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Sammel's bare paws felt cold on the concrete as he descended the steps into the cellar, fingerpads pressing lightly against the note in his pocket to make sure it was still there. It was too dark to read, but he'd read the paper so many times that he'd memorised it word for word. It just helped settle his nerves to know it was still present.

"To join: 53rd & 3rd. Basement. July 7. Come alone."

Then in pen underneath:

"LEAVE YOUR PHONE BEHIND SAMMEL I'M SERIOUS"

Sammel felt naked without his phone, especially descending the dark steps, but he'd obeyed and left it with his wallet on the shelf next to his bed at home. Without Google Maps it had taken him far longer than he expected to find the building mentioned, an abandoned bar in some seedy part of town. It took him even longer to find the concealed entrance to the basement located behind the bar, but he'd eventually succeeded in opening the aging trapdoor and lowering himself into the basement, the lit lantern just inside serving as the first indication that this was anything other than an abandoned piece of nightlife.

At the bottom of the steps, he turned and found himself in a brightly lit corridor. Both sides were completely covered in full length mirrors, and he tried to ignore the infinite number of copies of himself following himself down the corridor. He knew it was just a mirror, but something about his own appearance had always made him uncomfortable. Sammel was a wolf with light brown fur, a small patch of white discolouration surrounding his left eye serving as his only real distinguishing feature. He was average height, average build, didn't dress too flashily, and in general held the kind of figure that people would completely forget five minutes after meeting him.

At the end of the corridor he arrived at a set of double doors, and his heart raced. He took a moment to compose himself, taking deep, long breaths in through his nose. When he felt calm enough, he placed his paw on the ornate door handle, took a final deep breath and stepped forward.

He arrived in a room that would have once served as the beer cellar of the bar above, but it had been decorated in a manner similar to an old cathedral. Lining the shelves that once held huge barrels of beer sat an uncountable number of wolves, all gazing at him intently as he walked to the center of the chamber. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he realised that they were not regular wolves, but werewolves. He was definitely in the right place.

In the middle of the room sat Vaud, waiting for him. Vaud had been his friend since they were teenagers, and it was him who had given him the piece of paper in the first place and scrawled the hasty note about his phone underneath. He rose when Sammel approached, and gave him a jagged-toothed smile.

Sammel was about to open his muzzle to speak, when he was interrupted by a booming voice coming from the far end of the hall, from the direction of a large marble statue of a snarling wolf ready to pounce. Underneath stood a tall werewolf with his hands raised for attention. The outfit he was wearing was clearly ceremonial, and he could make out some kind of headdress, but the exact details were lost in the dim light.

"Newcomer," he spoke, loudly and with authority, "you have come here today to seek membership as a blood brother. To be forever changed with the curse of the werewolf. Vaud has vouched for your membership, is that correct?"

"Yes, Head Wolf." Vaud spoke more formally, and with more pomp and circumstance than Sammel had ever heard before, and after receiving a nod of approval from the Head Wolf scurried into the throngs of wolves at the sidelines.

"And you. Speak your name."

"Sammel Corr." he replied, his voice breaking slightly with slightly as he stood, back straightened.

"Becoming a werewolf is no easy process, newcomer. The initiation is more than most can handle. Are you prepared?"

"Yes, sir," Sammel replied "being a werewolf is all I've ever wanted. That's why I asked to come here when I found out about Vaud, and why I'd do anything i-"

The Head Wolf raised his paw to silence Sammel, who had begun rambling. "I see you are dedicated. My name is Malthar, new one. Undress and step forward."

Sammel did as he was told, pulling off his jacket without hesitation and placing it on the stool where Vaud had been sat just a moment ago. His shirt quickly followed, and wanting to get it over with as quickly as possible, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down both his jeans and underwear in one motion, adding them to the pile. He felt hundreds of eyes on his naked body, and he wished it were slightly warmer in the cellar-turned-cathedral. His fur protected him from the worst of it, but his sheath - brown-furred and as average as the rest of him - had noticeably shrunk and his testicles seemed to be attempting to hide inside him.

