A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn
Unleashing
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I smelt the blood before I even saw it on Paris‘s face. My head shot up and I looked over at my boyfriend as he walked into the room I was in. He dropped the sports bag heavily to the ground and my eyes zeroed in on the blood under his nose and around his mouth. Blood sports and werewolves, what a freak’n turn on.
He walked around to me, pulling his sweat stained t-shirt up over his head and off. Discarding it without care. I stayed still, where I was, at the end of the table, watching in anticipation as he walked around to me. Watching the way his body moved with the way he held himself, inhaling the sweat and blood he’d worked up and gotten from his boxing session. Yeah, he doesn’t box with gloves and protective gear. Alpha male, pack leader, likes to keep his skills sharp.
My eyes keep zeroing in on the mess around his otherwise pretty mouth. My nose keeps flaring as I enjoy the smell of his blood on his sweat covered, skin. He hones in on me and lifts me like I weigh nothing, up onto the table. Pushing apart my legs so he can stand between them. His hard groin meeting my moist heat at the edge.
I can hear his breathing is controlled and stilled like him. But that’s just a ruse. The heart beat racing under neath all that toned skin, is a give away to what he wants. There is a heat flaring up inside at me at the look of the predator before me. I can’t help it, it’s always like this with him.
One look up at those dark blue eyes and that’s all he get’s before I lunge at the swollen and bloodied mouth. He doesn’t wince at the action of my mouth devouring his brings. Paris merely responds, his arms pulling me in closer to him. His mouth matching mine, allowing my tongue to go where it will, over the blood trail over him.
Hands push my skirt up my legs and I feel his fingers, pull aside my underwear and feel the press of his hardened cock before he pushes into me tightly. I can’t moan because my mouth is too busy obsessing over the swollen bloody mess of his mouth and licking at it eagerly. He lifts my legs to wrap them around his hips, dragging me across the table towards him, so we can start this unleashing.
Blood sports and werewolves, what a turn on. I think Paris fights deliberately without protective gear so he can get bloodied and come home and do this with me. Fighting makes him hungry and not necessarily for food.
Our rhythm is fast and bumpy and all I can do is hold onto Paris as we let the sensation of blood, sweat and sex coat us and fill our senses with each other.
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Tags: blood sports, boxing, fighting, licking, Paris, scenting, Sex, werewolves
Afterglow
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A night after a shape shift and it’s like waking up in a whole new universe. Everything feels good. Aligned in my body, in my vision, in my world. Quite often I end up at Paris’s house.
His place is like a sanctuary of sorts. He might be a mighty Alpha werewolf and the pack leader of the Manhattan Maen. But even he needs a break from werewolf world sometimes. An escape. A place to breathe, think.
When you’re the leader of a pack, it’s like non-stop werewolf play and politics. There’s always something going on. Going down, needing to be ruled over, corrected or sorted out. It’s pretty much a full time job that you never get to leave to go home to.
Except, Paris has made an effort to do just that. He’s always on call, that’s a constant. But He has a hierarchy of werewolves to do his bidding and will on various issues and commands. It’s how packs work. You filter the power down to control the over all pack structure. Keep the Alpha appraised, but elusive is the way most packs do it.
Paris is more hands on than leaders of the past, it’s been commented. But his pack respond well to that. He has no problem being seen out amongst his pack at social events, and activities. It reinforces his leadership as a result. Which is fine, when we’re out in the streets, at a nightclub or even in Brooklyn with my pack.
But back at his house, it’s his universe. His world. His time out. He’ll limit the amount of calls and contact he has with pack, when he’s physically at his house. It’s a way of putting a divide in, of keeping his head on straight. Of not getting stressed out.
When I’m there with him, It becomes our universe. And he really hates, for it to be disturbed. During lunar weeks, after our nights out or shape shifting, I often find myself, welcome in his embrace.
I awake, curled up, with Paris behind me, his arms around me, a leg thrown over me. We wake early in the light of a new day.
Cotton sheets, feel like a cool breeze, gently sitting across my body like a whispered thought. I feel the heat radiate from the male behind me, as his hand skims over my side. Over my rump, tracing my leg, parting my legs for him.
