FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Acknowledgements: I would like to thank whoever it was that decided it would be a good idea to air Twin Peaks on satellite. Without David Lynch's masterful TV series, I would never have created something like this story. Thanks also go to Toumal, of course, for creating Yiffstar. I hope you enjoy the story.

P.S. There is gore involved, but it has nothing to do with the sex scenes.

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"It came to... me in a dream," she said muddily with a guarded expression on her lean face, darkened by shadows that came from nowhere and everywhere. "A weird dream," she added hurriedly, her voice strange and broken. "She told me she could see... for-ever, and her cousin looked just like my brother." She glanced away to face the uninterrupted walls of the log cabin.

"Who did?" he asked her, and his voice did not twist in the air as hers had done. His was devoid of the unnatural accents, the gaping pauses and strange slurs. "Who told you this?" He noted she did not tear her gaze away from the walls.

Her head snapped back round to face him. "Baba Yaga," she said in a quiet, hushed voice that drew his attention away from the inhuman shadow that flickered on the wooden wall. She stood up straight now and arched backwards, a predatory smile on her lips. "How far... you've come, my... dear-brother," she whispered. "A shame you couldn't put me back... together again." She snapped back and gathered the hem of her dress into her hands, as her mouth opened wide into a black, curdling scream that oozed through the twisted air.

Blood dribbled down her forehead, as she leapt up onto the gigantic oven. It covered her. The crimson trickled down her neck. Her skin broke out into black pustules like those that had killed her. Her scream curdled, echoed and twisted in the air like her body. She fidgeted, went into a spasm and flailed wildly as she had done not long ago, in the torment of her disease-ridden sleep. His sister leaned forward, still screaming, her body twisted. Still, it sounded unnatural; the wrong syllables accentuated, unnatural gaps between breaths and a lungful of shrieks. She leapt down. The girl ran up to him, still screaming, her cries like that of agony, her shrieks tearing through the very fabric of space.

A smile slowly spread across his lips, as he realised what she was doing. The dark-haired youth brushed his hair back coolly and waited. Let her scream all she wanted. He would not run. The youth knew the consequences of running. More harm would come to him if he turned his back on her, than if he stood his ground and faced the terror that gushed from her eyes like blood from a wound.

Slowly, she withdrew with a puzzled look of hatred on her face.

"Are you done now, sister?" he said, accentuating his last word with disdain and sarcasm.

The apparition shook her head. "You must be mistaken," she told him. "I am very much alive." She lifted a bent, ancient finger up to tap her gnarled nose and smiled a metallic grin full of sharp, rusted iron. "It's me," she said, as she glared at him from primeval eyes sunken into deep, shadowed sockets. "It's me," said the ancient crone, as she unfolded and towered above him like a skeleton, like Death itself.

"_In the circle of Sycamore Trees,

I sold you and you sold me.

There I hang for you to see

In the circle of Sycamore Trees._ "

Applause spilled forth from some unknown recess and laughter filled the air. There were a few cheers, some whistles of approval and then it died down as applause usually does. It died down into the eerie silence that had smothered him before Baba Yaga had appeared.

"I know you, Vasilii," said Baba Yaga in a twisted voice that accentuated the wrong syllables and left obscene chasms between inappropriate words. She glanced sideways at a shadow that flitted past, quick, unseen by the youth's eyes. "The westward flow... does not hunt alone and... it devours everything." She grinned as he turned to look where the wolf-like shadow had been only moments before. "Sometimes... its music fills the air." The woman winked at him and then gnashed her iron teeth viciously. "Children of the night, walk with me!" She laughed, as the walls of the log cabin burst into flames that beckoned lewdly at them.

The dark-haired youth inhaled sharply and quickly, afraid of the dank air that hung morbidly around him. "I came to the Sycamore Lodge to step through your threshold and into the Other Lodge!" he called out. "I seek the power in that dark abode, oh noble Lady of the Wild!" he shouted over her laugh, over the snaps of the flames as they spread.

Fear gripped his heart so coldly that not even the flames could warm him. He shivered uncontrollably and violently. This was not supposed to happen! He had faced her with courage. She couldn't take his life, his soul, unless he showed improper courage and that was in the Other Lodge. "I seek the Other Lodge!" he cried out.

