A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Sexual Beast

July 5, 2010
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Hot days mean hot nights in Brooklyn.

I can think of a few enjoyable ways to live in the heat and get by. I don’t mind the heat, especially when I’m not so much thinking about it, as I am just glistening with sweat in it. Means ice cubes will melt at the touch of skin contact. Heat means outdoors, outdoors means, open space and a sense of freedom. Freedom to a werewolf is the ultimate pleasure, really.

Heat means, body temperature’s rise. Means libido’s do too. At least, that’s what I reckon.

So having a rooftop to chill out on, is amazing, especially at night, when it’s lit up by fairy lights, and music is playing, dancing across the wind and cocktails are the only liquid that make you think you’re anywhere but in your home town.

Salsa dancing with Paris in a corner of the rooftop, my leg between his, my hips rubbing up against his, our clothes, getting sticker with heat and sweat than when we arrived. Flimsy cotton material fluttering against movement, and proving a very minimal form of modest protection from full blown skin contact.

Tasteful teasing. Doing as much as you can in public with your clothes on with your pack mate. Dry humping, because you can, you want to and nobody will notice it anymore than anyone else, bumping and grinding their hips about the place. Salsa is sexy. Salsa in the heat is sexier.

Hands on my ass and we’re hip to hip, groin to groin, chest to chest when the growling and kissing starts. Which means, we could be in danger of losing our clothes, sooner rather than later. He’s been a good boy all day, working. And all night, he’s mine. I’m engulfing us in the heat of the night. And our bodies are aflame because of one another. Because of the intimacy of our connection. His lips by my ear and he growls, a low, husky sound, for only me to hear. It’s more like a low whine of want, without saying anything.

One hand slips under the edge of my dress and he grips my bottom tightly. He starts biting into the edge of my jaw and then running his tongue over it, before repeating the action again.

Hot, hard and willing my werewolf is. Can’t say I’m not either. So I take his lips with mine, and burn us together softly, in a kiss that is igniting sparks inside me. Making me want to touch myself, and rub myself up against him.

Some wolves, consider this, a way of marking their mate, when they’re out. Leaving their scent all over them, you can do it, just from a lot of bodily contact, through clothing. The scent seeps in, stays on clothing longer, than it does on skin. Probably something to do with porous fibres or some such.
Smelling scent like this, lets any werewolf know, that you are very much, taken. It’s kind of like, you can smell the before the sex part, the scent that says, sexed up and taken. It’s not detectable to a human, but to a werewolf it sends out a clear message.

The kiss deepens and I feel his fingers dig harder into the muscle of my backside, his nails sharpening, slowly and ever so slightly. One of us is going to give in to this heatwave.

Nobody will see the partial shape shift, because we’re alone in our little corner of hot-ville, dancing in a dimly lit area, his hand on the side away from public viewing. Paris drags his claws around my backside, to my hip, light enough to feel them rake along skin, as he grinds his crotch into me. Letting me know exactly, what he wants to do to me.

My turn to whine deeply in the back of my throat and let out the tiniest gasp of air, as our lips part briefly, because he’s got me not only moving against him, with him, but I’m starting to squirm and now he’s holding on. Making me feel like I’m burning in his embrace, as those claws rise, higher up my leg, to my hip.

“We need to call it a night.” I sigh as he starts kissing my throat, and I move my head to angle it for better access for him.

“Do, we?” Paris murmurs back at me. “You’re the one who wanted to go out dancing.”

A sound, not unlike a strangled groan rises in my throat. It’s the start of a howl, creeping up inside of me. I never felt it coming. Normally there’s a rumbling sensation within, kind of like a 2 second delay warning, of the howl to come within.

A howl just means, I’m extremely turned on. So much so I might shape shift. I’m kind of loosing control between the two extremes and really, it was all my own doing. I knew perfectly well that we’d end up this way. Knew Paris would turn me on, use his body against mine. Knew I wanted him too.

“I’m kind of panting here.” I blurt out quickly, not trusting my voice, it’s getting shaky. Vocal cords are ready to start shape shifting. If I speak again, I’ll probably sound quite gruff. Sound, quite animal like, but Paris will be able to understand me. It’s an innate ability you get with your werewolf senses. Being able to make out werewolf speech, when the voice changes.

“You can’t hold out?” He asks softly serious.

