Rage of the Werewolf
Being a Werewolf is all fine and dandy. Except for that one little problem. The Rage.
On the edge of Denver, in the suburbs that separate the hustle and bustle of the big city from the grand splendor of nature lives a red skinned man, sitting calmly on a cushion in the middle of his room. The sweet scent of nightshade incense sticks smoldering quietly envelopes the man's nose, and the only noise in the room is the dull hum of his ceiling fan, and the quite murmur of his mantra.
Beads of sweat roll down the man's brow, despite the comfortably cool temperature. You see.. his blood is warming up. The sun's light has yet to take it's orange and pink fire from the sky for the night, and already, tonight's full moon is beginning to rise. Zen thoughts, sweet scents, gentle winds, and an empty mind can perhaps hold off the monster for just a few more hours.
Now, I know what you all are thinking. Wouldn't it be grand to be a wolf, To run free and wild? My dear, poor furries. To be a wolf is one thing. To be a Werewolf is something different all together. As this man knows, A Werewolf is a curse- The monstrous form is only a small part of that curse. A Werewolf is a creature of pure spite, pure anger, the embodiment of Rage itself. I know some among you feel you would have the willpower, the skill, the calm, the spirit, or otherwise some ability to confine, hold back, transmute, temper or direct the Rage of the Werewolf, but please, trust me on this. No person, no matter how wondrous they are, can suppress the deadly Rage of a Werewolf's Curse within them.
Thoughts similar seep into the Man's mind.. his blood burns. The moon hangs higher in the night sky, shining through the man's windows as an angler's lure to it's unsuspecting prey. The man's skin itches, stubble of an animals fur forcing it's way through. Calm.. calm is weak. The world is weak. Weakness is a disease-
NO!
The man struggles desperately against angry thoughts, penetrating his mind, his consciousness from every angle. The incense stinks. He can smell it, so intensely with his longer, canid snout. He can even hear the smoldering ash as it drops off the stick, his superior lupine ears making sure of that. Fabric strains, creaks, and eventually buckles and rips. Shirt, pants, even belt, none of these garments were made for this perfect, large and unstoppable body. The wolf stands from his cushion, ripping from his brown furred body the rest of the tattered clothes. Natural now, and unrestrained, The angry monster leaps in a single bound from the middle of the room, out the open window.
The events that follow are a blur. The man in the Wolf is only vaguely aware. The wolf is intensely aware however. He knows exactly where to go, knows exactly who to hunt and who to kill. Dull lights like small moons illuminate the Police Station, Officer Stanton would be sorry for abusing his powers. He knows his scent well, knows his crimes.
The powerful monster breaks through the sliding glass door. The station is alive with bothersome noise, alarms, ringing, but that's okay- The wolf's ears can focus, adjust, pick out the heartbeats and breaths before him, even through all the noise. Thick metal security door is no match for the beast's supernatural claws, ripping the door from it's hinges. The police open fire, The bullets sting the monster's flesh like angry wasps- But nothing more serious. Some bravely block the beast's path, only to find themselves knocked away by powerful arms, knocked into brick, bleeding, unconscious, broken, Lucky to be alive. Lucky the beast has a focus, a purpose, a vendetta today. He bursts into the police locker room, snarling, barking. Not fully undressed is the chiseled body he recognizes as Stanton. Stanton is quick, well trained, and fights dirty. In a snap, He grabs a gun, and fires at the Werewolf's groin.
Yes. Yes. Werewolf does indeed have nards. They ring with pain, as if he'd been kicked, It's enough to give him pause, Enough for Stanton to empty the clip against the monster's chest. But even Stanton's ego and heart sink and deflate, seeing the wolf stand over him, the purest of hatred bearing down, looming over the tiny human form. The wolf repays Stanton's kindness, ripping away his jockstrap, along with it's contents, a gaping, bloody hole in his groin where his proud genitalia once were. The beast snaps out, powerful jaws crushing the corrupt officers eyesockets in one powerful bite. He'll take an hour or so to die, to bleed out, or perhaps he'll let go, let shock take him and go cold early. It does not matter to the beast. The cop won't see the sunrise. The intelligent or cowardly among the building have already fled, perhaps one or two remain, fire a few more stings at the wolf. He ignores them, on his way to the server room to destroy the CCTV evidence. He's the embodiment of rage, not stupidity.
