost entirely, and it takes
a moment for you to even realize he's still inside you. Knotted, yeah, you can
feel that, like someone stuck a football up your ass. Your stomach is, uh.
There are ragged red seams, stretch marks, all over the swell of your stomach,
and you look fucking pregnant, stomach round and smooth and fucking heavy,
Jesus, that's like entirely jizz, like fucking gallons of it. Evidently magical
werewolf metabolism includes never running out of come.
You make some noise, a soft muffled "mmm" sound, and you only realize he's been
petting your stomach when he stops.
"You're awake," he says, and he sounds... bashful? Embarrassed? "Sorry," he
says, softly, against the back of your neck.
"Mmm," you say, a little more clearly. You try to stretch, but between the knot
in your ass and his general weight you're basically pinned in place. "Don't
worry about it. I mean," you say, and pause. "Next time I'd like to be
conscious when you knot me, but we can deal with that later."
You look down at the swell of your stomach. "How long has this been going on?"
"Um," he says. "Like, an hour now."
"Oh," you say. "Wait, how long do wolves usually tie for?" Your voice is still
soft and ragged.
He passes you his phone. He'd been playing some garbage facebook game, poorly,
you assume because of the claws, except, yeah, in another tab: "wolf sex
knotting". Like, half an hour, it says. Huh. "Huh," you say. You shrug.
Mentally. Because you don't really have the range of motion you'd need to
actually shrug right now. "Whatever, I'm going back to sleep, wake me up when
you finish knocking me up or whatever."
He whines softly against the back of your neck. "It'll ruin the bed," he says.
"What." It takes a long moment for you to connect these trains of thought. "I
guess we could try to get to the shower?"
"My mom's home," he says, plaintively, and you completely lose it, him all
worried and anxious. You at least have the grace to muffle your laughter in his
sheets. Which, yeah, completely reek of sex.
"We'd be in the hallway for like a minute."
"We could be stuck together in the bathroom for another hour."
"Well, you gotta spill about getting a boyfriend sooner or later. And also the
werewolf thing, I guess, if you want."
"She's gonna ask if we used a condom," he says, sighing against your hair.
"She's gonna have more questions if she finds your bed completely saturated in
werewolf spunk," you say.
He groans. You attempt to get up.
It's a coordination problem, like a three-legged race. You're stuck together at
the crotch, and seeing as he's a huge looming werewolf he's way taller than
you, so the way it ends up is him flat-out carrying you, one huge hand cradling
your — aching, sloshing — stomach, the other keeping your shoulders in place.
He hits his head on his bedroom doorway and lets out a muted "fuck", and then
he does this bizarre soft-step down the hallway and hits his head on the
bathroom door and says it again, louder.
This whole process is made a lot more surreal by how you can still feel him
coming in you, in soft waves, each one pushing his jizz just a little deeper,
increasing the aching pressure all across your stomach by just a hair. It
honestly feels like a fever dream, where everything is disjointed and
nonsensical.
You end up sitting together in the bathtub for another half-hour, talking a
little and passing his phone back and forth, until it starts to fucking hurt,
and then — finally — his knot starts to go down. There are a few really messy
minutes after that, and then you spend fifteen minutes groaning on the toilet
while you basically shit out a few gallons of jizz, but all-in-all things go
pretty excellently.
So he showers (getting fur everywhere) while you curse his over-abundant
werewolf nuts, and then afterwards you shower, and he slowly shrinks down into
human-form and you make out in the shower. He, uh, ends up fisting you. Like,
completely accidentally, but your ass is seriously not recovered from taking
his enormous werewolf cock, and his fingering attempt goes awry and he ends up
with his arm halfway to the elbow up inside you, looking equal parts freaked
out and turned on. He manages to force a final orgasm out of you, pressed up
against the shower wall, legs spread, basically punch-fucking you.
On the one hand, you came literally more times than you can count over the
course of maybe four hours and he came once, but on the other hand, well, his
lasted for almost two hours and was vastly messier.
You change his sheets and open all the windows, too, because coming back after
showering the room smells fucking rank, sweat and jizz and dog, and then you
curl up in his bed together.
"So, uh," you say, curled up against him. "Tomorrow's the full moon, right? You
think you could go full-wolf and we could try that out?"
He groans and grinds his hand across your face, but he's totally grinning while
he does it, so you count that as a "yes."
Awesome. A+ for lycanthropy. You're going to have to find that wild animal-
slash-hot older counselor and thank them.
***** Chapter 2 *****
So, in the morning you wake up from where you're spread all octopus-like on top
of your boyfriend (yesss, boyfriend!), roll over, and then start jerking him
off as he wakes up.
Listen, you've seen him naked or nearly naked enough times in the past few
years to make you wonder if your brain (or dick) was gonna explode from
longing. Now that he's all curled up next to you, smooth skin, heavy muscles,
you want to fucking touch.
He's never been the biggest morning person, and admittedly neither have you,
but you want to get your hands on his human dick.
Which he seems to be managing a lot better than last night. Maybe because the
moon isn't up, or maybe because he's only half-conscious, but whatever, you
jerk him off and then you blow him and he remains more-or-less totally human
the whole time, and it's really great. You think you're a fan of sucking cock.
You gotta admit, after last night you're not exactly up to getting fucked again
right off the bat. Your ass hurts, in that you can feel it swollen and flushed
between your cheeks, every movement sending little pleasure-pain twinges across
your back, over your hips.
Anyway, by the time he comes in your mouth he's awake enough to return the
favor, jerking you off (careful with the claws, yikes) while you grind against
his hip, and afterwards you don't even wipe off, just collapse back on top of
him and fall asleep.
You both get up properly at like, noon.
You take some of his clothes, since he shredded yours last night, and you have
a lunch of cereal. Then you play video games. Awesome. You're glad you had your
whole boyfriend-and-werewolf reveal on a Friday.
Now that his super hot werewolf dick isn't taking up all your attention,
though, you ask a lot of questions.
"So like, seriously, bit by a wild animal? Did it bite anyone else? Can you
tell if people are werewolves? Seriously, like, any bloodlust at all?"
You ask a lot more, over the course of several hours, generally in between
rounds of COD: the BLOPs. You, uh, might take a break so you can blow him
again. He's in his pajamas, like, old drawstring sweats and that's it, and
they're indecently low on his hips. His chest is all the slow roll of muscles
when he shifts, and he keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye and just
smiling, real soft and slow. It's really hot. He doesn't object at all when you
settle between his legs, hands spread across his stomach, dipping under the
loose waist of his pants. Well, he kisses you. You blow him while he plays
video games, which might've been a fantasy of his and is definitely pretty
enjoyable for you, too.
Anyway, so that's all pretty great. You don't really gather much in the way of
information.
His answers: "Yeah, some kind of wild animal; I dunno, maybe; I think there
might be some others on the football team" — "I knew it," you yell triumphantly
— "I guess I could eat some, like, rare burgers, that kinda seems like it'd be
good." His fangs drop down while he's saying it; he ends up lisping out the
last half of the sentence. It's cute. You end up making some burgers for
dinner, even though he complains that he can taste the carbon or whatever.
You're not just going to feed him, like, raw ground meat; that would be weird.
"So, uh, about the full moon," you eventually venture, casually, in the
evening. You've basically spent the whole day lazing around at his place, which
is not even slightly unusual. Maybe in the back of your head you were a little
worried that things would be awkward after the sex. And maybe after the
werewolf thing. But they're not! And it's great. You've had — well, saying
you've had more sex today than you have in the whole rest of your life doesn't
actually mean much. You're so glad your his respectable well-behaved friend so
his mom doesn't check in on you often, or in fact at all.
Anyway, he turns beet red and starts sputtering. "I don't know if I can, you
know, shift all the way."
You're kind of blushing too. "Um, it wasn't even about that," you say, even
though you're totally lying. "Like, I guess it's your first full moon? Is that
a thing? Are you gonna go all feral and wild? I mean, you got bit on a full
moon, and I guess it doesn't really seem like whoever did it was running on all
cylinders?"
"I don't know why you're expecting me to know any of this," he grouses.
Sullenly. You pat him on the back.
"You're the werewolf, bro."
He sighs. You consider maybe you've been giving him a hard time. You say:
"Sorry, I should've been more sensitive to the changes your body is going
through, you know, growing hair in new places, an increased interest in sex—"
except you don't even get that far because he tackles you onto the bed at
"changes your body". Then he tickles you until you cry uncle. Then he blows
you, all sloppy and wet with his fangs framing your cock, which is pretty
dizzyingly hot. All-in-all you're feeling pretty great about the direction your
relationship is evolving.
He gets kind of tense when the moon rises — early evening, since moonrise is
way before sunset — and his fangs don't really go away. You're pretty glad his
mom has a double shift tonight, or else things would get pretty awkward. More,
uh, awkward than her probably seeing the two of you sprawled naked and maybe
come-smeared on his bed. When she leaves for her shift she drags him into a hug
and gives you a look you're pretty sure means "we're gonna talk about how
you're fucking my son".
He gets quiet, non-verbal, spends a lot of his time draped on top of you, nose
against your neck or in your armpit, just kind of... watching. And smelling,
presumably. You're not judging if he suddenly finds your BO, like, super hot.
You play one of his garbage RPGs and narrate about how cliched it is. He shifts
slowly, and this time you don't really think it's because of how hot you are.
He stretches as his joints all kind of snap and pop one after the other, and
yeah, by the time the moon is high in the sky he's back to being a huge hulking
werewolf.
It's the first time you've ever actually seen him — wolf him — totally naked.
Well, totally naked when you aren't locked to his dick. You push him back
against the bed, and he lets you. There's a low rumble in his chest, like he's
purring, which, you kind of want to tell him that wolves don't purr, but you
also don't want him to stop.
He's remarkably fluffy, fur in thick, shaggy curls all over the hulking slope
of his shoulders, in tufts at his elbows, in waves down the muscled curve of
his haunches, spilling out around his cock. It's exactly the same curly red-
brown as his normal hair. Speaking of his cock, though, it's just barely
peeking from his sheath and it's dripping pre all over the place (again),
matting his fur down into glossy coils. You swallow thickly. You're pretty sure
thinking about how he's showing you his neck, showing you his underbelly, is
reading too much into it, even if he's all moon-loopy or whatever. You don't
know shit about wolf behavior, aside from how if they're snarling that's
probably bad. You could be into him snarling at you. His fangs are seriously
hot.
Still, he lets you touch him all over, hands soft between his thighs, scrubbing
down the lean arch of his calves, feet all weird stretched-out paws. His
breathing is slow but getting faster. His eyes are locked on you, all red and
luminous, watching as you start stroking him off. His precome smears across
your hands and lathers up, until the sound is clear, loud and sucking in the
otherwise-still room.
You lean down and taste it.
His cock bobs at the touch of your tongue, jerking up, and it smears the
churned-up lather of his pre across your face: a dab on your nose, whipped
crests of it sticking to your lips. It's salty, faintly, and even more faintly
bitter. Mostly it tastes thick, like... smoky, rich, heavy on your tongue. He
whimpers, whining as you lick up and down his shaft.
You kiss the tip, tongue stroking wet back and forth, smearing his fresh pre
over your lips, but you can't take in more than that; it just gets too fat too
quick. Him sucking you off with his fangs was hot because he didn't bite you;
you definitely don't have a big enough mouth to return that favor.
He doesn't come — you don't particularly want him to come, given the mess — but
he whimpers and whines, hips jerking up when you lap at the barely-there ridge
of his cockhead. His hands — huge fucking claws, but he's delicate with them —
curl around you, digging into your hair, spanning across your shoulder, giving
a slow, easy kind of guidance as you figure out where his sensitive spots are:
over the tip of his cock, the ridge of his cockhead, inside his sheath, around
the chambers of his knot. Probably more. Probably there are ones that aren't
even on his cock! You'll save those for later.
Pre slops in streams from your mouth, over your flushed lips, until the fur all
across his underbelly is brown-black, shining in the light. He looks
incredible, spread out in front of you like that, silent, relaxed.
You've been thinking the moon has made him quiet, half-feral, but you've been
pretty quiet too. Your voice sounds too-loud in the room, after nothing but the
soft wet sounds of your mouth for who knows how long. "Do you wanna, uh," you
say, and wipe your mouth with the back of your arm, swallowing until your voice
isn't quite so strained, "fuck me? I think I'm up for it again."
He sits up. He looks dazed and half-asleep, all rumpled. One of his perky ears
is flattened against his skull; it's really cute. "Yeah," he says, and he looks
out the window. The sky's dark, and the moon is like, right there, presumably
bathing the two of you in moonlight if you bothered to turn off the lights.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, it's just..." he trails off, still staring at the moon. "It's really...
weird."
"We don't have to, like... we can take a break, it's cool," you say.
His eyes honest-to-god flash, like, straight-up glowing red. "Nah," he says,
rasping lower, and he grins, gone from being a cuddly puppy to a huge looming
werewolf in like half a second. He sits up, cock flushed and enormous across
his stomach, and he pushes you back onto the bed, kneeling on top of you, huge
hands bracketing your shoulders. He kisses you, whimpering as he laps into your
mouth, cock spurting runny lines of pre across your stomach.
You don't really notice the shift, just that when he pulls back the on-fours
position, uh, works a lot better for him? There's a moment where you kind of
reflect on how he's, like, bear-sized, and then realize that given how huge he
is in werewolf form, yeah, bear-sized seems about right. It's not like he got
any bigger this time, which, thank fuck, you really don't think your ass could
take that if he did.
He drools into your mouth, lapping across your face in heavy, wet swipes. This
isn't actually any different from kissing him in werewolf form. Or, honestly,
normally either, it's just then his tongue is a lot smaller, and he drools
less. He really gets into it. You're picking up what he's laying down, which
is: he's got a serious oral fixation.
His cock is dripping all over the place, wet streams smearing over your stomach
as he licks across your face and shoulders and hair. His cockhead digs into
your stomach, spurting wet droplets all up your chest and then smearing into
his fur, and it's honestly not even a few minutes until your stomachs are this
slick mess of pre and, like, shed fur. You're jerking him off; your hand is
plastered in loose hairs; it's kind of gross.
He's settled down to lapping across your neck in big slobbery licks, hips
hunching as he grinds his cock against your stomach, and you at least would
like to kick things up a little this time.
"C'mon," you say. "Put it in me already, Jesus Christ, come on."
You've never said you were good at, like, sex talk. Look, you were basically
asleep already by this point last time; you wanna actually feel him fucking
you.
Rolling over when you've got a huge werewolf on top of you isn't actually that
easy. First of all, he's super into your neck, muzzle bonking into your
shoulder as you try to lift them, and second he's like, grinding down again
you. Just straight-up getting the clearance for your hips when you're dealing
with his, like, soda-bottle cock is really fucking hard.
You manage, uh, eventually. He even gets with it — which is mostly why you
manage — all drooling down your back until his muzzle is between your cheeks.
Your asshole is still swollen, heavy and flushed, and he just digs in. His
front fangs are these two smooth, hard points of contact bracketing the soft,
puffy flesh of your asshole as he licks you open again, tongue slobbering all
over.
"Seriously dude, just fuck me," you say, though your voice is kind of muffled
since you're basically shouting into a pillow. You're loud, like, every time
his tongue slides over the aching furl of your asshole you let out this
whimper, high and tight in your throat, and then when he fucks the flat of his
tongue just right into your ass you basically bellow.
Maybe having the day to mentally prepare for how you were gonna be having
werewolf sex at night made you a little more, uh, responsive. Maybe you're
going to have to plan on being fucked into unconsciousness often if that's
what'll keep you from making a god-awful racket.
The noise you make when he does, actually, put his cock in you is too
embarrassing to even record. He draws back, one last lick up the crack of your
ass, and then he's fucking mounting you — you regret not making a joke about
doing it doggy-style — and his cock just slides up, head catching on the gaping
furl of your ass, and he just pushes the whole thing in, in one thick, gushing
slide. It sounds like you're fucking swallowing, thick wet gulps coming from
your ass as he jams his entire cock inside. His knot isn't out yet, but you can
feel his sheath fucking pulsing as he grinds up and down along your ass,
peeling back fractionally as he rocks his crotch against your asshole.
But you still make this noise, long and drawn-out and fucking loud, Jesus.
He's fucking heavy, some slight amount of his weight bearing down on you, his
stomach fur all wet and slimy as it presses against your back, and that's more
than enough to flatten you into the mattress. You've got your ass in the air,
your arms pillowed around your head, and a huge fucking wolf monster drooling
against your neck, fangs scraping over your shoulder. He doesn't precisely
thrust, just reposition himself — his legs are like, all over, this is taking
more coordination than you were expecting — but that still sends the matress
rolling, shifting against you, and his cock jerks back and forth, fucking you
shallowly. The matress is never going to be the same, by the way. You keep
hearing the dissonant sproing of springs just completely failing. It's kind of
drowned out by the noises you're making.
You're, uh. Basically whimpering constantly, high shuddering noises as his cock
knocks around inside you. His balls, when he jerks forward, smash into the
curve of your ass like fucking wrecking balls. There's a smack like you're
being spanked, and spit and pre goes splattering everywhere, dribbling down
over your skin. Your whimpers turn into these gasping, ragged sobs, high and
shaking, and you might be the least bit embarrassed about that if it didn't
feel so fucking good. His cock shudders inside you every time you squeal; you
know he's getting off on it.
He's not even fucking moving much, just, Christ, you're acutely aware of how
your ass is like, a bunch of flesh inside you that is currently being stretched
out around a huge werewolf dick, and all that flesh is connected to other flesh
and basically your entire body here is stretching over his ludicrously-sized
cock. His cock is so fat that he's basically pulverizing your prostate without
even doing anything, that helps. Your asshole is squeezing down around him,
spasming and then just failing, and it kind of hurts and kind of feels good,
that moment when you're just spread open. There're dim feelings of your guts
churning, parts inside you that don't have any nerve endings or muscles you can
consciously control, but you can still feel the weight of his cock rocking
inside you, and the fucking heat of it, sizzling hot.
You, uh, you're thinking getting fucked by a werewolf really does it for you.
Christ. Honestly, it's less the weird animal dick in your ass than the complete
sensorium of having your best fucking friend who's also a slavering werewolf
mounting you.
"Fucking Christ man, fuck me harder!" is what you end up yelling at basically
the top of your lungs, and your voice cracks on the high whine.
He obliges.
He pulls back from laving all across your neck with a final lick, leaving your
shoulders a frothing slobbery mess. He jerks upward. His forepaws scrape long
scratches down your back, until they settle on your hips. Then he really starts
pounding you. His knot pops from his sheath, not even inflated at all, but
still you can feel the slight curve as it pops into your ass and jerks right
out, just barely wider than the rest of his shaft.
Already you're desperately close to coming, like just a few strokes will do it.
Problem with that, though: you really, really don't have the leverage now to
actually jerk yourself off. You're bracing your arms against the headboard to
stop yourself from just being slammed up against it with every thrust — in an
un-sexy kind of way — so it's not like you can just get a hand free. But,
Christ, he keeps grinding his cock against your prostate, the instant when he
bottoms-out and his knot bursts inside you just mashing it with a solid wave of
pressure. The sucking withdrawal leaves you dizzy with pleasure, and even
completely hands free you're slowly, slowly getting fucked towards orgasm.
It's a lot fucking better when you're awake enough to feel it, that's for sure.
Though, uh, he's kind of fucked the capacity for thought out of you, again, so
it's more like this incoherent stream of sensation that leads you to push back
against him, fucking cursing and sobbing and begging. Having a huge werewolf
boyfriend as a comparison point makes it a little less impressive, but you're
kind of leaking precome steadily, enough to make a slick patch on the sheets
your cockhead drags through every time he slams into you.
You're sobbing, gasping into the pillow as he plows you brutally, cock a
complete fucking mess, flushed dark red and aching, your body filled to
bursting with a dizzy thrum of pleasure. It's the moments just before you come,
when you know it's inevitable, like a wave about to crest, but drawn out for
minutes, punctuated by these out-of-tempo thrusts, the awkward shift of his
legs, all of it just dissonant enough to pull you fractionally back, to keep
you trembling and desperate for a few seconds longer.
"Ohhhhh fuck," is the most coherent thing you manage to say, between bitten-off
curses and shuddered, mewling cries. The sound his cock is making is this lewd
shluck-shluck-shluck, with rubbery pops when he tears his slowly-swelling knot
from your ravaged asshole. You're gaping wide around his cock, thick clots of
precome squelching as they drool out from you, in a sizzlingly-hot stream
coating the backs of your thighs and clinging to the tight swell of your balls.
Your entire body is aching just from taking his thrusts, and building up to
your climax is like a fucking job, something you're both working towards,
inevitable in a completely different way than just jerking off. You sob when
you come, entire body shuddering around him — around his cock and the empty,
aching void of where his cock was when he pulls out — as you spray what feels
like every drop of fluid in your body out through your cock.
He fucks you through it, each slam fucking a wet spasm of jizz from your cock,
over and over again until the sheets are... even more saturated. Your entire
body is aflame, heat pulsing across your skin, echoes resonating through your
body, grounded by the glossy slide of your cockhead, the aching, sloshing
weight of his cock inside you, the chafing scrape of your nipples against the
sheets. That dizzying rush lasts for almost as long as the initial build-up,
fading in slow ebbs as the world rushes back.
"Ow, fuck, stop," you say, his crashing thrusts suddenly way too rough, jarring
and painful, fucking bone-rattling.
He grumbles, chest buzzing as he settles on top of you. It feels like he's
still fucking you, guts churning around his cock, and absent the constant
motion you can suddenly feel the enormous wet pulses of precome he's spraying
you down with, sloshing and gurgling inside you. He's hilted inside you, and
that still feels nice, his half-swollen knot such a solid, constant pressure
that it's forcing the come out of you, a thin trail of jizz drooling from your
half-hard cock.
"Gimmie a minute," you say, once you can clearly talk. You can feel his
heartbeat through his knot. Well, and also through his chest, hammering against
your back. He's swelling larger in tiny, minute jolts, but you assume not quite
to the point where he wants to knot you. Your asshole stings, furling open
around his sheath. It feels like meat, like some foreign thing attached to your
body, blood-heavy and swollen, pulsing a half-time out of beat with your heart.
Precome is just drooling out of you, the union of your bodies a filthy mess,
his fur saturated and dripping, webby strings slowly dragging into lines as it
seeps out of you.
His muzzle pokes against your cheek, tongue lapping at your tears, and you turn
your head to kiss him, managing to brush the fur just above his lip before he
just licks into your mouth, jaws open wide around basically your entire head.
It stops being anything you could even hesitantly describe as a "kiss" once he
starts licking all across your face, into your open mouth, drooling absolutely
everywhere. You, uh, kiss back.
"Yeah, okay," you say after a while. "But go slower."
Oh, does he go slower. He rises up again, dinner-plate paws clamping over your
hips, and he just rolls back. His half-swollen knot tugs for a second behind
the rim of your asshole before it pops out. You basically start leaking pre,
his cock dripping as it emerges, and he just slides back in, knot spanking
against your asshole before it pops back in, plugging you up. His thrusts are
erratic, hind legs shifting, his whole body trembling. You get the feeling he's
just about as wrecked as you are. Drool spatters down all across your back, and
you can feel it smear over a caked-on layer of shed fur. You're definitely
taking another shower after this.
There's a fractional catch, the throbbing, bone-deep ache of your ass building
into something sharper and actually painful for a heartbeat before his knot
pops out again. He keeps getting bigger, knot catching harder and harder
against your asshole until the withdrawal drags your whole ass out in a swell
of bulging skin, gaping asshole bloody red and throbbing.
It feels fucking good, is the thing. Like coming your brains out just opened
the way for him to fuck you while you were all boneless and relaxed, not having
to worry about riding the crest of your orgasm. You're still dripping come,
even though you're not hard, like, at all. You think it's just pressure. You're
pretty sure that's not how bodies work. You're too tired to think about it in
more detail. It's too much, too big, but you don't want it to end, and he sure
as hell doesn't seem like he's gonna stop any time soon.
You're having a hard time of even thinking of your ass as, like, your ass,
instead of some new orifice, hungry and aching, wet and open for his cock. You
might be a little feverish. You're sweating a lot; his fur is all soaking wet
when it drapes across your thighs and back. Your skin is gritty where it
catches against the sheets, on your knees, on your forearms. Your breath is
hazy and humid, billowing across your forearms between noises.
