A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

Sexual Beast

July 5, 2010
1 Comment

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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