The old crone lowered her arms and the flames disappeared in an instant. "Stradania!" she spat and the air filled with laughter in response. "Souls visit the Sycamore Lodge," she said quietly, as her entire body shuddered hysterically. "They each inhabit a room... and then... are gone by day." She smiled, as applause filled the air. "Hallelujah!" she exclaimed and the applause stopped abruptly, died with the flames that snapped out of existence.

"Hallelujah!" echoed several voices that growled through the twisted air in unison, as if they were one and many.

Vasilii shivered.

It was a desperate ploy to seek help from Baba Yaga. To move through the circle of Sycamore Trees into her world, into her door-less, windowless log cabin. She would eat those of impure heart and imperfect courage, and decorate her house with their bones.

Yet Vasilii had done it. He had passed through the circle of sycamore trees, widdershins around the puddle of oil and found a way into her log cabin that stood on the threshold between the mortal realm and the Other World. Vasilii had invoked all the magic he had learned to find her realm, to find her and invoke her help.

"It is for my people!" he shouted. "I want to help them."

If he succeeded, he would enter the Other Lodge. There, they would put his courage on trial and if he were worthy, he would partake in their dark power. But he would use it for good! He would use it to save his people from the horrors that ravaged them, that horrible disease that made their skin break out in pustules, that made them sweat blood, that seemed to do everything in its power to turn them inside out.

"It is very late," said Baba Yaga and the invisible audience laughed inappropriately at her words, "or it is very early." She stepped aside and gestured towards the wooden wall behind her, windowless and without a door, like every other wall. "Would you like something... before you go?" she asked him curiously.

A good stiff one, Vasilii thought. A solid drink to steel his nerves, but was that a good idea? Fearless was one thing. Too drunk to recognise the fear was another.

He shook his head.

Vasilii steeled himself and walked towards the wall where Baba Yaga had gestured. There was no door there, but there had to be someway out. He had come in without too much difficulty, so getting out shouldn't have been a problem, surely?

He stopped and turned back.

There was no one there. That murderous old crone with her sharp teeth had vanished altogether, leaving him alone in the dark cabin illuminated by shadow. But she had been there not too long ago. He had heard her breathing.

Something poked through the wall, tore the wood as if it had been paper. It was a furred muzzle with fur as dark as nigh and teeth as white as snow, as sharp as razor blades. The muzzle parted, bared into a snarl of impossibly sharp teeth that tapered into infinitely small points.

"I want to taste out of your mouth."

He whirled round and saw nothing ahead of him, save for the uneven surface of the log cabin's wall. There was nothing there, no interruption to its surface. Yet the voice seemed to have come from beyond the wall. It had come through the wall clearly, as if the logs that formed it did not exist. Like the voice of Baba Yaga, it had been a twisted, unnatural noise that merely resembled words. It growled at him hungrily, with an ancient menace that made his flesh crawl.

It frightened him. What kind of beast was on the other side? It sounded ravenous, as if it hadn't eaten for centuries. They wouldn't do that, would they; set a beast on him? It was his courage that was to be tested, not his ability to survive!

How could he even venture in with that unknowable beast on the other side?

Ah, but if he hesitated, he would be destroyed. Baba Yaga would feast on his flesh. If he was to save his village, he couldn't show imperfect courage. He had to face the thing on the other side. There was no denying it. He had to show perfect courage.

So, he stepped through...

...and found himself in the exact same room he had left.

Nothing had changed. There was still that gigantic oven to one side, the walls were still decorated with human bones and there were no doors, no windows, no candles or source of light. Yet something had changed. The place had taken on a silvery quality, a moonlit vista that should have been calming, but was eerily terrifying.

Vasilii whirled around. There was no door behind him. He had somehow ventured into this new room without so much as a door. "Baba Yaga?" he called out. "What is this? Is this not the Other Lodge?" The youth waited. "I came here for the Other Lodge!"

"Through the circle of Sycamore Trees," whispered a voice hoarsely, "I sold you and you sold me."

"There I hang for you to see," replied Vasilii quietly, "in the circle of Sycamore Trees."

Something fell from above and landed with a thick splat on the wooden floor. Another drop followed it, to splatter heavily on his cheek. A few more followed and then a torrent. He looked up, shielding his eyes.

Vasilii, or at least, an image of him, stared down sightlessly from the ceiling with a pale face, his bloodless lips curled into a deathly grin. Someone had split the abdomen down the middle and intestines hung down like bloody vines from a tree. They writhed as if still alive, flesh-like, hideous and obscene. Each one pulsed, throbbed. They hissed.