It doesn't really feel like you stop making noises so much as the noises that
get forced out of you stop being these sharp, cracked yells and start being
soft, shrill whimpers. He's rumbling too, weird bitten-off yips and snaps,
incoherent gnashing sounds of his working jaw as he picks up the pace
fractionally, hips snapping back and forth. The catch of his knot — almost
fully inflated? You don't think you can take that much more — takes forever,
scraping over your raw skin, and once it pops out he just snaps back and slams
forward again, trying to shove it back inside before your aching hole has even
started to pull itself back together.
He jerks in for what you think is the last time, knot pulsing and swelling even
further inside you, but then he drags back, pulling out again, and you sob,
overstimulated and aching as he practically drags your ass inside-out, asshole
so gaping and swollen it's impossible to even tell if you've, like, prolapsed.
Then he slams back inside, knot fully inflated finally, working back and forth
into your wrecked asshole. He howls, not in one long triuphant noise but in
ragged baying barks, yipping and snarling between as he shifts his weight back
and forth, fucking wiggling his knot inside. Even once the throbbing furl of
your asshole is wrapped all around it he doesn't stop, squirming deeper until
his sheath is half shoved inside you, too.
You're sloshing; you're already sloshing just from his precome, and you can't
really even tell when he starts coming properly. Your guts are a mess of
gurgling wet heat, pulsing higher and higher inside you as you just take it.
His knot feels like a fucking soccer ball lodged in your ass. Your stomach is
already swollen just from his pre, but — now that he's not moving — you can
feel the hard swell of his knot just above your crotch, stretching your skin
from the inside. That's definitely something you missed last time.
He settles back down, fur sopping wet, or crackling-stiff with half dried pre
where it's not soaked, or sweaty and matted where it's not either of those.
You're basically dusted with loose hair. Your skin is fucking pruny from his
fucking magical super-abundant werewolf precome.
That's not even addressing how you're probably not gonna be able to sit down
for a week. Not even figuratively; your asshole feels wrecked, throbbing like
it's got a fucking heartbeat of its own.
So then he fucking turns around, knot scraping along the walls of your ass,
until you're ass-to-ass and his knot is fucking straining to get out, bulging
your ass out into a fucking implausibly huge swell. Christ. "Are you shitting
me?!" you mean to say, but your voice comes out as a ragged wheeze.
Getting fucked by a werewolf is exhausting. Now that the adrenaline is fading
you're trembling all over, legs and back spasming just under the effort of
keeping you from bonelessly collapsing.
You manage to flop on your side, and he follows. You're exhausted, so just like
lie there, sprawled awkwardly on his bed, ass-to-ass with the biggest fucking
animal you've ever seen in person. You keep realizing this is probably going to
continue for another hour and a half, looking at the clock, and instantly
forgetting what time it is or what time this even started.
His knot starts deflating after half an hour like a fucking proper wolf, thank
god. You're really not sure if you can deal with knotting taking an hour-and-a-
half. Conversely, you're pretty sure he's a lot wilder as an actual wolf.
You'll just have to fuck a lot in both forms and compare notes, which even in
your agonized post-fucked state seems dimly appealing.
You mean to warn him about the sheets when he starts trying to pull out, but
you honestly can't talk. Your voice is wrecked, like you're a hair away from
losing your voice. And it doesn't even matter; he pulls out — with the most
obscene fucking gulping slurp you've ever heard — and then immediately laps up
the oozing furrow of your ass, muzzle jamming into your ass as he basically
drinks his load straight from your asshole. It's, uh, kind of gross, but you're
not gonna judge. You might wait to kiss him, though.
His fur is like the worst stubble imaginable after a while, making your asshole
even redder and more flushed, so eventually you just kick him off — literally;
he emerges with his face thickly frosted with slimy jizz and with such an
expression of doggish alarm you feel really weird about fucking him for a
second — and try to hold it all in until you get to the bathroom. You end up
having to basically shove your hand up your ass, and Christ that feels weird,
though it does confirm just how wrecked your asshole is. It's less that your
hand fits and more that your asshole feels, like, soft and squishy.
So for the second time in as many nights you basically shit out a bunch of
werewolf jizz while cursing his over-abundant werewolf nuts. Your thighs are
plastered with his jizz, in wet streamers as it sloshes out of you. You're
really gonna have to work out a better way to handle the aftermath if you keep
this shit up. You say as much: "Christ, we're gonna have to work out a better
way to deal with this if we wanna keep this shit up."
Your werewolf boyfriend, whose fault this is entirely, has followed you into
the bathroom and is just slumped down on the ground, forming a shape not unlike
a huge boulder. He's, uh, really big. You're pretty sure he can't shift back
right now. Anyway, he just looks up at you and then flops his head back down on
the shower mat.
You take a shower. Eventually. He gets in too, and you hose off his underbelly,
because all that sloppy fluid has dried into a seriously gross crust. And then
you have to change the sheets again, by yourself this time, and by the time
you're clean and dry and the room no longer smells rank you're fucking
exhausted. He jumps up on the bed and sprawls out, and you basically just fall
down onto it. It's substantially lumpier than it was before. So much for back
support.
"Listen," you tell him in a cracking whisper. "Your mom asks, tell her about
the werewolf thing, because otherwise all the fur in the bathroom is gonna be
really suspicious." You, uh, didn't do a very good job of cleaning the bathroom
after your shower. Your shower with a shedding werewolf. It's a mess.
"That was, uh." You pause. He just looks at you, all gleaming red eyes and
broad muzzle. "That was real good." His mouth lolls open and he licks your
cheek. You just grin at him.
"I hope you can figure out how to shift back before your mom gets back,
though," you say through a yawn, curling up next to him. "She's gonna look in
here and think I fed you to a wolf." His head jerks up, eyes wide like he
hadn't even thought about that. You're too tired to really care. "Plus if you
could talk you'd totally've made a crack about how I've been feeding the wolf
myself." He doesn't even need to say his awful jokes; you have him covered. Now
he looks worried and smug. You kind of pat him on and around his face.
"Whatever, just sleep. I call dibs on topping next time, this shit is fucking
exhausting." You're such a fucking wreck. Here's hoping your voice comes back
in the morning, and also your asshole stops being a constant throbbing ache.
You, uh, don't have very high hopes, which is gonna make the inevitable dating-
and-werewolves talk with his mom awkward. You don't even drift off thinking
about that; you drift up curling up to the space-heater of your boyfriend,
hands at first carding through his fur and then just still, curled around the
shaggy fluff of his stomach as your breathing evens out.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     this is kinda the awkward transition point where i realized i had to
     give the characters NAMES, and also outline some stuff about the
     setting beyond the two of them fucking.
In a repeat of last night, you wake up aggressively spooning your best-friend-
slash-boyfriend: arms around his shoulder and waist, curling into this weird
more-than-just-hair-not-quite-fur he's got going on on and around his crotch;
your leg thrown between his thighs, the hot line of his morning wood just
basically touching you. Pressed all up against your thigh, radiating heat. Your
entire body is heavy, solid, your heartbeat still sleep-slow, blood coursing
through your body and catching at the scratches along your hips, your asshole,
the scabbed-over claws over your sides. It's nice.
You're debating waking him up with a blowjob, because that sounds like a great
start to both of your days.
Then his mom knocks on the door and calls you down for breakfast. She's clearly
checked on you earlier, since the sight of the both of you cuddled up naked
(under the sheets, thank god) doesn't surprise her at all. You kind of gape at
her, and she arches a brow. You're so fucked.
At least he turned back from a murderous killer wolf in the night. That's
something.
You try to move and holy shit, okay, as it turns out getting ruthlessly fucked
by a werewolf two nights in a row is really not a good health decision. Your
asshole feels like a separate thing: heavy and soft, like a weight attached to
your ass rather than a part of your body. Moving hurts, muscles you didn't even
know you had aching all along your legs and hips, up your back.
You whine into his shoulder and he stirs, in time to catch his mom turning from
the door and heading back downstairs. He freezes in place until she's gone,
eyes wide, like she's a dinosaur and won't notice him unless he moves.
"We're so fucked," he says, and then kind of flails around, slapping at your
forearms, when you scrape your hands lower, wrapping around the weird half-wolf
dick he's got going on. "Dude," he hisses, "not now."
"We've got a few minutes before she comes back up," you say, mostly to rile him
up, and he looks super affronted; it's hilarious. You start laughing, except
that hurts too, so it kind of turns into a surprised yelp and then heavy
breathing.
"You okay?" He reaches out, stabilizes you, and you lean into the contact.
"Yeah, no, it's fine, just, uh, kind of hurt from last night." He blushes deep
red; it's super cute. "Two nights in a row with you all wolfed out was
definitely a mistake." Now he looks all chagrined. "Dude, not that it was bad,
just maybe we're gonna have to plan some recovery time. Or skip the knotting."
He darts his eyes to the door, like maybe his mom is secretly lurking there.
"It felt really good," he says, voice husky when he whispers, like it's some
kind of deep secret.
"Um, thank you?" you say. He gives you a look. "What? Honestly I think I made
it pretty clear at the time I was super into it, so like, I don't know what
you're looking for here," except half of that is said mumbled into his mouth
when he darts forward and kisses you. You don't stop talking because you wanted
to make a point about how kissing people doesn't make them shut up, except it's
not like anything you said was coherent, anyway. His mouth is nice, like,
vaguely you were expecting morning breath to taste awful, but it's honestly not
that bad. It tastes like mouth. He's slick and hot, and there's just enough
friction to be nice as his lips drag over yours.
His eyes go all glassy and animal when he pulls back, looking down your body.
You're kind of marked up all over, hips a mess of red scratches all scabby in
the center, some deep enough you really should've maybe gotten bandaged up
before bleeding all over his sheets. It looks like, well, you know what it
looks like. He pushes you back down onto the bed, teeth growing long as he
basically smears his face across your stomach, snuffling and licking until his
chin mashes against your cock.
"Hnnnnn," is what you say, because you're articulate and awesome at all times,
and you kind of rub your dick across his face. Yeah, okay, despite what you
just said you really don't have time for this, but honestly like you're gonna
object?
Except then his mom's footsteps are clear on the steps and his eyes go wide
again and he leaps out of bed (giving you a really nice eyeful, woof) and
lunges for his dresser. He's fucking limber as ever, even though he spent the
night brutally fucking you and also turning back and forth into a vicious
monster on top of that. The world is unfair. He drags on some of his ratty
boxers (that do nothing to hide his half-shifted sheath and wolf dick, big
enough to jut up above the waistband) as she stops in the doorway. He keeps his
back turned, head craning around. It's the least subtle thing ever.
"Up! Seriously, you two, I know you wore yourselves out last night," oh god you
inhaled at the wrong time and now you're choking on your own spit, fuck, and
Shey — which is his name — looks caught between wanting to help you and wanting
to not basically flash his mom if he turns around, oh god, this is how you're
gonna die, "but there are pancakes, and we're gonna talk."
You get chills. After you clear your throat.
The resulting conversation is mostly made awkward by how you can't fucking sit
down without hissing, and everyone in the room knows why. You creep down the
stairs behind Shey, asshole still feeling like it's gonna fall off your body,
and when you sit down it's with a low pained whimper. His mom looks at you.
Shey goes beet red and during the ensuing relationships-and-safe-sex
conversation his flush doesn't go away at all. You're honestly kind of worried
he's gonna get a nosebleed. It's the worst thing you've ever experienced, and
only made worse by how you know there's gonna be a repeat of it the next time
Shey's at your house.
She's also upset about the mess in the bathroom, but she seems under the
impression you like, brought a dog home and gave it a bath and then sent it
off. That would be a cutting indictment on your character, but honestly, over
the years you've done worse.
You wonder if werewolves are like a reverse tooth fairy, like, everyone says
they don't exist but then you grow up and surprise, werewolves exist! You can't
imagine this kind of thing staying secret. You try to figure out if she's
giving this talk with barely-concealed amusement. Well, no, she totally is, she
thinks it's hilarious, but it's harder to tell if it's werewolf-related
amusement.
So anyway, your final day of the weekend is spent under heavy parental
supervision, so so much for more ruthless werewolf fucking. Like, even despite
your protests, honestly, you'd be totally down with a third round. Or a fourth.
You're sure you could work something out, fuck, the mental image of him riding
your dick all wolfed out is basically enough to make you dizzy.
Like, literally, once you decide to actually go home for part of the weekend
your mind starts wandering on the walk back and when the image hits you: him
like all half-shifted, loose-limbed and spread open, on his knees facing you,
riding your dick, you actually waver and almost walk into a stopsign. It's bad.
You're having a hard time thinking about anything aside how you could
absolutely be having sex right now. All you gotta do is find a place where you
won't be interrupted.
Plus, your dad says "So I got a very interesting phonecall from Melissa," when
you get back and you're choosing to block that entire conversation out of your
memory forever, forever and ever. It was traumatizing. Probably for your dad
too.
You jerk off like seven times. The sense-memory of him fucking you is still
right there, the wet glide of his cocking pushing into you, the aching throb as
he hammers you hard. You're a jittery, sexually-exhausted mess by the evening.
School the next day is weird.
Like, first of all, you lost your virginity over the weekend, so just by that
alone you maybe ought to feel a little different. Like you step into the hall
in the morning and everyone stands and applauds. Or like you've got new swagger
in your step, whatever; mostly you just still ache. Less, though.
Honestly mostly you feel sad for everyone who's having sex with someone who's
not a werewolf, because wow, that probably can't hold up at all. Well, maybe,
Shey in human form is still dizzyingly hot, all the more now that you know he's
yours. Not, like, in a possessive way (well, only kind of) but more the
knowledge you could pull him into a storage room and suck him off and he'd be
there, muscles under your fingers, cock leaking into your mouth. You only
barely resist actually doing that. He's yours in that there is the ever-present
actual real-life possibility of you having more sex. You seriously can't stop
thinking about that. Maybe sex has broken your brain.
Also in that short sixty-some hour stretch of the weekend you discovered
werewolves exist.
It's still kind of destroying your worldview. Like, what about vampires? What
about the unending lists of other fairytale creatures, like, if that was true
why were they even secret rather than being something absolutely everyone knows
about. Everyone knows about, like, rhinos, and those were mythical creatures
back in the day too. Or is it just werewolves that exist? It seems really
confusing and mysterious and you're choosing not to think about it.
Shey sees you in your first class (English) and he spends most of it just
staring at you, nose flaring. He snaps a pencil once, you have no clue why, and
after class gets out he pins you in an alcove and kisses you until your lips
are bruised, basically panting all across your face when he finally pulls back.
Then you gasp a breath and lean back in.
You're kind of discovering that kissing is a whole process; it's not like you
hold your breath and just dive into his mouth with your tongue. Like, you can't
exactly get a lip-lock on a wolf muzzle, so you figured you'd just do your
best, except you guess you'd been harboring some idea that when actually
confronted with a human face you just mash your lips together and... something?
And that was the right way to kiss? You're also choosing to not inspect that so
far you've had more experience making out with wolf heads than with humans.
Except not put that way, because then it sounds like you're into taxidermy. On
top of the implied bestiality. So, now you can never ever tell anyone about
your first kiss. "Unexpectedly drooly, but, you know, in a good way, and also
there was the worry that I would contract lycanthropy."
You drag your lower lip against his, kind of chapped and rough, and his tongue
darts out to wet his lip, automatically, but you're so close together it drags
over your lip, and you open your mouth a little and press forward, and, uh,
long story short you make out a lot in an alcove. There's kissing and you can
tell he's hard because there is not a single fucking inch of space between you,
and you kind of grind against each other while kissing for the five minutes you
have to spare between getting to your next class. He's a little better about
control, but he's still getting a little hairy and toothy by the end of it.
Like, normally you hang out in the period between classes, since you share half
of them, and now it's more like you're just hanging off each other. To make a
pun.
You seriously spend some time considering the whole storage room blowjob plan
for your free period.
You spend some time considering if you can even fucking wait that long. Things
go mostly as usual save for Shey making out with you up against a wall in
between classes. Except then PE happens.
Well okay, PE for you but it happens to coincide with football practice, which
means your shower overlaps a little — you get into the locker room at the end
of class around when the football team is getting out, which as mentioned
previously had kind of contributed to your Shey-related fantasies, since it
means you get to see him naked or in his fucking jockstrap every time your
schedules align, which is most days.
So, yeah, when you — with the rest of the PE class — drag yourself back to the
locker room all sweaty and exhausted, there's Shey. There's half the fucking
football team, also, regrettably. His nose flares and he looks just about ready
to shove you against the lockers and fuck you in front of everyone else. The
feeling is so fucking mutual. He's breathing all heavy, like he's super into
the way you smell when you're all sweaty and gross, and you hightail it into
the shower to prevent him wolfing out in front of everyone. Just being in the
same room as him is getting you hard; you have the visceral fantasy of just
walking over to him and getting on your knees, dragging your face over his dumb
fucking jockstrap until you can get your mouth on his cock. You try to send
psychic signals of "let's fuck around on our free period" but you're pretty
sure you don't actually have psychic powers.
Naturally when you go to take a shower something else happens.
Well, first of all, you are fucking marked up, that didn't go away overnight.
You still look like you got fucked by a wild animal. There were catcalls when
you got changed in PE. Less when you shower.
You dawdle in the showers until everyone else has left, though you can still
hear people moving around in the locker room. The thing is the PE teach
basically fucks off after class; there's no PE period for anyone after this,
and the actual football coach doesn't really give a shit about the team after
they're off the field, so the locker rooms are basically unsupervised. This
isn't really something you think about except in the back of your head,
planning on if you really want to maybe get suspended for fucking in the locker
room. You totally do. You're not ashamed to admit you'd do an awful lot to get
some werewolf cock.
Your train of thought gets derailed when someone else steps into the showers.
You jerk your head up, expecting Shey, and— it's totally not Shey.
It's Jace. The football captain. The archetypal jock.
He's completely naked, skin already slick from the spray, and he saunters
towards you, lips pulled back in the most feral smirk you've ever seen. His
eyes are gleaming red-green, glazed-over; his nose has a dark wet pad, and
there's black fur sprouting up across his face, from his jawline up and down.
So that's a thing.
His throat is bulging and lumpy, twisting, and when he speaks his voice is a
low hitching growl. "You smell so good," is what he says, hips rolling back and
forth, and yeah, wow, that's definitely his dick, pink tip just barely peeking
out from a rapidly-darkening sheath/foreskin. "Smell like you got all used up."
He steps way close, and when you take a half-step back he steps forward,
pinning you against the wall without actually touching you at all. He splays
his hands against the wall, tile cracking under his fingertips as his claws
lengthen.
"I knew like half the football team were werewolves," you say. Mostly to
yourself; Jace seems kind of out of it. He looks fucking concussed, iris a thin
golden ring almost completely blotted out by his dilated pupils, and every time
his eyes catch the reflection of the overhead lights they glow a solid red-
green.
As if to punctuate the thought, Jace leans in and sniffs all up your neck,
burying the wet pad of his nose behind your ear. You kind of slap your hands
against his chest and he steps back, still looking drugged and smug at the same
time.
"So you're taking to being a werewolf well," you say.
"Shey fucked you, didn't he," he says. "Marked you in and out with his scent."
"Seriously, are you hearing yourself? Is this just fucked-up werewolf dirty
talk hour or are you gonna stand there and make creepy innuendo all day?"
You're, uh, not gonna talk about how it's kind of turning you on. Though Jace
is close enough to feel how it's turning you on.
"I'd do a better job of it. Make you feel it for days."
You open your mouth to say something like, yeah, actually, I am currently
feeling it for days and it's kind of a hassle; not exactly the most encouraging
thing to say, when Shey (finally) rounds the corner and lunges, snarling, at
Jace.
You have to admit you were kind of expecting a dramatic werewolf fight, like,
backflips and shit, but it's exactly like every other highschool fight ever.
Shey barrels into Jace and they both go sprawling across the tiled floor —
bringing you with them, just from proximity to Jace — and then you all just
kind of lie there in a heap. It's the opposite of a dramatic werewolf fight.
"I knew like half the football team were werewolves!" you repeat, at the
ceiling. Shey groans. "Also, they can smell we fucked and it turns them into
creepy fucking stalkers, please tell me that's just Jace and not a werewolf
thing."
"I'm right here," Jace whines, from beside you.
He's got furry mutton chops, tufting out across his chin, and his chest has a
deep line of hair down the center, spiraling off over his pecs. Like, the thing
is, Jace's got black hair, but he bleaches it, so you can see exactly what hair
is new. His roots are growing out black, so he's got a two-tone thing going on
across his head and down his neck, the tips frosted as hair — fur — fans out
over his shoulders. The thing is, he's, y'know, white. Shey's red-brown fur is
just a shade or two darker than his skin, but on Jace the line of black fur
over his tanned skin is a lot more sharply-defined. Shey just kind of gets
fuzzier, Jace actually looks kind of like a really hairy dude.
Shey's, uh, wearing his loose gym shorts, and his jock under that, and you can
tell because they're both basically soaked through with water and translucent.
You can see fur prickle across his thighs through the fabric. His claws are
digging into the tile. His sheath is just straight-up spilling out of his jock.
Those things were not designed for werewolves. He's shifting slow, fur
spreading in waves up his calves and forearms, over his shoulders. His muscles
keep twitching and expanding, too. You're pretty sure the intermittent popping
noise is his bones creaking and not like, the ventilation fan catching.
"Did the tackle knock all the creepy werewolf dirty talk out of you, because I
distinctly remember you getting all sexual harassment up on me like ten seconds
ago." Jace tries to sit up and you push him back down, in case line of sight is
what makes his eyes glaze over. You resist making a dog joke.
"I mean it's nice being a werewolf sex magnet but you didn't even like me
before you were a werewolf." Jace shuffles in a way you can't help but call
guiltily. "...you didn't even like me, right?"
"Wow, you really had no clue," Shey says. He sounds amazed.
"What," you say.
"He, uh —" Shey looks over at Jace with something that might be an apologetic
look, what the fuck. "He kind of has a huge crush on you."
"What," you say again, and your voice gets all high and squeaky in that way it
does.
"He gets a lot of grief from the team about it." Shey keeps talking, like he
hasn't just blown your mind.
Jace sullenly pulls himself up to his hands and knees, cock dragging over your
hip. "Could you stop talking about me like I'm not fucking here?" he snarls,
but uh, he's kind of — his ears are bright pink, and there are splotchy patches
of flushed skin on his chest and neck, creeping higher. It kind of clashes with
the fur.
"You're cute," he says, and his voice is a low, threatening growl. "You'd look
good wrapped around my dick." He's still blushing furiously, though. It's
adorable.
"Oh my god," you say, with rapidly-dawning comprehension. "The growling and
shit wasn't a werewolf thing at all. It's like, machismo!"
You start laughing uncontrollably and Jace growls and lunges at you, (Shey does
absolutely nothing to help) sending the both of you skidding across the floor,
butting up against a wall. He's kind of rubbing his dick all over your chest,
nose buried behind your ear, taking these long weird swallowing breaths.
"I can smell how much you want it," Jace says, the growl back in his voice. You
roll your eyes, not the least because he can also feel how much you want it,
but that apparently sounds less werewolf-y. "I'd make it good," he half-growls,
breath hissing over the shell of your ear.
"Do you seriously think you sound, like, alluring when you get all growly? It's
really not hot." You might, uh, be getting a little allured here. Your cock
presses up against his stomach and leaves a wet smear. Like, you've been trying
to play it cool here, but look, you've got two werewolves fighting over you
like you're a stick they both want to fetch, (that is absolutely how you would
characterize this situation, yes) and one of them keeps whimpering and growling
in your ear. You're hard. You've been hard basically since Jace started
touching you. There's a not inconsiderable worry that you're just going to come
all over yourself before you even get to anything particularly salacious. Well,
more salacious than your entire life has been getting, which is pretty fucking
salacious.
Consequently, Jace just kind of looks at you, a who-do-you-think-you're-kidding
kind of look.
"...Most people wouldn't think it's hot," you amend. "I'm into getting fucked
by slavering monsters, like, I don't think I'm the statistical average here."
"Good thing I'm only going after you, then," Jace growls, lips nipping at your
earlobe, fangs scraping over the shell of your ear. "I'd fuck you until you're
sobbing my name." Jesus.
