Loving it in my mouth..

I'm a real logophile. Words have a 'mouthfeel' to me, even when read, that affects how I feel about them emotionally. I find this very difficult to seperate from my intellectual understanding of them.

Some words are just trigger words for me getting very fucking horny. 'Abuse' seems to be a favourite at the moment. You can't go wrong with a good 'rape' either. 'Nasty', I'm also becoming acclimatised to.

'Subbie', I hate. DESPISE, actually. It makes me cringe. Also, 'pleasure', when used in a certain bad porn/ mills and boon way - "I'm going to PLEASURE you". Ugh. Doms who refer to someone as 'my sub' really give me the heebiejeebies. It's a very personal thing, but it just rubs me up the wrong way. It just feeds into that whole vibe that some doms have of 'I am the great blah blah blah and this is not a person who is submissive to me, they are 'my sub', like 'my whip' or 'my spreader bars'.

Bad grammar and spelling make my hackles rise anyway. My husband's dyslexic, and his spelling and grammar are better than most - because he makes an effort to overcome it. I can't bear people who say 'I'm dyslexic, so therefore ignore any spelling mistakes. I couldn't be bothered to use the spell checker or practice making an effort and improving, because I am quite frankly, a lazy cunt'. Text speak repulses me. Even worse when it's out of context, in memo or email.

I don't expect everyone to have the same joy in language that I do, but at least some sense of respect for the words that come out of your mouth is reasonable, surely? No-one is perfect, but - really, can you not at least make an effort?

'Whore' is always good. 'Good girl' just melts me. Possessive words when used with respect for me in the mind behind them, turn me into a buttery-cunted little slut. 'Mine', 'you belong to me', 'I own you'.

I really like 'baby', or 'my baby'.

Words with a humorous or disrespectful colour, make me prickle up immediately, if used in a play or sexual context. You might as well laugh in my face. Words that should never be used during anal sex - 'bunghole', 'shitter', 'love portal', 'poo'. Just no. And whilst being quite comfortable with 'cunt', and 'pussy', the word fanny makes me feel quite disgusted. In fact I can actually feel the corner of my mouth turning up in prim maiden aunt fashion, just at the thought of it. 'Vagina' should stay in medical contexts. 'Mimsy' is fine for amusing discussions but not during sex. 'fuckhole' - mmm, depends, makes me a bit uncomfortable. Anything overly flouncy 'your butterfly' or overly rough and ready, 'kebab' just horrifies me.

'Prick' is lovely, 'dick' is fine, 'cock' is my favourite. 'Willy' is okay for strictly silly conversations. That goes for 'Nob' too, really. 'Wank' is a basic standard, you can't really call it anything else that doesn't sound bloody idiotic. 'Fuck' - what's not to like? I've come around to the idea of 'tits'.

There was a conversation on IC the other day about being called talked about using words like 'pig', 'cow', 'udders' etc. I honestly would fucking PUNCH someone who ever said that to me. Just like anyone calling me fat or ugly. I know some people love that kind of play, but it's not something I could ever do. I want to feel I'm being raped or hurt because I'm fucking GORGEOUS, luv, not because I'm bleedin' hideous!

Other words that really make me go murhhrrrrr....'inside', 'cum', 'knife', 'blood', 'violate', 'take', 'have', 'want', 'need'. Yummy.

Acceptance

An extract from a conversation with my friend, which I'm writing up here in case I need to be reminded of my own words in future...

My old cat, Leo, passed away a couple of years ago. I LOVED Leo. And I mean ADORED him. He was my safe place on four paws.

We worshipped each other- every morning I carried him into the kitchen for breakfast. His voice was the first thing I'd hear when I got home, demanding cuddles, which had to last at least half an hour or he'd swear at me. He was totally uninterested in food - cuddles first.

We got him when I was 12, and at the time I was probably most traumatised in my life. When everything else turned shit, I turned to Leo. He was there for me when my husband (R) was in hospital over and over again, when friends and I argued, when my family imploded. He was my refuge through my teenage years, through illness, trauma, bereavement. He was the thing that made sense, when everything else confused me.