With the city ringing with loud sirens and the domestics in the city howling along with those sirens, The wolf runs from the busy city. He's hungry. It's time to hunt. The best food is fresh food, food he can feel warm, bleeding in his jaws. He smells the deer, following that scent with supernatural speed, the deer's throat crushed and torn before she's even aware of danger. A quick end for a quick supper.
A new scent catches the wolf's nose. Half eaten pray drops from his arms, bloody jaws, dirty paws all become still.. Humanity. A single human. Deep in the woods. No doubt littering, lighting fires, using overpowered weaponry to feed a lust, not a hunger. The wolf's rage boiled again, boiled for humanity. Boiled for it's end, it's destruction. He drops his prey- Scavengers will make short work of it after all.
The Werewolf runs through the woods, to a dull light, where the scent comes from. A small trailer. A tiny trailer even.. The wolf's nose tells him it's been here for years. decades, perhaps even longer. Only one scent. A single person lives inside. A single women.. Ears can pick out.. humming. Not from inside.. Just behind it. A soothing hum.. a gentle song, some melody long forgotten. The brown furred figure stalks closer, behind the trailer.. peeking.. A red skinned women, slightly mature.. the edges eyes show signs of an age the rest of her body seems to have ignored. She's wet, too. In a tub, steam wafting from the water's surface.
Wasteful. Who knows how she heated the water, all for her own pleasure. The huge, hulking form of the werwolf's fur bristles, raises. An angry growl raises from the deepest parts of his chest, stepping out, no longer making his presence secret. The woman looks up, startled as the wolf looms over the edge of the tub, over the woman as he did the corrupt officer not even hours ago.
But.. Somethings wrong.
The woman looks up, letting the rough loofah sponge she was using float in the water. There's no fear in her eyes. There's no anger, no malice. The wolf can hear her heart, as calm as the quiet night itself. Her hands lift, palms upturned, as if to welcome the angry beast. She even speaks, "Has death come to take me away so quickly? Or has death come only to visit and keep an old maid company?" Her voice is calm, soothing.. The age of her voice so young, not at all belonging to one claiming to be an old maid.
She stands up, and water rolls off her chest. Modest breasts, shamelessly hanging for the wolf to see, A woman as comfortable with her nudity as the beast is. "It's cold, and you've gore all over your body. You don't have to decide right now, But let me clean you up a little while you decide." Her fingers are already slipping between the wolf's claws, between his pawpads. Her eyes.. the gentle beauty of her eyes, free from judgment, they seem to stop the wolf's rage cold. The man and the wolf for the first time in their mutual lives in the shared body completely aware. present. singular. He steps where she leads, one long hindpaw dipping into the warm water, then the next.
She lowers her body into the water, still holding paws with the wolf, And the beast follows her lead. She releases one paw, Holding the first, fingers smoothing about his pawpads, under his nails, rubbing away the flesh of his earlier prey. The water already becomes a touch red, a bit murky. She makes smalltalk while cleaning the beast of his hunts. Speaking idly, never expecting a response, "It's been awhile since I've seen another being. Usually I can't stand them It's why I live all the way out here. It gets lonely, but it's better then dealing with.. people." she manages to spit out finally, as if the word were a bit of a curse. as her hands and loofah carefully rub along the beast's stained muscles, she has no trouble looking into his eyes. She doesn't stare through, just glancing.. Not perfect, but when she finishes, She places a kiss over his snout, gentle.. The beast of instincts can feel his sheath stir, But the man is shy, placing the single being in conflict.
The girl stands, and steps out of the reddened water, her skin smells of his prey's gore, but clean of salt, clean of sweat. Better then the stink of death hat was clinging to his nose, muzzle and teeth. She openly embraces the monster, arms about his wet body, pulling his head against her soft chest. "Let's go inside. Stay with me tonight if you wish. Your instincts are welcome in my home." The beast and the man can only follow, Werwolf's nose flaring, drinking in her natural scent. The man's paws cover his groin, trying to hide the lipstick of red flesh peeking from his swollen sheath.