"You could," Shey offers, and then claps a fuzzy paw over his muzzle.
It's a good thing he was pretty unambiguously talking to you or else you'd be
having words. "Um," he says, muffled by his hand. "If— if you want to. Let me
watch."
Your eyebrows creep up your face as you just stare at Shey. He squirms.
"Is this some weird werewolf thing?"
Jace laughs in your ear. "Does it matter? He wants it. He's not gonna stop
being a werewolf. Give him a show." His breath puffs over the wet curve of your
neck. You are seriously going to end up coming all over yourself just from this
situation. Fuck.
Still... "Is, uh, this a you thing?" You try to ask this gently, implying you
would be absolutely accepting of whatever the answer is, but it's kind of hard
to set up a nice intimate, trusting atmosphere with Jace one, in the room, and
two, basically humping your thigh, kind of grunting and dripping pre all over.
He's fighting the change, or something, which is kind of interesting but now's
so not the time.
"Maybe?" Shey kind of squirms, haunches shaking. His tail is drooping. "I mean,
I can, uh, still smell, you know... it. On you. From when we fucked."
"I showered like five times!"
Shey rolls his eyes. "But it smells different when it's another werewolf, and
that, uh, smells— really good. Too." His hands kind of ghost over his crotch,
before he realizes he probably shouldn't start jerking off right this second.
Well, that's what he thinks; you'd be absolutely down for watching him jerk
off. You stare at his cock for a few seconds and only then realize he's still
talking. "It smells really fucking hot, okay, and it's—" he kind of waves his
hands, which is what ends up dragging your eyes away from his dick. "I... you
got really into, um, when we —" and he makes a gesture that you're gonna
interpret as 'when we fucked and I was a huge wolf', "and I wanna — if you want
to! Right, but, um, if you wanna, um, be with another guy, just, let me watch?"
Suddenly you're really retroactively glad you managed to get your whole furry
thing out of the bag with a minimum of hedging. Shey looks mortified, insofar
as you can read expressions on his, you know, wolf face. Honestly, you feel
kind of shitty about it, like, sure he's a huge hot-ass werewolf, and also
before that a hot-ass jock football player, but he's your best friend beyond
all that, and you just kind of figured he was completely down with the werewolf
sex. Well, which he is, obviously, but down with the werewolf sex and nothing
else.
"Yes!" you say, because you realize you've actually been thinking for long
enough to make an awkward silence. Silent save Jace's shuddery grunts, but,
honestly, he doesn't count. "I mean," you start, and then basically tell him
the above, minus the bit about Jace, and end with "and like, seriously, you
should just ask me if you want to do something kinky, like— like, we're dating,
right? I'm not just using you for your werewolf dick."
You leer at his werewolf dick. "Though don't think I don't notice you keep
almost jerking off here, c'mon on, take that shit off." You are multi-tasking
here: deep relationship talk, and also you get to see Shey touch himself. You
kind of whimper when he hooks his claws into the waist of his gym shorts and
tugs down. His cock just pops out, like — he was tenting his shorts hardcore,
right, and when he tugs them down his cock just bursts out, literally arcing
pre, fucking enormous, so fucking heavy his sheath swings down until it's like
a cannon aimed straight at you, drooling all over the floor. Christ.
"Anyway," you start, and you're — oh god, you're drooling. You are literally
drooling while staring at your boyfriend's weird wolf dick. You swallow. Shey's
staring at your throat, and when your Adam's apple bobs his cock twitches,
jerking up. Your voice is, uh, getting really shrill right now. "If you wanted
to watch me fuck around with someone else all you had to do is ask, like, it's
not really a hardship to go and have a hot werewolf threesome." You pause. "Or
whatever, if you wanna just watch, but like, seriously, not a problem. I think
Jace's more than okay with it."
Jace makes this shuddery moan, grinding all up your back, cock spitting out a
slimy bolt of precome when you say his name. Shey's eyes are like platters,
burning red as he stares at the two of you. The wet cracks of his bones
shifting echo through the room as he starts to loom upward.
"Yo, Jace," you say, finally just turning the fraction it takes for you to be
basically rubbing up all against him. "You with us?"
Jace snorts across your neck. "You keep fucking talking." His hands grip your
sides, slide down to the curve of your ass. "I'll fuck you with anyone you want
watching."
"Super." Well, the actual noise you make is more like a stuttering whine, but
that was what you intended to say.
Shey's basically entirely transformed, not quite the gigantic bear-sized
monster he was on the full moon but pretty fucking close, eyes and cock like
bloody gashes, brown-red fur clinging to his skin, outlining the impossibly
huge muscles across his body. His gym shorts and jock are skintight, drawn down
to his thighs, bunched below his sheath, and they basically look like booty
shorts. Which is kind of absurd, on a huge slavering werewolf, but you're
overlooking that because it's also super fucking hot. You bet you could get him
to wear actual booty shorts. Actually, uh, on reflection he'd probably want you
to wear them, given his thing with your ass.
He crawls closer on all fours, eyes burning into yours, and whatever your train
of thought was just completely derails.
Jace actually touches you, cock slopping through the mess he's been making all
down your thighs, and his claws scrape back and forth over your ass, dragging
closer and closer to your flushed hole, fingertips rubbing against your taint,
grinding hard against the root of your cock. Shey's so close you can smell him,
heavy animal musk. Your cock keeps twitching, shuddery pleasure spiking up
through you every time you fucking open your eyes, see the huge drooling
monster in front of you watching as another, uh, slightly less huge-and-
drooling monster gets ready to fuck you. You'd kind of feel bad about the
objectification but they're both pretty clearly down with that.
Shey's cock jerks, slapping down against the tiles (Shey winces) and sprays pre
all over. The impact against your chest is wet and liquid, a watery gush of
precome dripping down to your pubes, and just, that's it, you're gone. Your
toes curl, back arching until you're leaning against Jace, and you come all
over yourself. It feels like you're shooting your brain out your dick. Only,
you know, pleasant.
You're pretty sure the whimpering sounds are mostly coming from you.
Jace's fingers grind over your asshole, two heavy claws scraping around the
still-flushed rim, slick with his pre. He starts fingering you as you come,
asshole spasming around his intruding fingers. Your hips jerk up, fucking cock
fucking the air, Jace's fingers pounding inside you, rough and slick at the
same time. You spurt out globs of jizz all across your stomach, except then
Shey's cock pulses again and the wet gush of pre just completely floods over
your stomach, dripping trails smearing all over.
One of these days you're gonna stop feeling bad about how little you come
versus Shey. Actually, more likely, one of these days you're gonna get bitten
in some sex mishap and then you too will have to deal with producing literal
gallons of come when you, uh, come. That seems like a much better solution.
Anyway, you go limp, sagging back into Jace's arms, and he kind of pauses, like
the sex might be canceled due to orgasm. "Come on, dude. Put it in me." God,
you are abysmal at dirty talk.
Jace snorts and pulls you closer. His cock bobs against your back, and he pulls
back, sliding it between your thighs in a long slick slide, sheath grinding
wetly over your softening dick. You're never gonna get used to how fucking huge
these things are, Christ. He draws you down to the floor, half-shifted lips
sliding over your own as he kisses you.
He's definitely fighting the change, though. There's a weird tension in his
body, and his fur keeps prickling up and then receding again, in minute little
jerks. Shey, meanwhile, has really just let himself go, sprawled over the tiled
floor on his haunches, cock jutting out enormous and blood red, pulsing through
his huge clawed hands. His muzzle is all toothy, and he's basically slavering,
tongue lolling from his mouth to lick up streams of drool. He's only a few
inches away, close enough you could touch him, but you kind of get the feeling
he really just wants to watch. Watch and drool fluids all over you. Slimy
fluid, pre or spit or something splatters across your back as you kiss Jace
back.
Jace, conversely... well, he's definitely hairier than usual. In retrospect, it
must kind of suck to be a werewolf when you're not into werewolves in, you
know, a sexual context. Though he doesn't seem to have any issue with how his
cock is like, a foot long now. He's got fur all over his shoulders, two-tone up
the slope of his neck, and his forearms are dark and furry, hair crawling all
the way up to his knuckles. He looks like a movie monster; more "the wolfman"
than the cgi-monstrosity Shey would have to be.
Well, they probably wouldn't give the wolfman a huge wolf dick. That Jace is
making absolutely no attempt to force back. His cock is, well, huge. Pinker
than Shey's, and roughly as big. Honestly, once you get past a foot and change
the difference of an inch really isn't that important. His thighs and stomach
are basically the closest thing he's got to fur, huge shaggy coils of dark
hair, drenched with water and pre, sticking in glossy waves to his skin. He's
been, as previously noted, rutting against your hips pretty much non-stop for
the past few minutes, and your skin is tacky and slimy with his pre, and now
that he's rocking between your legs it's actually dripping down your inner
thighs in gloppy waves. You're not gonna get used to how much messier
werewolves are any time soon. The showers were definitely the right place for a
threesome. Or whatever.
His palms are hairy — furry, maybe — as he keeps finger-fucking you, hand
dripping pre, squelching as he grinds two fingers down to the knuckle in your
ass. You're still a little swollen and aching from the weekend, but it's
subsided to a low, not-unpleasant ache. You just kind of... open up. It's a
weird feeling, unfamiliar muscles clenching and opening. His fingers are
slippery as hell, and he just... pushes inside, rocking back to add a third.
It's a little rough, burning weirdly, but you're starting to suspect that
werewolf pre makes really good lube. Well, that and—
Shey drools right down the crack of your ass. You shoot him a disbelieving
look, like, what, but his jaw is cracked wide open, tongue lolling out, looming
enormously over the two of you, and thin drool just pours out of his mouth,
hitting the small of your back and sluicing down your crack. It's kind of
gross, but honestly you're inured to this particular variety of grossness at
this point.
It's slippery as hell, though.
Jace eventually pulls back and shoves into place, sharp cockhead digging at
your asshole. His cock, knifing up between your thighs, twitches and spurts,
letting loose a single gush of pre that's way more than you just came,
splattering all over your ass and dripping down your taint.
One of these days.
Anyway, Jace fucks you. Is it bad that that's basically how it goes? Like,
partly he doesn't exactly spend a lot of time on foreplay, but also now that
you've had sex twice you are just old hat, you know, experienced and
everything.
Your legs are spread on either side of his fuzzy thighs, and his cock is
dripping and drooling all over your ass, and he just shifts his hips, cock
swinging down, and then he just... pushes inside. It's weird-as-hell to realize
that, one, you have ass muscles, and two, getting fucked in the ass exercises
your ass muscles, and three, apparently having developed ass muscles makes it
easier to get fucked? Like, it's still a little rough and tight, since this is,
uh, the first time you've had a dick in your ass without Shey slobbering all up
inside you for a half-hour beforehand, (the drool does not count,) but you kind
of get the feeling if you'd tried taking some huge foot-long cock a week ago
you'd be bleeding and in considerable pain. Comparatively, the rough grind as
Jace shoves inside you, pushing each inch in successive jerks — it's not, like,
super pleasant, but it's got the same low, hot rush as Shey plowing you. Yeah,
a little painful, but in a good way.
Then you sprawl back on the ground and knock the back of your head against the
tiles. "Fuck!" you yelp, scrubbing against the impact, and Jace just snarls
down at you. His inhumanly-long tongue lolls from his mouth, over his fangs.
It's hot as hell.
His claws dig into your hips, and he just jerks you down, slamming the rest of
his kick into you, until his sheath slurps to a stop against your spread
asshole. It's like a piece of fucking iron rebar inside you, physically hot and
surprisingly hard, jabbing and knocking all around in your ass in ways that
send weird pulses of heat racing all through your body. It's kind of inexpert;
he just jabs back inside, mouth open and drooling — which looks a lot grosser
on his mostly-human face than on a muzzle — as he growls and whimpers. His cock
is practically spraying inside you, sloppily churning up your insides, and the
wet squelch of each thrust gets wetter and goopier as he keeps spraying down
your guts with watery werewolf precome.
His sheath crashes against your upturned ass, fluid slopping in all directions,
squelching on the withdrawal. Your ass is sore, cheeks hot from the impacts,
and his immense fucking balls smash against your skin with each thrust,
swinging up to crash against your taint, a fleeting pressure against the root
of your cock. He's grunting and growling, super into it, half-howling into the
air each time he bottoms out.
You butt up against the shower wall at around the time Jace's knot starts
swelling in his sheath. He takes that as an opportunity to lean down, pressing
slobbery kisses over your neck and jaw, finally pressing his mouth against
yours, spreading your lips as his tongue unfurls into your mouth. He smells
like wolf. Hell, he tastes like wolf, acrid and meaty in a way just plain old
human mouth doesn't taste like.
It's a little grosser, since like, in a way it's easier to deal with making out
with a wolf head instead of a human who just keeps drooling on you? Like a
certain amount of mess, you think, comes implied when you decide to try and
kiss a huge slavering wolf. But — as tacky drool spills down your cheek in a
hot line — you decide it's still really hot, you know, also. You kiss back,
blunt teeth digging into his lower lip, and he groans, the noise completely
inhuman, a racking growl rumbling up from his chest.
Jace's knot erupts from his sheath with a gush, and the wet slaps as he bottoms
out get a whole lot crisper as the bare flesh of his half-swollen knot smacks
against your gaping asshole. It wouldn't even be difficult for you to take it;
you're worked open and your asshole has gotten fucking exercised, and you're
halfway to thinking oh, fuck it, and spreading yourself open.
"No knotting," you say, absolutely incoherently between Jace's drooling kisses.
You push him back, taking a deep breath that's not rank and musky in the mean
time. "No knotting," you repeat.
"Knotting?" Jace repeats, a little dazed. His voice is wrecked, and not just in
a growly-werewolf way.
You reach across your body and grab his knot. It's, uh. You'd need two hands;
you just kind of cup over one half-inflated slab and squeeze a little. Jace
buckles, sprawling on top of you, forehead coming to rest on your shoulder. You
squeeze again and he whimpers, a little sobbing yelp that's honestly one of the
hottest noises you've ever heard.
You grab his knot with both hands.
He's still fucking you, hips jerking forward in an uneven rhythm, your own
fingers bashing against your asshole as he bottoms out, and you slowly just
roll forward, until you're on your knees, Jace on his back below you, rutting
and thrusting up. You are straight-up riding his cock.
His hips bash up, jerking your entire body up, and then when you come down it's
with basically your entire body weight right down on his knot. You groan. Your
cock is jerking, smearing a thin gloss of fluid over your forearms as you lean
forward, squeezing and tugging on Jace's knot. This thrusts get even more
ragged, uneven, rhythm completely breaking off, and then he just howls and goes
limp, knot spasming and swelling in your hands. It's a weird feeling, the
bloated hard-soft flesh of his knot slowly growing more and more solid, a
pressure building under the skin, stretching and swelling against your hands,
which are already just barely wrapped around the full girth.
He, uh, also comes buckets inside you. Hot bolts of jizz spray into your guts,
gurgling and churning inside you, and since this time you're not actually
knotted, it all immediately floods out. It's thick and gooey, solid white,
almost a gel as it slowly bleeds down over your fingers. Except then — as he
keeps coming, Christ, like a fucking faucet — it just turns to water, sloppy
gushes drooling down your inner walls, thin and incredibly acrid. You're
learning a lot about wolf ejaculation right here. Jace is just groaning and
jerking, hips twitching, cock twitching, the flesh of his knot seaming out
between your widely-stretched fingers, a dark pink-red, veins bubbling to the
surface of his swollen knot, stretching bigger and bigger still. You can't
believe you actually fit one of these things inside you.
Jace's eyes flutter closed — they fluttered closed a while back, honestly — and
his head tips back, mouth just kind of hanging open. Not that his brain is,
presumably, completely overloaded, the transformation is spreading faster, dark
hair prickling up, first over his jaw, giving him ragged stubble, and then
creeping up and over. His mostly-human mouth bulges as his head tips back,
stretching out like taffy, and audibly creaks into a new configuration, fangs
getting bigger and toothier as his muzzle just kind of... extrudes from his
face.
Shey prowls closer, whining and growling in his own way. His cock is spraying
pre in gushes, huge slobbery blasts of it suddenly smacking against your side
and mixing with Jace's load as it all just sluices down the curve of your ass,
forming a huge gummy mess all over Jace's furry hips.
Like now is the time he decides he wants to touch you, his cock slaps down all
across your back, his soaking haunches smearing pre all over your skin. He
sprays pre directly into the small of your neck, huge trails smearing into your
stubbly hair and webbing over your shoulders. His knuckles drag down your spine
accidentally as he grabs his own knot, and then he fucking howls. The acoustics
make it even more deafening. You're pretty sure you can feel the pressure waves
hit you. Or something.
His load lances out in huge gummy slugs, splattering and sticking to your skin,
smearing back and forth as he ruts his cock up and down your back. He shoots
out... a lot, like, really a whole hell of a lot of jizz, and then it too just
turns into thin watery slime, acrid and bitter-smelling. It's like a fucking
firehose, one with really uneven pressure. The wet glugging, slopping noise as
he and Jace unload echoes off the fucking walls. You'd been thinking, dimly,
that the lack of knotting would make cleanup easier, but, well. Your skin is
dripping with come, most of it Shey's, Jace's gurgling and squirting from your
much-abused ass. Jace's still mindlessly thrusting, hips pumping up and up, and
each time your fingers smash against your asshole there's a practical explosion
of fluid, thin slobbery linesof come erupting from your overfilled ass.
After like ten minutes you finally realize he's gonna keep coming for the whole
hour-and-a-half unless you let go of his knot. You're hoping that's how it
works, at least. In your defense, getting jizzed on by two werewolves is kind
of. Distracting. Also incredibly fucking hot, holy shit, you were just hoping
for a quick bj in the lockerroom or something.
Your hands are basically mired to his knot. When you pull back there are webs.
Also, your fingers left imprints on his knot, which... seems like the kind of
thing that would be painful, but "in pain" is not how you would describe Jace
right now. You pull off his cock — which actually works out to be like "stop
pushing back onto his cock every time Shey smacks his dick across your back and
practically flings you across the room," but you are the only person in the
room who's in a state to keep track of that shit — and wobbly pull yourself to
your knees.
Shey pulls his mitts off his knot too, after he kind of catches up. He whines
sadly when it does it, but it happens. He still sprays an absurd amount of
weird watery jizz all across your chest. Your fingers are all pruney from it.
Again. You get the feeling this is going to be a theme.
It's like taking the pressure off the knot slowly decreases the pressure of the
come. You're not exactly an jizz scientist here, but Jace just kind of lies
there, cock spraying across his chest, soaking down his new fur, and each pulse
his less and less absurd, until he's just drooling the rest of his load over
his chest. Which, uh, incidentally soaks his fur flat, outlining every one of
his huge muscles. Maybe not as huge as Shey's, but like, you get the feeling
Shey kind of... pushed more. Pushed more at the lycanthropy. Because sure,
that's how it works.
You're not a werewolf scientist here either.
Shey collapses half on top of you, cock spraying basically precisely up against
your armpit and squelching down your side. He makes a growling, roaring kind of
noise. One of his huge paws finds your dick, jutting straight up from your
crotch, and he just kind of lazily jerks you off as he slowly slides out of
giant murder monster form. You end up gasping and shaking and shooting all up
his arm when you come, grinding against his furry stomach, painfully aware of
the sloppy wet squelching noises your ass makes every time you move.
He ends up slightly less coated in jizz than you do.
Okay, yeah, the showers were the right place after all, because you all need to
be hosed down. You are literally dripping jizz, leaving behind little footprint
puddles. If you had enough hair to have it be plastered to your scalp, it would
be. Instead it's gummy and weird all up in your buzz-cut, slowly dripping down
the back of your neck. Some got in your ear.
You haul Jace to his feet — he still looks kind of dazed, half-shifted and eyes
blown — and shove him under a shower until his crotch no longer looks like
someone spilled a bucket of, uh... honestly it's pretty unambiguously jizz.
You get cleaned and dried around when the bell rings. There goes your fucking
free period. You didn't even get lunch. Still, you don't exactly regret it.
"I'm not carrying you losers' books in the hall or any shit like that," Jace
says. Ah yes, back to his usual douchebag self.
"Shey can carry my books," you say. "Well, actually, I can carry my own books,
so like, whatever."
"Whatever, nerds," Jace says, and blows out of the locker room. Which, like,
you weren't expecting cuddles, but that's a little much.
"He's feeling awkward," Shey says, once it becomes obvious you're not gonna get
it yourself. "Because of how you learned he had a crush on you, and you laughed
at him, and then the first thing you did after that was ask him to fuck you so
your boyfriend could watch. And then you talked about how meaningful our
relationship was to you with him in the room."
Oh. In your defense, you're really not good with people. There's a reason why
Shey's basically your only friend. "In my defense," you start. "Heard it!" Shey
interrupts.
"I should maybe... talk to him?"
Shey shrugs. You loudly sit on the locker bench. "So like, what are we ever
doing? I mean, like, yeah, it's kind of hot to be like, 'and then I became the
bitch of a werewolf pack'" — Shey looks a little aghast, but more in a "I can't
believe I'm dating this person" way than a "you have substantial
misunderstandings about the nature of our relations way", so you keep talking —
"but like, man, people are complicated. I guess it's kind of a dick move to
jerk Jace around like that, but like, would it be better to only fuck guys who
don't like me at all?"
Shey looks at you in a way that wordlessly expresses how bizarrely he thinks
you're framing things. Look, you've known him a long time; you have an
extensive non-verbal vocabulary. But: "I dunno," Shey says, and he really
doesn't. "But I do know we're both missing Algebra right now." You collapse
into his side, groaning.
"I can't believe you said 'put it in me' again," Shey adds, laughing. You groan
louder.
So, werewolf fucking: as it turns out, not completely divorced from the
minefield of actual human relationships.
Still, you know, pretty great.
***** Chapter 4 *****
You dwell on the whole Jace situation for the rest of the day. Normally, you
don't do the whole dwelling thing, but usually, also, you don't have sudden
werewolf threesomes that end with a dramatic revelation of unrequited feelings.
That's not exactly how it went; you're dramatizing. Also, you're not entirely
sure the feelings are "unrequited" as such.
Also, every time you sit down or fidget the werewolf threesome part is
underlined again.
You spill out of school after the final bell, and halfway to the busses with
Shey you look over at the parking lot, waver, and stumble over your own feet.
"I'm gonna, uh," you say, gesturing over at Jace's Porche. It's silver and
shiny and it was what basically cemented your understanding of him as a rich
jock douchebag. "Is that... okay?"
Shey knocks shoulders with you. "Go for it, man," he says, and steps close,
breath puffing against your face before he leans in, presses his lips against
yours, mouth slowly parting as you go from a light peck to some serious
makeouts. When he pulls back you whimper and lean forward, almost knocking
yourself over. Your lips are flushed, stinging where he nipped at you, and Shey
grins, eyes flashing red in the middle of school, because he has no subtlety.
"When you say 'it'..." you say, trailing off. You're not even sure what you
mean by "it". Jace had — has? — a crush on you, and then you fucked, and you
have literally nowhere to put that information. It's even more disorienting
that Shey seems to be totally okay with it.
"Just go talk to him, man," Shey says.
So anyway, you run over to Jace's car.
And, because your life is rapidly approaching being a farce, you get waylaid by
two werewolves on the way. It starts to dawn on you that this is going to be
your life now. Forever.
They're... you don't even know. On the field hockey team? You've seen them
around, but you don't know anything about sports. Currently, their most
relevant characteristic is how they're loitering against the wall like cliche
delinquents, their eyes gleaming unnaturally — well, naturally for werewolves —
and have their claws out, absentmindedly scoring lines in the brick.
"Oh my god," you say, as they sniff at the air obviously, grinning at you with
too many teeth. "Seriously, does getting turned into a werewolf make everyone
think they're a master of theatre here, because—"
"Hey, fuck off," says the one you're thinking of as the Short One, even though
he's roughly your height. The other guy is just huge.
Also, you were expecting a snappier comeback, but whatever. "Look, I really
don't care, deal with your dumb wolf problems yourself," you say.
"Smells like you've been dealing with a lot of guys' wolf problems!" the guy
yells as you blow past them, loudly enough that a few people look over, and if
there's ever a line that seems strange out of context it's that. Literally
every jock here is a werewolf now, you bet. Everyone has just been taking it
really well. That's what you decide.
