Five stories of paranormal love between unlikely partners.
This is your third peep at the stories in this unique anthology. We've had a ghost, a vampire, now a werewolf who knows what might be next.
The first post that gives you a taste of "That's Where He Died" can be found Here The Second, Dance With Me is here
I close my eyes and let them fill with cornflower blue. Letting my hands run over my chest, I imagine they are his. I have both nipples pierced, my one real rebellion against my parents, and my status. No one knows about them, of course, but it’s all the sweeter for it.
Letting out my breath in a long sigh I hook my fingers into the rings and pull. Ahh, the sweet pain. My back arches, and my breath hisses from my lips. I groan and squirm as my cock starts to throb in earnest. I may not yet be a man in the eyes of the pack, but have a man’s needs, a man’s desires.
Among our kind, the females become fertile on every full moon, and, unless they are mated and marked, they are secluded, away from the men, who prowl and posture and fight over the unattached girls who, if they wish, can accept any offer – for one night or a lifetime – hold themselves out as the prize in the fighting.
When the men scent the hormones released by the females at this time, they become insatiably horny. They seclude themselves for hours at a time, pleasuring themselves. That has never happened to me and I thought it never would, but this sure feels the way they described. Even though it isn’t near the full moon I find myself growing desperate a dozen times a day and have to run away from whatever I’m doing, or else be driven insane, waiting until I can.
I feel hot, my whole body prickling. Shucking out of my shirt feels good, but not good enough. Breathing hard, I continue twisting my nipple ring with one hand as I let the other roam down over my belly, to slip under the belt of my jeans. Oh hell that feels good. A little lower and a little more and a little more, and-- “Ah.” My yelp is very wolfish, and very obvious. There are sounds wolves make only during sex and, try as I might, I can’t suppress them, even when the only sex I’m having is with myself… which is always. Just as well my room’s away from the more populated areas of the great hall.
Biting down hard on the whimpers, I twist my body so I can get my hand further into my jeans and slide my fingers down the length of my cock, and back to squeeze the head and run my nails over the sensitive skin, deliberately catching them in the slit. It’s another delicious pain. I only wish I could bend like a true wolf and take it between my teeth. Thinking of it, I let my claws slide out and pierce the skin.
Dance With Me
That's Where He Died
Son of Angels
More snippets to come, with a full story at the end. Keep tuned