The laughter of an audience filled the air. Someone within the hidden spectators shrieked out with amusement. There were a few claps amongst the hideous laughs, each genuine. Whoever was watching thoroughly enjoyed the experience. They found this young mortal and his ambitions amusing.

He nearly cried out, as the intestines of the doppelganger - for what else could it be - dropped onto him. They ensnared him. He found himself entangled in his own guts and was lifted off the wooden floor, covered in his own blood. They tightened, constricted like snakes. He struggled, tried to loosen the entrails, found it impossible. They squeezed the life out of him, hung him to dry from a gallows that was his own body.

There was a hideous, bone-crunching snap and then he hung limply.

"Some of your friends are here," whispered Baba Yaga's voice on the breeze.

The moonlight flickered violently, like a strobe light. It was like a battle between light and darkness in the Other Lodge, a world inhabited by vicious forces that would sooner tear your heart out than greet you with a friendly smile. And in that battle, a small figure appeared, his dead sister, her skin as clean and smooth as it had been before the ravages of the disease.

She walked through the strobing light, jerkily like a puppet, as pretty as a doll in her funeral dress. Her lips, ruby red with life, smiled. "Nine days and nine nights," she told the hanging corpse, "will you hang... as a sacrifice to yourself." She smiled. "And there is evening, and there is morning... the first day."

And so it went. First his sister, then his best friend, his mother, his father, his grandfather, the Priest... all of them dead, all of them came and they spoke nonsense. They shouted at him, screamed obscenities at him, called him useless, a failure. Each paid their respect to the dead corpse that hung from his the entrails of another that looked just like him.

"And there is evening, and there is morning," they would say, before announcing the next day and fading like a ghost.

He heard it all. Vasilii heard everything and every word. He shouldn't have. The youth was dead, his neck snapped, his lungs stopped and the blood congealed in his veins. Yet he heard their words. He heard those sounds unravel in his mind. Each one whispered its own meaning to him. It traced a burning image in his mind that seared painfully, one for each of them. First the one, then the second and soon there were six, then seven.

"I know you," said Baba Yaga, as she jabbed a pointed finger viciously through the air at him. "There you go, coursing as a wild beast, at midnight, shrouded in blue mist." She looked down on him, so tall was she, and then gnashed her teeth, the metal fangs clamping together vice-like. "Stradania! Its colour is red. And there is evening, and there is morning... the last day." She laughed hysterically - and that invisible audience applauded her words - as she burst into flames and screamed wildly.

Then there was darkness.

Baba Yaga was gone and the applause had died down. There was nothing left, but the darkness that engulfed the horrific sacrifice.

"I am old," growled a voice, then it stopped to let the audience applaud and it did. There were whistles of approval, shrieks of joy and then it died. "Long have I waited... for one to take my... power. There was evening... there is morning. I cut you down."

Vasilii fell down heavily onto the hard, wooden floor. He struck it with a horribly loud slap and feared the damage done. Then he breathed. Vasilii gasped and his lungs burned, as the first breath of air for nine days entered them. He coughed and spluttered, as he lay there on the floor, on his hands and knees like some dog, weak limbed, unable to move from that position to save his own life.

There was that growling again.

He looked up.

A majestic creature stood there, both beautiful and terrifying. It was dark with luxurious fur as black as night, and underneath that fur, the muscles writhed and rippled with every movement. Eyes like stars glared out from the fur, fixed on him from the majestic lupine head, seemed to stare deep into his soul. It grinned, baring sharp, white teeth, too clean for a powerful killing machine like the wolf, that wolf that stood on hind paws and had hands covered in fur. Then it tilted its head upwards.

The werewolf howled, but did not howl. Its voice was like a thousand voices, maybe a million, and they came from everywhere but his mouth. They echoed, twisted through the air. They howled for him, their resonance seared into his soul, and an audience shrieked with laughter.

In Vasilii's mind, he could see the audience, the dark spectators that lived in the Other World. Their shapes were indescribable, unthinkable, yet fully natural. Each one was tiny and blurred, yet they all stretched out largely before him and each individual seemed to dominate his vision until he could see nothing else.

They all leaned forward and gnashed their teeth four times. "Stradania!" they chanted. "Kul'ta ego."

"I am the One... that decreed all," growled the wolf's voices that echoed around him but never emanated from that majestic head of his, "things must die."