Anyway, Jace. You consider just sitting on the hood of his car, on account of
he's not out there yet, but it occurs to you he'd probably be less than pleased
at finding you absentmindedly kicking the shit out of his front bumper, which
is a thing that would happen if you sat on the hood.
You're saved from actually having to make a decision — and from Wolf Tweedledee
and Tweedledum from starting something — by Jace making his entrance, slamming
out of a side door next to — oh, fuck — Danny.
The thing with Danny, okay, is that he's gay — you mean, out; as it turns out a
lot more guys around here are gay than you realized — and also intimidatingly
hot. Let's talk about his ass. His ass is amazing. It is the best ass you have
ever, ever seen. Like, you think food comparisons are kind of gauche and also a
little gross, but: his ass reminds you of a caramel apple. You want to bite it.
It's pert, but not narrow: wide and heavy with muscle. You think he waxes, or
at least, you've never seen a single hair on his ass. It seems like every time
you're in the locker room with him Danny is only in his jock, stretching. Once
you whimpered out loud watching him bend over. He noticed.
Which brings you to the complication, namely, that he noticed and thinks you're
really weird and gross and he hates your guts. Which, you have to admit: not
unreasonable. You're frequently gross.
He's also best friends with Jace. You honestly kind of figured that if Jace
were gay (which you did not think, at all) that he'd have something going with
Danny, because, come on.
They both notice you at the same time: Jace looks worried and tentatively
hopeful (that is what you're deciding, at least) and Danny just looks
thunderous. And, fuck, you're just going to assume he's a werewolf now too.
Everyone you know is a werewolf.
"Heyyyy," you open, weakly, waving.
Danny gets up in your face. "What do you think you're doing, huh?" He looks
over at Jace, whose ears are getting all flushed again. "Looking for someone
else to harass?"
"Whoa, dude, heel, it's not you I'm after here," you say, which is on
reflection basically the exact opposite of anything helpful. Danny looks even
more pissed off, and he levels a finger at you like it's a gun, mouth opening
to say something no-doubt super cutting.
Jace steps between you, physically pushing you apart. Danny just shifts his
feet, but you almost topple over. "Cool it, okay? What do you want, anyway?"
"So, you're giving me a ride home!" you say. Danny looks even more angry. You
try a different angle: "Look, I was just hoping we could... talk."
"Fine," Jace says, scowling.
"Wow, okay, don't act like it's a huge chore, I just figured after—" and you
cut yourself off before you say "we had a weird werewolf threesome". "— we
should, like, talk about it."
Danny is gaping like a fish, and Jace looks mortified, hand covering his face,
blush creeping up his cheeks. "Seriously?!" Danny says. "Him? You said—"
"Fine," Jace repeats, cutting Danny off, which is unfortunate because you
really want to hear what, exactly, Jace said.
So you get into his car.
"Wow, that was awful." You've always been great at breaking awkward silences
with even more awkward statements. Jace doesn't say anything as he drives out
of the student parking. "I mean— Actually, wait, hold on, is Danny a werewolf
now? I need to know this."
"No," Jace says, like you're completely unwarranted in asking that question.
He's a werewolf; you don't know what's up with that.
You open your mouth to ask about that, then start over. "So until a few hours
ago I thought you hated my guts, man, and I always thought you were kind of an
asshole, like that whole dumb football rivalry with Shey—"
"Thanks," Jace says, strained.
"I'm setting the stage. I'm saying, I had no clue you even thought about me
aside from that gawky nerd friend of Shey's."
"You're not gawky!" Jace says, like that was the part of the sentence you
wanted reassurance about. Thanks.
"It's just like, it'd be one thing if you just wanted to get your rocks off,
but like." You look over at Jace, who's concentrating on the traffic and beet
fucking red. "Do you want to date?" You try not to say it like, "do you want to
date?!" but it kind of comes out that way anyway.
Jace fingers creak on the steering wheel. "That's not really my decision, is
it?"
"What? Um, yeah, dude, it is."
"Doesn't Shey have something to say about that?"
Uh. "Dude, we had a threesome! He's okay with it. I mean, he said so, it wasn't
just the threesome. And, putting my cards on the table here, I, too, am okay
with it, or at least... I don't know, I mean, if you want to give it a try..."
You let out an exasperated breath. "Like I don't know shit about relationships,
okay, and I'm a huge asshole, but I figure you might be into that, or into me,
or whatever."
Silence from the other half of the car. You keep talking. "You know, if someone
told me a week ago I'd be trying to figure out, like, a bunch of gay werewolf
relationships, I would've said they're completely fucking nuts. This whole
situation is just — I can't believe that this is my life now." The 'werewolf'
part only vaguely even enters into it. You should probably asks what's up re:
Jace being a werewolf, but honestly you're a little more invested in the dating
thing right now. "I mean, did you only make a move because you're a werewolf?
Because I'm starting to see a trend here."
"Okay."
"Okay, yes, you only made a move because you're a werewolf? Is this just a
weird werewolf thing?"
Jace clenches the steering wheel so hard something cracks. "Everything I do is
a werewolf thing, since I'm a werewolf. I meant, okay, we can try dating."
You whip your head over to look at him, sharp enough it stings your neck.
"Seriously?!"
"Yes."
"Oh. Um. Cool?"
Jace laughs a little, awkward. You are both so smooth about relationship talk.
"Yeah," he says, and takes the next turn.
You watch the scenery. "Wait, this isn't the way to my house."
"Yeah," Jace says.
It's houses on the edge of town, heading up into the preserve. "Oh my god, are
you going to murder me? I knew this was too good to last. I've been waiting for
the bloodlust."
"I'm not going to murder you." He pauses in a way that strongly implies he's
got more to say. "We're going to Lookout Point?" It's tentative. Lookout Point
is the big makeout location, though at this hour it'll probably (hopefully) be
deserted.
"Oh," you say. "Cool. I can blow you!"
Jace swerves and nearly takes the car onto the gravel gutter. "Christ!"
"I mean, not right off the bat, but, like, I seriously haven't been able to
stop thinking about dick. I'm thinking I really like sucking dick." Sure, it's
overshare-y, but if there's anyone you can say that to it's to the someone
you're dating, someone who recently had his werewolf cock in your ass. "It's
weird to say that dicks taste good, right? But, I dunno, it's something like
that. They've got a nice weight. In my mouth."
"Oh my god," he says. His hips shift, and, yeah, his cock is tenting his jeans,
forming a fat, solid curve between his thighs. You look at it and swallow. His
fingers clench on the steering wheel, nails thicker and darker, growing longer
was you watch. His voice rasps. "You can't just say that."
"Dude, do you even remember how you opened, all growling and like, 'I'm gonna
seed you with my huge werewolf cock', like, come on, I wanna suck your cock,
this is hardly worse. You totally earned this."
"I mean," and his voice is a guttural growl, throat grown lumpy, dark fur
peeking up from the dip of his shirt, inhumanly-defined pecs starting to strain
against the fabric. "Unless you want me to crash the car you'll wait until
we're fucking parked." There's a dark splotch seeping through his jeans, and
you can fucking smell it, the familiar-as-of-recent smell of rank wolf musk.
If he'd known you better he'd know that was basically exactly the wrong tack to
take; you're infamous among anyone who's ever been on a long car ride for your
incessant hassling. This is exactly the kind of shit you need to go on dates to
figure out. You... assume. You've never actually been on a date before, like, a
real one. "Will you turn this car around?" You tease, and Jace just growls in
response. "Because I'm thinking we'd probably want a little more privacy than a
scenic outlook, for what I've got in mind."
Jace growls again, and then pulls onto the next gravel offside, one that's
thankfully blocked from view by the road by a copse of trees. He lunges the
instant the car stops, half-climbing over the gearshift to push you against the
door, mouth lolling open as a long tongue spills out, lapping over your lips
before slamming his face against yours. In a sexy way. Your lips part in a
yelp, and he rumbles into your mouth, huffing as his fangs drag over your lower
lip, tongue pressing it down against his jaw.
He's a very different kisser from Shey, that's for sure.
You reach for his cock instantly. His bulge is inhuman, pinned tight in the
crotch of his jeans. He whimpers when you grind your palm against it, rock hard
and practically steaming, the denim damp to the touch, slippery wetness seeping
through.
You unzip his jeans and his cock knifes out. He's wearing boxers, and the right
leg is all twisted and pulled back, letting his cock jut out, balls hanging
below. It's... not what you were expecting.
What an innocent, idyllic existence you had all of three days ago when you
assumed everyone had a normal, human dick. Well, everyone with a dick, at
least. Jace is half-shifted, and his cock is correspondingly... halfway there.
Firstly, it's immense, which you're starting to take as a given. It's fat and
pink, huge and just getting bigger. His cockhead is a flushed pink, slick and
dripping; his foreskin puffy: loose, thick and stretched almost to the base of
his cock, the excess skin pillowing in a barely-there ring. It's pointed, but
not the sharp tip of his wolf dick, and his shaft is bloated fat in the middle
despite otherwise being human. Shaggy hair spills across his inner thighs,
prickly hair climbing most of the way up his cock and completely coating his
gargantuan balls. It looks like he's got two fucking potatoes for balls, the
huge, lumpy, oblong ones, and his sac twitches and pulls, dragging them higher,
against the underside of his cock.
And, bizarrely — at the very base of his cock, almost where it joins his body,
he's got what definitely looks like a knot, two swollen hemispheres cracked
around his shaft. Just, under his otherwise still very human skin, even with a
dusting of curly hair over the red, flushed skin.
You'd say something like "holy shit, that's hot," except instead of doing that
you just groan and break your kiss, lurching down to drag your face against it.
The gearshift is in the way; it's kind of awkward, but you slump down, ass
pressing against the window as you push him back enough to fit your mouth on
and around his dick. Car sex is kind of logistically awkward.
So it's heavy in your mouth, taut and fluttering in the way you're quickly
learning dicks are. It's flushed, pulsing with his heartbeat, and each pulse
makes it jerk, twitching up to tap against the roof of your mouth. He wails, a
growling inhuman noise, and his cock spurts enough pre to puff your cheeks out,
a slimy drizzle squirting from your stuffed mouth. You try to groan and just
spit out a mess of pre down his dick, and then you go crosseyed watching the
cloudy white mess drool down and soak into his jeans. You gurgle more as you
lap on his cock, tongue swiping across the underside of his cock, to where the
stretched-out flesh of his foreskin forms a thick line all the way down.
Jace wraps a hand around your head, his claws pinpricks behind your ears. He
hunches up, rolling his cockhead over your lips. Each time he pulls out a
burble of slime follows, streaking down your chin and drawing out into jiggling
strings; it's a little gross but Jace — and you — are into it, his eyes golden
and gleaming as you suck on his cockhead.
You lean into him, head pressed against his stomach, hands grasping his cock,
stroking with both hands.
"Oh fuckkkkk," he says, voice warping into a growl, and he sprays pre all
across your face, hosing you down. The patter of his pre dripping from your
face onto the leather seats is loud in the car. "Oh, fuck, the seats!"
You laugh a little against his cock, getting another faceful of slimy werewolf
pre for your troubles. "You want me to stop?" Talking drags your lips against
the underside of his cockhead; he sprays arcs of pre out, wetness streaking
your cheeks and soaking into your hair.
"Ah, fuck no," he says, claws closing on your chin and dragging you back down,
stuffing his cockhead back into your mouth.
The angle's super awkward, you splayed out over both seats, him sitting
sideways in the seat, one leg crushed under him, but he sure as hell isn't
complaining. You stroke him off, lapping back and forth over the loose flesh of
his stretched-out foreskin, and he groans and growls, pumping a constant spray
of rank-tasting werewolf pre down your throat. You stroke him off, the layers
of sludgy pre gummy and crackling between your fingers, and you clench tighter
just to have it ooze through your fingers, thick and more than a little gross.
Your fingers press against your lips, and then you pump down, smacking into his
fully-inflated knot, splattering ooze everywhere, thick lines sticking his
rucked-up teeshirt to his stomach and soaking his boxers to his skin. He
hunches into it, grunting and groaning, cock knifing up through your fists,
completely coated in slobber and pre, blobs and clusters of the messy slime
smeared all across his probably really expensive seats.
Jace groans, bracing a hand against the roof of the car and pressing his face
against his forearm, just grunting and groaning, stuttering out little "oh
fuck" and "yeah"s, drooling, his teeth sharp and big in his mouth as he fucks
your face. His knot slaps against your curled fingers and he strains, the whole
length of his cock twitching and pulsing. He drags back not even an inch before
pushing forward again, smacking the flesh of his knot against your hand with a
sharp crack, again and again as his grunting grows into an uneven roar.
You let him knot your hands, since that seems to be what he's aiming for: you
pump tight down his shaft and then let his next thrust plant his knot right
between your fingers, clenching your fingers around the rubbery flesh. He goes
fucking mental, a low noise building in his chest and sounding like it's being
yanked up his throat, coming out in a series of sharp, high yelps. His cock
shudders and shakes, tip painting your tonsils with pre before it erupts, tar-
thick wolf jizz flooding your mouth, gummy-thick. You cough and choke, spitting
in in huge, sluglike globs down his shaft, and he just sprays out more, chunky
and thick and clotted to the inside of your mouth, rancid with animal musk. You
gulp it down, wheezing for breath between spurts. Just as much ends up drooling
down his dick as ends up in your mouth.
He's completely out of it: when you look up, one eye squinted closed from the
lines of jizz webbed over it, his mouth is slack, jaw absently working, lines
of drool winding down his thickened throat. He's grunting — whimpering — in
time with his throbbing knot, the gummy flesh straining against your fingers in
sharp, sudden pulses.
He hits the point where his jizz goes from near-solid to near-water, like he's
just pissing out... something, acrid sprays hosing into your mouth and gushing
out, pouring down onto the very probably ruined seats.
You figure you should let him keep going for a while. You're not gonna lie,
you're increasingly jealous: the blissful hour-long orgasms definitely seem
like the best part of being a werewolf. You didn't think to even get your cock
out; with both your hands stuck around his knot you have to resort to grinding
against the gearshift. Your trapped cockhead jabs against the grip and you
grind down hard until it shifts and pops to the side. You start up a rhythm,
hardly even thinking about Jace's dick — aside from how, you know, it's heavy
and solid and your lips are wrapped around it, still spurting in your mouth and
spraying you with come. All that stuff is kind of difficult to ignore. But
whatever, you just let his load slop out of your mouth and breathe through your
nose.
You rock against the gearshift, the pressure sending lighting arcs of pleasure
zinging up your spine, too much and not enough at the same time. You groan
around Jace's cockhead, fingers clenching down harder — and dragging a higher
whine from Jace's throat, his hips jolting forward and vainly trying to fit
more of his spurting dick in your mouth. It's kind of a fucking chore, but at
the same time, so, hey, you're drooling all over a huge weird werewolf dick
while it pumps out what's rapidly approaching literal liters of jizz, wrecking
a completely fancy car; it's less about having the right dick sensations and
more about how the whole situation is absolutely hot.
So you come in your pants, is the point. Your awkward rutting against the
gearshift pays off, and Jace keeps making these shuddery growling-groans that
go straight to your dick, and the mess he's making soaks down your body, adding
just-enough friction, and then you're shuddering as your cock pulses in your
jeans. You pull off his dick, the nearly cherry-red tip painting your face with
watery lines, and you have to close both eyes.
Jace makes a sad little whimper when you open your hands, letting the bulb of
his knot pull from between them with a wet slurp. It's gnarled with veins, and
they're visibly throbbing. A wave of jizz gushes all across your face and chest
— not that you weren't already soaked — before settling down, the arcing spurts
dying down until it's just streaming down his shaft. You don't actually take
your eyes off his dick. Jace sits back, ass landing with a splash in the puddle
all across the driver's seat, and he curses.
On further inspection, the car is seriously wrecked. The windows are fogged,
slimy cords forming from the not-quite-water condensation, and almost every
surface on the dash is shining and slippery. There're coagulated globs of jizz
in a ragged strip between the seats, and a watery flood of it in the footwells.
This is really putting the time Shey knotted you in perspective: werewolves
come a whole fuck of a lot. It's a little more obvious when it's not all, uh,
up your ass.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, and the touch of skin against
your lips — your lips are seriously swollen, flushed and aching.
You'd maybe apologize for the state of the car, but let's be honest: you're not
sorry in the least.
"This is gonna cost a fortune to clean up," Jace says, making a face when his
feet stir up the mess in the footwell. Then he looks up at you and grins.
"Worth it, though." He leans in, still-clawed hand curling around your neck,
and it feels like it takes forever before your lips actually meet. His fangs
nip at your bruised lips, and his cock twitches between you when you groan.
All-in-all, you're rating this idea pretty high.
Jace eventually breaks the kiss, minutes later. Your face and jaw are dotted
with red marks. His lips are slick with spit and his own jizz, flushed red. He
grimaces again at the squelch when he sits back. "We should, uh. Probably get
going."
His load is cooling against your skin, sloppy and increasingly gross, so: you
agree. "Yeah. But, like — oh, hey, I should give you my number!" You try and
fail to pull your phone from your pocket. It's too slippery. "Uh, maybe later,
though."
"Sorry," Jace says, and he's clearly not. He gingerly tucks his cock back into
his jeans, half-hard and knot still partly inflated, and the ludicrously huge
bulge it makes is, if anything, even hotter than having his dick out in the
open. His shirtfront is plastered to his chest, and you can watch as his black
fur slowly recedes.
He rolls down a window, and for a brief idyllic second you can smell the green
forest scent, before the muggy sex-smell swamping the car (and painted all over
your face) rolls back in, salt and musk and really, mostly a smell that's just
"jizz". You cough. It's strong.
"I'm not." You wipe down your window, the glass slimy under your fingers. When
you pull back, tendrils web across your palm. "You think you can make it
through town without getting pulled over?"
Jace wipes the rear-view mirror. "Hope so."
"God, werewolf sex is so messy. The locker room was such a great idea. I have
no clue how I'm gonna get inside without tipping off my dad — Oh! Uh. You could
drive me over to Shey's, his mom's gonna be working."
Jace gets a weird look on his face, like every time you mention Shey. This is
going to get old fast: it's already getting old. "Sure," he says.
"Dude," you say, because you're never one to let awkward situations go when you
can probably make them worse. Or, at least, more awkward. "I know you got that
weird rivalry with Shey going on but this is, seriously, one thing where you
really, really don't gotta compete with him."
Jace scowls when he starts the car (and it starts; you have to admit you were
more than a little worried that some of Jace's load, like, seeped into the
works. You have no clue how cars work.) and peels out with enough force to jerk
you back against the seat. With a wet thump. Ideally, you'd find the right
thing to dissolve his messy superiority complex, but it's starting to dawn on
you that there isn't some magical string of words that'll make him get with it.
Which is unfortunate for everyone.
Despite the awesome sex, the ride back into town is basically as awkward as the
ride out. You slump against one (greasy) door and watch the smears in the glass
distort and crust over as the car airs out.
Jace pulls over a block from Shey's place. You have, thankfully, not alerted
any cops in the drive over, because that would be mortifying on all levels.
They would call your dad. Jace clenches the steering wheel before pushing away,
back hitting the seat with a thump. "You like me, right?" he says, and that's
definitely a thread of nervousness in his voice, trying for casual and
completely blowing it. No one ever casually asks if you like them.
"Yeah," you say, and then after a pause where Jace just clenches his hands you
add "but I'm not gonna sit on your lap at lunch like Jess does with Bryce, that
shit is obscene."
Jace grins, faking it. This whole situation sucks, and you kind of want to just
bail out all "well thanks for the ride, seeya," except that would probably
validate every one of Jace's dumb worries about him vs. Shey.
By this time your pants are only damp with jizz instead of soaking, so you peel
your phone out. "Call me, like — we can go on... a date, or something, I
dunno." You're also really failing at sounding casual about this. Yes, popular
football jocks hit on me all the time. That's what you should be projecting.
You think.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah! Yeah, let's do that."
"Seriously," you say, pulling him over to kiss him again, comparatively chaste
on account of how you are in a residential neighborhood and also he's freaking
out. "Stop freaking out." You pull your backpack from the back seat,
comparatively unscathed from the fucking jizz explosion that happened in the
front, and shoulder it. "Thanks for the ride. I'll — see you tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah," he says, again, and gives you a cocky wave as you tumble out of the
car. Stringy lines of jizz drool from the underside of the door; you're again
aware of how much you reek of sex, shirt kind of plastered to your body.
"Seeya!"
"Don't get pulled over on the way back!" you yell, watching him drive off. It's
not that you regret — well, any of it, at all, but this is rapidly spiraling
out of your control. Insofar as it was ever in your control, which was never.
And now you have to clean yourself up and get over to your place before your
dad gets super suspicious, because... fuck, because he knows you and Shey are
together, and so "hanging out at his place while his mom's out" is probably not
gonna fly as well as it used to. You don't think telling him you were actually
off making out in a car — to put it extremely lightly — with someone else would
help your case at all.
Things are only looking to get more complicated from here on out. What a mess.
...And only then, of course, does it occur to you that you never actually asked
Jace what the hell was up with him being a werewolf. Add that to the to-do
list.
***** (gaiden 1) *****
Chapter Summary
     gaiden chapters have a DIFFERENT narrator, as is gonna be basically
     immediately obvious. this one even gets their name explicitly
     mentioned!
It's a long and bumpy bus ride up the mountain. You left school at around four,
and now it's approaching midnight. The general din had died down, first to
background chatter and then just to the jostle of the bus as it made its way up
higher and higher into the mountains.
Earlier Amit was howling on about how this whole thing was the setup of a
horror movie from a few seats ahead. "Up alone in the mountains!" he said. "Out
of reach of cell phones!" he said. "I'm telling you, we're all gonna get
chopped up by some axe-wielding psychopath!" Eventually someone punched him to
get him to shut up.
But at the time Joey'd elbowed you in the side, leering. "Also sounds like the
setup for a porno, huh?"
Joey is planning on making his big move. Well, let's be honest, you both are.
You're both gonna fuck the brains out of the super hot soccer forward. Joey has
a crush and you're going along for the ride, which is usually how it goes.
So there's a two-week camping trip as a 'reward' for the school's sports teams,
which, personally you'd like a reward somewhere with more mains electricity and
internet access, maybe something in cash, but Joey heard from Matt that Alex
(who's the hot soccer forward) was going, and after that your course was set.
You mean, he is super hot. But camping for two weeks, even in fancy old lodge
buildings, is just not what you're after in life.
And then the lodging arrangements got finalized and it turned out that you were
all in the same cabin, with basically two nobodies you could safely ignore for
the whole trip. Joey went fucking mental. It's the hand of fate, he says. The
hand of him getting laid. And after that there was no way you could duck out of
it. So now you're in a rattling old bus slowly winding its way up into the
mountains, nothing but darkness outside. Even if you're gonna get laid daily,
it's still gonna be a long two weeks.
Now, most everyone is asleep or dozing, and you're about ready to drift off
too. Except Joey is still full of manic energy, feet beating out a rhythm,
sometimes humming off-key.
"Hey," he hisses, apropos of nothing. "Lemme blow you."
You just lift your eyebrows at him. Seriously?
"I keep thinking about— y'know." Joey makes a gesture with his hands that
you're pretty sure is supposed to represent the two of you fucking Alex. "Gotta
blow off some steam somehow."
"Right now?" you say and Joey just nods, like, c'mon, hurry up. "You gotta stop
thinking with your dick, man," is what you say as you're unthreading your belt
and hooking the waistband of your boxer-briefs under your balls. Joey looks up
over the rows of seats to make sure no one's looking your way — there's no one
on your left or right in front of you, but Sean's asleep on the diagonal and
there are still a few guys talking further up — before he slides down off the
seat, knees hitting the bus' floor with a thud, and sucks your dick into his
mouth.
The thing is— you're gonna talk about your dick for a while. This is that kind
of thing.
So the thing is, you got a tiny dick. When you were younger you kinda had a
huge chip on your shoulder about it. Big athlete type, quarterback on the
football team, big black guy— everyone just kind of assumed you had a foot-long
dick. And it fuckin' ate you up inside. Like you talked with the coach and got
permission to use his shower instead of rising off with the rest of the team,
and you never actually said "because I don't want everyone to know I got a tiny
dick" and he probably still thinks to this day you were just embarrassed about
having a dick that hit your knees or whatever. It was kind of an issue.