Shrugging this off as best he could - it was dark, after all - he walked slowly towards the Head Wolf. As he drew closer, the angle of the light changed and more of the Head Wolf's outfit came into view. Sammel's eyes widened. The Head Wolf was clad in a long, flowing robe and an elaborate headpiece that flowed down past his cheeks and tied in golden threads under his muzzle, emphasising the squareness of his features. As ornate as it was, however, it wasn't the headgear that had given Sammel a shock. The wolf's robe fell open at the front, and Sammel now saw that he was nude underneath save for a few leather straps that criss-crossed his ragged black fur, presumably to keep the robe itself in place as he moved. The straps wound down, almost pointing to the wolf's crotch, where his black sheath lay exposed, emphasised by what appeared to be a leather cockstrap tightened behind it.

"Are you ashamed of seeing a true wolf's body?" he said, questioningly.

"N-no," stumbled Sammel, hoping the murky darkness of the room would hide his own swelling sheath, "not at all. I just wasn't sure what to expect."

"Good. First, new wolf, you must drink. You must take the wolf into your body before you can become the wolf."

Before Sammel could ask what he meant, a smaller grey wolf emerged from the shadows with a kind of silver goblet the size of his fist. An ornate leaf pattern shone in the light for a moment as he passed it to Malthar, who grasped it in his left hand and moved it down to his crotch. To Sammel's surprise, the larger werewolf immediately tugged back the black-furred flesh of his sheath to reveal the flaccid pink member within, let it rest against the side of the cup, and began to fill it with his piss.

The musky smell reached Sammel's nose even as the Head Wolf was still relieving himself, and lingered long after Malthar had breathed a sigh of relief, tapped his soft cock against against the rim of the goblet to shake free any last drops, and pulled his sheath back protectively over his manhood.

Malthar passed Sammel the cup. It was strangely warm in his paws, the body heat still managing to permeate his brown fur. He felt the weight of hundreds of eyes drilling into him, and raised the cup to his muzzle. He stifled a gag as the musky smell hit him harder than ever, and he looked down into the silver container filled with warm, yellow-tinted liquid. He closed his eyes for a moment, and remembered just how much he wanted to become a werewolf. No matter what it took. Even this.

Trying not to betray his true feelings, he placed the silver to his lips - ugh, there's that warmth again - and poured it into his open muzzle like someone downing a pint during a pub crawl. The bitter liquid flowed over his tongue, not quite tasting as bad as it smelled, but he felt the werewolf's musk fill his sinuses and flow down his throat. He reached out to hand the cup back to the Head Wolf, but the smaller, grey wolf appeared again and took it from him without a word.

When his eyes fell again on Malthar, he thought he saw the pink tip of his member again, jutting from the top of his sheath. As he watched, it poked further still, an obvious bulge forming in the older wolf's sheath as his arousal became clear. Then, Sammel became aware of the fact that Malthar was no longer looking at him, but at something behind him. Turning to match his line of sight, he was Vaud re-emerging from the crowd.

"The next part of your initiation," Malthar spoke quietly, "must come from your sponsor."

Sammel's mouth went dry. Vaud was now naked, his thick cock standing to attention and waving slightly from side-to-side as he walked. Every now and again, the light would catch him and glint off a bead of pre on his tip, as though the observing crowd had been tasked with fluffing him until this very moment. Sammel had never so much as seen Vaud without his shirt, and now here he was, striding towards him in his birthday fur with the light shadowing across his well-defined chest.

"D-do I have to drink from him too?" Sammel stammered.

"Not quite" answered Vaud, stopping just in front of his friend. His paw moved from his side and grasped at his aching manhood, the pre catching the light again as it drooled onto the floor. Sammel understood immediately, and he did so want to become a werewolf. Whatever it took. As his own sheath swelled, he realised that he didn't exactly mind, either.

Sammel wasn't sure if it was that Vaud was naturally hung or if the werewolf transformation added something to his natural endowment, but as he sank to his knees on the cold stone floor he couldn't help but guess that his friend must be around 10" from sheath-to-tip. A large, angry knot flared at the base of his shaft, no doubt already teased by some of the onlookers and the prospect of what was to come. Sammel went straight for the sensitive flesh, pressing his tongue firmly against it and trailing along the underside of the shaft.