He pined when I went away, made himself ill, wouldn't eat. He would let me carry him round the house like a baby, upside down, for hours. He slept in my arm, under the duvet, with his head on the pillow. Every night before bed he would wash R's beard vigorously.

As he got older he got arthritis, and then diabetes - Type 1, just like R. We used to say it ran in the family. On the vet's advice, we gave him blood tests by trimming his claws a little short - we would use R's blood test kit. We gave him 2 insulin injections a day. He never complained. He knew it would hurt when we trimmed his claws, and he knew it was coming. He would sit in my lap good as gold as I did it. He trusted me not to do anything that would hurt him, that wasn't completely necessary.

As he got to the end of his life he got extremely incontinent, in a variety of unsavoury ways. He'd been doing it on and off for years. He totally melted the carpet in the corners of our old house! For the last few months we lived with plastic sheeting over the sofa, bed etc. He still slept in with us because I couldn't bear to be without him, or to upset him, even though I'd be woken up most nights from lying in a pool of elderly cat wee. And believe me, until you've woken up covered in a diabetic's wee, you don't know anything about urine. There was laundry hanging everywhere, sofa covers constantly in bath being cleaned. We had to try and encourage him to...ahem...evacuate..by hand.

When he passed away, the vet came to our home. He slipped away in my arms, with his belly full of freshly cooked chicken, and for the first time, his body relaxed more than it had done in a year. I realised how hunched his body had been, with pain, for so long. I am sure I saw something, young, leave his body and joyfully spring away. I always picture him now in the grass, in the morning, wet with dew, stalking invisible creatures. He was beautiful. He was always such a beautiful cat - like a brick wrapped in silk, muscled, soft, graceful. Everyone fell in love with him. He had marks all the way up his cat-bed post.

His remains were cremated, and I asked them to cremate the scratch-proof, dribble resistant teddy bear that he loved, as well.

For months - and I mean MONTHS - I woke in the night, crying, waking up R to cuddle me. I HOWLED with loss. My body grieved. I had stomach aches - the heaviest period I'd had for years. It was as if I'd fucking MISCARRIED. My mind knew he wasn't my child, but my body did not. And he was my child - the child of my heart. I couldn't watch anything on television or films about losing a child, for about a year, I would just WAIL.

I lost interest in everything. Nothing seemed to matter anymore, without him. I was in such a bad way, so lonely, that we got our two kittens then, a couple of months after he died. But they weren't *him*. There was still this huge gap, this space, in my heart.

I remember being in at work one morning a couple of months after he died, and saying to my friend - I feel as if a light has gone out inside me, and that it will stay dark there for the rest of my life. I feel as if I'll never have that light inside me, ever again.

And she told me - 'that light HAS gone, and it won't come back'. 'Oh, well that's bloody comforting', I said. And she smiled, and replied, 'but something else, something different, will come. It won't be the same, but good things WILL still come, they will be different, and things that you don't expect. But they will come, and you'll always miss him, he will never be replaced, but other things will come and make your life worth living'.

And they have.

I never thought I could fill that dark space inside me with sexual fulfillment for the first time in my life, for example! I never thought I would fall in love again.

But that's how it works. Things come and go. Part of something being important to you, loving someone or something, is that it seems irreplaceable. And they ARE irreplaceable.

But that doesn't mean you are lost, or dark, or alone, for ever. The sun will always rise - even if the landscape looks different after the earthquake, the light will still come back.

I promise.

Pack

The mist has risen off the sea and travelled inland; spiral streamers of it are damp in the air, cold dancing on metal. The electricity from me generates occasional sparks in the air, fireflies, tiny explosions; miniature novas in the cold and dark space. I run hot - my body is always warm, burning so much energy.