I stir awake again and he kisses the back of my neck, running his nose softly behind my ear as if to trace the scent of me behind it, like inhaling perfume. His tongue darts out and and traces the angle of my neck. His breath rushes across my skin as fingers part the hair from the back of my neck.
His teeth sink into the back of my neck as his hands warmly cup my breasts and he pushes up into me. The slightest moan escaping his lips as he briefly stills at the sensation of us together.
Into the otherwise quiet of our surrounds, we are in our own world, away from all the drama and dealings. Expectations and challenges that come with being a werewolf. We are strong here. Stronger.
He is focussed solely on me and at that point in time, as the morning breaks and he wakes me. His body moving with mine, allowing me to slowly stretch, my muscles warming with their new movement, back once again in my human skin.
Feeling renewed and at peace, lost in love and one with my werewolf.
Crest the night
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There’s a Santana song playing somewhere near us, throughout the night, I recognize it, even as I’m distracted by Paris who’s just as eager as I am, that there’s no softness. No slow teasing and delaying now. Not tonight.
“I really thought you wanted Aaron’s blood.”
We’re under a moonlight night sky, the only place I feel I belong in this world without question, under a moonlight night and in Paris’s embrace.
“I did.” My hands slide up his chest. Committing the touch of him to memory.
“But I was practicing that thing, what’s the word for it…” I pretend to think about this as my lips race over his neck. “Control.”
Paris laughs lightly and my hands keep skimming over his chest. “When you asked me what I wanted to do to him, what I told you, was exactly what I wanted to do to him.” Paris flicks my hair out of the way and kisses me hard and breaks apart, panting heavily.
“I was letting you, you know.”
I know he was. I know that, but my wolf doesn’t. She wants out of me, has made me restless, angsty and frustrated since being denied the opportunity to let loose on Aaron. As much as my wolf side wanted the blood. I’d have hated myself afterwards. That guy was rude. It’d be like having a regretful one night stand I’d be unable to wash out of my mind. That was why I didn’t take the pass Paris was giving me.
Paris pulls me to him.
His mouth on mine and we’re shutting out the rest of the world. Whatever there is of it outside under the night sky. We belong here, together, with each other, for each other. We’re good together, real good. His arms lift me so he can guide me onto him.
That craving for blood and flesh is still there, I still flash back and recall the scent of it. With delightful ease. It’s like having a craving. Wanting candy and not acting on it, but wanting it all the same. I’ve been running an obsessive replay of it like play of the day in my head, over and over again. Lunar week and when a thought as erotic as allowing my true werewolf self to be out and about, doing primal stuff like licking up human blood is in there, it’s hard to think about much else. Kind of fuels my stupid restlessness.
Paris is helping me build a rhythm between us and all I want is harder, deeper and faster. As I try to eradicate that sensory overload of blood fuelling my brain’s memory. My wolf’s need. There’s a Feeling like I’m being turned inside out with sanity. Want to ride this night out, till I’m completely weak and sated of every bit of energy I’ve got coursing under my skin. To my mind grey’s out.
Paris’s hands move from my hips, to my ass and he groans deep in the back of his throat. We move with desperation, urgency. Driving need to touch, be touched, to enjoy and reach heights of passion that are there to be indulged in and not drawn out. Now is not the time for control. Time to let it go, give it up and forget about it, to really find the release this werewolf is craving as the moon heightens every fibrous being inside and out of me. Survival by any means necessary when the sensors are overloading me and my passion is swamping me.
Heat. Lust. Love. Blood. Sex. Moonlight. Rush, rush rush. Crest the night, hold tight.
I throw back my head, my hair flying out behind me and slapping down my back as I howl myself into the night air along with Paris’s underneath me. And the echo of our howling, lingers on the air before we relax, into each other.
Heated panting, heart beats drumming, as the temperature around us simmers from our body heat and I close my eyes, my mind preparing to shape shift so the werewolf in me, can come out and play.
Tags: Aaron, Blood, lunar week, moonlight, Paris, Santana, Sex, Shape-shifting, werewolves
Wicked wolf
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Werewolves are not known to be prudes when it comes to nudity, or when having sex around other werewolves. But Alpha Werewolves, do tend to get mighty possessive at times, like say when they’re about to be interrupted in the throws of sex with their packmate.