The claws, shape shift, I feel the slightest shimmer against my skin and the difference as they become fingers again. Fingers that descend forward, over the rise of my hip, towards our union of very hot body parts.I shake my head from side to side and his fingers stop they’re light descent and he pulls the side of my dress back down, adjusting my clothing for me. Covering me back up.

I can’t even trust my voice at this point to come out as a human sounding one.

I thought I had good control over my wolf.

Seems I forgot she’s a sexual beast in heat too.

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Heat wave

February 26, 2010
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Paris. His hands. They drive me insane with pleasure.
Seriously. Insane.
The man is a master.
And his wolf, my mate.

Okay, sure it’s a lunar week and as the week goes on and the moon gets fuller, my needs too get higher. Wild urges, need sating and I guess you could say, I get weaker. I cave in far more easily to Paris’s effect over me.

So sitting around a table with his confidantes, isn’t sexy. Especially when I want him. I want him badly. And he damn well knows it. He’s been playing mister cool and collected all evening.

We sit. At the table, beside one another, Addison and two of his other confidantes on the other side of the table. They’re all talking about pack business, I think.

I barely hear their words. Because I’m listening to Paris’s heart beat. Tap out a cool, regular rhythm. The man is in cruise control with me. His hands are driving me to distraction. Okay, it’s his fingers.

The club atmosphere is thick and heavy, seeping into me. Really, not helping with self-control, but making Paris’s little game of making me come undone, so much easier for him.

At first, he just puts his hand on my thigh, rests it there. So there was is a little warm patch of heat transference from him to me.

Then he starts tapping a finger on my thigh, slowly, softly, matching the pace of his heart beat. Letting me know, he’s the one here, who’s running the show, he’s in control.

Then he starts drawing these lazy circles, over and over again, on the same part of my thigh. Kind of absently, while he keeps talking to Addison, and picking up his drink with his free hand. Like nothing is amiss, nothing is going on under the table out of view.

Yeah right.

Of course, the others can’t actually see what’s going on. And I’m feeling a little flushed, wondering, if it shows on my face. Wondering if they think It’s just from the heat of the club stifling us, or if they know.

So I try to ignore that finger drawing invisible circles on my thigh. Tracing it’s way around my skin, over and over again, like it’s all it knows to do.

I pick up my drink and damn near down the whole thing. Because it’s getting to me. That finger, moving softly, assuredly, around and around.

I see Paris’s mouth twitch at the corner, as if to smile at his handy work. Of course, that’s all the encouragement he needs, to make me suffer, even more.

So he get’s bolder.

He pushes aside the material of my dress, and slides his hand around my thigh, towards my heat wave and presses that finger, against the moistness there, seeping through the lace, that’s covering me.

My mouth drops open and I realise, in time, I’m about to gasp, so I pick up my drink and finish it. Paris instructs, Jules to order another round of drinks at just that moment.

He so knows what he’s doing to me.

I can’t believe they haven’t noticed us. I’m beginning to wonder if they can smell the sex that’s building around us. In the booth, around the table, because of what Paris is doing to me. probably not, because the whole club is emanating so much sexual presence.

He keeps pressing against that sensitive spot, and that finger, it starts doing those little circles again, rubbing the lace over me with the movement. I try to move, to move out of his grasp. Because I’m not going to be able to take it. Without losing my mind or you know, having a bit of a very loud moment at the table. So I kind of squirm, but his whole hand suddenly presses down on me.

The strength in that hand, pins me to my seat. I’m not going anywhere. He won’t let me get away. It’s Paris’s silent way of telling me to sit there and take it. He’s not going to let me move away from him.

Of course, to the guys on the other side of the table, it probably just looked like I was sitting a bit more upright. Nothing out of the ordinary going on here. Really.

Just my packmate driving me insane with a serious need. Serious. I’m beginning to wonder if I should just ask him to take me over the table then and there, in front of them all. It wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary, that’s very werewolf behaviour. Very Alpha werewolf behaviour.

Part of me wonders, what he’d do. Weather he’d take me up on the offer or just keep up the pleasant form of torture he’s got me trapped and taking in.

Just when I’m not sure I can take it any longer, because I need to cry out or howl, or touch him, or stop him or all of the above, he makes the other three guys leave us. Quickly.

No sooner are they out of the booth and out of sight when I gasp and that finger, presses me, just so and my eyes lock on him, my mind blanks, my body shudders and Paris smiles at me.


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