by Kira Stone
Casper didn’t think his newest foundling would lose his mind. He’d already taken a very large step, thinking of Casper’s wolf form in sexual terms. He’d seen as much in his eyes, read it in his body language, scented it in the air around him. The man-pup thought Casper was one hot wolf.
Casper barked in laughter. Maybe his wolf form wouldn’t shatter any mirrors, but his human form took more tolerance to face than even he usually had. So he’d teach the man-pup the true meaning of puppy love. A wrestling match with an entirely different kind of playing. The only wrinkle would be if he had homophobic prejudices. Casper would have to do a little investigation there before he attempted such a rutting.
Assuming the human could keep himself under control long enough for Casper to find out, and what a joy that would be. The foundling had retained most of his puppy fat until the day he’d settled in the abandoned cabin on the edge of the bayou. The sweltering summer burned off a good bit of it, revealing the ripple of firm muscles underneath. He had grace and power and an innocence unique to a pup before his first full shift. The total package would be worth a good mint if he put his body up for bid on the Fetish Black Market. The chance to be the one to change him forever would bring over a million dollars.
Coming to the bayou ensured he would escape that kind of sleaze, the ones who would turn him into a fur-fetish whore. It was about the only thing O’Grady was good for; he refused to let anyone else poach in his parish. That still meant the man-pup had to find a were-partner, for the change — both mental and physical aspects — wouldn’t be complete until he experienced all aspects of his new lupine life.
Oddly, Casper wanted to be his first lupine lover. Part of that was due to the wolfie pheromones the man-pup was pumping out as his body prepared for the trauma of his first shift. Even though Casper knew better than to take the arousal personally, sexual need clawed at his belly. The faint lingering scent of the human clung to his fur after their brief body contact. Too bad he hadn’t had an opportunity to enjoy that position, pressing his weight down upon the naked man-pup. He could now, though, if only in his fantasies. But in human or wolf form?
The human world held little attraction for him. His animal side dominated his life. However, the idea of mounting the human, skin to skin without the padding of fur in between, pounding into his muscular ass until they both howled in release, was very appealing. He could give it a mental dry run, just for variety.
Balls, he was in the mood to rut. Shifting from fur to flesh took seconds after doing it for decades. Even so, his hips undulated against the night air before the process finished. He scored his chest with his rapidly shortening nails as his hands drifted down to his waist. The only pelt remaining, a dense thatch of curly black hair, served as an arrow, guiding him down his abdomen to the very promising land between his thighs.
He might be short on looks, but he was long in cock no matter which form he took. Already harder than the ground under him, Casper took a hold of his rigid shaft in a grip just shy of pain. He started at the head, sliding down. With his eyes closed, he watched his cock disappear into the imaginary man on top of him.
“You hot, tight little fuck,” Casper whispered to the human. His phantom foundling had no reply, save to let his blue eyes twinkle in sheer enjoyment.
Casper arched into his fist, using his powerful legs to bring his ass off the ground. He locked his muscles to hold him in place as his hand manipulated the base of his cock. All his mind registered was the pleasure of his lover grinding down on his thick erection. “Oh, fuck yeah.”
The words drew an extra hard squeeze from the imaginary anal muscles milking him. His free hand came up to slap his balls, adding a stinging counterpoint to each deep thrust. It felt so good, but not nearly good enough to get him off. He wanted to push in hard and fast and deep. He wanted to split the man-pup open, until they were both panting, begging for completion. To achieve release in a down-and-dirty, animal frenzy of a fuck.
And he couldn’t stretch out properly in the tight quarters he’d selected. Time to take a short trip outside. A heap of green moss covering an abandoned gator nest provided the surface he was looking for. He searched the rounded mound for signs of hidden danger. Finding nothing but velvet-coated earth, Casper draped himself over it, belly down. His knees hugged the rise as his erection dug its own groove.