Enter Addison.
“Fuck, make some noise or something next time, would you?”
And yes, it never occurred to him, to knock first.
Addison literally walked into the room we were in, when both Paris and I looked up at him, neither of us stopping the movement of our bodies. But Paris’s hands slipped around my breasts, gripping them, covering them. It’s not like Addison hasn’t seen them before, he’s seen them at least two times before that I can think of. But that’s not really the point.
Paris kept thrusting and started growling at Addison. He doesn’t get annoyed all that often that I’ve seen. I think I just looked a little surprised by the intrusion.
“People were asking.” Addison said shaking his head as Paris’s growl grew louder. His actions even harder. Faster.
I bit my lip.
Addison turned around and walked back out again.
It’s lunar week and we’re normally busily doing each other every night, but this week is different, it’s my birthday week and Paris and I have been all over each other, day and night.
“Now would be the time to remind you what happens if you make noise.” Paris’s throaty voice sounded slightly strained. He’d been hammering me for awhile. Hence why Addison had come looking for us. “If you cry out or groan or even ever so lightly sigh, I’ll be forced to keep this up, even longer. Keep you exactly where I want you, make those knees get friction burns on them while I ride this out.”
Paris was having a hard day of wanting, he’d told me earlier on. It’s what happens during lunar week. The sexual energy around us, in us, it just about explodes. Drives you wild.
We’d had plans, things to do, but he said every time he looked at me, he found himself wanting me. We’d come close to finding a lane way in the city and fucking behind a dumpster, he wanted me so badly. Instead, we managed to scramble to the party we were invitead to and nearby too, and get into it. Snuck off, found a room and he’d actually torn my clothing off me, because, he claims, I wasn’t moving fast enough for him.
Impatient Alpha.
What the hell was I supposed to wear out of there?
Things to figure out later, I guess, I could get through the now. My lip started to hurt from my teeth cutting into it. Even that act, made my lip start to sting, as the skin started to become cut. Blood would swell up from it soon. The thought of which would, only fuel our current round of dealing with our sexual needs, to make the party we were at, more than likely send out a search party for us. Blood, sex and werewolves are a wicked combination. Seriously wicked enjoyment.
As a beta wolf, I’m even more affected by lunar week’s sensations than Paris is and I knew, I couldn’t hold out. Part of me, didn’t want to.
I groaned, deep in my throat. Paris chuckled.
“Poor little wolf.”
I kept groaning. It felt just as good to be able to make noise as it was to be loved by my pack mate. The door to the room opened again and Gabby stumbled in, and stood watching us for a moment. My eyes went to hers and I held contact with them, Paris as before, didn’t stop.
“This wolf, and room is taken.” He panted at her.
Again, I ask myself, what is with the lack of knocking from these werewolves? Alpha’s, I guess they’re not used to being told to wait or what have you.
Gabby blinked slowly. Recognition or something, dawning across her face. She turned around and walked back out, without comment, bumping into another body we could half see through the slightly ajar door. Something was mumbled and the door was closed.
“Oh you wicked, wolf.” I grunted quickly. It was all I could get out, for I was too busy focusing on the sensation of Paris within me to care about anything else.
Confessions
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Paris and I are out, standing out back of his place, in the sunlight.
“I have a confession to make.” Paris says to me, as his fingers dance across my warmed skin, and he slips the spaghetti strap of my dress off, down my shoulder. My eyes flick over to it and back to him, as his gaze travels across me, to my other shoulder and the strap there.
“What’s your confession?”
He flicks the other strap off the top of my shoulder too. So both straps are hanging down my arms. His blue eyes trail up my chest, to my face.
“I’ve never really done it in the sunlight on a lunar week.”
Now his fingers, are caressing their way across the top of my clothing as he tugs it down lightly.
“Done it?”
His lips quirk, into a quick sideways smile. “Never made love.” He corrects himself for me.
“You could’ve said, had sex.” I reply cheekily back at him.
“It’s not just sex with you.”
This statement causes us both to fall silent and stare at each other intently. It’s coming up to my birthday, and it’ll be the first time we’ve ever been together on my birthday. My birthday on a lunar week. What crazy ass divinity decided to do that, to this werewolf?