The mist is uncomfortable. Somehow it makes the town seem uglier - cement, pavement, cold and wet. I feel a moment of yearning for the forest - home - and dream of running, running through thick woodland dressed in fog, in the early morning dawnlight. Hairs rise on me a little - I feel unsafe in urban spaces. I make a conscious effort to settle - I am the monstrous thing that walks in this dark place, my fear is not required and I don't want to risk bringing on a change, this close to the full moon. Something has unnerved me though - it's not just the mist and the lack of earth underneath my feet. I feel the shape of something, a foreshadow of the future. Something threatening.

I am about to close on the feeling, pounce on the sensation and dig in my claws, when something stops me. There is pain in my shoulder, a sharp, stinging throb. I turn to look, feel something scratch, a buzzing, noise, the light is too bright, then – nothing.


Grey. The floor is grey. Cold. It drains my heat from me. Cement again. I want to go home. Please, won’t you let me go home?

Black now.

Grey again, tinged with light this time. Not from a natural source – everything here is hard and cold and uncomforting. Fluorescent strip lights overhead drain the shadows from everything. I strain for clarity, and the world comes back into focus. The floor beneath me, and the ceiling above, is unpainted, uncarpeted cement. Four glass walls surround me. The only feature of this room is the hole leading to a sewer in the corner – it reeks of bleach and old, odd scents. There is no furniture – no bed, no mattress or even a blanket. There is just the cement, the glass, and me. I am not where I should be. Staring out through the glass I see men walking up and down corridors between little glass boxes like this one. Some have women in them. Some are empty. The empty cells have troubling stains on the floor. I can’t smell anything – the glass has completely sealed the room. There must be an air conditioner somewhere, although I can’t see it. I am naked, except for a thin, short silk robe, in black, with Japanese patterns painted on it.

Understanding comes in a sudden wave, ripples green and white.

I have been stolen.

Time passes. I’ve no way to mark it, but I am closely connected to my body. I know I’ve been here for a day. My pack will be in frenzy. I am the only female wolf, although several of the pack members have human girlfriends. I am the one who answers their need to mount a bitch – the only one with whom they do not have to hold back their strength. They cannot damage me; I am as strong as they are. I take pleasure in the pain that comes from fucking, biting, clawing. They can be free, free to ram inside me as hard as they want to with their cock, draw bloody furrows down my shoulders with their claws, gouge ripped teeth marks in my neck – and I will only moan in pleasure.

But they will not be in a frenzied rage because of this. They will be angry and distraught because they love me. We are pack. I feel a tie with all of them, an invisible cord linking me to each one – stretched thin right now due to time and distance since we last marked each other, all becoming one, group scent mingling. And the greatest tie of all, is with my alpha male. My beautiful, strong, dominant leader. As a human, he is smooth-skinned, where he is not covered in dense, thick, curly black and silver hair. It hides his muscular body – wiry, not overly developed; a body meant for love and pleasure as well as hard physical work. His lips are made for suckling on, licking, biting, so smooth and plentiful. His hazel green eyes drown me in lust for him, before his mouth kisses air back inside me. His cock is hard for me, it draws me to it, I can’t not touch, lick stroke. I need him in me. When soft he is delicious, the texture and sensation in my mouth beyond ecstasy, beyond comfort – he is home made flesh.

When in wolf form he is black and silver light in motion; fast, powerful – so much more so than me, than any of the pack. His tail curls back on itself, his tongue falls out of his mouth in a wolfy grin when he sees me. He is as muscular, maybe a little more so, in this form. His cock is huge, pointed; the knot widens and stretches him, the shaft thick and scarred. It becomes angry red and veined when he is mounting me. One thing is unchanged – my need to touch him, scent along him, and be close and intimate with him.

He is my pack leader and mate. My love. My Max.

And Max will come for me, with the pack. And it will be terrible. But the knowledge gives me something to hold to – a reason not to let my mind fracture into a thousand pieces.

My reverie is interrupted by a need for movement - to be in motion. I can never be still for long. I pace back and forth along the glass cage’s floor. Then I stop myself – breathe – re-centre. I begin to move again, but under control this time; stretching, letting my body go where it will, falling into basic dance shapes, holding the pose, releasing. I feel the silk moving seamlessly over my body. It calms me. I feel something pulling on the thread inside me, which leads to the pack. They are coming. I am comforted.