His inherent caution allowed him enough control to keep the first few thrusts slow. He didn’t need to ruin the fantasy by impaling his cock on some sharp stake he’d missed during his hasty recon. However, the pace didn’t stay slow for long. He wanted to let his lust burn.
The damp vegetation provided little friction as his cock glided over it. Each sharp snap of his hips drove him into the hard yet yielding surface. So much better than fucking the humid air.
Casper closed his eyes and let his fantasy settle back into place. The foundling lay underneath him, not the unresponsive block of earth. His back muscles provided an uneven surface that rubbed his puckered nipples in just the right way. He curled his fingers over the man’s shoulders and rocked into his tight ass, grinding in.
Humidity thickened the layer of sweat coating his body. Moisture collected on his straining muscles as he repeatedly flexed into his lover’s sweet hole. Droplets became a steady rivulet running down the crack in his ass, tormenting his own anus with a ticklishly tender, constant caress.
A moan struggled through the taut cords of his neck. His sac tingled with incipient orgasm. In his mind, he imagined jacking his partner’s equally hard cock. “Gonna fill you up, boy. Are you ready for it?”
Wind hissed through the nearby leaves, giving him the answer he wanted to hear. Yes.
“Good boy. So good.”
His knees ached. His hips and shoulders burned from the prolonged physical effort. Yet Casper doubled up his pace, fucking ferociously the way few real humans would ever allow. Fucking the way his true nature demanded, like a wild animal.
His cock throbbed with each beat of his racing heart. He rested his head in the curve of his phantom foundling’s neck, then scraped the sides of his torso with his nails. When he reached the indent of his partner’s waist, Casper gripped him tightly as the first avalanche of orgasm cascaded through his body. He plunged his cock into his mental lover’s ass, balls deep. The imaginary man-pup pressed back, offering the firm resistance he loved. Semen pumped out in thick gouts, sending pulsating ripples of pleasure back to his balls.
A feral groan ripped through the night. Casper bucked through the last of his climax, until numbness and exhaustion forced him to collapse. Once upon a time, that would have been the first of many in a night. He was too long out of practice for such an extended performance. Nor was it necessary. Without a real flesh and blood partner to impress, once was good enough.
Still, he enjoyed the pleasing tingle of sexual awareness lingering in his blood. He ran his hands over his rapidly cooling body. He tweaked his nipples for an extra shot of pleasure before he got to his feet. His century-old bones made the task surprisingly easy. However, as he stretched to restore proper circulation, he realized he was likely to be sore in the morning.
Nothing new there. His battle scars would have guaranteed that much, even without the added workout.
Casper followed his nose to the nearest pool of relatively clean water. He splashed around in it to remove the worst of the dirt, moss and fluid that clung to him. After shifting into lupine form, he shook himself dry and padded back into his den.
Without the distraction of his body’s mating call, his mind had more room to think about the problems the foundling presented. Rex O’Grady, the parish sheriff, wouldn’t be threatened by the man-pup’s interest in his nocturnal activities. Not yet. That didn’t mean he’d tolerate the human interrupting his favorite sport of gator hunting. Kill or be killed was the O’Grady family motto. And the rule applied to more creatures than just the ancient reptiles. Casper knew that for a fact. He’d felt O’Grady’s thirst for his blood, and paid a
high price to learn the lesson.
Whatever it cost him, he had to make sure the foundling wasn’t forced to learn the same lesson the hard way. An experienced swamp hunter like O’Grady would eat the clueless man-pup alive. Casper didn’t want that to happen any more than he wanted to see the shiftless human go insane. The key to both involved forcing the change, accepting that he was more than man or beast alone, and then getting the hell out of the bayou so he could start living his new life.
Should he wait for nature to take its course? The man-pup was so close. There was a good chance a strong breeze against his naked body could blow him into it. However, experience reminded Casper that it was equally possible for the young foundling to stand on the precipice for years if his human mind rejected the beast within. Casper had seen it happen, seen people go crazy because of it. He’d snap the man-pup’s neck to save him from enduring that nightmare of a future.