Paris has been treating this coming event, like it’s a very big deal. I mean, we don’t spend a lot of time apart as it is normally, pack werewolves don’t do al that well alone for long periods of time. We crave other werewolf company. It’s in our genetics.
“Never?” I break the silence with.
I’m fairly certain he means the act of loving another wolf outdoors in daylight hours, not just outdoor sex, since, we’ve done that a few times already.
He shrugs his shoulders loosely, his mind is elsewhere as he starts kissing me, pressing into me. His warm hands flat on my back. He finds the zip in the back of my dress and pulls it down.
“Not out in the open, under the sun. No. I tend to wait for night and the moon.” He tells me when we part and my dress loosens around me, held only against me, by the press of his body to mind. He kisses me along my jaw. He feels warm against me and my skin starts to sweat between us, making the dress cling, like a second skin to my front.
“I feel more at home at night time. I like the dark. I feel in control there.” His voice is soft as his lips trail along my already sun kissed skin as he works his way around to my ear lobe. “Day time is like, someone else’s time zone that I’m thrown in.” His teeth graze my ear lobe. He nibbles lightly before shape shifting them to werewolf fangs. The sensation of the shift on the sensitive skin of my lobe, makes me gasp out loud. On hand slides down my side, and lifts up the flimsy material of my sundress. His fingers slip under my underwear and he pushes two of them into me.
I groan loudly.
“But you, standing here, in the sunlight,” He runs his nose along my neck line, inhaling my scent. “The touch of the light on your skin, it’s like this flavor of…” He tries to think of the word. “Honey. Makes me want to.”
Those fingers are moving steadily in me and I find myself suddenly gripping his forearms, as if to steady myself. It’s lunar week and we’re both being bitch slapped by our hormones being amped up to maximum capacity. It really doesn’t take much to set us off onto one another.
Being around another werewolf on lunar week, is like temptation, expectation and candy treats all in one being handed to you to figure out what to do with. I groan again. He’s not the only one who’s loving the sunlight and being out in it. Werewolves, love nature, the elements of our human world excite them. And on a lunar week, they kind of drive us mad, to distraction or insane. It’s like the time in our lives when we are so saturated in heightened sensation, that I suspect this is what it must feel our past lineages of werewolves, felt like, all the time, especially when not in human form. Lunar week tests us all, to our limits, and I’m no exception, especially when Paris is making me want to shape shift against him to see what will happen to him. How much that sensation will affect him.
My dress flutters against the wind and falls down my front as he moves with me and my breasts are warmed by the sunlight on them, as the push at the bounds of the bra their in. Paris’s mouth descends on one of them. The same time I am letting go of him, my fingers having already left nail marks in his forearms, as I push the rest of the dress down and off me. With one free hand, Paris is undressing himself too, ready to meet me in the light of day, together in our own little world, where we can take all the time we want to be together. I work around him, uncatching my bra and sliding my briefs down my legs. He’s working the jeans over his hips, one side at a time, not wanting to loose his connection to me, not wanting his mouth to leave me. He falters, when he sees the last of my clothing fall away. Straightening up, stunned by my brazen move to get naked, out the back of his place. It’s not like we can’t be seen by other people.
He groans deep in his throat, at the sight of me. His fingers still, paused inside of me.
“Make you want to do what?” I ask completely naked before him, seriously aching for him to loose the jeans all together. My hand drifts over his hardness lightly and he stills gritting his teeth. “Make you want to do what?”
His eyes narrow on me and he lets out a low growl. No more teasing this wolf, he has control of himself, but he wants to loose that control in me.
The Flesh & Blood show
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Walking through the club back to Paris was rather surreal. Everyone was watching and it felt like they were holding their breath. But of course, they weren’t.
Addison and I walked side by side, silently and I walked up to Paris, as he continued to sit at his table, with his warriors, standing, either side of the booth he was in.
He looked incredibly calm and non-plussed, and somewhat happy to see me walking towards him.
There had been a fight, in his presence, and now nobody would get near the Alpha, without going through his personal body guards. Of course, that was my doing, having an all out bitch fight with Gabby. But still, there had to be a standard show of power and hierarchy, really. To remind werewolves, to behave.