The door opens, startling me. A near invisible split in the glass, let a panel move inward as a man puts his security card against it. He holds a tranquiliser gun casually against his shoulder. I don’t move – I don’t want to risk attacking and being knocked out again. It is gradually occurring to me that I’ve been stolen for a reason, and what that might be. There are too many things that could happen to me while I’m unconscious, for me to chance it.

“You know. I can tell. I can see it in your eyes”. It’s part statement, part command – he expects me to reply and say yes, I know why it is that I’ve been taken and brought here, why I’m in this cage. I ignore him. My silence fills the room. I won’t even look at him. He disgusts me. He’s not an ugly man, but a violence emanates from him that repulses me. His nose is thick; it’s been broken more than once.

Suddenly, I am on my knees. He’s grabbed me by the hair and forced me down onto the floor. Two more men come in the room, stand behind him, holding guns as well. They are dressed in military black, shaven headed. They reek of thug - hired muscle. This one though, has an authority about him, a sadistic, unkind, authority though it is.

I am strong – I am resilient – I heal quickly. I can change form, become wolf, but I am no stronger as my unnatural wolf than the natural creature is. I have no super abilities, no special powers. My gift, if I have one, is to love many, deeply. To give pleasure, to share passion, to release the tension inside others and allow them to play, to be free. I am not a person who knows, understands, violence. To harm another willingly is anathema to me. I feel their pain far too much. But I will protect myself if I can, and defend my pack when needed, with every last ounce of muscle, human or wolf, in my body.

Still and all I am weak from the tranquiliser, weak with hunger and dehydration. He moves shockingly fast and suddenly there is blood – on the floor. On my face. He’s smashed my head into the cement underneath me. The world tumbles, twists.

He goes down on one knee, still holding my hair. “Why. Are. You. Here?” He speaks softly, on the edge of whisper smooth.

I turn my head slightly – he lets me. I meet his eyes. I know mine will be a little sad, as I answer him. “You are gone. All of you – everyone in this room, in this building – is dead. You’re still walking around, you think you’re alive, but you’re not. Your death was already in place from the moment you touched me”.

His eyes change now, too. They alter from arrogance, to incandescent rage. It lights both his face and mine, reflected from my own expression.

He slams my head into the floor again, and pins my arms behind my back. Motioning behind him, the guards obey his instruction and come close, holding me down. He is trembling with anger, so much so that his fingers fumble as he pulls at his belt, undoes it, doesn’t even try to undo the cord which holds my robe closed, just claws at the fabric until a tear forms, which he rips, wrenches at, seizes with both hands and slashes into pieces. The tatters lie around me – the two guards hold me down. He hits me with his belt – it burns, my skin is ablaze. This pain is not the same, as when my loving and excited pack mount me, bite me, claw at me. This pain fuels my temper, it is destructive, damaging. The heat from me increases, radiates out – my skin is almost painful to touch. Again he asks me, and with each word is a blow. “Why are you here? Why are you here you little fucking whore? You stupid BITCH!”

I thrash around, hurting myself, there is blood all over the floor, I am scratched and grazed everywhere, and still I won’t give him what he wants. I will NEVER give him what he wants. The three men hold me down so I am unable to pour out my anger where I want to – so instead I release my control, held threadbare anyway by the threat, the need. I bathe myself in change, it is over in seconds. It surges over me, waves on rocks, I am flooded, overcome.

Now the body held down is wolf in form. I whine, use my re-shaped jaws to snap at them, try and use my claws, wanting to inflict as much harm as possible. I know I’ve denied them the words they tried to force from me, whatever happens next, I know I’ve won. They think they’ll punish me with something even worse – they’re wrong. I will never give in, not to them. They can hurt me, beat me, rape me – they can’t get inside my head. Only my Max, my beautiful Max, can do that. I am only for him. And when he chooses to share me with the pack.

They are incensed by my change, and keep furiously hitting me, restraining me. In victory, I find the pain easier to take, but I know what’s coming next.