The choice could wait a few more days. Mother nature had a strong will. Most learned to bend to it before they broke. As long as the man-pup clung to the forest, stayed out of the nearby town, the bayou and O’Grady’s hunting grounds, he’d be all right.
Casper would watch over him to make sure of it.
Chapter 3 — Day Dreams
Daylight turned the one-room shack into a humid furnace. Chase gave up trying to sleep long before it became too hot to breathe. The vegetation didn’t provide much more shade than the roof of his hut, but being surrounded by the greenery convinced him there was a lot more oxygen in the air.
For the first few hours, he worked at digging a body-sized basin out of the black soil. Brackish water filled it up almost as quickly as he could empty it out. That wasn’t the important part. He wasn’t making a tub to get clean, just to cool off and maybe shave. It was the one human ritual he had yet to forsake. As if keeping his chin smooth somehow kept him from de-evolving, no matter what was happening to the rest of him.
The hard workout helped him to keep his mind off other things, the wolf in particular. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the creature since he crawled out of bed. Nor did he want to. He was still angry at the way the animal had thwarted his efforts to rescue the mother gator or at least serve justice to those who had murdered her and her unborn babies.
Unfortunately, he was equally hot to fuck that arrogant, aggravating creature.
Every time the idea of having sex with the black wolf intruded, Chase redoubled his digging efforts. He was a good man, not the kind to bugger innocent children or animals. The fact that this particular desire wouldn’t die a swift death worried him more than all of his other peculiar notions combined. Thankfully, the wolf with oddly human mannerisms was the only subject his deviant libido thirsted for. A quick mental check of other animals he’d come in contact with — a friend’s dog, beasts he’d seen in the zoo, horses and other farm animals that had become the butt of so many shepherd jokes — proved he had no romantic designs on any other four-legged creatures. Just the wolf.
Silky black fur. Strong lines. Aggressive. Dominant. Alpha.
Maybe he should just save himself the trouble of going insane by —
No, he wasn’t even going to finish that thought. He was sick, but that didn’t mean he was incurable. As soon as he found what he was looking for in this damn swamp, whatever the hell that was, his life would get back to normal. And if it didn’t, well, he’d deal with the situation then. In the meantime, he’d dig his mud hole and try to cool the fever in his body and his brain.
When his stomach demanded he stop and eat, Chase contemplated his options. His last grocery run had been weeks ago. The bargain bulk store had a limited selection of canned goods. He was getting tired of eating corn beef hash, mushy fruit cocktail and tuna fish.
Steak. That’s what he wanted. Rare and thick. He could almost taste the juices dribbling down his throat. He had no refrigeration in the cabin so meat would have to be caught and killed — something he had no experience doing — or hunted down in one of the supermarkets in town.
He hadn’t been among his fellow humans in a while. That could be part of his problem. Living in the jungle had brought out the beast in him. Spending some time in civilized society might restore some of his urban manners.
And net him a steak.
Decision made, he retreated to the hot cabin and dug out a pair of cut-off shorts and tank top from the rusty locker he’d stored them in. Like everything else in the bayou, they smelled musty but at least they were clean. He used a gallon of purified water to wash up then got dressed, grabbed his wallet and headed into town.
It was a hike, longer than he remembered. He’d sold his expensive foreign car months ago, needing the cash far more than the transportation. Tramping through the dense brush made him wish he’d held onto it a little while longer. Hauling his supplies home was going to be a bitch. It was almost enough to make him turn around.
Almost, but not quite.
Without a watch or a clock to tell him what time he’d left, Chase had no idea how long it had taken him to get to the edge of the small Louisiana town. It was still hot, and he now craved water more than anything.
Luckily, he’d stumbled into civilization near a convenience store. An SUV emblazoned with police insignias was parked in front of it. The deputy, a fit-looking man who appeared to be in his late forties, argued with a pretty blonde woman about half his age. From time to time, the woman darted a worried glance over her shoulder toward the interior of the small store.