To remind the werewolves there, who really called the shots in there and what could happen, if their leading Alpha wanted it too. He was sipping a beer, his eyes watching me over the top of the pint glass as I got closer to him.
He put the glass down and smirked at me. The guards, near his area of the club parted to let me and Addison through, before closing the gap between them again.
Show time.
I’m a good werewolf. For the most part, I know my place.
I flicked my hair over my shoulder again and crawled, very deliberately into the soft red leather booth, around to where Paris sat.
His eyes dropped from my face, to my gapping, half torn top and the vicious claw marks across my skin, to my breasts, hanging heavily in my bra as I crawled towards him on my hands and knees.
His eyes darkened, they were almost black, and glistened with flecks of amber. The man and the werewolf, were turned on. I was turning him on.
He pulled me across himself, so I sat, straddled across his lap.
Just us, in the booth.
“And I thought, you two would play nice together.” He muttered, his arms held me tight, close to him.
“Well, that was nice, wasn’t it?” I asked, angling my head to the side as he ran his nose up the side of my neck, that probably had blood splatter on it.
“Very.” He murmured, as his tongue started languid strokes of my skin, cleaning me of the dried liquid that was across my neck, shoulder and upper chest. I sighed contently.
Post fight recovery, was a very good idea indeed.
He kissed his way down to the start of the claw marks above my breast. His tongue running over the gauged marks in them, making them sting, ever so slightly, as he cleaned the wounds on me. I felt Paris harden beneath me. His werewolf wanted to mate with me, because it was being unbelievably turned on by the flesh and blood show I’d given him.
See for humans, the sex is about the flesh. Visual display of flesh and all it’s pretty glory, gets you the reaction you desire.
For werewolves, it’s the flesh with the blood. Well, it it’s about that when we’re still in human form.
So whilst, I was actually hurt from my girl fight with Gabby, I really was forgetting about how my wounds were being tended too, because like Paris, I was getting turned on by our very public display of erotica in the club.
The music was still going and I assumed behind me, and around us, all had returned to normal again. I don’t really know, because I honestly wasn’t paying attention.
I was kind of liking what was happening to me in Paris’s arms.
With his mouth.
He mouth sucked and moved material out of the way and kissed my skin, his tongue stroked and teased and I began to rock, unconsciously in his lap, against him, sighing with pleasure.
“Maybe we should take this somewhere else.” I murmured at him.
“Maybe I should just take what I want, right now.” He husked back at me. He started to undo the fly on his jeans. I couldn’t say I didn’t want the same thing. Our needs and body tempreture were rising.
His hands on my hips, raised me up and our eyes locked on one another. Nothing else mattered. I’d forgotten where we were, or why I was there, or that I’d been in any kind of altercation. Because in our little private bubble of heat, blood, lust and flesh, there was only us.
Essential Baise
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You might think two days of time out, would be refreshing. But you’d be wrong. Especially considering there wasn’t much timed-out, for me, or Paris for that matter.
When I was going bat shit crazy with extremely rough foreplay, there was shape shifting, and then there was the sex.
Yep, being in a werewolf in heat is not refreshing. Some wolves might consider it crazy tiring. But for me, it’s about learning balance, through pacing and endurance. Werewolves are hardcore, we have to handle a lot of what life throws at us.
For me, I can handle this heat business because what’s the other option?
Let it take me over and over and over? And where does that leave me, with no sense of self, no control over anything about me? It would make me vulnerable. I never aspire for vulnerability. Ugh. I wake up under a cotton sheet, wrapped up in Paris’s arms, his body pressed against mine, his leg hanging over my calf.
“Welcome to Casa de cage.” I hear him murmur from behind me, with a yawn. Like he psychically knows I’m awake without seeing me open my eyes.
I blink.
Still in the fucking cage.
Only, you know, not fucking.
Either I’m through this round of ‘being in heat’ or we’re on a break.
On the mattress, a cotton sheet generously draped over us. Why, I have no fucking idea. Werewolves don’t really take issue with nudity around one another. We’re all quite comfortable around nakedness. Besides, there was no one else around, just us. Paris must’ve spent most of his time with me in there.
Wherever there, was.
I don’t even recall how we got into the cage.
