Queer Werewolves Destroy Capitalism
Page 15
As the half moon rose on the summer solstice, he said it was time. I transformed and charged the building, my unsheathed, pendulous werewolf cock bouncing between my legs. I leapt and soared through the air, crashing through the second storey window, which gave like it was made of plastic, the glass fluttering into ribbons. My landing was less graceful, I smashed into a desk, annihilated a rolling chair and broke a computer monitor in half as I scrambled for my feet. Morgan soared effortlessly through the window behind me, which reformed behind him as he touched down.
I stood my full height in front of him, cock still dripping, and he smiled his devilishly handsome smile up at me as he took my cock in his hand, thicker as his arm, and finished the spell he had begun that morning as the sexual energy had pooled within me. It was almost too much, if he hadn’t warned me how it would feel I would have taken him there and then, like I desperately wanted to. But I wouldn’t be fucking him tonight.
As he traced the last glyph and spoke the incantation, we both felt the presence. The lights from the city outside dimmed, even the walls of the conservative minister of provincial parliament, the little shithead evangelical, seemed to fall away and there was only him. I could feel the presence run his hand appreciatively over my cock, soft enough to barely move it, but firm enough that I whined as if in heat.
I glanced up and, over my muzzle I could see Morgan smirking. He could see the being, and I soon learned why he was smiling. I could feel my tail lift and something press against my hole.
I stumbled and fell over forward, hearing the crack of the other desk, my gangly, hairy, muscly arms finding the floor, my claws digging into the hardwood. I heard Morgan utter another incantation and felt a coolness on my hole. Magical lube, thank whatever gods or spirits provided that. The presence was enormous, all consuming, but in whatever form it took it was barely bigger than an average person. I felt a gentle hand on my broad shoulders push me down and hold me. I whined in anticipation as something enormous pressed at my hole, and the spirit pushed in.
Dark tendrils of energy began to wrap around me. Morgan had warned me the spirit may be a bit into restraints, so we had practiced a little to see what incorporeal bondage felt like. Nothing could have prepared me for the feeling of something wholly not of this world taking me from behind, and not being able to move at all, not being able to struggle, but willing entirely to give myself over to this dark pleasure. I stood at almost eight feet as a werewolf, but the presence’s cock was thicker than anything I had ever taken as a werewolf. As it pressed into me, holding me down, I began to pant, willing myself to relax while my brain simultaneously wanting to run, while also wanting to give myself over entirely.
“I’m here,” I heard Morgan whisper through the veil of wherever I was. I gave in.
I hadn’t come for a week, and I didn’t think it would take me long, but the spirit wanted to draw it out, wanted to torture me. Once he had pressed entirely into my ass, he slowly, agonizingly pulled out and I heard a high whine for more echo through the room and realized it was my own. Another thrust and then the demon was fucking me, pounding me into the table which splintered beneath us. The floor began to crack and so he threw me against a wall, my claws grasping for anything to hold onto, tearing apart the ancient walls of provincial parliament. An incorporeal hand found my cock and began to stroke it, but whatever baleful magicks the being possessed it was able to keep me just on the edge without pushing me over. It was agonizing and I began to howl for release.
It could have been five minutes, it could have been all night. I gave myself entirely to the demon of lust and it used me however it wanted, and however I wanted. Morgan was there the whole time, watching, protecting, whispering words of encouragement to me, whispering suggestions to the spirit of the places that would torture me with pleasure the most. As it fucked me another hand reached around to stroke me, another to pinch and torture my nipple, another for the other one, another to pull my hair. A fanged mouth found my neck and nibbled that, then my ear. That was it, nothing could stop the force of nature that was this flood of sexual energy. I screamed in ecstatic agony as I came, I could feel a warmth between my legs, both from the demon and myself. My front was soon coated in my own come and my vision went black as I threw my head back and howled.
I came to with Morgan standing over me, gently rubbing my muzzle, just enough to bring me back, but my body was electric, shivering from my post orgasm. My eyes blinked and I looked up at him and he could sense my question.
“Oh, no, it’s a lot more fun as a witch. It’s the difference between a random hookup and getting fucked by a partner who knows everything you could ever want.”
He reached down into the mess on my hairy stomach and dipped his fingers in my generous come, then stood and walked over to the only wall that was left even partially intact. I glanced around and the entire office might as well have been put through a wood chipper, bits of computer plastic along with the ancient, antique wood writing desk, shreds of curtain mixed in with enormous chunks of chipped wall.
I felt the last of Morgan’s magic leave my cock as he wrote a note in my come. I could hear the sizzle as the semen, mixed with the demon’s furious, lustful magicks mixed, burning into the wall. Repainting wouldn’t do it, they’d have to tear the wall out and rebuild it. Even then, the message may still reappear if it was potent enough. Creepy, bigoted Christians had been manipulating the provincial conservatives for years, and finally Morgan had enough of it when the party snuck legislation to empower an evangelical “university” to give out honest to goodness degrees. Science degrees, which was laughable. Funnelling money and resources into legitimizing something wicked and hateful. And so this was the first in a new campaign. Morgan’s idea, which I was all too happy to go along with, even if it mean being celibate for a week, even if it mean . . . maybe in spite of having to get fucked by a demon.
“QUEER WEREWOLVES DESTROY CAPITALISM” is the message Morgan burned into the wall with magical come. The first of many as we continued to tear the system apart. And hopefully we would never stop until the system that enabled so much hatred and exploitation lay in ash at our feet. And then we’d find a new one to destroy.
Create your queer world at www.Microcosm.Pub
SUBSCRIBE!
For as little as $15/month, you can support a small, independent publisher and get every book that we publish—delivered to your doorstep!
www.Microcosm.Pub/BFF