He sank his muzzle over the engorged tip, briefly thankful for the salty pre against his tongue helping to wash away the remnants of the Head Wolf's bladder. He sank down over his friend's shaft, grunting in pleasure as he felt the smooth flesh glide past his tongue on the way down. Eager to please and earn his place in the werewolves' inner circle, he traced his tongue over each vein and contour of Vaud's cock, tailoring his movements in response to his friend's grunts of appreciation. A member of the crowd loudly voiced their approval.

A feeling of paws on his waist broke Sammel from his state of concentration, and he felt another wolf pressing behind him. The feeling of robes draping over him identified the stranger as Malthar, who stroked his large, firm paws down over Sammel's back and over his buttocks. Sammel could take a hint, and nodded his consent as best he could with his friend's cock jammed to the knot in his muzzle.

Even with his mouth occupied, he couldn't suppress a moan as he felt the Head Wolf push into him. Without seeing it was hard to guess, but he took a guess that the invading member was at least as big, if not bigger, than the one in his muzzle at that moment. Instinctively he pushed back, feeling himself stretch over the wolf's large, pre-slick cock.

Vaud began to pant audibly, the veins protruding on his shaft as it throbbed needily against Sammel's tongue. He responded by upping his game, sinking his muzzle down fully over his friend's shaft before pulling back to the top, flicking his tongue against the tip and sinking back down again. Vaud didn't last long, digging his firm, werewolf claws into his shoulders as he came, filling Sammel's muzzle with thick ropes of cum that he swallowed dutifully.

Behind him, Malthar picked up the pace, obviously spurred on by the sight of his new charge taking a muzzleful. Sammel bucked back, focusing his energy on taking the shaft nice and deep when what appeared to be another shot of cum caught him off-guard across the tongue. He barely had time to clamp his muzzle shut again before he realised what was happening, and for the second time that night the musky taste of another man's urine filled his muzzle, this time straight from the source.

He closed his eyes and swallowed around his friend's spent, softening cock, pushing back against Malthar until he felt the older male's knot slip into him with a satisfying internal pop. Behind him, the Head Wolf groaned loudly, and he felt the cock inside him pulse as it filled his insides with shot after shot of warm seed.

Sammel's quickly reached down to his own aching cock, but his hopes of gaining a release for himself were dashed when Malthar grabbed his sides seconds later. With the strength only a werewolf could muster, he turned Sammel around to face him, still tied. For a moment Sammel felt the not-entirely-unpleasant feeling of his insides rearranging, immediately followed by large, sharp teeth sinking into his collarbone. Intense, burning pain radiated quickly from the bite, consuming his entire being, and within seconds it was over. Sammel lost consciousness.

When he awoke, the room was mostly empty, save for a small group in the corner helping themselves to mugs of whatever beer was still left over from the room's brewery days. He turned, aching, and forcing his eyes open saw Vaud sat cross-legged in front of him. He started to say something, but felt Vaud's hand on his shoulder. He reached out to steady himself, but his arms seemed longer than usual, and ended in long, clawed fingers that seemed completely unfamiliar to him.

"You should try to rest," Vaud said, calmly, "it takes a little while for your brain to work out where your limbs are. You get used to it."

Ignoring him, Sammel attempted to sit upright, gougeing a small piece of concrete from the floor before finally righting himself. He was still naked, but the body he saw wasn't his own. Or perhaps it was, only it seemed stretched out and somehow more bulky. Between his legs sat proof that the transformation did, in fact, add a few inches here and there.

"Where's Malthar?" he eventually said, his voice hoarse and strangely deep.

"Malthar? He had to go home after he turned you. He's an accountant and he has work tomorrow."

Sammel blinked. "An acc-?" the harsh 'C' sound stuck in his throat and triggered a small coughing fit.

"Yeah, we have lives outside the circle, you know. When he's not biting newbies his name is Mike."

Sammel looked back, dumbfounded by this small revelation. Mike. As this sank in, another realisation dawned on him, stemming from Vaud's choice of words.

"Biting people? You mean-" His voice gave out again, but Vaud's guilty expression said it all. Vaud looked away and rubbed the back of his scroungy headfur idly.

"Okay, technically," Vaud started, placing far too much emphasis on that one word and drawing it out far past its welcome, "technically the only thing that's needed to turn someone into a werewolf is the bite. But the other stuff shows that you can be trusted, makes you more receptive, and, well..." he grinned, evilly, "...it's a lot of fun."