Still, it could be worse than being under a cotton sheet, on a mattress, in a cage with a seriously hot male, naked behind me. We could be dead, I suppose. People have died from too much heat and sex, as well as sexual heat before. Luckily for us, neither of us is those unfortunate people. We are not mere mortals. We’re werewolves. We love sex. We sex love.
Sex to werewolves is as essential as air or water. Of which there is a bottle near us.
I reach out for it stretching myself away from Paris and he growls at me, grabbing me by the hips quickly, pressing his readily hard body into my backside and pulling me back into him.
“Possessive.” I mutter back at him, glancing back at him.
“Hell yes.”
I fling an arm out towards the water bottle I can see, just out of my reach.
“So did you want to fight the water bottle for me and get wet? Cause, got to tell you, I’m up for seeing you drenched.” I stretch my fingers out, trying to touch the water bottle. “I could just suck all that aqua off you, until I was you know…hydrated again.”
He chuckles at me and I feel the laughter in his chest, against my back. My fingertips touch the very edge of the bottle.
“I’d suck, long and hard, and make sure my mouth got all the way around you.” The water bottle moves, slightly, away from me. Paris moans back in his throat, a deeply contended sound at this idea.
“My lips would work across your skin, heating them, the same time, I was sucking the water off you dry.”
My nails brush the edge of the water bottle and it wobbles.
“Baise.” He sighs, sounding tiredly happy.
But the word, distracts me from my mission to grab the water bottle, that I just don’t have enough reach on, without him letting go of me. Maybe I’m still in heat. Maybe I’m just a ‘sucker’.
“Ok.” I reply.
I can’t believe he wants more. We must’ve been in the cage for a good forty eight hours by now. And whilst I don’t remember all of it, my body tells me exactly what I’ve been up to. It feels highly used.
I don’t think there’s a muscle on me, that doesn’t feel, worked out. I wiggle my jaw from side to side and run my tongue over my teeth and bottom lip.
Okay, maybe one.
But not for much longer.
Tags: baise, being in heat, cage, essential, foutre, nudity, oral sex, rough foreplay, Sex, water, werewolves, wet
Spanking the bitch
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My hair is wet.
I’m covered in sweat and I’m moving, as I stare into a pair of dark blue eyes with a graceful rhythm. We both are, it’s a paced rhythm, and now I’m totally absorbed in riding this heat fest, out.
Feeling Paris’s muscles move against mine, our bodies sliding together is calming me down greatly. Well, kind of. Tiny part of my brain keeps wanting to lick him, run my nose along him and feel fur. But I keep shutting that part of my brain down and he holds me at arms length from getting close enough to lick him or inhale his scent.
My heart beats pumping, but my brain is calm and my mind is clear.
My wolf knows what to do here, in this situation. She’s leaving me in control.
Who said being in heat was all bad?
Was that me?
What was I talking about again?
Paris and me, on a bare mattress inside the cage.
At some stage when I was sleeping between bouts of heat and shape shifting, he dragged a mattress in here. We’ve been left alone to figure out the best way to get through my latest episode of me, quite literally being a bitch in heat. And I think we’ve figured it out. The best way to keep me under control when in my current state of mindlessness, is to go slow. Very, very, slow. Too much fast pace and violence makes my wolf excited and brings on shape shifts quicker than I can blink.
So slow it is.
It’s like doing a strenuous workout, and trying to conserve your energy at the same time, without straining any muscles. It’s an endurance race of propositions. You see, we want this to last a long time and at the same time, one of us is going to have to end it, cave in and come first.
Changing positions is done, with slow ease, no fast sudden movements to excite either werewolf from within. We’ve got this heat bitch under control and we’re going to tame her. I sit across Paris’s lap and start to move again, picking up a pace, and his hands pull me down, grounding me onto his naked form.
I groan at the sharp movement of his thrust.
“Ralentissez-le vers le bas” He says at me in French. Stilling me.
I shake my head, not understanding. My French is limited and anything he says sounds sexy anyway. He doesn’t speak it very often around me. But damn, it’s sexy. Probably shouldn’t be speaking it to me now, cause it’s like a stimulant I don’t need, to loose the control we’ve been working on.
He kisses my breast and looks back up at me.