The creature was very close now and he could see each individual strand of fur so clearly. He could see the furred testicles, large, huge, that hung down between its legs like... like nothing he'd ever seen before. Vasilii saw the sheath - the furred lining that protected the werewolf's penis - wrinkled, shoved back to reveal the hard pink flesh that stood proudly up against the furred abdomen.

There was something sultry in the way the wolf stared at him, in the way it stood there exposed to the thick, decayed air. He could see the outline of the muscles underneath. He could smell the scent of the male, that musky scent that straightened the air around him and filled his senses. It was waiting; he knew that. The great beast, the werewolf, waited for him to make the next move, to complete the ritual.

But it was male!

A claw reached down. It tracked a path along his shirt. The claw trailed upwards, hooked underneath the fabric of his shirt and with one pull, tore it like tissue paper, exposing the bare muscled chest to the dead air, eliciting a gasp from the male youth.

"Afraid?" sneered the creature.

Vasilii had hung for nine days and nine nights. Surely, the power of the Other Lodge was his! Yet, there he was, on his hands and knees, bowed before the great wolf like a slave, no more powerful than he had been, still being judged by his actions. What if he showed fear? Would the wolf devour him whole?

"No," said Vasilii, as he reached out and touched the wolf, brushed his naked hand against the luxurious fur.

It felt like no fur he had touched before. An infinite number of strands touched his skin. They felt impossibly soft, impossibly hard and tough. Vasilii delighted in its feel, pressed his hand deeper into the furred warmth. He leaned in and breathed deeply of the heavy musk, that male scent that he wanted all for himself. He wanted it all. He breathed it in greedily, as if his lungs could hold it all, keep it all, so that no one else could have it.

His other hand reached out and grasped the werewolf's penis, felt its warmth course into his hand. It was impossibly hot, yet felt so good against his skin. The heat burned him without burning him. He gripped the cock hard and pulled himself closer towards it.

It was male, his mind screamed.

Yet that did not stop him. He leaned in and ran his tongue against the hot flesh, tasted its bitterness, let the heat run through his tongue into him. Vasilii slathered over it, licked and nipped. He played gently with the furred testicles, massaging them with his fingers, luxuriating in their fur. The youth hungered for his reward; he didn't slow down, he assaulted it, wet it with his own spit. He lifted his head above the pointed tip, opened wide and plunged down.

Hungrily, he suckled on the tip like a baby at its mother's teat. He licked and nibbled gently. His cheeks drew in, as he sucked covetously on the wolf's member.

Why was he doing this? What had the wolf said to make him submit like this? Was there promise of power in the wolf's semen and if so, when did the wolf promise it to him? How did he know? Who told him?

The wolf growled appreciatively and this time, the voice seemed to rumble through its body. Vasilii could feel it, as he descended lower onto the cock, letting it spread his lips apart. He groaned around that shaft, as he nursed it, his tongue pressed against the hot meat. A spurt hit him. He felt it; its warm stickiness hit the back of his throat. It stuck there, remained there and irritated him. He swallowed and felt its warmth course down him.

Slowly, languidly, Vasilii raised his head and let his tongue slip across the veined flesh. He reached up and touched the wolf's knot, caressed it, massaged it as he had with the testicles. The youth licked the tip slowly, sensuously, savouring its flavour. He was rewarded with a spurt of precum, its salty liquid coating his tongue.

It tasted like heaven. Nothing should taste that good.

The audience laughed again and applauded. They should have sounded far away, but they were closer now. It was almost as if they were in his head; spectators in his mind that knew his every thought and found his pathetic ambitions amusing.

Vasilii wanted more. He stroked the length of the wolf's penis, that titanic length, gripping the organ as if he were a drowning man to a life preserver ring.

How had he managed to fit that in his mouth? It should have split the sides of his mouth wide open, yet it hadn't. He should not have...

The wolf growled lustily and bucked gently in time to Vasilii's strokes. Its warm length stroked past his lips, in and out, penetrating him like it would a woman. He could feel the veins pulse and traced them with his tongue, felt the bumps and contours of the magnificent shaft of meat and loved every single bit of it. Vasilii lapped at it gently, slaving over it, kissing it, worshipping it with his mouth.

A few spurts splattered against the smooth skin of his face. He felt its warmth dribble down lavishly. It pleased him. Vasilii enjoyed it, wanted to bathe in it.

A baptism, he thought, baptism by cum!

