A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Want | January 21, 2010

The atmosphere in the werewolf friendly Manhattan club, Crescent, is building as the night goes on in New York. Taking us higher to our calling with the moon’s radiance.

Temperature is on the rise and skin, coated in films of sweat, like droplets of hunger are on display for all to see.

Some werewolves enjoy more than just the electric current in the air, of a pack playing together in the clubs during lunar week. They need more than a sexually charged atmosphere, that doses them in unbridled lust and wanton pleasure. It’s hedonistic to say the least and yes it is one of those things I enjoy in my life.

Being part of a collective feeling of burning fire and raw passion.

We do not hesitate.
We do not back down form acknowledging the werewolf in us, needs an out.

Needs to feel the love of pack and consummation of it’s energy matched by another kind of energy.

So when Paris’s hand slides up my naked leg, and cups the curve of my bottom, pulling me in tighter against him, I move eagerly with him. Press towards his solid body of heat. My want is his want and he wants exactly the same thing I want.

Our passion is on the rise, and is threatening to come undone in a ravenous wave that threatens to take us over and loose all sense of control.

But hey? Isn’t that the best part of it all?

I get pressed into the cool glass wall behind me, that I hadn’t known was there, until the solid reality of it reminds me, that I will be able to stand, if need be. My throaty laugh at this thought and the image of Paris’s solid arms, already encasing my legs, raising my hips, gets a special little treat from him.

The glass is frosted, but when it’s touched, it goes clear, so when my back hits it, the glass goes transparent and we become a live screen viewing for all to see.

He attacks my lips, causing my smile to falter, as his tongue takes control of my dirty little mouth. How dare I laugh his power tells me, I’m supposed to groan, and moan and sigh with every movement between us. Dry humping or not. Insert evil grin of pleasure here please.

But now I’m too focused on matching his magnificent mouth and letting it plunder mine to realize, I’m already making those small, pathetic, noises. The throbbing base of the music in the club is vibrating through the glass wall at my back and it’s shockingly just adding, to the sensation of my, already tender state.

I’m feeling targeted by Paris’s dominance over my body. I’m feeling loved.

And I want.
And I need. My Alpha werewolf.

But he’s not going to rush my haze of my pleasure. He’s going to take his time, because he wants to enjoy this rise of emotion in us, as much as me. Having held on to our control in the daytime, even as the moon appeared to approach the nightfall, we let it out so we can breathe together.

Everything’s ten times better during lunar week. Heightened till it seeps out your pores. Heightened so much you just don’t think you can take it.

My poor mouth, lipstick is smeared and my lips are tenderized within an inch of life. Paris bends his head, to continue his sensual assault on my state of half undress.

We stager slightly away from the glass wall again. It frosts up. Blocking us from view of the patrons of Crescent. A mixture of Manhattan Maen werewolves and a handful of humans.

The shoulder strap of my top has fallen, beyond low on my arm. Giving him the perfect opportunity to push the top further down. Paris’s eagerness pushes me back up against the glass wall causing us to be on display again.

Not that either of us minds, we’re so into each other that nothing could phase us.

As we join together, there seemingly is a sigh, lightly wavering through the air, from those around us, who see our union is only building. Heightened hearing during lunar week, means we can hear the sighs like whispers in the air.

More and more, as we touch, suck, kiss and grope continuously for one another, it brings pleasure to those in the club, sensing the Alpha’s fulfillment, my rapture as we ride together.

Now I gasp for air.

Air that is hot and infused with a sense of awareness, that we are not the only ones enjoying our time in the club, or each other.

My skin tightens as eyes watch us. I can sense them all around, looking towards our fascinating little glass cubicle room.

But I dare not take my eyes of the Alpha male in front of me. Paris has no intention of stopping, or making apologies and I find I don’t want him to either.

We’re not leaving this thing, alive, until we got what we came for.

Advertisements

Leave a Comment »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

    Arrooo! Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 471 other followers

    Follow A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn on WordPress.com

    Search for posts

    Blog Stats

    • 47,078 hits