“I said, slow it down.” His grip on me looses slightly. “Or I won’t let you move at all little wolf.” He smirks back at me. “And we know how much you’d hate that.” He grins at me before resuming teasing my nipple with his tongue.
A gasp escapes my mouth. Now he’s playing a dangerous game. He’s letting elements of excitement enter into this calm we’ve created. I wonder if he’s getting bored, riding out our sexual marathon together. The man is incredibly patient with me, but he’s no saint.
I stare into those dark blue eyes and keep the pace we’ve been going at. I don’t now how long we’ve been in this cage, that’s big enough for several human captives, even several full grown Alpha werewolves. I don’t know how long we’ve been on this mattress, slowly releasing ourselves.
I don’t care about any of that.
I just want to simmer here, in this heat, with him, until we both boil over.
So I’ll do as I’m told. I’ll be good, I’ll keep my pace.
I’ll spank this werewolf bitch in heat business.
Tags: being in heat, cage, controling urges, Paris, Sex, spanking, sweat, werewolves
Werewolves under moonlight
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When werewolves of today, such as myself shape shift during lunar week, it’s usually done indoors. I shape shift because of my werewolf biology that balances with my human side. My body has a compelling need to be something much more free than the whole human part of me.
Shape Shifting for me is mostly done in the company of others and I do it indoors. Mostly because it’s what I’ve conditioned myself, my wolf self to put up with. Because I live in a city. Which is about as natural to a werewolf as a desert is to Eskimos.
It’s a natural progression throughout time and our history that werewolves would evolve from beasts of the forests to counterparts of the urban city jungle. But there’s something to be said for being outdoors in werewolf form. It’s somewhat of a luxury and for me and mine.
There’s a sense of natural instinct and train of thought for the werewolf when its on solid ground, sniffing at dirt and animal scents on the cool night air. The feel of grass and dew underfoot is somewhat of an indulgence. Whenever I shape shift outdoors it’s like a new experience. It’s exciting. Probably because I don’t really do it all that often. After all, the New York werewolf packs have a big, old, golden rule about not shape-shifting in public, in front of humans.
Can’t freak the dears out.
Or get caught on video and become a you tube star.
Still some of us *whistles innocently* on “occasion”, get the urge to be one with our wolf outdoors. It’s these kinds of urges that a werewolf should not ignore. Because being a werewolf requires more than a semblance of self control. Bad shit can happen to you, those around you if you allow yourself to become feral and wild without true thought. And nobody wants to deal with the bad stuff. Just ruins the party.
If I were in Manhattan and felt the need to run and romp, I ‘might’ head out and hideout around Central Park, fairly late at night. Or if I were in Brooklyn, I’d probably sight prospect park as good place to get in tune with my natural self. The parks have a few hundred acres of nature and woodland for us to sniff and whiff around and enjoy under the cover of darkness at night.
Paris and I were making out under a tree, like a couple of hormonal teenagers, as we roughly yanked and pulled clothing off one another. The mixture of night time, a sense of urgency as the moon rose higher, made him harder and me hotter as we kept the contact of one another together. I straddled his lap and he eased me down as his mouth consumed sensitive skin that tightened against the cold night air. I was oblivious to the feel of cold, because the heat he was generating, was like pouring fuel onto an already full fire, that was my body.
We moved, hurriedly and Paris bit his lip, hard, to keep quiet. We didn’t want to attract any attention, human or wolf alike. We wanted to mate outdoors, in the comfort of night and under the essence of the full moon. Before we shape shifted and wandered around the park. For us, being so carefree and outdoors, doing the things we would do indoors at nightclubs was like the equivalent of being at Disneyland.
Happy.
We moved together with a synchronicity of werewolves who were fated together in this life and every other. His body warmed and encouraged mine, as I increased the pace of our fevered outdoor adventure. We’d decided to sneak away from the regular club scene, for the last part of the night. The latest part of the night as we could make it, before I would shape shift first, before him. I always felt the pull of the moon and the shape shift much earlier than he did. Just how it is being a beta werewolf.