Gently, Vasilii pressed his lips around the tip again. The wolf stilled himself. He licked it, savoured it and lapped the salty liquid up. Vasilii descended, felt the tip of the organ push against the back of his throat. He started to gag and was about to pull back, when he remembered how death would come to him in the Other Lodge. The youth pulled back anyway. He descended again, let the tip tickle the back of his throat. Up again. Down and this time, he attempted to swallow.

The wolf growled lustily and whispered dirty secrets into his ears. It bucked into Vasilii's mouth, enjoying the slick wet massage of those throat muscles on its hot, pulsing rod. A furred muzzle parted and a red tongue, crimson as human blood, lolled with pleasure. The massive creature pumped his penis into the young human's mouth, revelled as the youthful tongue squashed its member against the mouth roof, fucked the youth's head with a flaming passion.

Hands caressed furred balls and played with them. Fingers squeezed them gently. Lips clamped tightly on the werewolf's growing knot.

With a loud snarl, the werewolf humped forward and then sprayed his seed down Vasilii's throat. Claws dug into the wooden floor, as the werewolf came and flooded Vasilii's insides with its sticky seed, its life essence.

It trickled maddeningly down his throat. The warmth was sticky, uncomfortable yet desirable at the same time. It was impossible to swallow it all. Cum filled his mouth, leaked out of the edges, stained the werewolf's fur and dribbled down his chin.

The furred creature tugged back. It met no resistance. The youth slid off its penis easily, as if the cum had lubed the passage.

Vasilii gasped and more cum dribbled out of his open mouth, over his lips and down his chin to dangle, then drip thickly on to the wooden floor. The taste on his tongue was strong. He loved it. He could feel the essence within writhing, seeking out warmth. Vasilii wanted more. He reached out, grabbed the base of the wolf's penis, where the knot had expanded so greatly it had nearly broken his jaw. Slender fingers squeezed and he was rewarded with another spurt that hit him on the chest and dribbled down that bare skin.

The werewolf rumbled hungrily and watched as its own cum trickled down the youth's muscled chest. It kneeled, dipped a claw in the sticky semen and drew the ninth and last rune with the wet, sticky fluid.

"Thank you," whispered the youth, as tears filled his eyes. "Thank you." He wiped one away. Then he felt the werewolf's hands grab him and lift him roughly up off his feet. "Hey, what...?" He winced, as claws dug into his waist. "What are you doing?"

"One last pleasure," growled the werewolf, as it lowered the youth down onto the cum-stained tip of its still erect cock. "Grant us this, before We taste out of your mouth." It nuzzled its nose against the youth's neck, drank in the human's scent, licked the skin and savoured the taste.

Vasilii felt the tip of the werewolf's cock through the fabric of his pants. "But, I did what you asked!" he protested, as the creature lowered him down further onto the erect shaft. "I did what you asked. Isn't the power mine?"

"It is yours," growled the wolf, as it gripped Vasilii's waist more tightly. "It is yours!" snarled the werewolf, before it pushed the youth down viciously onto its erect prick and heard a cry of agony from the human, as the cock miraculously tore through fabric and stabbed past the tight sphincter.

Tears of pain flowed from his eyes, down his cheeks and were lapped up by a hot, rough lupine tongue. He didn't feel it. All he felt was the hot cock, sheathed inside him to the hilt, its veins pulsing, the remnants of the werewolf's last orgasm coating his insides. There was another spurt, of what he did not know, but he felt it. The warmth of it made him shudder, as the werewolf tasted him, bathed him with that rough tongue.

He gripped the furred sides and let his hands sink into the soft, thick fur. Vasilii concentrated on it. He thought only of it, as he sat there on the werewolf's lap.

"Grant us this," growled the werewolf again.

Slowly, Vasilii nodded. He understood what the werewolf wanted and what it desired. There was no denying it. He couldn't possibly deny it. There was no turning back. If he was to survive, he had to give the werewolf what it wanted. To do otherwise was to show imperfect courage. It would kill him for that.

Gently, he gripped the werewolf's side and raised his hips, felt the slick, hot cock slide out of him and burn his insides. He groaned at the sensation of that rod, moist with cum and blood, slide out of him. Vasilii gasped and cried out softly, his breath ragged from the pain that coursed through his body. He slid down again, gyrated his hips and groaned as the hot length slid back in. He rode that cock for all it was worth, despite the pain that shot through his body and filled his senses.