“That’s right, whore. Change into your little bitch form – like the stupid bitch you are. That’s what our customers will pay us for anyway. You know it already, you’re ours now. We will whore you the fuck out to whoever will pay us the most. They can fuck your cunt, arse or mouth; human, or wolf, or change you halfway through. You will fuck them, and you will do a good job because if you don’t, we will beat you pissless. Why don’t you enjoy a little taste now? We deserve something considering all the trouble you’ve caused us, you nasty fucking whore.”

He rips open his flies and pulls his dick out, shoves his trousers down slightly, and mounts me from behind, roughly, violently. With each thrust he groans, cries out, or moans. “Oh yeah, fuck yeah…I’ve got a little bit of bitch cunt on my prick. This is what they pay for and I’m getting it free. God she’s tight. I’m gonna fuck her whorish little bitch cunt until I come in her, and then, you are going to fuck her too. Perk of the job, I reckon. I’m in charge here, you’re gonna fuck her arse and mouth.”

He’s inside me for no longer than a minute before he comes, scalding hot cum pouring inside me, filling me up with pain. He collapses, sweaty and exhausted on top of me, and I whimper gently. I have gone to another place in my head – somewhere…not here. I hardly fight back at all as one of the guards pulls his cock out and shoves it in my arse, holding onto my tail as he slams into me over and over again. His balls slap against me, making a loud smacking noise heightened by the cum which covers them, left behind from the rape only moments before.

He rapes me, and yet somehow he is the one humiliated by the act – shamed, as he pounds into me, sweating, dishevelled, his balding head jerking back and forth, his face slack as he buggers me, the first hint of a beer gut blooming on his pale, unhealthy skin, which I feel press against me each time his cock slams into my arse. I smell his ripe, sour scent, the reek of the cum he spilt on his hands last night as his wife turned her back on him in bed, again. The stench of his teeth, rotting unbeknownst to him, in his mouth. His stinking, discoloured hands are stained from endless roll-ups outside the gates, I can feel them, as they clench my fur in handfuls tighter and tighter as cum boils up out of his balls, and he blows his load inside my tight little arsehole.

The remaining guard shoves him roughly out the way when he’s barely finished – he is putting himself in place at my mouth, when the change comes over me again. An evolutionary defence mechanism, a response to continued threat – if one form hasn’t worked, try another. Human again, but this time I am in no state to resist, no longer defiant, just a sobbing, shuddering wreck on the floor, my cunt and arse streaming with cum from two men, about to be violated, violently, by a third. And knowing that once he’s dumped his load in me, it’s only a matter of time before I’m whored out to a customer. I put all my energy into the hope that my Max will bring the pack, in time to save his bitch.

The last guard holds me up by two handfuls of my hair, forcing me to my knees. My whole face is wet – I’m not just crying, I’m howling – gasping, shrieking out wordless sounds, screaming in pain and rage, unable to stay in the distant space inside my head where I hide. Tears and more pour out of my face, as he stoppers my mouth with his dick, muffling some of the noise. He brutally fucks my throat – my screams change to choking sounds, I cough, gag, wheeze, spit drools freely from my lips, and as he pulls out, it pours out of my mouth like cum. He slaps my tits with his hand, and then slaps me in the face with his prick. “Oh god, you fucking whore, you fucking whore”, he says, over and over again as he thrusts. His balls hit my chin, he’s forcing his cock right down as deep as it will go, mashing my own lips against my teeth. I feel something split with the violence of his force, my body struggles – he looks down, sees the blood on my face, sees me broken, and comes, ejaculating wave after wave of salty, burning seed, down into my stomach, pulling out at the last moment, spilling violation over my lips, cheeks, throat, breasts – it coats me in sticky, hot fluid. I fall to the floor like a rag doll as he releases his grip on my hair.

They are gone now.

I’m sore. I try to scrape their scent off me with silk rags, but I can’t. It’s choking me, suffocating me – sweat, spit, cum. There is nothing to wash myself with. I’m shaking, cold even by human standards. There is not so much as a blanket to wrap myself in. I pull my arms around myself instead, and stroke my own skin gently.