Paris warned we couldn’t be out in the parkland all night long. He said only an hour or two. Which would mean, he would need to bring me out of my shape shift later on so I could get redressed and humanized to leave the park, or he’d have to carry my furry rump out of their without looking like he was kidnapping a wolf. Either was, it was apparent he was trying to be the Alpha leader he was meant to be. To do the right thing, and not get caught. But he was also trying to please his pack mate, me by allowing me to indulge in our little down in the dirt, romp. I think he found the risk of getting caught, exciting.
Typical adrenaline junkie. It’s all about the rush. Who was I to complain? I was loving the ride and of course the illicit secrecy of what we were getting away with. My body was suddenly seized by building pleasure racking it. I gasped, throwing my head back, my hair flying out around the back of me like a wave of night itself. Paris could no longer contain his quiet and he cried out, his voice filling the otherwise silent air as he joined me in riding out the sensation of our being together. We could no longer hold back our pleasure or wanted to. Paris howled , filling the night around us as I slackened in his embrace and rested my head on his pounding chest.
The feel of his heart, thudding against his skin. A sound of something that’s mine. Telling me it was racing to met the moon, as it had met me, made me smile.
Werewolves under moonlight, is there anything sexier?
Tags: central park, full moon, lunar week, moonlight, prospect park, Sex, sex outdoors, shape shift, werewolf, werewolves
Mating Dance
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Sometimes, there’s just no need to go out. Don’t get me wrong, the werewolf clubs of New York, are awesome, especially on a lunar week. But I don’t always need them. They provide a…service in the kind of environment that benefits a werewolf going through lunar week. But it’s not like that intensity of sexual need can’t be built upon elsewhere. Especially if you have your own pack mate, who rather specializes in intensity and charisma at the same time.
Call me a sucker, but Paris has it. Loads of it.
So that’s why the plans to go out the other night were completely thrown out the window, whilst our clothes were just thrown around the room. Because whilst werewolves aren’t the most bashful of creatures, when we come to in human form, most of us just don’t want to get arrested for indecency in a public. Most of us. Too many questions, to many hard stares, and then the suspicions arise.
Still, like I said, we didn’t go public. We stayed in. Being the Alpha of the pack, means Paris gets to call the shots, and whilst it might be good for the image of the Alpha to be seen amongst his pack during lunar week, it doesn’t mean he can’t have the occasional night off. Leaving things to his second in command, Addison. Besides, we had been club hopping for the past few nights and we had, intended originally to go out.
But we just never got to it.
See the shower was rather nice and as much as I like the feel of water pounding down on me like a steady massage over my skin, when I’m wound up tight, like on a lunar week, I like the feel of the werewolf before me, even more. Even when he’s not, actually touching me. Well, you know, not to begin with. The build up of anticipation is like a climbing a mountain of expectation and exhilaration. Courses through my blood and pounds at my head, till it’s the only thought in there.
What could be. What’s he going to do to me? What does he want to do? How good is it going to feel? Can I get through that intensity in one piece and still breath? Are my legs going to hold me up?
I was under the spray of the water and he was standing in front me, looking back at me. And we were having a silent conversation of minds and eyes and looks and sighs and moans, and it was all good.
I couldn’t have told you whether the temperature went up due to the water or because of the two of us. Because the anticipation of what could be, was edging us both on. Paris’s hands on his body, my hands found use of mine.
I leaned back against the coolly tiled wall behind me and grinned at him. Sex is best when its fun and utterly, enjoyable. Really, why settle for less? He leaned forward, an inch or so within my space, his breath as hot as the water’s steam, those dark eyes drilling into me. Making me feel owned outright by him, in the kind of way you’re willing to be someone else’s. His arm extended over my shoulder, his palm flat against the wall there. So he was close, oh, so close to me. We moved in a synchronized harmony, that was not only solely for our own pleasure but for the other one’s too.
Werewolves mating dance. It’s the only way a wolf ever wants to be captured.
Of course, after the build up, you have to take the ride, or what’s the point? So there we were, facing one another, dripping in water and surrounded by steam. Listening to each other’s heart racing as our pace increased and our wolves urged us on to one another. Of course, after we got our fill, things didn’t exactly end there.
Why stop at one sin, when you can have all seven?
But it was enough to make both our bodies at ease to find the comfort needed to seamlessly shape shift for the night.
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Altijd Breukelen- I’m a Breukelen. Altijd.
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