A gasp escaped his mouth, as that sharp cock head hit something with him and sent a shiver of pleasure through his body. He stopped, panting, unsure as to what caused it. With a whimper, he raised his hips again, felt the cock slide out and then went back down onto the hot organ, felt the heated flesh press against his prostate again and send waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His head flung back and he groaned, his entire body arching backwards like the ghost of his sister had done not so long ago.

Vasilii whined with pleasure, as he rode that heavenly dick, gasping out every time that pointed tip hit his prostate. He found himself wanting to ride that cock forever. Screw the consequences! He wanted to drive that wolfish tip against that pleasurable spot over and over again.

The werewolf panted, whined in pleasure, its eyes closed and its tongue lolling. It thrust upwards with every downward thrust, grabbed the human with sharp claws, drew blood and a cry of mixed pain and pleasure. The beast leaned forward, kissed the youth lewdly, filled that smaller mouth with its wide tongue and tasted itself in the human's saliva. It growled lustily.

Without warning, the werewolf tilted forward. The two leaned like a cut tree and crashed on to the wooden floor, with a wince and cry from Vasilii.

Two great big furry hands planted themselves on either side of Vasilii's head, before that furry muzzle dived down to lick him.

With his legs in the air, that wolfish cock up his arse, all Vasilii could do was hold on to that gloriously furry body and let the beast take him. He let that blazing hot dick plough his insides and strike his prostate with every thrust. The youth let wave after wave of pleasure wash over his body, let it emerge from his mouth as cries of pleasure.

Then with one final thrust, Vasilii felt something push past his anal ring. It was massive and it stretched him painfully, eliciting a terrible cry of agony from his mouth. He could feel the werewolf struggling to thrust in and out of him with that massive protuberance inside him, yet the ancient spirit didn't cease. Vasilii cried out with every outward thrust, the pain of the knot on his arse unbearable.

He heard the werewolf howl and then felt wet, lupine semen fill his bowels. Every spurt seared into him, made him gasp, as he hugged the werewolf, tried his best to dive into the night fur. He could feel every single ropey spurt and revelled in it. The youth gasped, his head lolled backwards, as cum dribbled out of him and down his cheeks.

Lights started to change.

The semen dribbled back in, leaving a dry mess of nothing. He felt the werewolf's penis pulse inwards and then some of the wet stickiness left the surface of his gut. The werewolf howled; a strange howl that climaxed at the beginning and died off pathetically near the end. Snatches of pain disappeared from him, as the werewolf thrust frantically again. There was another surge of pain and then it died off, disappeared as the penis pulled out.

Vasilii fell off the floor onto the werewolf's lap. He bounced up and down on the werewolf's lap again, feeling the length stroke him; his pain eased with every stroke. He gasped strangely, as he slid up, and the more he rode that lupine penis, the drier his insides got, the less sticky and the less warm until finally the werewolf lifted him off the penis, undoing the tear in his pants in the process.

"Older than me, but still wrong," said Baba Yaga with a shake of her head, as she held tightly onto a scruff of the werewolf's fur. "You gave him... Stradania," she said, as a finger wavered in the air and pointed towards the youth. "Now he gives us his," she hissed through a rusty smile. "You promised. You promised!"

"I am the first!" snarled the werewolf angrily. "Death was nothing, but Coyote wanted it. So I made Death... and gave it as a gift... to Coyote's son." It turned its dark, furred head to glare at Vasilii with contempt. "It is not mine to receive," it growled. "You will not give it back to me."

"You promised!" screamed Baba Yaga angrily to the tune of that mysterious audience's laughter.

The werewolf roared in anger, as it rose back up to its feet. It stretched up high above the human youth, a towering mass of dark fur made from pure night, with eyes that burned fiercely like the fires of Hell. The beast snarled, bared its vicious white teeth in the erratic moonlight. "Run!" it snapped at Vasilii. "Run, little human. I will hunt."

"No!" roared Vasilii.

"Then I tear your throat out," threatened the werewolf, its hackles raised like a crest of mountains.

"No! I will take what is mine!" retorted Vasilii.

Baba Yaga shrieked in delight and with one sweep of her hand, she cuffed the werewolf on the head. She knocked him to the ground and tied him down, pulled his tail back and exposed his rear. "Caraunik, you are him now," she said. "Take his body as your own." She laughed, as her body shuddered hideously.

In two strides, she reached the wall, still shivering violently. Baba Yaga faded into nothing to the sound of applause.