You got over it though, mostly because you started having sex. Your first
boyfriend was super into you and he was super into your dick and it took months
before it really clicked that he wasn't just like, pitying you. He said "it
looks like you got three balls," which wasn't the nicest thing for you to hear
at the time but wasn't really wrong. You got big balls, and the sac crawls up
most of your stubby shaft, so all that's really there is a third fat nub,
foreskin all wrinkled up just like the furrowed skin on your balls. You get
thicker when you get hard, but not really longer, so your foreskin doesn't even
pull back over the head.
So the reason all that's important is, first, you and Joey fuck around a lot.
With each other, with other guys, whatever. Joey likes threesomes and he likes
you to be one of the three. But it's pretty clear (maybe not to Joey) that he
really gets off on someone taking a look at both your dicks and going for his.
Like, not that you mind. It would've pissed you off so fuckin' much a few years
back at just the thought someone might be thinking of doing that— but whatever.
You like fucking around, you get off, everybody enjoys themselves. Sex is
great.
But Joey's always trying to compete a little, and deep in the back of his head
you think he's got a little subconscious list going where he beats you every
way but one. So you can tell he gets kind of — not pissed off exactly, but it
sure as hell rouses his competitive spirit when he grunts and groans and
manages to squirt out a few lines of come and meanwhile you just sigh and spray
somebody down so much they look glazed, come just pouring out of your foreskin
or spraying with enough force it bounces off and splatters everywhere. Like, it
sure as hell gets him off too; it's not like all your threesomes are these grim
drives of oneupmanship. But he's envious, not that he ever says it in so many
words.
You slouch back in your seat, sighing as Joey nuzzles your balls, and slide one
hand up across the back of his head, guiding him as he toys with your cock. He
licks across the tip of your cock, foreskin hanging forward, and tugs it with
his teeth, stretching it firm enough he can slide his tongue inside, sliding
across the bare flesh of your cockhead. He moans a little, muffled thankfully,
as your cock fills out, flesh getting more and more solid against his lips and
tongue. He laps at your fattening cockhead, pre spilling down his tongue as he
gulps, your balls grinding against his chin.
So when you go "Fuck, gonna come soon," since you learned you really gotta warn
guys or else they choke hard, he groans and redoubles his efforts, muffled
moans getting a lot sloppier when you sigh and slump back, cockhead swelling in
his mouth. He still chokes on the first spurt, a gush shooting across his
tongue and splattering the back of his mouth, drooling down his throat until he
sputters and spits half of it out across your balls. He gulps down the rest,
grinding back and forth, nose buried in your pubes, chin smearing your come all
over your balls. He swallows and swallows, only a little dribble escaping his
lips, and finally pulls off with a wet pop, lips and mouth soaked, flesh slick
with come, and starts lapping across your balls, trying to catch every drop
that escaped.
He pulls back once he's drank you dry, licking his lips, and sits up, eyes a
little dazed.
So you go: "You want to me help you out there?"
Joey's cock is a big fat lump skewed down the side of his jeans, fighting
against the fabric. There's no mistaking he did some cocksucking: his lips are
swollen and shiny with come, spit and come smeared all down his chin and jaw.
Joey drags his thumb up his chin, following a blob of come that spilled out of
his mouth, and sucks it down. His cock twitches when he swallows, straining the
fabric. "Nah," he says.
And then: "I gotta save up for Alex, y'know."
So that's what it's like. Joey micromanaging how much he gets to come so he's
always properly blueballed when he wants to impress somebody since he's got a
chip on his shoulder. That's the kind of guy Joey is. That's the kind of
situation you let him get you into.
If nothing else you and Joey are gonna be fucking around a lot; that's
something.
It's another half-hour before you actually reach the place. It's... way colder
outside, between the night air and the fucking mountains. Standing around
blinking in the cold wakes everybody up at least, and there's some mumbling as
you head up to the lodge. Joey, on the other hand, just runs out there and
leaves his bag behind.
It's another trek: that was just the parking lot, which is still a ways down
from the actual lodge. With the darkness and the winding mountain trails —
well, you're thinking Amit maybe had a point about the whole horror movie thing
by the time you hit the final curve.
The lodge is big. It's camping for rich folk, and the lodge is... not the dinky
little outhouse you were thinking. It's at least two stories tall, maybe three,
and with a sharp roof that you can only see the lower reaches of: the top is
just a moving black splotch blotting out the night sky.
The lodge is where the counselors are staying, and your bus gets partitioned up
by where they're actually staying, so it's another few minutes before somebody
calls out "Cabin C! Joey and Verne, c'mon!" and you shamble over. The rest of
your cabin already got there, or maybe is still on the way (you don't pity
them) so it's just you and a bobbing flashlight. You make sure Joey doesn't
forget his bag again and head off along the winding mountain trail. Ahead of
you there's another group, only sometimes visible as another bobbing flashlight
in the distance, and they eventually hit a fork and turn off; you pass the
"CABIN B" marker a minute later.
After that it's another five minutes walking through the silent woods until you
pull up in front of a big cabin. "Cabin" makes it sound pretty small, but like
you said, this is camping for rich people: the building has running water, a
septic tank, an electric hookup from the lodge's generator, and is two stories
tall. So maybe the camping trip isn't gonna be as awful as you expected.
The door opens into a huge loft area, roof beams exposed two stories up, with a
stairway and side passage up on the right, and a big combined kitchen/dining
room spread across the first floor on the left. There's a nook with a fucking
flatscreen television. Yeah, this is the kind of camping you could get behind.
Only four bedrooms for the five of you, and shock surprise you and Joey had
offered to share. Such good friends, says the counselor. Very mature for their
age. There was (apparently) a lot of debate about how many staff to bring on
the trip, and they went with "almost none". Partly because about half the
students are over eighteen and partly because you don't imagine it's exactly a
popular thing to be an adult tagging along after a group of kids. So you're
vested with the responsibility of having a whole cabin without constant adult
supervision, which is precisely why you and Joey are gonna fuck like rabbits
this whole time.
Probably.
But fuck like rabbits in the morning, because you're dead on your feet and even
Joey is showing signs of lagging. You shamble up to your room.
"You think Alex is here yet?" Joey says, and you just groan.
"He'll be here in the morning," you say, and that's that. You strip and burrow
under the covers and are asleep basically instantly.
The thing you learn in the morning is that nature is loud. There are birds
sitting right outside the window and bellowing their goddamn lungs out. It's
awful. Joey, somehow, manages to keep sleeping.
So you drag yourself off Joey's back — he whines a little, sleepily — and head
downstairs. There's a big glossy pamphlet on the table about breakfast times in
the main lodge, but it'll be a while and there's also a coffee machine with
some coffee in the kitchen nook, so you decide to do that instead while you're
waiting.
Joey shambles down a few minutes later, mostly awake, and blanches at the smell
of coffee but settles down across from you. You talk a little in the quiet,
low-key way you do when you're mostly asleep still, which goes well until Joey
abruptly cuts off mid-sentence with a strangled yelp, eyes focusing on
something behind you. You look over: Alex is in the doorway, looking adorably
sleep-rumpled. And also, only in his boxers. They're bright red, no pattern, a
nice contrast to his honey skin, tanned dark gold across his arms and legs.
Joey swallows hard. It's a good thing Alex looks like a zombie or else he'd
absolutely notice what's up. He's, uh. Really hot.
So he's a soccer forward. His thighs are amazing. He's got one of the biggest,
tightest asses you've ever seen. His legs are like treetrunks, to the point
where his thighs actually pull the legs of his boxers tight, which leaves very
little to the imagination about the state of his morning hardon. His legs are
thick with dark hair, fuzzing the line of his muscle a little — that's why you
like his soccer kit, fucking knee high socks that cling to his skin and show
off every little shift of muscle. He yawns, jaw practically unhinging as he
stumbles forward, and scratches the fuzz of hair crawling up his belly, jaw
snapping shut with a clack.
He's, uh. Got a pretty good chest too. And face. His upper body is all lean
muscle, neatly defined but nowhere near the solid blocks of meat he's got for
legs. He's got a dusting of hair across his chest, and a barely-noticeable fuzz
of stubble on his cheeks. His shaggy hair has exploded outward like a big fuzzy
mane, lopsided from sleep.
Joey whimpers next to you.
Alex goes for the coffee, nearly dropping the mug before he manages to pour
himself a cup, and then he settles down on the bench right next to Joey, still
not awake enough to realize both of you have been staring at him the entire
time. He slumps to the side, head resting on Joey's shoulder, and Joey just
freezes in place, every muscle tensing, first staring at Alex's hair puff and
then up, eyes pleading at you. It's great. You take a big swig of coffee and
grin at him.
Joey remains frozen in place while you and Alex drink your coffee. At some
point Alex seems to realize, oh, he's nearly naked in a room with two guys he
doesn't really know, and also hanging off one of them, and sits up from where
he was slumped across Joey, his cheeks beet red. Joey bumps shoulders with him
and is all "So hey, wanna hang out today so I can work on getting in your
pants." Not in so many words. But it's still pretty blatant.
So you all hike out to the lodge. After Alex gets some clothes on. You mean,
not that you wouldn't appreciate the view if he decided to walk around in his
boxers all day. When he heads upstairs you check out his ass the entire way up
the stairs, muscled ass flexing back and forth with each step up.
Then you and Joey look at each other and basically giggle. Muted hysterical
laughter at how hot he is.
In the light of day the mountain is very... forested. There are winding dirt
paths across the mountain top, and without markers on every intersection you'd
get lost instantly. It's like a fifteen minute walk to the lodge. There's a big
bustle there, and for a second you think you're gonna lose Alex to the rest of
his soccer squad, but after you grab food he settles down with you.
You just got some cereal and eggs, a side of bacon, and Joey got mostly the
same (sausage links) but Alex comes back with a tray that has two of everything
they're even serving — toast and hashbrowns and pancakes and the brown gloop
you're pretty sure is refried beans — and wolfs it all down as you and Joey
look on in disbelief. He's a scrawny guy. At least, compared to you two. You
don't know where he puts it.
"What do you even do camping?" you ask on your way out of the lodge. "Try not
to get killed by wild animals?"
"Enjoy nature," Joey says, and you roll your eyes.
"We got parks for that, c'mon."
You amble down some winding path, narrower and less well-kempt than the paths
to the lodge. Alex is a step behind, like he's not really sure if he should be
with you guys.
"Enjoy the fall air, c'mon. They don't got mountains in a park."
"Yeah, and you can't fall off them to your death either."
"Hey, Alex," Joey says, all trying to keep him in the conversation. "Why'd you
decide to come on the trip anyway?"
Alex shrugs and looks noncommittal. "Why not?"
Honestly it's not the best conversation topic. Joey's answer: "Because you'd be
here and I really want in your pants"; your answer: "Because Joey said we could
get into your pants." You're charming.
But at least you haven't spooked Alex off yet, so you wander around for a few
hours. Lots of things Joey calls scenic outlooks and you call a shitload of
trees right next to a cliff.
It's on the way back (hoping each vague intersection has a signpost and the way
you're on won't just fade out to a meandering animal trail, and also that
you'll get back before the dwindling sunlight goes away entirely and you're all
eaten by, you don't know, bears or something) that Joey starts talking about
what to do tomorrow.
"I mean, I dunno. You could be hanging out with the rest of the football team
or whatever," Alex says, looking between you. Looks like he knows something's
up.
Joey would flounder hard here if you let him. So you say: "We spend enough time
with those fuckers, honestly. Don't need another two weeks up in the mountains
with 'em."
Joey rallies. "Yeah, like, we'd rather get to know someone new." And he sidles
closer and slings an arm over Alex's shoulder. He thinks he's so smooth. He's
real lucky he's got his body going for him.
"I mean I always thought we could hang out or whatever, get to know each other
a little better." Who says that, honestly. "Always thought you look great on
the field." Joey doesn't know a god-damn thing about soccer. Well, he knows how
to make ball jokes, and for a second you think he's honestly gonna try one.
Thankfully that awkward moment gets stopped when you catch sight of the cabin
behind a screen of trees and let out a whoop.
Inside: "How about we stay inside for the next two weeks. They got a TV and
everything."
"Are you seriously—" Joey goes, but you've already sprawled across the sofa,
remote in hand.
"They have a cable box."
"Some camping trip," Joey says, and rolls his eyes. Alex laughs a little.
"Alright, whatever, move over."
Alex goes along too, and totally coincidentally ends up between the two of you.
Joey grabs for the remote and ends up sprawling Alex into your lap, Joey
basically grinding up on him while he tries to get it. You know.
"Roughhousing."
It's a little blatant, you admit.
You flip through channels until you find some garbage movie playing and you
settle down a little. The point isn't exactly to enjoy the movie. It's been a
day of hiking around, and it doesn't take long before Joey starts to dim,
yawning and slumping to the side. The goal is to end up all sleeping together.
It really doesn't take long before Joey and Alex are both out of it, and
honestly you're not far behind. It's not a good movie. So, whatever, you could
use a nap. You slump against the sofa arm, Alex dead weight on your side, and
let yourself doze off.
Half-asleep you hear what's probably Mike and Isaac getting back, a low mumble
of conversation that spikes into a laugh when their footsteps get close to the
rec room nook. You flip them off with the hand that's not wrapped around Alex's
shoulder.
Eventually, though, you wake up. More like, there's a strut in the couch
digging into your back, and it gets progressively less possible to sleep with
it there.
It's solidly night, just black outside the windows. The TV is showing some
other dumb movie you don't care about.
Joey's slumped to the side, snoring a little. Alex is sprawled out across the
both of you, mostly asleep. Head in your lap, thighs across Joey's lap. One arm
beneath him, cradled against his chest, the other flung out, wrapped around
your waist. His shirt's shoved up, and there's a sliver of bronze skin across
his side on display, rising and falling with each breath.
Also, his head's about an inch from your dick. His breath steams up under your
shirt, fanning out hot over your skin.
"Hey, dude, wake up." You shake him a little and he snaps awake, jerking
upright, automatically scrubbing at the pressure imprint your jeans made on his
cheek.
"Oh, shit, sorry," Alex says, getting up on his knees, rubbing the sleep from
his eyes.
Joey stirs, mumbling, hands aimlessly slapping at nothing as he wakes up. "Huh,
what...?" he mumbles, blinking not really awake yet.
"Don't worry about it," you say. "Guess we shoulda picked a better movie."
Your side was all warm from having Alex draped on top, and now the chill air of
the cabin is making its way in. Alex looks like the same thing is happening to
him: suddenly cold in his t-shirt and shorts now that he's not draped on top of
two other guys.
"You cold?" you say, and tug him close. Alex goes with it, letting you plaster
him all across your side, and Joey tries to get with it a few seconds too late
and snuggles up on his other side. Half-asleep he's real clingy, and even
though right here right now isn't the best time he still goes for it, sliding
his hands up Alex's shirt.
Alex jerks away, yelping. "What is up with you? Why are you—" Alex says,
cutting off, looking back and forth between you.
"We just want to, uh, hang out, right?" Joey says. He's still blinking himself
awake, slurring a little.
"It's 'cause Joey has a huge crush on you," you say, because you're not about
to watch Joey flounder for another few minutes. Joey gapes at you, betrayed. "I
think you're pretty hot too," you add.
Alex doesn't say anything, but he sure doesn't look like he believes you.
"Seriously. C'mere," you say, tugging on his side, and he goes with it, letting
the both of you pull him close again.
"I don't—" Alex starts, flushing. "Are you guys playing some joke?"
"Does it look like we're joking?" Joey says, hand curling over Alex's hip. Alex
is getting hard. He's been getting hard for a while really, half-hard when he
was sleeping, but now his shorts are tenting out, cock skewing down one loose
leg just an inch from Joey's hand. Joey brings his other hand down and slides
it under his shirt, trying again, fingertips trailing up his abs. Alex outright
moans, jaw clicking shut afterwards as he flushes hard.
You chuckle a little. "Nah," you say, scooting closer until you're pressed
against his side. One hand on his knee, sliding up just-barely under the hem of
his mesh shorts, and you reach back and grab his ass, which is something you've
wanted to do for— a while now.
Alex glances away, like he's gauging how likely it all is, versus the two hot
guys who want to fuck him. Maybe he's not thinking of you two as "the two hot
guys". Maybe.
Joey leans in, dragging his lips up Alex's neck, and he shudders, mouth
opening, trembling against you. "So you wanna fuck around?"
Alex looks — flushed. Like someone smacked him in the face with a cup of water
and he's gaping and gasping for breath. "You're like — the stars of the
football team. You could have anybody you want."
Joey presses his lips just behind Alex's ears, tilting up to nip at his
earlobe. "So you saying there's no problem if we want you, huh?" You gotta
admit, that was a little smooth.
"C'mon," you say, and grab the hem of Alex's shirt, tugging it up and off his
head — Alex raising his arms to help even though he looks flushed and unsteady,
almost dazed now with the two of you touching all across his bare chest.
Alex goes, "I mean—", his hands hesitating on the both of your thighs. "I
never, uh... did anything like this." He means: had sex. Probably.
"Seriously?" Joey says, and really, seriously?
You lean in. "Then we've just gotta make your first time memorable, huh?"
Alex's nipples are pebbled, stiff from the cold, and you reach up and tug them,
twisting a little. He lets out a reedy moan, grinding his cock against your
thigh, and Joey slides his hand down Alex's trim stomach, fingertips scratching
against the wispy hair above his waistband.
Alex moans again, sagging forward, hiding his face against the sofa back, hands
braced against the both of you, fingers scrabbling down your side as you tease
his nipples. Joey grins over his shoulders at you, fingers slowly digging under
the waist of his shorts, laughing a little when Alex lets out a full-blown moan
into the cushions. Joey shoves down Alex's shorts, his boxers bulging out
underneath, hand skimming over the thin fabric. He might as well be naked, cock
rock hard, fabric not constraining it at all. You slide you hands up his
thighs, because damn, man. They're thick with hair, hugely muscled, contracting
and relaxing as he shudders under your touches. And Joey's. Probably.
Joey goes for his chest, pinching one nipple and twisting it slow, harder. Alex
moans again, jerking towards him, cock twitching. The fabric's stuck to the
very tip of his cock, a dark dot of pre slowly spreading.
Alex whimpers, a soft, high groan that cracks when Joey drops one hand and
grabs his cock, wrapping around the shaft, still sticking straight up. Alex
shudders, hips lurching forward, a cracked moan that's nearly a sob working its
way out his throat when
Joey pinches one nipple and twists hard, pulling out until it's a fat cone.
"It's cool," Joey says, squeezing Alex's cock, thumb stroking back and forth
just above his waistband. "I'm hard too." He shifts the inch forward, closing
the space between them. His cock digs into Alex's skin, probably feeling like
an iron bar, hot and hard all down the length of his thigh. Alex flails a
little, left hand gripping your thigh harder, right hand going automatically
for Joey's cock — just reflex, like he needs to check that it's not really as
big as it feels.
Joey flicks his gaze up to you for a second, and you kind of roll your eyes at
the theatre of it all, but you tug Alex back so that he's sandwiched between
the two of you, bare skin all down his sides, your cock pressed against his
ass.
Alex says, "Oh God," real soft, lips parted afterward, just waiting for Joey to
close the space between them and kiss him. Which he does, almost instantly;
Alex moans again, shaky, entire body trembling under your touch as Joey leans
in. You know how Joey kisses, all dramatic. Alex seems to like it. He's blindly
reaching out, hands pressing against Joey's side, chest, and at the same time
leaning back against your chest, letting Joey tip him back as he deepens the
kiss. Yeah, you got him.
Except then Joey, swept up in the kiss, tugs Alex forward and is a little
unprepared for how Alex basically lunges for him; they both slam against the
arm of the sofa, which gives an abused crack, and the end table there topples
over with a smash, scattering knickknacks and old magazines all over.
Joey goes "Fuck!" and Alex laughs a little, and both of them reflexively look
out across the rest of the floor.
"We could take this to somebody's bedroom," you say, and Alex ducks his head
into Joey's chest, like it's embarrassing to say it out loud. Joey just beams
at you over his head. You end up being the one to shove the end table upright.
Alex doesn't even bother to put his shirt back on, holding it in one hand as
you all tiptoe your way up to your room. Alex apparently only got a twin bed in
his room. You grope Alex's ass on the way up the stairs and he yelps and jumps,
sinking into the touch as you lean forward and kiss him, swiping your tongue
over his lips. You really dig into his ass, muscle solid and heavy, overflowing
your hands. Joey has to drag you further up.
You shove Alex onto your bed. He hits it and bounces and then Joey is on top of
him, kissing and biting his way up his neck, and wow, yeah Alex is definitely a
moaner. Alex yelps when Joey bites, vampire-like, on the muscle of his
shoulder, hips arching up off the bed, hard cock jutting straight out.
So that's when you join them, sprawling out on Alex's other side. It's a lot
more comfortable than the couch, that's for sure.
You reach down to play with his dick and Alex starts tugging his own nipples,
whimpering against Joey's mouth as he pinches hard and twists until it looks
painful. Joey is all over him, only breaking the kiss to nip at his lower lip,
drag his stubbled cheek across his neck, abrading the places he bit. You bite
the other side of his neck, gnawing up the slope of his shoulder. Alex moans
again, sharper and louder, and then starts thrashing, jerking away just in time
for him to let out a ragged moan, cock twitching under your hand as he comes in
his underwear. You milk it out of him once you realize what's going on, tugging
on his balls and rubbing your thumb through the sodden fabric, hand loosely
pumping his shaft as he spills all across the inside, heat and wetness slowly
seeping through.
"Shit, sorry," he says, and he's— man, he's fucking adorable. He's blushing,
super embarrassed, and it gives him this whole rosy glow, flush across his
cheeks and stretching down his stomach. You tug his boxers down, smearing his
load all over, and his cock is the same way, pink fading into red near the tip.
"Don't worry about it," you say. "That was fucking hot," Joey says, and he
slides down and sucks Alex's half-hard cock into his mouth, licking up the
smeared mess of his load. Alex looks up at you, and — man. Pupils blown, lips
parted and more than a little bruised. "Don't worry about it," you repeat, and
kiss him. He leans into it, whimpering again, soft moans that you swallow down.
You can feel where Joey bit down, rough indents on his lower lip.
Then you have to slap Joey off his dick, because that boy will just keep
teasing your dick until it hurts.
"Not done yet are you?" you say, grinding your cock against his hip. "Wanna
help us out?"
It's a mess of hands, like, you and Joey trying to unzip each other, Alex going
for both. Doesn't take long before you've both got your jeans shoved down to
your knees, cocks sticking out. Joey just folds his jeans down, cock swinging
out, meaty and heavy as it bashes against his knuckles. You're a lot less
dramatic. So, yeah, of course Alex goes for Joey.
Joey has a pretty great dick. Big, mostly. Real big. Like Alex is finding out
right now. His hands wrap around the shaft, eyes fixed on the tip, just
watching as he slowly pumps up and down. The whole thing shudders in his hands,
veins rising to the surface for a second, and a bead of pre slowly oozes from
the tip, smearing across the heel of Alex's hand. His cock is pretty top-heavy.
The shaft bulges out so much it looks painful, but Joey had never complained
about that. Halfway up the shaft it just gets thick, real thick, and his
cockhead is a brutal-looking sledgehammer-head capping it off. His shaft is
several shades darker than the rest of Joey's skin, the base of his shaft dark
brown, but as the shaft bloats wider the skin gets thinner, flushing it ruddy
red. Alex works it back and forth, fingers wrapped loose around the shaft, skin
shifting over the flushed chambers of his cock, darkening and lightening in
turn.
From the way Alex is looking at it, though, he probably isn't thinking about
that.
"You can suck on it, if you want," Joey says, tugging him forward, and Alex
slumps forward bonelessly, sinking down without hesitation until his lips are
right over the peach-pit head, hands almost absentmindedly still tugging on
your dick.
Alex licks his lips unconsciously, tongue flitting against Joey's cockhead for
a fraction of a second, and Joey groans and slumps forward, a puppet with its
strings cut. His cock is the most active part of him, twitching and trembling,
dribbling pre. Each motion sends the tip dragging over Alex's lips, making them
shine, and Alex licks his his lips again, swallows.
