A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Tangled | November 20, 2010

Any thoughts I had of Booker Parish are quickly forgotten, when I find myself under the intense heated gaze of a werewolf in need.

Paris’s eyes roam over me before he reaches for me. I think I can see the wolf behind those midnight, dark blue, eyes.

“We’re working on a time limit here, so don’t take it slow on my account.”

He smiles back at me. Patience on a lunar night, on a time limit, it’s never been a strong point of mine. Ever.

“I’d rather savor you, than not have enough.” Paris replies, putting a finger to my lips, to silence any further protests.

Except that I open my mouth, run the tip of my tongue along that finger, before sucking said finger into, said mouth. Silencing for a moment or two, both of us. His eyes widen.

“Now you’re just not playing fair.”

I half smile, as I keep working the finger in my mouth and licking it, like a treat that I might savor of him. He moans and goes to withdraw the finger from my mouth and I graze my teeth along it, as he does so.

“Better than giving in to violent tendencies. Besides, who said fair had anything to do with this?”

He smirks back at me, and I see the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it. Bring it on.” He mocks me with, pulling at my top quickly, the same time my hands go for his belt buckle and jeans.

“Oh I’ll bring it, Alpha boy.” I taunt back at him with a smile, my hands working fast to undo his jeans and pull them down around his hips. But it’s hard to do, when he’s pulling at my top, making me have to leave his clothing alone as I raise my arms so he can remove the obtrusive piece of material.

He might be an Alpha werewolf who doesn’t technically have to shape shift until full moon night, unlike me. But during lunar week he’s just as amped up and susceptible to being overcome by the heightened senses we all go through during the week the moon goes through it phases. The good, the bad and the ridiculously horny. Being denied a sexual partner, when he’s had one quite regularly, well, that wouldn’t exactly curb his requirements or appetite as such. So cracking his resolve to savor and be gentlemanly about us, is easy enough.

Only he’s got the upper hand, as it were.

Paris pulls my top up and as it goes over my face, and mouth, my arms still raised above my head, he pulls the material in close. So I’m effectively blind folded and tied up. Tangled within my own clothing.

“I’m pretty sure we’ve discussed, messing with this Alpha before, haven’t we?”

His voice is serious and it makes me want to gulp down a nervous vat of saliva in my throat. “Now,” He continues on, tightening up the ends of my top, so it is tied and I can’t free my arms or get it over the rest of my head. “We’re going to savor some time together.” He pushes me lightly so I fall backwards, letting out a squeak as I land, bouncing on my bed. “You’re Alpha commands it of you.”

The bed dips with the movement of him, crawling over me, on it.

“Now, where am I going to start?” even though I can’t see where he’s looking my nipples tighten in response to his question, through my bra and I hear him chuckle. Like he’s noticed it, or he’s just aware of my anxious state for him to just start. But his fingers ghost over the skin of stomach, and play with the waistline of my skirt.

I bite my lip partially out of nerves, partially because I don’t want to start begging him. Those fingers leave my skin and I feel his warm hands slid up my legs. Making me want to pull them further apart from him. But I resist, it might be seen as desperate and I want him to be as desperate as I feel here. Otherwise, that’s really just not playing fair!

Warm hands glide over my skirt, pushing it up my legs, higher it climbs and I try to keep my breathing even.
“Yes, this is where I’ll start.” He says, and there’s a finger tracing the seam of my underwear. Running along my inner thigh. It feels good and ticklish at the same time.

I press my teeth harder into my lip, so I can suppress the giggle building there. But before I can even start to make a noise, that finger’s trail moves. Slips underneath the material covering me from him. And it touches me gently. My breath catches with the sensation of the touch and the finger slides deeper, inside of me. I lose all thoughts of being quiet and docile and moan loudly.

He chuckles at my response.

“More.” I mutter through the material still blocking my eyes from the sight of what he’s doing to me.

“More?” He asks innocently. “More of this?” He asks as I feel a second finger slick its way in. “Or do you mean,” He pauses as he pushes in deeper. “More like this? Or like this,” He says fastening the tempo before stopping it all together. “Be specific here, we’re on a time schedule after all.”

I bang my head back against the soft pillows in frustration.

“You’re going to kill me.” I groan.

“Only if the not having you part, doesn’t kill me first.” Paris replies sounding way to smug and playful. I groan and start fighting the constraints of my top that has tied me up. But the material doesn’t give, he’s done a dam good job of binding me in my own clothing.

“Stop thrashing about.”

I stop, sigh and breathe heavily. Giving up on getting out of my predicament until he lets me.

“It’s a tangled web we weave.” He jokes, before resuming my gentle death by delight.

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2 Comments »

  1. Yes. I love tangles. Obviously you like it too. But you’re been coy. Lol. Thx for the post. Signed PN.

    Comment by Pierre — November 23, 2010 @ 4:56 am

    • Note to self. DETAILS.

      It’s about the details. likes details (and coyness). It’s a fine balance.

      🙂

      Comment by Breukelen Girl — November 23, 2010 @ 5:22 am


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