A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The wolves howl | October 20, 2010

Lunar week and the wolves howl.

Do you hear them at night, when the moon is out and the air is thick with expectation? Surrounded by the dim glow of candle light, we sink into the feelings that course through our blood and bat at our skin.

We need one another, him and I.

Paris and I are overlooking the city below us. It’s twinkling lights and honking car horns, the sounds of an urban hymn, playing out in regular beats, that seem to match those heart beats of ours.

His hands have pushed up my skirt, and they glide along the backs of my legs, pressing me. Ever so lightly in the small of my back, to lean forward, enjoy the view of the world below, while we indulge in our world above. Manhattan is alive and thrumming with vibrancy. All her werewolves are playing in the night somewhere.

It seems like a rare night for me when I get my Alpha werewolf, Paris, alone and all to myself. Weeks of pack politics and personalities are beginning to leave little room for me and him, without them.

I shake my booty back at him and look over my shoulder with a smile.
Paris’s eyes narrow and he smirks.

“Are you trying to get yourself into trouble here?”

“Nah, trying would imply I don’t know how to do that already.”

Paris chuckles at my comment.

I hear glass clink and voices talk nearby, another balcony, another party in the sky. Looking down on the world below whilst being in another above. My ears pick up the light sound of rustling clothes behind me as Paris’s hands briefly leave me. I look back over my shoulder at him, grinning. Sticking my naked backside out, a little further to him, trying to encourage him along.

Paris’s hands are back on me before too long and I hold onto the balcony as the feel of him, pushes, slowly, thickly, into me.

Lunar week and the wolves howl, for reasons like this. This sensation of being desired with a burning need. The closeness to the freedom within that is coming. The urgency that is being abated by the wolf’s passion. One with another and we move, unique in our silent rhythm, as the night around us continues to squeak, squawk and bustle around us in noise.

I turn my head to look back towards Paris, biting my bottom lip, and catch sight of darkened figure on the unlit balcony next to ours. The shadows aren’t dark enough to hide her, or her companion who is behind her, arms wrapped around the woman’s waist as she touches her breast slowly, her eyes never leaving us. Her companion kissing her neck as she takes in the sights of the world at night beside her. Of Paris and I, indulging in the night’s embrace up here.

I look back out at the city around and below us, my breasts move heavily with each increasing thrust. My hands grip the balcony tighter and Paris’s moans grow louder as we both ride out the night, we are cloaked in. But he restrains and holds back, wanting this to last with me. Wanting me to break first. But I want this to outlast our silent viewers curiosity too.

Because once my body reaches its precipice and the night’s moon thrums through me, The need to shape shift will be swift and smooth. Unstoppable, undeniable. I’ll want to let my wolf out, because it’s been tapping at my skin for hours. And it knows, when I let go, the vulnerability in momentary loss of control, is all it needs to known freedom from this skin. To make me disappear for awhile, and to see a modern world with an ancient grace.

I look back over at our silent viewers, this time I feel paris turn his head to notice them too. His hands slide up my body to cup my breasts. As the companion of the woman do to hers. Her own hands gliding down the front of her robe and disappearing benneath. Our hearing is sharp enough to hear the wet sounds that come from what we can not see. She gasps and her campion murmurs against her skin, seemingly encouraging her on to her own pleasure.

Paris tweaks my nipples through the material of my dress, leans forwards towards my ear and says
“We can take them.”

Briefly, my wolf hazed brain thinks he means, we can take them as meat when our lust is sated. But I blink and shake my head slightly. Loosing focus means loosing control, which is getting harder as my body gets heightened.

The shadowed woman’s pleasure is heard, but dulled as her companion, slips a hand over her mouth as she jerks against the body behind her, giving in to her own dark howl.

But the thought of is already planted and the idea of werewolf sex and meat is filtering through me, as fast as my oncoming orgasm. It’s the silent pleasure that breaks the wave in me and makes me come hard. I gasp like I need air, as my fingers dig into the balcony and I silently join the wolves that howl on a lunar night.

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3 Comments »

  1. Whoaaaa hoho. Hot stuff B! Well done!

    Comment by Pierre — October 20, 2010 @ 8:20 am

  2. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by Rob Myers, Rob Myers and Pierre Novaeu, Breukelen_girl. Breukelen_girl said: The wolves howl: http://wp.me/pyFur-14E #werewolves #lunarweek […]

    Pingback by Tweets that mention The wolves howl « A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn -- Topsy.com — October 20, 2010 @ 9:05 am

  3. Beautiful, erotic, delicious… 🙂

    Comment by Goddess Aphrodite — October 20, 2010 @ 2:37 pm


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