He opens wide, swallowing as he tries to fit the tip of Joey's cock into his
mouth, and Joey just groans, hands at his sides clenching into fists,
fingernails digging into his palms before he goes for it, wrapping a hand
around the back of Alex's head and slowly guiding him. "Lick the tip," he says,
voice quavering, and his groan says that Alex does it.
Alex opens wider as he tries to take in more, mouth barely able to stretch over
the fat bulge behind the head, and Joey lets him bob back and forth, cockhead
pulling out shiny, a single string of spit trailing between his open mouth,
slowly dragging downward until it snaps and splatters across his bare chest.
Joey moans, cock shuddering up and down, and Alex lurches with it, trying to
capture it back in his mouth. His fingers tangle in Alex's shaggy hair,
dragging his face until his lips are lined up on his cockhead, slightly parted.
Joey's breath catches as Alex takes in the head and sucks on it, literally
sucking, cheeks hollowing, wet slurps as the seal of his lips breaks. Drool
spills down his chin and he wipes with the back of his hand, fingers fanning
out stringy with spit. He wraps his hand around your balls as he sucks off
Joey, tugging gently, thumb rubbing wetly against the nub of your cockhead, his
other hand wrapping around Joey's shaft.
Joey groans and leans in, kissing you as Alex strokes you both off, breath
popping as he huffs and puffs, balls drawn up close to his shaft.
"Fuck," he exhales, a jerks back, cock twitching — he's about to come. But he
holds back, angles Alex's head to the side. "Fuck, don't wanna come yet. Suck
off Verne for a while," he says with a grin, and — it is a little unfair to
Alex. Like, you got a weird dick; he doesn't really know what to do.
But he sure tries. He tugs on your balls again, slick fingers digging at your
puckered foreskin, slowly shoving inside so he can stroke your cock directly,
sensation almost too intense to be hot. You groan and rut against him, cockhead
sliding over his fingertips.
Joey leans down: "Suck on it, use your mouth, yeah," he says, groaning like
it's him Alex is touching as he slides his fingers out, leaning in to press a
kiss against your cock, drooling down your balls. You cup the side of his face
and he opens wide, trying to take the entire fat lump of your stubby cock into
his mouth. He licks back and forth across the tip of your foreskin, and —
Joey goes, "C'mon, lick inside," hissing into Alex's ear. "He loves that shit,"
and fuck, he does it. His tongue slides into your foreskin, and Alex twists and
hums while he does it, smearing across the sides of your cockhead before
settling down the bottom, the heavy cord of your frenulum thick along his
tongue.
You tip your head back and groan, gushing a wet spurt of pre across his tongue.
"Fuck, yeah," you say, and Alex tries to take more in, fat rolls of foreskin
piling up around his lips as he grinds his face against your crotch, drool
spilling past his lips and soaking your skin. You arch up, fucking his face —
as far as you can, at least — letting his tongue slide back and forth across
his cockhead. You squirt a shot of pre into his mouth, spraying across his
tongue, and he jerks back in surprise, mouth coming off your dick with a pop, a
wet smear of drool spilling past his lips and soaking into the fabric below.
He nuzzles your cock, just smearing drool and pre across his face, open-mouthed
and wet as he noses across your sac. Until Joey gets impatient and slaps his
cock across the side of his face, and Alex turns away, open mouth filled when
Joey thrusts inside, rutting his cockhead against Alex's tongue, hunching back
and forth.
Your skin is all slick when you reach down to touch yourself, his spit warm on
your skin, and you can slide your fingers in alongside your cockhead, stroking
back and forth, basically fucking your hand as you watch Alex bobbing on Joey's
dick.
You keep jerking off — fuck, you're close too. Real close.
"Oh fuck," you groan, and Joey lurches forward, giving you an off-center kiss,
reaching down with one hand. He braces your cock between his index and middle
fingers, pushing your foreskin back just enough that the skin of your cockhead,
bright red, peeks out. He gets more into seeing you come than you do, honestly.
You grind against Alex's side, Joey's fingers coaxing you on. You move faster,
huffing and puffing, and then slower once it's inevitable, trying to draw out
that moment when you're on the precipice, every motion a near-painful spark of
heat burning through your cock, winding up through your chest. Joey groans when
the first gush sprays out, a twisting ribbon that spreads in midair before
splattering all up Alex's side, and he jerks back like he's been hit.
"Holy shit," Alex goes, kind of bug-eyed, and he looks away just in time for
the next shot to miss his eyes, spraying out all up his cheek and soaking his
hair, dribbling down his nose as he blinks and sputters.
Your cock pulses again, a hard tremor like a knot of muscle clenching tight
somewhere behind your balls, and you absolutely drench him with the next shot,
a flood swamping across his chest and forming a slimy puddle of come under his
pecs, cloudy white streaked with white strands. You grind against his side,
cockhead leaving smears, and the next gush just pours out, pouring down onto
the sheets.
Joey lets go of your cock, jerking himself as he watches, hand butting against
Alex's. He comes with a shout, hunching forward as he shoots across Alex's
face, droplets hanging in his hair. Your cock twitches again, completely
flooding over Joey's smeared lines, come just pouring from your foreskin. Your
foreskin is swollen, skin inside heavy with come, squelching as you rut against
Alex, smearing the mess all up and down his side. Joey's finished in a few
squirts, just leaning heavily against you breathing hard, staring down as you
make a mess all across Alex.
Alex tentatively reaches for your cock, stroking the both of you. His thumb
drags up your balls and finds the nub of your cock, come drooling from your
overstuffed foreskin down his hand. He grinds his knuckles against the muscled
arch of your pelvis, trying to mimic Joey's thing, and you groan and gush one
final time, spraying into his palm with a wet smack and all up his arm, soaking
him to the elbow in glistening strings of come."Holy shit," he says, again.
After that it's just slow pulses, cock twitching and pissing out thicker sludge
in fat blobs across Alex's stomach, Alex absently dragging his fingers through
the mess and streaking it out in lines.
You collapse to the side, cock leaving a messy trail across the curve of his
hips, gushing the rest of your load into the small of his back. Joey sinks down
too, breathing hard, skin hitting Alex's with a wet slap, chest to chest. He
smears your load all down his chest, reaching for Alex's still-hard cock, and
jerks him off while kissing him deeply, Alex whimpering and moaning, hips
jerking up to fuck Joey's fist, the both of them smearing your load across his
shaft, stroking until it turns into white lather. Alex whimpers into Joey's
mouth, high and sharp, and comes hard, a few heavy pulses slapping loud against
his stomach as Joey milks it all out.
Joey breaks the kiss, sliding lower as you cradle up against Alex's back, lips
on his neck. Joey goes for his cock, mouth open as he laps at the tip, looking
right up at Alex as his lips spread across the tip, tongue — undoubtedly —
going right for the still-oozing tip.
You let Alex squirm and whimper for a while, hands dragging through Joey's
hair, softening cock popping out from his mouth all shiny and fat, Joey's lips
an absolute mess as he laps down the side of his cock, tongue swiping over the
sodden thatch of hair at the base. You pull Alex close, a hand on his hip, and
hump against his ass, wet slime dribbling from your flooded foreskin, smearing
across his ass, sticking the sparse hairs to the skin.
"You good?" Joey says, to him or you or the both, and Alex nods, still swiping
your load from his face, shiny smears starting to dry at the edges.
"Mmm," you mumble, open-mouthed, snuggling up against Alex's back, feeling his
racing heartbeat slow. Blowing a load — well, that was big even for you, and it
takes a lot out of you.
Joey shifts in front of you, sandwiching Alex between you and giving him one
last kiss, probably snowballing him a little since that's the kind of guy Joey
is.
None of you seem particularly inclined to move. So, whatdya know, Joey's
seduction plan worked out great. Under twenty-four hours even. Daily threesomes
for the next two weeks; that'll probably be worth being stuck out in the
wilderness.
***** (gaiden 2) *****
You wake up at the bottom of a pile. Alex is sprawled across your chest, legs
wrapped around your hip, morning wood digging into your side. He's drooling a
little on your shoulder. Apparently Joey followed him in his sleep; he's got
one arm slung around Alex's shoulders, head nestled against his back, also
basically half lying on top of you. They're heavy; it's the part where you
can't really breathe deeply that woke you up. You take a deep breath, chest
expanding, and that's enough to send Joey's face slowly sliding down Alex's
back, until his cheek is planted on your pec. It's pretty cute.
Though now that you're awake, you're aware of the general cacophony of nature
happening outside your window, and that means you're not gonna get back to
sleep any time soon. You try to slide out from under them without waking either
of them up, and don't really succeed.
Alex stirs a little, waking up, and yawns enormously, letting out a little
whimper as his jaw snaps shut. He blinks, arm aimlessly slapping his side
before he wakes up enough for muscle control, reaching up to rub some of the
sand out of his eyes. His hair is even more unruly than usual, crushed flat on
one side, all lopsided. He opens his mouth and says something, but it's more
like a mumbling groan than anything intelligible. "What time is it," probably,
or something like that.
Then there's a moment when he shifts forward, almost trying to get up, and his
cock drags against your thigh. There's a moment where it very clearly hits him
that he's naked in a bed with two guys; when his hand wrapped around your chest
goes from using you as a physical support to going for your nipples.
You chuckle a little and reach down, wrapping your hand around his dick. It
twitches in your hand, a wet bead of pre slicking the tip as you start stroking
him off, slow. He whimpers again, humping your side, eyes still closed, mouth
open, making soft little gasping noises.
Joey drags in a breath, stirring, and you look over Alex's shoulder to catch
him waking up: "You started without me," he mumbles, hands going for Alex's
ass, rutting his dick up the crack of his ass, cockhead digging up into the
small of his back. Alex squirms a little more, and you both shift around him,
pinning him solidly between you. Joey bites him on the neck and Alex just
moans, louder than somebody should probably be moaning at — you look at the
clock — six forty-five in the morning. Joey moans too, muffled with his mouth
pressed against Alex's shoulder, and starts humping him, cock sliding between
his pillowy ass cheeks, grazing his asshole.
Well, whatever, you think, and bite Alex too, on the other shoulder. His cock
twitches, spurting pre up across your abs, smearing across your fingers as you
keep jerking him off.
Joey shifts, hand bumping against yours as he reaches for Alex's dick, and he
fumbles down his shaft, tugging on Alex's balls, before he grinds his knuckles
against Alex's taint, rolling back and forth over the root of his cock behind
his balls. Alex moans again, hips jerking forward , forehead against your neck
as he raggedly humps your side, before shuddering, entire body tensing as he
blows his load, shots splattering up your chest and grinding wetly between you,
glazing both of your chests.
"Fuck, fuck, lemme see," Joey says, looking over Alex's shoulder, and you
obligingly peel back, cold air rushing between you as you give Joey a look at
the smeared mess, Alex shuddering as he comes, spurting now across your abs,
excess spilling down your knuckles as you keep stroking. "Ah, fuck," Joey says
— groans really — and speeds up, balls slapping against Alex's cheeks, entire
shaft buried between them, flushed head peeking out when he grinds down. It's a
dozen thrusts as Alex's orgasm winds down before he blows too, shooting all up
Alex's back in streaky lines, breathing hard, and then collapsing on top of
him, hips still twitching as he dribbles out the rest of his load.
You're, uh, still really hard. Joey fumbles a hand up, over Alex's hip before
he finds yours. "Need a hand?" he goes, fingers tugging on your balls, thumb
stroking the furrow of silky flesh under your dick, groaning when you pulse out
a messy smear of pre, coating his fingers. He squirms closer, really
sandwiching Alex between you so he can reach, and then really gently tries
sliding his fingers in your foreskin. He looks like he really just wants to use
his mouth, but he doesn't wanna just toss Alex out of the way.
Anyway, you come all over the place. Joey squirms his index and middle fingers
around inside, fingertips sliding up and down against the underside of your
cockhead, your fat frenulum between them, each motion a storm of sensation. You
grab his wrist to steady his hand, humping against his fingers, and just blow.
"Fuck, fuck, lemme see," Joey goes, craning in to watch you pour your load,
oozing out in thick cords, flooding his cupped palm and pouring down his wrist
to spill all across Alex's stomach, forming shallow puddles across his skin.
You groan, grinding your dick against Joey's fingers as you keep coming,
pumping come until it overflows across Alex's side, spilling in a watery mess
down to soak the sheets. Joey watches real vicariously, whining sadly when you
finally stop, drawing his fingers out of your flooded foreskin and squeezing
out the final squirt. Then he reaches up and sucks your load off his fingers,
slobbering and gurgling as he jams his fingers in his mouth, like he seriously
can't wait a single second. Well, for him the mess is kind of the appeal.
There's a bead of come drooling down his chin, slowly making its way down his
neck.
So you guess the camping trip isn't gonna be a total bust, if this is what you
get to do every morning.
Alex is already asleep again, or at least more interested in going back to
sleep than getting up, or having sex again. It's cute.
"I'm gonna—" you say, drawing back a little, gesturing at the door, and Joey
nods and basically flattens Alex as he lies back down, the both of them
twisting around each other as you move out from under the covers.
So that is basically how the day goes. More of the same, only now because Alex
is with the program you or Joey can pin him up against trees and make out with
him until he nearly comes in his pants while you're doing your scenic hiking
thing, which was basically what you all wanted in the first place. Once you
actually blow him up against a tree, and then he and Joey return the favor, and
then you all nearly get caught by some other douchebags who are actually taking
in the sights and have to get all your dicks put away real quick. It's pretty
good.
The thing that happens happens at night. Alex said he did come here to do
things other than have sex with you, which you grudgingly accepted, and so the
way the situation shakes out is that you ended up eating dinner at the lodge
(meatball or chicken sandwiches) at different times, leaving you and Joey to
amble your way back to the cabin a little after dusk.
"—don't wanna fuck him 24/7, I mean," Joey is saying. "that does get old fast,
but like. Just for the first two days? That's not weird, right? He's so hot."
"You could appreciate the wild outdoors," you say, and he flips you off.
"I wanna appreciate his dick," he says. "I just don't wanna creep him out."
"Start by not going up to him all 'I wanna appreciate your dick.'" Joey laughs,
and after a while further down the path you continue. "You always go to pieces
after you got your dude. He absolutely wants to fuck, just wait for him to
whatever, like, actually talking to people shit he wants. It's really not gonna
be long."
"But he's so hot," Joey whines.
"Boy, you gotta get some self-control. You can blow me right now if you want."
You tug your belt loops, jeans shifting an inch lower, and you meant it mostly
as a joke but Joey looks like he's seriously considering it, gaze smoldering at
the sliver of flesh on display.
He doesn't end up blowing you, probably more because you end up passing some
other group than anything else. You make the turn at the CABIN B/CABIN C
marker, gravel crunching underfoot, conversation faded into silence.
"Holy shit did you see that?!" Joey suddenly yells and flails wildly with the
flashlight. You follow the beam: it's nothing.
"Uh," you say.
"I swear there was like— fuck that was creepy." He gestures again, and the
flashlight beam wildly crashes through the trees, illuminating a blur of bark
and leaves. "Like... something hiding behind one of the trees. And peeking
out." He swallows, hand with the flashlight bobbing back and forth. "I swear to
god I saw something."
"Uh," you say again, but a little more. Worried. "We should just get back to
the cabin."
"No shit. Fucking creepy forests."
"That's what I said, but you were all, nah, I got this soccer boy I wanna
fuck..."
"Oh shut up," Joey says, laughing a little, still freaked out but not so much
that he gets angry at you trying to defuse this whole scene. "You saying you
regret coming up here?"
"Well I'm gonna regret it if we both get eaten by a bear, that's for sure."
"Ha ha," he says. "Seriously though, that was not a bear. I wonder if they got
werewolves up in the woods."
"Werewolves. You're worried about werewolves." You make some effort to sound as
skeptical as possible, since, y'know, werewolves. "What about werebears."
Thankfully any further conversation down that line gets curtailed for how you
twist around the bend and the indirect light from the cabin windows comes out
clear: just a straight shot and you're back inside. Which, whether or not Joey
was just seeing things, still makes you feel better. Since nature is scary and
full of all sorts of bullshit.
Inside the cabin there's Alex sitting in the main area; no sign of Mike and the
other one. Alex looks at you in a way that's just, super blatantly checking you
out, with the added eagerness that knowing all you gotta do is say the word and
there will be a threesome going on brings. It is a good look to be getting.
"So, uh," Joey says, kind of flushing and failing to say anything super
coherent, the way he gets around guys he likes. "Do you wanna, um," he trails
off and kind of gestures upstairs.
Alex looks sorely tempted, but he hems and haws. "I dunno, Isaac and Mike could
be back any minute, so... Like, not that I don't want to! Just I don't want
them walking in on us." You decide Alex and Joey are kind of made for each
other.
"Oh they're still out?" Joey says.
"Yeah, they went out like... a while back actually, I thought you might've been
them; it's been a while."
Joey turns to you: "What if the werewolves got them," he hisses.
Alex, understandably, looks at Joey weird for that.
"Joey saw a bear or something and thinks it's a werewolf." You sigh. "And we
shouldn't go out into bear-infested woods, but I'd feel real bad if Mike and
that other guy" — "Isaac!" Alex chimes in — "got eaten by bears. So I guess I'm
going to go out into the woods." You grab the flashlight from Joey's hand.
"Seriously, fuck nature."
You stomp over to the door. "If you hear me screaming or if I'm not back in
like, ten minutes, uh." You don't really know what they would do, practically.
You shrug. "Anyway, see ya. Maybe don't start fucking until I'm back." Alex
laughs like you're making a joke. It was absolutely not a joke. You mean, you
wouldn't actually care, it's just no, Joey would absolutely get all over that
the second he could.
You step out into the night. It's cold, and you're not immediately eaten by a
bear. Gravel crunches as you walk down the path, flashlight beam bobbing,
flashing back and forth across the trees.
You think, sure would be freaky if you just saw someone standing there in one
pass and then nobody was there when you did it again, and then your fingers
curl tighter on the flashlight and you stop waving it around so much.
It's forest. You're not really sure why you thought you could find somebody out
here, like you could follow their tracks or whatever. But there's the main
path, gravel, and before you hit the main path to the lodge there's an offshoot
of just dirt and planks, and because you're thinking about footprints you do
notice the bootprint. You have no clue how fresh it is — it's a fucking
footprint — but it's at least evidence that somebody, at some point, walked
down that path. Hopefully not a bear path. You don't know if bears make paths.
Deer do, right? Bears are like deer, you guess.
The path goes on for just long enough for you to think that, fuck, this is
actually just an animal path and now you're probably lost in the woods and
gonna die, before it rounds a boulder and ends abruptly at a plank stairway
down to a scenic outlook. At this hour the outlook just looks like darkness.
There are two red wobbling dots down there that after a second resolve into
cigarette cherries. The mumble of conversation drifts up, nothing you can make
out.
You give them a second or two and then shine the flashlight down at them and
yell "Hey!" in your gruffest voice, grinning when they both jump and try to
hide the cigarettes. You clamber down the steps, letting the beam drop.
"Hey," you say, and Mike goes "Hey fuck you, man." He nudges the other guy —
Isaac, right — "Hey that's Verne," and you go hey, he goes hey.
"Gimmie one," you say, tossing the flashlight to your other hand; Mike pulls
out a battered carton from his pocket and fishes out a cigarette, hands it
over, lights it for you. He grumbles the whole time.
You take a long drag, exhale. "So Joey saw a bear or some shit and he's kinda
freaking out about it, sent me out to find you."
"What?!" Mike squawks. "Holy shit! Why are you fucking smoking if there're
bears out here?"
"Well I saw you two," you say, slow and obnoxious, "and I was so glad you
weren't eaten by bears that I decided to take a break."
"Fuck you, man," Mike says. "Couldn't you've opened with 'yo, bears'?"
"It's probably nothing, like, I don't think there'd be a resort up here if
every year bears mauled everybody to death. Still..." you shrug. "Don't wanna
get mauled by bears, so we should probably head back."
"Yeah no shit," he says, and you all amble your way back up the steps. It's a
nice little beat, Mike and Isaac talking about whatever dumb shit they got to
say, voices clear in the woods. Calming, even with the bears. Well, mostly
calming because of the pointed lack of bears.
So it's all going very well until it isn't. You can see the lights of the cabin
through the trees, only the final bend to go, and then Mike goes "Woah, what's
that?" and points, and you swing the flashlight up, and...
There's a tree, like there are a shitload of trees, but the thing with this one
is that there's something really big behind it, a kind of roundish outline of
grey-brown fur sticking out on both sides. There's nothing really clear about
it, just the shape.
You all get real quiet, and finally you go: "Okay, yeah, that's creepy." You
keep the beam fixed on the tree and the thing stood behind it, and much much
more quietly inch down the path. "Look, don't run, just keep going," you say,
and they nod.
Then Isaac yelps and grabs your arm and goes "Dude, there's another one," and
yeah, on the other side of the path, behind another tree. Not close, like not
right next to the path, but way too close for comfort.
You make it inside, and none of them lunge, and none of you start panicking and
screaming or anything like that, but it's still an intensely worrying minute or
two. The two of them step ahead of you onto the porch while you keep staring
out into the forest, heels hitting the backs of the steps as you walk backwards
up until your inside and they slam the door and lock it.
"Jesus Christ."
Sweat runs hot down your sides, sticking your shirt to your back. You put the
flashlight down with a clunk. Then Joey rushes into the room from upstairs. He
and Alex were probably watching, you realize, abruptly.
"Holy shit you're okay!" Joey yells and grabs you in a big hug, breathing a
little irregular against your chest. You sling one arm over his shoulder and
squeeze back. Then he pulls back, kinds of clears his throat, and goes "You
too, guys. I was worried the werewolves got you."
It's a little easier to make fun of the whatever-the-fuck-that-was when you're
inside with actual lights. "Joey thinks they're werewolves," you say.
"Dude, you saw that shit, that was not a bear, fuck you!"
"It's not a fucking werewolf, Jesus Christ."
You cannot believe you're gonna have to have an argument with an audience about
the nonexistence of werewolves, but then there's an indefinable sound from
upstairs. Where Alex is. It takes a second for the sound to get filtered into
something comprehensible — shattering glass and maybe Alex yelling something,
and something else that sure doesn't sound like any kind of noise you wanna
hear, all mixed together. You're already storming up the stairs before the
sound stops. You check the door open with your shoulder, and — and the big
picture window there is shattered, glass all across the floor, and a messy
splatter of blood all up the woodwork. And Alex is nowhere to be seen. That is
some fucking escalation right there, damn.
Joey crashes into your back, since you stopped right in the doorway. When he
gets a good look at the room — well, it's not good. He yells "Oh fuck!" and
scrambles to the busted window, nearly slicing his fingers on the glass still
stuck in the frame, looking out into the night.
"We gotta go get him," Joey goes, and you're already jogging down the stairs
and grabbing the flashlight from where you just fucking left it beside the
door.
"You should stay here," you say, and Joey all but snarls at you.
"I'm sure as hell not staying here while him and you are out there!"
"What, you think it'd be better for the both of us to get killed by wild
animals at the same time?" you say, but you're not stopping him. Mike and Isaac
are both looking between the two of you, looking super uncomfortable.
"Don't be an asshole," he says, which, okay that's reasonable.
"Just, c'mon," you say, and then you both go out into the dark. "Close all the
blinds," you say behind you as you go. "Lock all the doors and don't open them
unless you see us coming back."
It is real fucking dark outside. It's not even that late, but you're far from
any city lights. It's just the cabin lights — that go dim as Mike and Isaac
start shuttering the windows behind you — and your flashlight, and then miles
and miles of darkness. You're standing up at the patio, wood echoing hollow
under your feet, looking out into the forest. There's rustling in the
underbrush that could reasonably be wind, but you all but leap out of your
shoes, wildly flailing the flashlight beam around. Your pulse kicks in your
throat. You have no idea what the fuck is going on.
Things slink out from behind the trees. You really preferred it when they were
trying to hide. They don't move like... things. They move kinda like puppets,
scaly-clawed feet jerkily opening and shifting forward, giving them a slow,
wobbling gait. Their eyes catch the beam of your flashlight, reflecting it back
as a flat shine, almond shaped, winking open and closed as their eyes squeeze
shut. You still can't tell what they are, aside from... low to the ground, and
covered in thick grey-brown something. You flail the flashlight around like the
beam is a weapon, and they scuttle around, milling back and forth. They move so
slow. You know you're gonna have to go through them to get to Alex, wherever he
is now, it's just — you grip the flashlight so hard the plastic creaks, and
walk down the steps, standing out there on the gravel.