I can feel the pack coming closer. They are nearly here now. Through the door I see a man in a suit, in close conversation with the guards. They take him round to look inside the cells, he is taking his time choosing. He pauses in front of mine. I am dirty, bloodied, but still he looks. He turns to a guard and starts to say something – it’s too late, I think. They won’t come in time. Then I feel a tug down the link that bonds me to the pack.

Please get here. Please get here soon. I can’t hold on for much longer.

The lights stop working. Dark, it’s so dark – there are no windows, no natural light at all. I can’t hear anything outside my cell – there is no space for the sound to carry through. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for – I leap up and search frantically for the edge of the door. It’s impossible to see, even with light, and my fingers only find the crack because my sensitive hearing notices an infinitesimally louder space in the glass, where a little noise is spilling through.

I put my hands either side of where I guess the lock to be, and change. Two things happen at once. The electrical energy inside me, generated by the heat and my body’s alteration of form, grounds itself in the nanolock holding the door closed. There is a blinding flash, then an eruption of sound and scent. Chaos – fighting, screams, breaking glass, metal on metal, gunshots – streams into my ears, made ultra sensitive by my change. The smell of blood and other viscera, sweat, humans and pack, hits me almost as hard. I shimmy out of my fur as quickly as possible and remake myself human again. I still stink of rape – the scents and fluids have gone with me through change and back again.

A body barrels into me and knocks me flying at high speed. I smell and feel immediately that he is pack – the scent and touch of home hit me and I can’t help myself, I sob helplessly, anguished, animal sounds issue from my human form as I wail over and over again. He gives me comfort as only pack can – licking my face, rubbing his scent over me, re-marking me as part of the group, letting me hold his fur as I rock back and forth. I can’t see anything, but I know exactly which of my family this is. I know he can’t change back to human right now –he’s not powerful enough to do it at will without the help of his alpha, but he stays with me, and just the line of his body against mine, the feel of his fur against my skin, soothes and calms me.

The fighting is starting to come to an end, parts of the room are clear of noise, and there’s some light, torches held by the pack as they secure sections of the prison. I gather myself together and look for Max – he is across the room, fighting a pitched battle with the man who raped me. Of course he would go straight to them, smelling my scent on them. The two guards are already dead at his feet, their throats bitten out, black blood already clotting on the floor. As an alpha, Max can change some or all of his body at will, and he’s fighting with five knifelike claws attached to each hand. As his body wheels into position for the final stroke, he sees me, bloodied and broken, and meets my eyes across the room. He’s holding the man up by the hair, across the front of his body. As he uses his claws to slice open the chest and eviscerate him, he smiles lovingly at me. He starts to pull the man’s intestines out of his body, accompanied by pain filled frenzied screaming – he lifts them up to his mouth, and starts to eat. He is the last to die, and Max tosses his carcass to the floor like so much carrion. The rest of the pack fall upon the dead body and consume it.

He stalks across the room and catches me as the adrenaline leaves me – I fall, I fall into him. He carries me, but I start to struggle and he lets me stand again. I want to release the others – we cannot leave anyone behind in the glass cells. I want to do it myself but don’t have the strength to – he asks the pack to see to it, using their energy from changing to short-circuit the locks. I feel his energy stream out and trigger the change in the weaker and younger pack members. They release the other women, see them safely outside, give them a mobile to call for help, some blankets – little things which will help without leaving evidence of the pack behind, or giving away information.

I get as far as the backseat of Max’s landrover, before I start shaking violently. I can’t get warm - I just can’t get warm. He gets in with me, leaving one of the pack to drive instead, and pulls a blanket around my still-naked shoulders. I’m covered in filth – blood, sweat, tears, spit and cum. We’re travelling in convoy – pack members in cars ahead, and behind. Max’s arms are around me, pressing me closely into his chest, under his arm – but I still don’t feel safe. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel safe again. He strokes me, whispers soft words, holds my hand to his chest to feel his slow breathing, his heart beating.