"It is yours."

Now that Vasilii thought about it, he was quite hard underneath his pants. It had been a long time since he had received any pleasure. He couldn't even remember the last time he had sex. No, wait! That was a lie. He could remember. It was only a few moments ago. He had taken that dark-haired human youth's mouth, fucked it with an abandon until he had cum, filling the youth's stomach with his semen, marking his insides as his own.

A wolfish grin spread across Vasilii's lips. Yes, he had enjoyed that and now he would fuck the remains of himself, screw it until it shivered to pieces.

He reached down, grabbed the very fabric of his pants and shoved them down, let them pool into a puddle of fabric on the floor. Vasilii removed his boots, stepped out of the fabric pool. He would have no need for those clothes anymore, and even if he did later on, he wouldn't use those. No, those weren't fitting of someone of his stature.

His erect head, its mushroom-shaped head purple with the blood within, strained in the air. It throbbed and pulsed painfully.

Slowly, he placed the tip against the puckered flesh. He grinned delightfully, as he rubbed the anal ring and teased it. The young human pushed the tip in gently and slowly, parted the anal ring, made his remnants grunt, then he pulled out. He did it again and was rewarded with another pleasured grunt. A third time and he received an impatient snarl. He slammed into the werewolf, eliciting a howl as his penis impaled the creature, the remnants of the old spirit.

The youth gripped the werewolf tight, his fingers digging into the fur. Strongly, yet slowly, he pulled out, left only the tip of his penis remain in the werewolf's anus. Then he slammed back in roughly with a feral snarl. He slid out again, luxuriating in the wet feel of the beast's innards on his glans. Then he slammed forward again with enough force to make the creature skid forward on the rough wooden floor.

He loved the way the werewolf's innards squeezed on his cock, the way that flesh rubbed against his penis's head. Arcs of pleasure shot through his body, as he rammed the wolf roughly, his grip tightening on the furred hips. He pounded the arse mercilessly. Threw his head back and cried out, his fangs bared.

With every thrust, he felt his human face push forward and felt the werewolf's muzzle shrink and retreat. Fur fell from the great beast in huge clumps, as his own hair lengthened and new hairs burst through baby smooth skin. A great fiery pain seared through his rear, near the base of his spine. It felt as if he was being pulled in both directions. Yet he didn't care for the pain. All he could concentrate on was the pleasure that coursed from his penis, through his body, that burning pleasure that made him want to spill his seed into the werewolf's innards, stain them and mark them as his.

The werewolf's tail shrank, its pointed ears moved down its head to the sides. As more skin was exposed, its nails became brittle near the edges and disintegrated into the blunt, useless nails of a human. Muscles deflated and the sharp points of its teeth wore away in the air.

In contrast, the human grew. His muscles expanded and inflated with new mass. Blood coursed through his body, pumped into his penis and expanded it painfully near the base. Bones seemed to snap, as his spine and bones elongated. His face pushed out into a wolfish muzzle, as the fur on his body grew, became the same luxurious, foreboding black of his predecessor. Sharp nails dug into the former werewolf's soft human flesh; they drew blood and a short, sharp cry, muffled by the dark, twisted air of the Other Lodge.

He snarled in pleasure, as he slammed into the human beneath him, desperate to shove his growing knot into the tight human passageway. The werewolf wanted to tie with the human remains of the old spirit, that husk of the ancient god. He desired it more than anything else - to tie the new with the old, as a compact of loyalty to the Other Lodge's traditions.

The human cried out as the knot slipped in with a painful slurp. Sightless eyes almost seemed to bulge out, as that human mouth opened into a chasm of nothing. It cried out.

"Stradania!" growled the werewolf that had once been human, as he humped quickly into the tight hole. Then with a ferocious howl that pierced the perverse air, he fired jet after thick, ropey jet of lupine hot, wet sticky semen into the human, felt those anal muscles squeeze his sensitive knot and milk him for all he was worth

Slowly, the human faded into nothing.

The werewolf's semen splattered on the wooden floor like blood from a slit major artery. It slapped onto the wooden floor in gallons, coated it and oozed into the cracks. Then, as the human had done, as his identity of Vasilii had done, it vanished into nothing.

Light flickered to the tune of applause.

Human in the light, wolf in the darkness, Caraunik smiled predatorily.

He lifted his head into the twisted darkness of the Other Lodge and howled.