Then an enormous wolf-thing launches itself off the roof, slavering and
growling. There's a woosh overhead and then it lands in front of you, snarling
at the assembled— things. They squawk and hiss, a weird dry chittering, and the
wolf snarls and charges. Everything scatters, monster-things leaping up onto
treetrunks, talons sunk into the wood, doing some kinda flexing thing to make
them look twice as big as the wolf snaps at them, pulling out tufts of feathers
or maybe fur.
It's hectic. You and Joey end up advancing behind the wolf as it snaps and
snarls, and the swarm of creatures mills around, scuttling away as it snaps and
charges.
And then there's shouting in the distance, as the wolf charges down the path,
and as its snarls recede into the distance Alex tumbles out from behind a tree,
swatting at the creatures as he runs towards you, skidding to a halt and nearly
bowling over Joey.
"What are you doing out here?!" he hisses, which is rich.
"Oh my god are you okay?!" Joey goes, and sweeps Alex up in a big hug,
straight-up lifting him off his feet.
"I'm fine," Alex says, except as Joey lets him down you realize — and Joey
hasn't, yet — that there's this huge bloodsplatter across his shirt, on his
side.
"Uh, are you okay?" you say, and Alex looks kind of shifty.
"Oh, uh, I'm fine," he says, and then kind of grins at you. "Thanks for
worrying. But, uh—"
"Was that a werewolf?! Are those things werewolves?!" Joey goes, because that's
absolutely the thing you want to deal with right now. The... like, you're
talking; you've got a little buffer room; most of the weird hissing not-
werewolf things followed the huge maybe-a-werewolf wolf, and the rest are far
enough away to not be an immediate threat. But it's still not a great time for
a long conversation.
"Those things aren't werewolves," Alex says, wearily. Yeah you feel that.
You say "Thank you," right as Alex starts going "and—"; you end up cutting him
off.
Joey says: "Wait, did you get a good look at them? What the fuck are they?"
"Not really, but I could tell—"
"How could you tell?" Joey says. "Did it claw you up?" This is when he notices
the huge blood stain, and kind of freaks out. He tugs at Alex's shirt, blood-
soaked fabric peeling away from his side, but Alex kind of shies back instead
of letting him look.
"I'm fine!" he says, a little more sharply. "But, uh, the reason—"
"We really shouldn't be hanging around outside," you say. "Who knows if those
things are gonna get closer. Or if the wolf is coming back and it's gonna eat
us this time."
"Good point," Joey says, and he tugs Alex towards the cabin, but Alex stays
planted.
"Guys!" Alex yells, and you both look over at him.
"Yeah?" Joey says.
"The reason, uh. The reason I could tell it wasn't a werewolf," he says, and
then keeps talking even though you mutter "Oh my god" and roll your eyes.
"— is because I'm a werewolf!" Alex finally says, louder than he really needed.
You all stand there in silence for a second.
You groan. "Seriously?"
Except when you look back over at him he's got hair all over. He works his
mouth, bone audibly creaking as his face pushes out into a muzzle, jaws
snapping at the air. You jerk back, stumbling over your own feet, and slam down
on your ass. What the fuck.
Next to you, Joey goes "I knew it!" and...
"What? No you didn't."
"I said werewolves, didn't I?"
"You said those other things were werewolves. No way did you ever say your
boytoy was a werewolf."
Alex has been looking back and forth between two you as you say this, bones
popping as he, uh. Turns into a werewolf. Wereman. He's shot up a good two
feet. He clears his throat. Which sounds a lot like a dog snarling. "Boytoy?"
You can feel his voice through the air, more than a few octaves deeper,
rumbling inside you like a drum. He's also got huge hooked claws as long as
your fingers.
"Uh," you say. Joey slaps you on the back of your head.
"You'll have to forgive him, he's kind of an asshole," Joey says to Alex. And
then: "Uh, maybe we should still get inside, though. Wait, does Isaac know
about this?"
Alex bobs his head, his weird little gesture a lot weirder coming from a seven
foot tall wolf-headed monster. "Uh, no, I never — I never told anybody."
Joey grins at that, and rises up on his tip-toes to press a kiss against Alex's
muzzle. "Well, I'm glad you told us."
"Great," you say. "Let's go back inside before anything else horrible happens."
Joey, meanwhile, has stepped in close and now starts tugging on Alex's fur. It
is really fluffy. "You, uh, can change back, right?"
"Uh, yeah, but the thing is that, uh. Shifting is kinda rough on clothes." Alex
gestures at the clothes he was formerly wearing, now a bunch of scraps at his
feet. Even his jeans, wow.
So what ends up happening is Alex ends up coming back inside naked and human,
with the most intact tatters of his jeans wrapped around his waist to give him
at least a tiny bit of modesty. This probably makes the whole scenario look
even worse to Mike and Isaac. It goes like, "hey, we got Alex", and they come
booming up the stairs from where they were camped out in the basement and all
but skid to a stop when they see Alex basically naked and clutching a shred of
black denim to his crotch. "We're gonna get him some clothes," Joey says, and
there's some awkwardness when they hit the top of the stairs and Alex turns to
the room with his stuff in it and Joey turns towards the room you all actually
slept in. You are living in a farce. With, apparently, werewolves. And other,
not-werewolf monsters? This is rapidly becoming too complicated for your
tastes.
Also the sight of his bare ass is fucking amazing going up those steps, huge
muscled cheeks sliding back and forth with each step, hairy tree-trunk thighs
flexing. You stare at his ass the whole way up and don't even care that Mike
and Isaac almost assuredly notice. Probably they're wondering why your response
to supposedly finding him naked and traumatized out in the woods is to stare at
his ass. But it's such a great ass. Probably you should tell them about the
werewolf thing before you get to the weird birds thing. And by "you" should
tell them you mean Alex.
But then some time goes by, the three of you standing awkwardly in silence,
basically waiting for your cue, and Alex still hasn't come out of the room.
Mike and Issac have drawn the blinds, big, sturdy-looking wooden ones, and so
it's a little less like you're in a glass box surrounded by nightmare forest.
Now you're in a wood one. And, you say "sturdy-looking" but if you didn't mind
probably dying from the broken-glass lacerations you have no doubt you could
jump right through them, still. So it's probably just the illusion of safety.
Great.
You sigh. "I'm gonna see what's taking them so long."
Alex has not gotten dressed; instead he and Joey are making out on the bed.
Alex isn't entirely human either; his ears are all big and pointy and hairy,
and the hair across his forearms and legs is thicker, more like fur. When he
catches you at the door he looks up, and his eyes catch the light for a second,
gleaming green-red like a raccoon's. Or, well, like a wolf, you assume. It's a
little creepy, but the part where he's naked and still mostly cute makes that
less intense. Then Joey notices you're there and pulls back too, and wow, yeah,
okay, Alex's dick is also currently not entirely human.
"Seriously?" you say, and it takes a long second for you to drag your gaze up
from Alex's surprisingly red dog dick to his face. He's blushing. "Not to, uh,
interrupt, but we should probably figure out what to do with the whole, creepy
monster thing situation. Before fucking." You turn to look at Joey: "You're the
one all 'this is a horror movie', shouldn't you be telling us not to have sex?"
Joey laughs. "Look, if we're gonna get killed by some kinda monster I at least
wanna fuck a werewolf while I got the chance." He leers at Alex. "Especially a
real cute one." Alex's tail — his tail, kind of stubby still but definitely
there, thick with floofy fur — thumps against the bed, like a happy dog. Which
is kind of fucked-up you think.
"Dude, c'mon, Mike and Isaac are all freaking out," you say. "We should
probably let them in on the werewolf thing." Alex looks alarmed, so you add "or
just the bird thing, whatever, but either way it's... not something normal."
So Alex gets dressed. You kind of stare at him trying to cram what is
apparently a gigantic wolf dick into his jeans. He can only actually zip them
up when his wolf features start to melt away and he's back to being the hot,
lean-looking soccer guy you expected, instead of the wolfman.
Joey stares too, and he basically looks like he wants to start jerking off
right there. You mean, Alex kinda does too. Anyway. You head downstairs. And
you have a kind of shitty and miserable conversation. "This isn't a horror
movie," you say, like, three times. "We don't gotta go wandering out in the
dark. We can just wait until morning and then storm into the lodge and yell
real loud about the fucked up bird monsters." (Mike goes "Are they really
birds?" and Isaac goes "We just don't know" and then Mike punches him until
Joey reminds them that hey, this is kind of serious, and you absolutely
restrain yourself from saying "Yeah so serious you wanted to just fuck around
instead of dealing with it". But, in all honesty, this is not a horror movie,
and it is definitely not The Birds, so you're all probably safe from
implausible dramatic bird-related murders.)
Anyway, you all decide to hole up in the basement. Since there's a big heavy
door and really small windows.
Joey has been scraping his palms against his jeans and staring at Alex the
entire time, and so when you all get downstairs he basically instantly tugs
Alex down into the other room. They're gonna fuck. There's basically no
ambiguity here whatsoever. And then he grabs your hand with his free one and
pulls you with.
"Oh my god," Mike says.
You hear Isaac say "You know, I think they're fu—" before Joey slams the door
shut and turns around, grinning.
"Okay, let's fuck," he says.
This is a storage room. I mean, you've absolutely had sex with him in more
awkward places, but... "Dude, they're right outside," you say.
"We can be quiet," he says, which is a goddamn fucking lie because he is the
loudest person ever, and he wants to have sex with a werewolf. "They won't
notice." And then to top it off: "Hey, turn back into a werewolf," he says to
Alex, in his idea of a whisper.
Alex has no problem rolling with it. Alex grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls
it up off his head, then flicks the button on his jeans. "We're not actually
supposed to, um, do this, y'know."
"What, have sex?"
"Sex in wolf form," Alex says, though he's still super eagerly taking off his
jeans. No underwear. Which you already knew, since you watched him put those
jeans on.
Joey gawps and goes "Oh fuck that!" even before Alex's finished saying it.
"Wait, is that gonna, like, turn us into werewolves?"
Alex laughs and shakes his head. "Nah, that's not how it works. It's just..."
He squirms a little sitting naked on a crate, hair creeping across his forearms
and chest, weird sinewy popping noises coming from inside him as he just
straight-up puts on like two hundred pounds of muscle in about thirty seconds.
You're surprised the crate doesn't just collapse under him. "It was always
like... everybody's gonna hate you, it's dangerous to tell people, nobody will
ever want this part of you." Even as a wolf he's talking in this rapidfire way,
like... like he's been stewing about this for a long time and now just wants to
get it all out. "So don't ever tell anybody or show anybody or let anybody know
or else they'll wanna kill you." He swallows nervously, again, awkward on a
gigantic wolf death machine. He's fiddling idly with the lip of the crate,
which, now that he has several inch-long talons, means physically tearing off
huge stakes of rough wood. "Stuff like that."
Okay, and now you feel kinda shitty for being creeped out by the whole werewolf
thing. This is putting your small dick issues in perspective.
Joey probably isn't thinking about how Alex is kind of dumping his soul;
instead he just drops to his knees, grabs Alex's sheath, and starts jerking him
off. Which is from your own experience, honestly, the best way to get over your
weird sex hang-ups. It's basically what he did to you, after all. He goes:
"Gonna have to make up for lost time then, holy shit," and then basically
kisses Alex's sheath, mouth open, tongue sliding inside like all that time
playing with your foreskin was practice. He pulls back, wet slime already
corded out from Alex's sheath, tethering to his chin when he looks up: "Tell me
what feels good, okay?"
Joey leans in, absolutely burying his face between Alex's thighs, head
basically enveloped in fur: Alex's fur is precisely as shaggy as his hair. Joey
grips, pumps, hand sliding down, and Alex lets out a sharp yip, hips jerking
up. It's not exactly a secret, what they're doing. But Joey seems to realize
you don't have the best view and he sits back, looking over at you. "C'mon," he
says, gesturing you closer with his head. And, sat back, you can see something
pink through the mess of Alex's fur, the sharp tip of his dog dick, pink with
squiggling lines of red and blue under the surface.
Joey rubs across Alex's sheath, jostling his balls. His dick slowly spills out,
jerking out in time with his heartbeat. The tip is bright red in the light,
smooth and shining like something unreal, shining with pre. Joey leans into
him, slowly sagging to the side as he strokes Alex's cockhead, until he moves
into it and just slumps forward, on his knees right in front of Alex, both
hands wrapped around his cockhead, face an inch away. His fingers flex minutely
around the tip and they both groan, Joey kind of whimpering as Alex's cock
slowly unsheathes, just spills out and out like there's no end to it. It
presses against his face and Joey groans, deep and loud and absolutely
something Mike and Isaac could hear through the door. Everybody always just
acts like doors are soundproof; they are absolutely getting an earful out
there. Hopefully Alex doesn't start howling.
Joey opens wide, inching forward like he's not really sure about it. His nose
bumps against the underside and Alex's dick lolls over, splattering across his
cheek, rubbery shaft completely covering one eye, drooling streams of clear pre
down his face. He sputters, licking his lips, and kisses the underside of the
shaft, open-mouthed. Makes a face. "That's gonna take some getting used to."
"Sorry," Alex says.
"Nah, don't worry about it." Joey licks Alex's dick again, sloppier, leaving a
messy smear. "'s not bad." His tongue presses against the underside,
experimentally at first, but then eagerly lapping up the sloppy pre already
coating it as he slides up, hands wrapping around his hairy sheath and aiming
the shaft down. "Tastes way meatier than a human dick." He curls his tongue
around the tip just in time to not catch the next pulse, pre hitting his tongue
and spraying in every direction, pouring down his face. Joey groans and sucks
the tip into his mouth, lips spread wide, the loud slurps of his mouth filling
the room. He pulls off with a wet pop, lips glistening, spit webbing in threads
between them.
Alex shudders, his cock jerks forward and bumps across Joey's face, leaving
messy smears. Its heft keeps it pressed against his face, covering one eye, pre
steadily dribbling down his face while Joey drags his tongue across the
underside, pressing sloppy kisses against his drooling flesh. Alex just whines,
hands twitching on his hips, like he's afraid to touch Joey with them, and Joey
reaches up and tugs his hands forward, Alex's huge claws draping down his back.
Joey pulls back, a flood of spit and pre spilling past his lips and vanishing
into Alex's fur; he wipes his mouth and looks over at you: "C'mon, man, get
with it." He gives Alex's cock an experimental stroke, like he's showing it off
to you. Alex groans, hips jerking forward, and he gushes a solid streamer of
pre: across Joey's face, over his head, across the entire room, splattering an
inch up the far wall. Joey flinches back from the impact, but the second it
really hits him he's back on Alex's cock like he wants to eat it, moaning
muffled by the big ol' dog dick in his mouth.
"I'm not into dog dicks." Which is true, technically, but also something
important to know right now is that your dick hurts it's so hard. Pre is
bubbling up inside your foreskin, oozing out in gushes that spill down your
balls, slick and wet, sticking your boxer-briefs to your skin in patches.
"Wolf dicks," Alex corrects.
"Is there really a difference?" Probably they can both tell your voice is a
little strained.
Joey flips you off from where he's sucking on Alex's dog dick. Or wolf dick,
depending on how much you care.
"Fuck, whatever," you say, and give into the peer pressure to suck on a big ol'
dog dick. That's your excuse and you're sticking to it. You shuffle forward; go
down on your knees.
It's definitely... big. It was one thing when you were just watching Joey fail
to fit any part of it in his mouth, but up close and personal it is huge.
Joey opens wide and drags his tongue all the way from the sheath to the tip,
mouth overflowing with scummy pre by the time he gets there. He swallows, and
then again, before opening his mouth again, showing off the mass of pre still
plastered across his tongue and teeth.
"Gimmie a kiss," he says, practically blowing bubbles with Alex's pre, a foamy
gush dribbling down his chin.
"Jesus Christ," you mumble, but you go forward, lean in. Alex reeks, not... in
a bad way, exactly. His pre smells sharp, meaty and rich, like a taste in the
back of your mouth, and wafting up from his unsheathed cock, ripples of scent
so strong it almost stings to inhale.
Joey hooks a hand over your shoulder, drags you forward, and plants his lips on
your mouth, tongue shoving a mess of watery pre into your mouth. The taste hits
you like a brick, blossoming across your tongue, salt-savory and potent, the
scent of his cock dialed up a hundredfold. Joey moans when you kiss back, big
and showy, tugging on your lower lip with his teeth and then pulling back just
enough so Alex can see your tongues press against each other, threads of spit
and pre dribbling down between you, wet and hot when they soak through your
shirt. Joey loves that kind of shit, showboating.
But that's not what you're thinking about right now, anyway. You're not really
thinking about anything. Stone floor solid through your jeans, your pre making
an absolute mess in your boxer-briefs, Joey warm, skin sizzling everywhere he's
touching, musky pre sloshing in your mouth.
A wet rope of pre pelts the side of your head, caught in your stubbly hair, and
you look up, squinting through one eye, pre dribbling down heavy across your
eyelid. Alex's cock is leveled at you like a cannon, the divot near the tip
pulsing, opening and closing like a tiny mouth, absolutely gushing pre.
"Sorry," Alex says, more than a little absurd coming from the gigantic
werewolf. "You're really hot."
"Oh?" Joey says, sliding over, one hand wrapping around Alex's cock, stroking
it as he goes back to suckling the side, aiming it so the next pulse hits you
right across the face. Then he reaches for your shirt, tugs it over your head,
and aims Alex's cock so it pegs you right in the chest, fingers following the
shot to smear his pre across your skin, like he's oiling you up. Alex moans,
aiming himself now to spray across the two of you, Joey trying to make sure
your entire upper body is glazed and glistening with a thin layer of werewolf
pre. The smell makes you dizzy. And, y'know, turned on, but that goes without
saying here.
"You're pretty good yourself, y'know?" Joey says, eventually, leaning back into
Alex's thighs, and you just kind of stay there, wobbling without Joey to lean
against, painfully aware of Alex's pre soaking through your jeans, meeting the
wet splotch already there, fabric clinging to your cock and balls.
You go and touch Alex's cock, too. It's real big.
Your splayed hand doesn't even wrap around it, just cups around the bottom.
It's hot to the touch, skin slippery with pre and weirdly spongy, like it's
still soft for all that it's two feet long and hosing you down with pre. It
pulses against your palm, lurching like a kick-drum hit with each beat of
Alex's rapid heartbeat. You stroke up, fingers smearing back and forth as you
try to find any kind of cockhead, but it's just flesh, smooth and hot. Scummy
pre builds up as you work, drooling down the back of your hand, slick and
surprisingly liquid, dribbling to the ground like water.
"C'mon, dude," Joey says, lips still spread across the other side of Alex's
cock, the thing pulsing between you. He reaches out, fingers spreading against
the back of your head, and pulls you forward, pressing your face against Alex's
cock. You kiss it, the both of you suckling near the tip, lapping over its
strange curves and edges. Alex groans, claws digging so hard into the box that
it splinters. Joey smirks, sliding down the side of Alex's cock to press his
face against his sheath, tongue squirming under the ridge of fur. You take the
tip, hands wrapped around it, messily slurping as he pelts your face with gush
after gush of pre, spilling like so much water down your neck, over your
shoulders, until forget the glaze, you just have a huge, cloudy white mess
splattered all across your chest, dribbling down in sheets to soak the waist of
your jeans.
Your hands collide with Joey's, overlapping, the both slippery and soaked by
the constant spill of pre sluicing down his shaft. You wrap both hands around
the shaft and squeeze, flesh giving minutely under your fingertips, and Alex
snarls, lurches forward, pinning you and Joey both on the ground as he goes
down on all fours, jerking his hips forward, fucking his cock through your
hands. Joey yelps, face buried in fur somewhere down by his sheath, practically
pulling himself up, the both of you pressed to the ground, cock spraying and
squirting across your bodies. You lap up the length of Alex's cock, flesh raw
and red and weirdly smooth, all the way to the tip, and of course Alex snarls
again and you catch a faceful of werewolf pre, just barely closing your eyes in
time. It feels like somebody dashed a glass of water at you, a liquid streamer
hitting you and making you flinch back, droplets of fluid stuck in your hair
and in your eyelashes, streaming down your face in hot rivulets.
Joey whines and shoves you out of the way, like he's jealous of the werewolf
facial you're getting. The messy gushes of pre splatter across your faces, and
Joey sputters, trying to lap it out of the air. He opens wide, sinks closer,
pre flooding his open mouth and pouring down his chin in frothy streams, and
when he closes his lips around the tip he gulps down once, twice, before it
overflows, erupting around the sloppy seal of his lips. He chokes, sputtering,
spraying a mess of pre down across Alex's cock, and he pulls back coughing,
mouth and nose drooling pre.
Alex huffs, chest heaving. "Fuck, guys, I'm close, I'm gonna come."
You blink up at him in disbelief, his cock pulsing and spraying the two of you
head to toe. "You're not coming now?"
Alex just whines in response, jerking forward, rutting his cock all up and down
Joey's chest, ramming the tip against the underside of his jaw. He reaches
down, hand wrapping around his sheath, which looks... huge and swollen, even
compared to the size of the rest of his dick. He kind of yip-yowls, dragging
his sheath-flesh back, folding it over itself to reveal the absolute base of
his cock, formerly hidden in his sheath. There's a slurp, thick ropes of ooze
spilling out from his sheath, and a veiny red thing bursts out into the open,
the acrid reek of his cock getting even stronger, so much it stings your eyes.
"Woah, what's that?" Joey says, reaching out, wrapping his hands around the
bulge, and Alex whines, jerks forward. His cock thumps Joey solidly in the
middle of his chest and knocks him back on his ass, a gush of watery pre
spurting across his neck.
Alex slavers for a few seconds, entire body twitching like an excited dog, tail
lashing wildly, before he manages to get a little control back. "My— it's my
knot," he says, and then seeing the both of you completely fail to recognize
what that is he continues. "Wolves have it. And dogs I guess. It swells up."
He's talking fast, chest heaving up and down, pelting the both of you with pre
even as he speaks.
"No shit," Joey says, but— impressed. And he tugs on it a little, a lump of
muscle big enough it takes both hands to even cup it, getting Alex to peg him
right in the face with another gush of pre.
"They uh— it uh—" Alex says, or tries to say, hunched forward so much his hands
touch the floor, Joey under him, stroking him off. "How much do you guys know
about dog dicks?"
Joey at this point has wrapped his mouth around the tip, cheeks bulging every
time Alex sprays pre. He gulps and moans encouragingly.
"Not shit," you say, for the both of you.
"We gotta— oh, fuck," and his head lashes side to side, Joey choking and
sputtering as Alex's cock twitches three times in rapid succession, the flood
of what Alex claims is still pre erupting from Joey's flooded mouth in a
cloudy, off-white mess. He whines, claws scratching the concrete as he thrusts
forward, fucking Joey's mouth with the tip of his dick while Joey strokes the
rest of it, all the way down to his, uh, knot. "We gotta bone in our dick,
right?" he says, you think, voice just a warbling groan, tongue lolling out the
side of his muzzle. "And we don't really get hard until we come." Which you
guess explains why his cock's so, like, pulpy. "And when we do—" and then
there's another extended interlude while he fucks Joey's face, hips jerking,
Joey gurgling and sputtering with his face and shoulders just drenched, blowing
bubbles from his nose when he tries to breathe, and steadfastly not pulling
back. "—our knot swells up and ties us together while I come."
"Like—" you say, and try to make some kinda hand gesture to communicate just
what you think happens. Look, straight-up, Alex's cock is easily as big as
somebody's arm, and the thought of trying to fit not just that but also the
rapidly-swelling knot inside you — inside anybody — sounds a lot more painful
than fun.
Joey, though, looks ecstatic. Also, neither of them are really paying any
attention to your hand gestures, because whatever composure Alex had left is
absolutely gone now that he's about to have his very first werewolf orgasm.
You lean in, touching his shaft again, hot and slick, throbbing under your
hands almost too hard for you to keep ahold, the rubbery flesh becoming harder
and harder to the touch.
Joey is drenched, head and chest completely slathered with cloudy werewolf
precome, thick enough to pile up in drifts, pouring down his face, huge messy
spurts pouring from his mouth every time he opens it, hands flying up and down
his shaft, butting against yours, crashing against Alex's knot with a meaty
thwack each time. You end up gripping his knot, hands over the half-sphere
swells, slowly stretching under your palms, like you're holding a balloon
that's being blown up.