The car stops when we’re near home. I get anxious, scared of what’s happening. He soothes me – “sshhh, it’s okay, it’s okay baby. I’m going to make you better, my baby girl”.

He carries me out of the car and into the meadow. The pack follows, a strange procession, almost ritual.

He puts me down in the wild grass by the stream. There are poppies under me, crushed by my body, red petals falling to the earth. Max triggers another change - all of the pack are in wolf form now except for the two of us. He takes his clothes off, and holds me to his chest again, as he stands. We are both naked now. He settles me into the water, holding me so that we are both sitting up, my back against his chest. He takes handfuls of water, washing my body clean, washing all the dirt out of me. The water is cold, and my heat has not returned yet – I shiver, clinging to him, clutching at his legs. He holds me close, and I feel a little of his heat transfer to me. My energy is so depleted that the electrical charge normally created when our bodies come within reach of each other, barely creates a spark in the water.

He lets me drink from his hand – I gulp at it thirstily. Two of the younger members of the pack are sent to hunt – they will bring the kills to our home so we can feast, later.

The pack sings, as he cleans me of the scents of strangers, far from home. They sing of love, and mourning. The sun is setting, and the moon is coming up – it is full tonight. I feel a tug – some of my energy is returning. Before the sun goes down, part of this strange cleansing must begin before sunset – I know that, but I don’t know how I know it. I am following patterns laid down before I was born.

Max stands, and takes my hand – I follow him and he lays me in the meadow. I smell loosestrife, rue and woundwort as the flowers are crushed underneath me. He gathers speedwell and mashes the leaves in his hands, then rubs my body with the pulp. I want to push him away, I feel suddenly conscious of my nakedness, and his hands on me bring me close to tears again. But I submit to his care, I want his scent on me again. I need it.

The grass scratches and tickles against my back, as he presses firmly down against my white skin with the palm of his hand. He mounds each breast and squeezes it, rubbing the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He digs his thumbs into my shoulder blade, and smoothes out the knotted muscle. Light touch on my neck – my hairs start to rise and goose bumps form as he gently pets me there. He runs his hand down my arm to my wrists, lifts them, kisses them, and speeds kisses up into the palm of my hand. He takes each finger into his mouth and sucks it, licks, bites. My body begins to respond to his – I am unable not to.

His hands grasp firmly again as both palms slide down the inside of my legs. He rubs around my calves and then slowly, slowly, his hands come up between my legs. My breathing comes faster, my heat is rising. He puts my arms above my head, and lets me spread my legs – but still, he doesn’t touch me there, not where I want him to. And I do want him to. I feel the lips of my pussy plumpen with need, I know they must glisten with wetness.

His fingers rub closer and closer, but still he does not touch – then I feel a single light brush. My whole body shudders – my back arches, I sigh. He knows then, that I am ready for him, and without any more prelude, he takes me. His cock slips inside like it was made to be there, I close around him, velvety, warm, wet and tight. I instantly feel safer, and clutch him closer to me, my nails digging into his buttocks. He growls gently into my neck, and nips me a little. I bite him back, little tiny nibbles, and then his teeth sink into me hard. I tip my head back and cry out. He holds my face in his hand, and murmers soft bonds of love, each word a kiss.

He pulls out and turns me then, and slides back inside, as deep as he can go. Slow, deep and hard thrusts, his hands on my shoulders. Then, just as the sun’s last light fades out, and the world turns to moonlit monochrome, he changes inside me. The thick shaft becomes pointed, skin changing shape – suddenly the hands on my shoulders are heavy, thick-furred paws. His rhythm changes, as his haunches balance differently, he jabs into me fast – his hindquarters slamming his thick, heavy, cum-filled balls, against my still human creamy thighs.

I feel a knot develop on his thick, scarred, reddened cock – no matter how many times he stretches me, no matter how I practice and try for him, I still have to try just as hard every time when in human form and he is wolf. My pussy is still as tight, still resists his knotted size just as much, when he mounts me. My back bows with the pressure of his weight above me, my legs are spread as wide as I can, and still when I look between my thighs I can see my pussy stretched out, opening up so that he can force that large knotted mass inside me.

