A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

The to do list.

July 10, 2010
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Spending a couple days in a cage, does wonders for a girl’s bitch meter.

Gabby from the Manhattan Maen Pack found this out, after the fact.

Sure, there was a reason I was put in the cage. But being put in a cage, doesn’t mean I have to or am every likely to, enjoy being there. I can understand that, because being in heat, isn’t as simple as it fucking sounds when you’re a werewolf.   But then again, when is anything ever simple when you’re a werewolf?

Always having to double think things through, always checking over your shoulder, always aware of your surroundings and always, consciously working on your control and being in control of the animal side of you. Always, that control thing, that never stops. Like ever, throughout your entire existence.

It’s part of the condition, susceptible to things, like, the unpredictability of suddenly being in heat.

Returning to Manhattan for Paris, must’ve been like going into rehab for him. You know, a paid for holiday away from the distraction that is me, in his life.  At least, that’s what Gabby told me when she came to get me.

She works with him, did I tell you that?

Fucking hate that. She’s his pack, so really, not much choice in the matter. Every pack werewolf is expected to do whatever is required of them, when called upon by their leading Alpha.  And Gabby would never want to disappoint Paris, if she thought she could somehow get into his good graces and bed.

She took one look at me and her whole demeanor changed in a heartbeat.  Scowling, growling and ready to bear claws.

Apparently, I had sex hair and was glowing.

Apparently Gabby doesn’t like sex hair and the glowing look on me, because it indicates I’ve

A)    had sex

B)    had sex recently

C)    had a lot of sex recently

D)    and done it all with Paris

Also, did I mention on no particular principal, she just hates my guts?

Never has liked me, from the moment we met.  Probably because

A)    I’m younger than her

B)    I’m also cuter

C)    I’m dating the guy she so obviously wants

D)    I’m fucking the guy she so obviously wants

E)     She’s been mooning over him, for years (no solid proof on this, just a hunch, since they’re from the same pack and all)

F)     Paris has never shown any interest in dating or fucking her. EVER.

G)    I’m not from her pack and I’m dating her Alpha.

Gabby was on pack duty. Doing what was required of her, as asked by her pack leader, Paris.   Paris got called away and his lieutenants were all tied up in other pack business, and so Gabby got called in.   We weren’t in Brooklyn or Manhattan and she had to come and collect me, to take me back home.

Yes, what a genius idea in learning patience, understanding and tolerance. In keeping tempers firmly under control.  Put me and bitch face together in a car, for awhile. And instruct us, not to tear each other, or the car apart.

The car was after all, only a rental.

“I’m not doing this for your benefit.” She stated as we both got into the car.

“I wouldn’t think you’d ever do anything for anyone’s benefit other than your own.” I replied, sliding into my seat.  She tensed up and turned to face me.

“I’m not allowed to tear this car apart with you in I, because I was asked, not to, by my Alpha. That’s the only reason, you’re safe in here.  If I didn’t have to do this bullshit baby sitting duty on some velléitaire, sous développé, l’onu digne, excuse for a loup-garou, I wouldn’t hesitate to make my case known about how much I dislike you and how you don’t belong amongst my pack or in the presence of my Alpha.”

I think her verbal attack was supposed to make me cry or something.

Phul-ease.  Take a ticket and get in line, jealous bitch.

“Chienne drive.” I replied calmly clicking my seat belt into place.

She snapped her teeth closed and shape shifted them to werewolf fangs, before lunging across the seat at me and snapping them closed, close to my neck.  I felt her breath touch my skin.

I tried not to flinch and react.

She laughed and pulled back into her own seat and started the car up.   Pulled her sunglass down and kept laughing before muttering through those fangs “Your nothing but a velléitaire loup-garou”.

Relaxing, wasn’t exactly what I came out feeling from getting out of that cage.  It might have been caged to prevent me from being a harm to others, but I’d probably have enjoyed beating her down when I’d been in heat.  It’d have given me something to do with my  paws.

Things to keep in mind, for the next time for the what “to do” list.

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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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