Chase wasn’t sure what it was about the couple that seemed off to him. The woman’s fear was almost palpable yet there didn’t seem to be a reason for it. However, the wrongness of their heated, soft-spoken exchange created an itch between his shoulders that no amount of scratching could satisfy.
Not his problem, he decided. He had enough of his own.
The itching continued to needle him as he walked into the snack shop. A blast of air smacked him in the face. He snapped at it, literally.
“What’s your problem, mister?”
Chase spun around to see a young girl standing behind the checkout counter. She looked to be about fourteen going on twenty-five. Her red shorts were barely longer than bikini bottoms. A white tank top clung to her budding breasts. The look in her eye invited him to take a good long gander at whatever interested him, especially the items that weren’t displayed on a shelf.
He wasn’t even remotely tempted to take her up on that offer. Thank God. He pasted a polite, impersonal smile on his face. “It’s the heat. I’m not used to it.”
“Then you’re definitely not from around here.” She sat on a high, wooden stool and crossed her legs. “So where are you from?”
Small talk. He sucked at it, even before he started to go starkers. Where was Jackie when he needed her? His tougher-than-nails sister could put anyone at ease. Or on their guard. “Everywhere and nowhere.”
“Seriously, man, you can tell me. I’m going to be a travel agent when I grow up, going to all the hot spots, seeing the sights. I’m gonna have fun.” She tossed her mane of honey blonde hair over her shoulder. “So, like, what do you do for fun?”
Chase ducked down one the aisles, retreating all the way to the back. It didn’t cut off the sound of her voice, or the pregnant pause that could have birthed triplets as she waited for him to respond. “I don’t get out much, really.”
“A hot guy like you? I don’t believe it.”
Great. A teenager thought he was hot when he knew he had to look like something that crawled out of the swamp to die. “I design things. I can lose track of time, playing around with the pictures inside my head. Women don’t think much of you when you don’t remember to show up for a date.” Men neither, to be fair. Not even the ones who professed to adore his “artistic temperament.”
“Geez, ever hear of an alarm clock?”
The feeling between his shoulders got worse, almost painful. He glanced out the window and saw that the man in uniform was staring back at him. Chase felt compe
lled to confront him, chase him off. Ridiculous, even more so than when he’d had the same feeling in the swamp. The cop had as much right to be on this land as he did. The best thing he could do was finish his shopping and go back to the shack. Fast.
He ducked down another aisle and started to grab things at random. “Tried them. Found I could ignore them too.”
The girl angled her body to show off her slim curves in a practiced move she had to have picked up watching television. “Can’t imagine. I’m up before the first beep ends.”
Chase dumped his armload of supplies on the counter between them. She started ringing his order up like a pro. “Anything else I can get for you?”
Again with the look that said he could have whatever he wanted, even if it wasn’t for sale. It gave him a panicky feeling that didn’t help his already shaky nerves. “Ice. I need ice.”
“That’s outside. My mom’s tied up, so you’ll have to give me a hand.”
She came around the counter, key in hand. The arguing couple outside was more animated now, gesturing wildly. The man didn’t like what he was hearing, and the woman didn’t seem to get much satisfaction from saying it.
The girl paused by the exit. “Are you coming, or what?”
Chase felt the cop’s dagger glare knife into his back. Sheriff O’Grady wanted him off his turf as badly as Chase wanted the reverse. “Did you have some trouble at the store? Is that why the officer is here?”
“That’s Rex O’Grady. He’s the sheriff. He’s always hassling us.”
The woman looked over again, glanced around a bit panicked until she spotted them in front of the store. The girl stood still, seemingly torn between going to her mother’s side and staying within flirting range of him. A slight shake of the woman’s head settled the matter.
“I’m Alexis, by the way. That’s my mom, Luna, with the sheriff.”
“Chase.” Damn. He didn’t mean to give his real name. Though it was unlikely that anyone would think to look for him here, it was better to be safe than sorry. “Michael Chase.”