The wolf has to duck to enter the girl's home, but he follows. Eager, intrigued. Wet fur drips on the floor, alongside a wet set of footsteps left by the girl. There are flowers inside, floral scents, but nothing.. unnatural. No artificial stink to cover the tangy, gently metallic scent his loins recognize and respond to so eagerly. He stalks into the woman's bedroom, finding her belly down on her mattress, legs spread, no shame or shyness, nothing coy, her displayed desire as subtle as a train.
The beast on the otherhand is frozen in place, arms trying so desperately to hide the red flesh behind his paws, for the first time, unsure how to go. But her direction helps, "If your instincts hurt me tonight, I accept that. I just want you to stay with me tonight. Lay with me, Wolf." He needs no more encouragement.. The weight of wet fur is upon the girl, broad paws and claws curling about her smaller arms, pinning her down in place.. his muzzle hovers near her ears, and he growls deeply.. He can hear her breath, hear her heart quicken, but the scent.. the scent of lust, the scent of need spikes quickly, hitting his senses. Powerful legs pin the woman's down, his hips rolling, his canid flesh slick from the natural juices of his own sheath, he lets her feel it, teasing her, teasing himself, slick warmth glides along the lips of her feminine folds, along the crevice of her rear, over her clenched, tiny pucker. His teeth carefully pinch, nip and tease, alongside her neck, and she coos, lifting her hips so eagerly to his lust.
His growl has made strong men weak.
His growl makes her flame blossom.
His claws have sundered armor as it were foil.
His claws makes her skin bumpy, as if set by a chill.
His jaws have crushed the necks of warriors and bears.
His jaws makes her bare bottom push so needfully.
He finally obliges his lust, her lust, thick, girthy canid flesh sinking within her folds smoothly, so hot, so needy, so slick within, it's only her body's size that gives friction, wet passage squeezing snugly about his flesh as he sinks within completely, hips against her rump, sheath bunched up against her stretched lips. Jaws grasp her neck, holding her, teeth sinking just abit within her skin, and his hips begin the ancient rhythm, that need, that beat seeded deep in our DNA
THUMP, The girl coos.
THUMP, The girl moans,
THUMP, The girl tosses her head back, screeching for more, it stings, deep inside, on her neck, but those pains don't matter at all. The weight, the desire, the compleate lack of.. of bullshit, the fullness, everything comes together for her. Her body lurches forward on the bed from the force of his powerful hips, trying to bury his bone as deep, deep as his body, as her body will allow. He could be bashing her cervix, going so deeply, but she does not care. A bulb, a bulge pops past her lips, and back out, bringing with it a rush of her juices, a loud, lewd wet noise, which he stuffs back within her and pulls right back out, until that bulge at the base of his pistoning shaft simply too swollen to pull back out, and even then, The huge werewolf trying to push still, short, quick little thrusts. His knot swells up completely, a piercing howl rocking the trailer as his burst of hot seed rocks her body, The girl beneath her screaming, her own juices washing alongside the deeply embedded shaft, jets of hot cream flooding her womb, filling her body's needs completely!
Like any good boy, The sheer burst of energy from such a connection wears him down.. possessive arms wrap about her chest, and he rolls to the side, pulling on her with arms and knot, forcing her to her side. A gentle tongue laps along her wounded neck, soothing the sting of his lust-driven bite. Her own arms cross over the wolf's arms, holding them to against her soft cushion-like chest. Fulfilled, tied together, exhausted, the damp pair fall to sleep.
A sleep's dreams continuously replay the night to both the women and the beast, and as they wake, thair memories are foggy, groggy. The man's hands rest against her breast, fingertips idly toying with her stiff nipple. The wolf's shape has been put to rest with the moon, But the wolf is still present. The fog of his rage, the curse of his anger seemingly lifted in one night, by this lusty, wise hermit lady, who could say so much with so few words. His hips grind, still swollen member gliding within the rather messy passage, forcing another sqwelch of cream to drool from her abused, sore flower.
I suppose, Now you wonder, When I was so insistent that a person cannot control the curse of a werewolf, how a simple, anti-social human can so calm his rage and anger? Well. That's just the thing. No one can stop their own curse. It takes another's kind touch to heal and sooth the pain of rage and anger. It needs not even be love- Just simple kindness.