Alex is just gone. Alex howls, cock lurching as he erupts. Way too much for
Joey: the shot bulges his cheeks, spraying back down Alex's shaft in a flood of
grimy white, and Joey falls back, coughing and sputtering. Alex's cock twitches
fast, and he sprays his next shot without Joey in the way; the mass of solid
white splatters against the far wall and sticks, one, two, three, like gunshots
each time, recoil lurching through the rubbery flesh of his cock.
"Holy shit," Joey says, once he's done coughing, voice still bubbly from all
the muck stuck in his throat. He sounds awestruck more than anything else. Joey
grabs his knot too, and what Alex said about his knot swelling was sure as hell
true: all four of your hands just barely cover it, red flesh visible between
your hands. His knot hammers hard against your hands, straining to stretch even
bigger and only slowly finding purchase, all your fingers spreading as it just
keeps swelling.
Alex is completely out of it: head tipped back, tongue lolling from the side of
his mouth, letting out sharp whimpers. His legs kick reflexively, like a
dreaming dog. And his cock is just fountaining, the first few splats followed
by a steady pulse of reeking dog come: spraying all across the floor in wide
gushes, darkening the concrete and then forming pools of translucent, cloudy
white slime, washing down to the overflow drain.
Joey goes for it: keeping his hands wrapped around the base he tries to slip
back to catch the head in his mouth, and that really drives home just how
fucking big Alex's dick is. The tip digs into Joey's bicep, one arm pushed
right up against it. The thing's thicker even than his arm, knot sure as hell a
lot bigger than that. Joey must be loving it.
Joey tries to catch the next shot of come and it just goes all over, hitting
his cheek and fountaining in a spray of droplets, all over. Joey groans,
rutting forward — his cock a hard bar against your thigh — and does it again,
the shot completely coating his face in runny smears of come. He's snuffling
and panting as Alex unloads all across his face, only a dribble actually
running into his mouth, a sharp splat splat splat as he gets hosed down, eyes
closed mouth open, making sharp, desperate moans continuously, gurgling on
Alex's load.
And he keeps shooting like that, full-on, for most of a minute before it starts
to die down. Joey looks more like a melting wax figure at this point, thick
cords dribbling from his elbows and chin, lumpy layers pouring down his body.
Joey drags his forearm across his face, blinking a lot before daring to really
try opening his eyes, lashes gummy with come. "Oh, fuck, that was hot. That was
like, what, a solid minute?" Joey would be the kind of person to straight-up
time somebody's orgasm length, if he wasn't usually too preoccupied having sex
to do it.
"I'm actually—" Alex starts, slurring with his tongue lolling from his mouth.
He tries to catch his breath for a second before starting again. "I thought
it'd go longer. Uh, actually. Wolves tie for like, twenty minutes, and the
whole time is..." he trails off, gesturing at the absolute mess you've all made
of the storage room. The place smells rancid with the stench of sex.
"Twenty minutes?!" Joey grabs his knot and squeezes, and Alex does a full-body
shudder, a final slow pulse of thick off-white come spraying across his chest.
"Can we get that going now?" he asks, still toying with Alex's knot. He's
slurring too; he swallows, and then when that doesn't work coughs and spits, a
frothy mess that just hangs down from his chin and joins the rest of the come
coating him.
"Nah, it's done."
"Aw man," Joey says, like — legitimately sad that he's not gonna have Alex
spraying him down for a good half-hour.
"It's uh, pressure on the knot," Alex says, considerably more lucid now that
he's not overcome with, like, his first wolfy orgasm ever.
"You gotta fuck me," Joey goes. He's been playing with his ass; you hadn't even
noticed. He had his sloppy, pre-coated hand twisted behind him, fingers jammed
up his ass, and as he sits forward he pulls them out, pucker spread for a
second and then clamping down on nothing.
"There's no way that's gonna fit anywhere, dude," you tell him, or maybe Alex,
but neither of them are really listening.
Joey whines, a passable imitation of Alex, and spreads his legs: "Just the tip,
fuck, you gotta open me up." This time he's a lot more showy about fingering
himself: he drags his fingers up Alex's still-oozing shaft, a messy handful of
thick come slowly spilling over the sides of his hand, and reaches back, grinds
his fingers against his ass, back tense as he shoves them inside, finger-
fucking himself with nothing but werewolf come as lube, grunting and groaning.
Alex cock twitches and Joey all but cheers, squirming forward. "How we gonna do
this?" he demands, grin bright even with the rest of his face slathered in
come.
Joey ends up on his hands and knees, Alex inching forward over him like an
actual wolf, cockhead slapping against his thighs. Werewolves apparently have
basically no refractory period. Or maybe that's just teenagers.
Joey's hole is puffy, spread open from his fingers, and you guide Alex's
cockhead to it, sliding it into place until it locks: the tip of his cock digs
against the soft flesh, catching, and Alex strains forward, sharp cockhead
spreading Joey's ass. Joey groans, hands braced on the ground, and shoves
himself backward, swallowing up the immense knifepoint tip and then hissing,
squirming as it just gets fatter in the middle, trying to get used to it.
Alex bays, a groan that devolves into a kind of yabbering dog-bark grumble, and
jerks forward, trying to fit way too much into Joey's ass on the first thrust
and nearly knocking everybody involved to the ground. He jerks back, pre
already gushing from Joey's overfilled ass, and then slams forward again,
starting up a jackhammer rhythm that has Joey pinned to the ground, groaning
and hissing in equal measure.
"Easy there, we don't wanna break him." You push against Alex's hip and he
relents, jackhammer thrusts slowing, not trying to cram two-feet-and-then-some
of dog dick into his ass, just pushing forward until his cock gets too fat to
fit more, then easing back. Fucking him slower. Joey's groans drag out into
whines, sharp huffs of breath when Alex grinds the bloated middle of his cock
against his hole.
For the second time in like five minutes, it does not take long. Alex is nearly
sobbing the whole time, whining and jerking forward, cock barreling into Joey's
ass and emerging cloudy with pre, a continual waterfall of sloppy ooze drooling
out around his stretched rim. "I don't—" he says, once, "I can't believe
you'd—", and Joey just twists around and pulls him down for a kiss, one that's
more like Alex licking his face and then taking most of Joey's head into his
mouth. Size difference is a bitch.
You keep Alex from accidentally fucking Joey to death, though given Joey's
eagerness you probably couldn't stop him from fucking himself to death on
purpose. He's real determined to get all of Alex's dick plus knot stuck in him,
and it looks like he's not gonna have to wait real long to try. Alex groans,
cock pulsing, and this time his knot just pops out of his sheath, the sloppy
splatter hardly noticeable when you're all already soaking wet.
So there it is, Alex's knot as big as two fists and currently rutting up and
down between Joey's cheeks, all but that somehow jammed inside him already.
Joey sinks down, swell digging between his cheeks, spine gone tense as he tries
to spread himself against it, hard little moans of pain as Alex's knot digs
against his asshole. Alex's paws hook over his hips, claws digging into his
skin, and he bodily pulls Joey back, maw open and slavering, lapping at his
shoulders, back a mess of runny drool, tongue snapping and lashing, splattering
droplets of spit all across the two of you. Joey tips back, flush against
Alex's chest, and tugs Alex's muzzle to the side, letting Alex smear his tongue
all across his face before he sucks it into his mouth, his own moans muffled.
Alex jerks forward, Joey bouncing on his lap, the both of them whining and
moaning, Joey's cock smearing a thin glaze of pre across your belly. Alex works
his knot against Joey's hole, wet slaps as the immense ball of flesh slams
against his too-small hole, again and again until — there's a sucking squelch,
and Joey's entire body shudders, lurching an inch lower, and then again, and
again, as they both try to force the whole swell of Alex's knot inside him.
Alex howls, a loud cry that probably kills any lingering doubt Mike and Isaac
had that you weren't fucking in here, and also presumably raising some real
pressing questions about how the fuck you're fucking in here, and his cock
shudders — you can tell because Joey shudders with it, whimpers bursting from
his lips in time with muscle spasms in his gut, vibrations carrying through to
you where you're pressed together. Joey reaches down, hand pressed against his
stomach, fingers twitching in time with Alex's pulses inside him. More than
feeling it, you can hear it, a muffled squelching thump, each time his cock
kicks inside Joey, followed by a wet gurgles as his latest burst of come pours
down his insides.
When Joey opens his eyes he looks drugged, pupils dilated and mismatched, not
focusing. He whines, squirming on Alex's cock, panting hard, hissing each time
the swell of the knot shifts inside him, steady throbs continuing as Alex
slowly floods him with his load. Joey grabs your front and drags you forward
into a kiss, open-mouthed, moaning as he shoves his tongue into your mouth.
Alex leans forward, muzzle over Joey's shoulder, lapping across your faces, and
Joey breaks the kiss to suck on his tongue, a sloppy kiss an inch from your
head, Alex's huge teeth clamping across Joey's cheeks as he practically
swallows half his head. Joey breaks the kiss, slobber streaking his face, open
mouth overflowing, before tipping towards you and essentially spitting a
mouthful of werewolf drool into your mouth. It's spicy, thicker than water.
You sputter, jerking back, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. "Jesus Christ
dude," you say, but Joey just leans forward with you, lips shiny, and kisses
you again, arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against him,
mouth sloppy with werewolf drool. It's okay, you guess.
Alex jerks forward a few more times, lurching Joey against you — a hard line of
pressure jerking against your stomach, that for a dim half-second you think is
Joey's cock until you realize it's Alex's, bulging through Joey's stomach,
rising and falling as Joey breathes. You stare down at it, wide-eyed, Joey's
abs clenching hard and then relaxing, the slab of Alex's cock rising up beneath
them up until Joey tips your head up and kisses you again, sloppily, leaving
messy smears of werewolf spit across your lips and jaw, drool as thin
glittering strings stretching between your lips when he pulls back a half-inch,
breath gusting hard. His eyes flutter open and closed, damn near rolling back
into his skull whenever Alex jerks forward: a thrust that slams a few inches of
his brutally-huge werewolf cock back inside him with a sickening slurp, sheath
a lump of scrunched-up flesh stuffed between his cheeks, absolutely hilted on
his cock. His stomach swells, the two-fist swell of Alex's knot bubbling up
under Joey's abs when he relaxes.
"Fuck, dude," he groans, slow, and grabs your hand, dragging it down to his
lurching belly. "You gotta feel this." His cockhead knocks against the back of
your hand, leaving little smears of pre. Each shot from Alex is a pressure
against your hand, ass flooded, skin straining outward; Joey squirms, abs
clenching into a hard wall, trembling against the pressure inside him, only to
relax with a huff, stomach expanding into a gut, swelling further with each
spurt. Alex's cock jerks inside him, thudding against your hand, Joey's flesh
and muscle a thin wall between you two. It kinda hurts to watch — though Joey
sure as hell likes it.
Joey's hand drifts down, tangling with yours, and wraps around his cock, the
both of you stroking him off. He squirms again, breathing hard, and comes in a
rush, soft groan coming out of his throat in bursts as his cock burbles his
load, a messy smear between you, sloppy against your stomachs where you're
pressed together. Joey's clench makes Alex whine more, cock visibly shuddering
against the underside of Joey's spasming abs, stomach sloshing now as Joey
moves.
Joey leans forward, hooking a hand over your shoulder, forehead resting against
your shoulder. He breaths deep, whining a little as Alex stirs inside him, held
there between the two of you as Alex just... keeps coming, swollen gut
shuddering with each pulse. He looks up, eyes fluttering open, a loose grin on
his face, loopy from the sex, pressing kisses against your chest and throat,
breath steaming across your skin. You grin down at him, a little less loose.
Then there's a knock on the door. Isaac's voice rings out from the other side,
kinda tense. "Uh if you guys are, uh, finished, we kinda got— a problem here."
Joey starts laughing.
"'We can be quiet'," you say. "'They won't notice'." Joey laughs louder, and
then has to stop to breathe, gasping. His stomach's swollen out into a fat,
taut gut, shuddering regularly.
You slide back, Joey frowning and reaching for you. "I'll, uh, check what's
going on," you say, pressing a short kiss to his forehead.
You're the one least coated in werewolf come, and also the only one not
currently tied to somebody else by the dick, so you go out. You're pretty
disheveled. "Least coated" is absolutely a relative term; you are dripping and
leaving puddles. Isaac mostly looks worried, but when Mike gets a look at you
he looks, well, grudgingly impressed. Your dick chafes against the front of
your jeans, boxers soaked, and for once you're thankful you don't pitch a huge
tent because that would make this scene a lot more awkward.
Except Alex kind of yowls as you leave, and Mike knocks the door open, and the
both of them get a real good full-on shot of him looming over Joey, balls
hanging nearly to the floor. Alex looks up and jerks back, huge claws tugging
Joey to his chest to hide him, but really all he accomplishes is giving them an
even more porn-worthy shot of Joey completely hilted on his dick, bloated gut
sloshing, eyes fluttering. You slam the door shut behind you.
"So Alex is a werewolf," you say. "It's not a big deal." You pause. "Also,
we're fucking."
"Yeah, I got that," Isaac says. They are both kind of— you don't really know
what they were expecting from the sounds, but apparently werewolf sex was not
high on the list. Plus, you're now realizing that the storage room was
approximately a billion degrees. You're sweating like a pig, the cold of the
rest of the cabin bracing, and you are literally steaming, visible wisps of
werewolf come billowing up from your shoulders.
"Problem?" you prompt, eventually, and that kind of knocks them out of their
daze.
You go upstairs. You can still hear Joey whining through the door. Like,
loudly, wow.
So the problem is: there are a shit-ton of the... things. The things that might
be birds? Or puppets? But Mike peeks through the slats and there are easily a
dozen standing there, sticking partway out from behind trees. That's a problem.
The part where they're hiding is easily the most worrying aspect of this whole
thing, like, that implies that they're present enough to want to hide. But
they're not trying to fling themselves at the windows or anything like that.
"Huh," you say.
But Isaac evidently doesn't want to really dwell on the weird monster
situation. You mean, you don't really want to either. What would you even do?
"So how long has Alex been a werewolf?" Isaac demands.
You hold up your hands. "Man, I don't know, he just told us. But a while, I
guess."
Isaac furrows his brow. "We've been friends for years and he never..." He
trails off, looking irritated.
"Take it up with him," you say, and then in concession, "Don't think he really
meant to tell us, exactly. Don't give him a hard time."
Isaac kinda gives you a look. "Yeah, well, that goes for you too. You and your
bro better not fuck him over."
"Chill," you say. You kind of scrub a hand across your face, which just
punctuates how, oh right, you're still slathered in werewolf come. "I better go
get them. I'll see if I can... pry them apart, or whatever." You sigh.
Mike, who, you're getting an inkling has an idea how dog dicks work, gets all
wide-eyed. "You uh, don't mean that literally, right?"
You don't answer him.
So back downstairs — after you nearly slip down the goddamn steps because you
left smears of werewolf pre all over — Alex's mouth is wide open, half Joey's
head in his mouth, a tuft of soaked hair peeking through between two of his
upper teeth. Alex's tongue is nearly wrapped entirely around Joey's neck,
squirming slowly, tip lapping at the hollow of his throat. Joey looks glazed,
spit shining down his neck and smeared across his chest, speckled with brown
lines of shed fur, plastered across his front and even more thickly across his
back, looking almost like he's got a coat of his own. They're both kinda
whining. Or moaning.
They at least rolled onto their sides, Alex keeping Joey supported as he gets
really pumped full of come. One of Alex's paws is stretched across his bloated
belly, kind of keeping him steady. His skin is starting to fray, his old
stretch marks seaming open across the underside of his swollen gut, raw red
zebra stripes oozing clear lymph as layers of skin shred.
"Hey, dude," you say, quietly, kneeling down next to them, reaching out to
touch him. He's feverishly hot; the whole room is really, and he twists up into
your touch half-turning over to face you. His gut kind of lurches, skin folding
into a deep crease along the curve of his hip before his belly moves with the
rest of him, swaying, and then keeps moving after the rest of him has twisted
over, swaying back and forth, sloppy wet slaps coming from inside him.
Sloshing. His eyes flutter open, and he raises a hand to press against his
stomach, whining at the pressure, and then hissing as his fingers catch across
his wet stretch marks.
Joey looks up at you, eyes fluttering open. "You left," he says, with a frown.
He raises his arms, grabbing for you, depth perception evidently fucked up with
half his face smushed against Alex's chest.
He's, uh. Hard again. His cock is pinned to the underside of his belly,
dimpling the swollen skin, and every time he squirms it drags against his
belly, leaving a smear that's grown into a patch of glossy skin, glazed with
pre. You swallow hard.
"We got a problem here; it'd be good if you two were present and not sex-dumb,
c'mon." You look over at Alex: "You about done?"
He's just as bad as Joey; he just kind of rumbles and whines, tongue drawing
back into his mouth with a slurp, leaving a final spatter of drool across
Joey's neck. When he shifts there's a squirt of come, Alex's cock tugging
against Joey's wrecked hole, letting a messy gush spray back against his
flanks. Like his knot is starting to go down, you hope.
"You guys are super lucky there's a drain here," you say. Except... "Well,
you'll probably clog it, but it's better than nothing I guess."
Alex tugs backwards, Joey's body following, sloppy sucking noises coming from
where they're joined. Messy streamers of come squirt out around his mostly-
swollen knot, splattering across the concrete floor and slowly making its way
to the drain. Alex's paws dig across Joey's hips — spanning the whole of his
hips, claws overlapping over his dick — and he pulls back, hips shaking back
and forth as he wiggles his knot out of Joey's ass, thick streams of come
already pouring out around his knot. Joey moans, real loud, arching back to
kiss him, and for a second Alex forgets what he's doing, hilts himself with a
syrupy pop, a slobbery gush of come erupting out as he sinks his knot back in
all the way, soaking the fur on his hips down.
You clear your throat, snap your fingers. "C'mon c'mon, guys."
Joey kind of crawls forward, cheeks spread around Alex's sheath, the flesh of
his ass, around his hole, bulging out in a weird, smooth swell, the bruised
lips of his ass clenching and opening around the base of Alex's shaft, gaping
wide enough you can see the raw red flesh of Alex's knot, still lodged up
inside him. Come gurgles out of him, soggy squelches as Joey works himself off
the knot, meaty noises gurgling up from inside him as Alex tugs backward, knot
cresting and cresting until, with a slorp, his knot finally lurches out with an
absolute explosion of come.
Joey clenches, shuddering, and now each flex ends up forcing huge slimy cords
of come out of him, pouring down Alex's shaft and cording between them as Alex
sides his cock out — or more like slides Joey off his cock. Foot after foot of
raw red dog cock emerges, absolutely slathered in come, huge gummy sheets
corded between them even ignoring the flood pouring from Joey's ass as his
overfilled guts finally start emptying. His hole clenches around the entire
thing, like he's trying to keep it inside, and it's only after Alex gets all
the way to the tip, sharp point pulling out, that Joey's hole spreads,
clenching on nothing and then gaping wide enough you could cram your fist in
there no trouble if you wanted, wrecked hole on full display, walls of his ass
pulsing, bruised flesh of his ring nearly pulled inside-out, forming a huge,
crater-like ring.
Joey goes limp with a sad little whine, hole sloppy and glistening, come just
pouring out without stopping, pouring down the backs of his thighs, froth
spanning between his legs.
Alex wraps a hand around his knot, squeezes, and sprays a gush of watery come
all across Joey's side, a wild animal whimper catching in his throat.
They're both an absolute mess, Alex's brown fur soaked black from stomach to
knee where it's not so thickly covered in come you can't tell the color, shaggy
fur hanging in thick, heavy-looking curls like he's worked wax into it.
Joey squirms up to your side, arms slung over your shoulders, not really
kissing because he's breathing to hard for it, just pressing his open mouth
against your face and dragging it around, whimpering softly. His swollen belly
digs against you, the slightest pressure making him — writhe, moaning and
hissing softly, the wet gurgle of his draining guts audibly increasing from the
contact.
The floor is basically flooded. An unending stream of werewolf come, clear off-
white, just pouring and pouring out of him, spilling down his taut balls and
inner thighs, watery rivulets drizzling over thicker, more sluggish sheets
clinging to his skin. Joey whines, clenches, and the broken muscle of his
asshole pulls tight, swollen flesh wrinkling over itself into meaty slabs, only
to part again, a fresh spill of come flooding out in a waterfall, Joey holding
his stomach, groaning, as more of Alex's apparently endless load spills out of
him.
"I'm— gonna give you a few minutes," you say, and run away.
You kind of pace and fret in the other basement room, flushed and— and you
don't know. Probably you should go back in? Probably you shouldn't have left in
the first place, but, well, you did. For a second you idly consider jerking
off. You've been in your jeans this whole time and your dick hurts.
Eventually you go back inside, since... like, you gotta go back inside
sometime. Joey's still draining.
"Can you get up?" you ask, and Joey sluggishly nods, holding up his hands. You
lever him up onto his knees, and shit, come is heavy; it wouldn't surprise you
at all if Alex pumped a few gallons up inside him. Joey has to clench to do it,
keep his core rigid, and the flex of his abs has his asshole slurping, the pour
of come turning into a sloppy spray, subsiding to a patter as he balances on
his knees, one arm going down to support his swollen belly. He's flushed,
you're not sure from embarrassment or from, well, all the fucking. He straight-
up looks pregnant, like, nine months and everything, belly taut and straining.
Christ.
Alex is also there, looking flustered. Still werewolfy. You kinda wanna snap at
him and go, hey, turn back human, look what your werewolf dick did. This whole
situation has been stressful from a dozen different angles. It kinda sucks.
Eventually Joey can stand up without his ass leaking, and honestly at this
point you'll take it. It's not like anybody in the cabin doesn't know exactly
what you've all been up to. He still sloshes when he walks, gut enormous, and
he walks real slowly, arm slung over your shoulder.
So you have an impromptu cabin meeting. You wrap Joey in a quilt. After you all
clean up a little, since you don't really wanna be glued down with werewolf
come forever.
"We should probably do something about the weird monster things," Mark says.
You're all trying to ignore the elephant in the room, namely, the whole gay
werewolf threesome thing. Though Alex — back in human form and nominally
dressed — and Isaac are off in a corner talking about, you assume, the werewolf
part of it. "What if they go to the lodge?"
"Do what, though? You wanna walk right out there, all the way down to the
lodge?" You kinda shift in your seat. "Plus it's probably a werewolf thing? I
mean there probably aren't monster attacks here all the time, and Alex was the
only one they actually went after. So he's the only werewolf on the mountains
and nobody else has to deal with weird monster things."
"So we just try to go to sleep like everything's normal?"
You shrug. "You got a better idea? Stay awake if you want, I guess." Joey is
straight-up snoring on your shoulder. Getting fucked by a werewolf really takes
it out of you, you guess. "Listen, here's what we're gonna do: we're gonna sit
tight until morning, and then we're gonna get up, go to the lodge, and start
fucking yelling about monster zombie birds. This isn't a fucking horror movie
where everybody's gotta run around in the night for no reason and get picked
off one by one."
You say that, and then with a snap the lights all go out.
Thankfully nobody can see you grind your palm across your face, though they
still hear you groan.
"Listen," you said again, preempting anything else. "This doesn't change
anything. All the power lines are outside; the generator's outside."
"Is this just us?" That's Isaac; there's some clattering as he and you assume
Alex make their way back over to the rest of you in the dark. "Because if it's
not that means other people are definitely gonna be going around outside trying
to see what's up. It's not that late," he says, helpfully.
You curse, a lot.
Then Alex goes: "Um, also, I think that other wolf— I'm pretty sure that was a
werewolf. Too. And maybe... feral? I saw him out the window earlier, I think he
was planning on breaking in. So if he's not here he's probably going after
another cabin."
You are so done with this shit. "Okay, let's go out in the woods and get killed
by werewolves and monsters and shit, awesome."
So that's what you do. Great. Awesome. The five of you, into the fucking forest
full of monsters, with only the one flashlight, because, yes, evidently, the
wilderness is a fucking horrorshow full of monsters and you absolutely have to
go out there right now in the middle of the night. You could say that you're
not pleased with this development.
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