He drives the last of it inside me with one final thrust, and the pain is cleansing. He plunges himself in and out of me with an intense, rapid assault on my cunt. I feel his cum scorch me as with each thrust yet more surges out – more than ever before. He is burning me from the inside out – I feel my heat return, as if he is pumping energy inside me with each gush of creamy liquid. There is so much – so much cum; a glut of it. With the last few spurts as he empties out his balls inside me, he bites, deep and hard, into my neck. I feel instant marks form, and I’m glad of them. I want, need, am compelled and crying out for, his mark on me – his scent, his cum, his bruises all over my body. I need to be made pack again. I need to be home. To be safe.

As his red, softening cock flops out, cum gushes out after it, like a cork has been pulled from an upended bottle, pouring out over my thighs, the crushed flowers beneath them. I collapse, roll over onto my back, and he moves forward to stand over me. He gently bites down on my neck, rubbing the bruises in deeper. His muzzle rests against my face, he breaths out gently, then signals to the rest of the pack.

In moments they are on me. The sun is down now, and the moon full in the sky. And so I choose to keep my human form, control returning to me with each act of power. Our two biggest in size after Max, bound forward, eager for their turn. It is rape, the way they take me. I would not have chosen it this way, and yet I am wet for them, wanting them. I kneel in the meadowgrass as the huge wolf stands on his hindlegs, rubbing his heavy, meaty cock over my swollen, stretched pussy, covering it in cum from his alpha. As soon as he’s covered himself in it, he rams it into my arse, but holds himself still with great effort while his packmate mounts me from the front, sliding his cock with relative ease until my still soaked pussy.

They move in unison, violating me, cunt and arse, violently slaking their need to re-establish a bond with their submissive pack female, covering her in their scent, and cum. He fucks me hard – brutally pounding my asshole, stretching me out, slamming me into his packmate who fucks just as hard into my cunt. I feel myself widen, and eventually snap back into place around their dual knots. As they tie with me and begin to release their heavy load, they both howl and claw in a frenzy at my back, each sinking fangs into my neck. Blood pours from me, it soaks into their fur, their claws are red with it. I scream – they fuck harder. I scream more, they fuck and bite and claw more deeply. As the last of their boiling seed fills me up to the belly, they pull out simultaneously and I fall, ravished, unable to hold up my own weight any longer.

But the rest of the pack want their turn – there is no stopping, not until the last one of our forty strong pack is done, each using the their predecessor’s spunk to ease their entry. And still, there is no rest, no surcease for me.

My Max returns to me as human. He reaches between my legs, scoops up a palmful of cum accumulated from the whole pack, and lets me gratefully lick it from his hand. Then he takes another handful and rubs it over my tits; smears the last few sticky drops in my face.

“I love you so much, my little bitch. You are safe now. You are ours. Mine. My bitch, to mount whenever I want. Get into wolf form. I’m going to just fucking mount you again, one more time – because I can”.

I change for him – my body dissolving and coalescing around itself, furred and strong. He changes too, his cock already beginning to knot, his balls just as heavy even though he’d blown his load into me only two hours before. He gets behind me and just sticks his cock straight in, I’m still stretched and sloppy with the cum of the pack. I feel him swelling, and have to open even wider to take his knot one last time. Just before he ties with me, he pulls out, and takes my arsehole instead. His angry, knotted cock, ties my body with his – I can’t be taken from him now. I howl in joy. He pants heavily, growls softly, bites the back of my neck – hard, and rakes his claws over and over on my skin. Even with fast healing, I will be wearing these scars for a while. With one final slam he drains himself dry, leaving me with torrents of cum from him, pouring out to join the messy remains of the pack’s violations.

He curls around me like a huge furry blanket, and all of the pack, even the two youngest back from the hunt, join us. Safe in a pile of densely muscled bodies, my pack scent is restored to me, I am safe. I am home again.