by Casey Morgan
Mother was slightly tall, with small breasts and no hips. It was quite obvious that I was adopted. Maybe she still expected me to look like her, even tough there was no blood shared between us.
Her face was long and narrow with brown eyes; mine was round with defined cheekbones and icy-blue eyes. Our religion required that Mom and I dress modestly in long skirts and long sleeve shirts or sweaters.
I didn’t have to cover my hair, although I was forbidden from cutting it. So, I just kept it tied back in a low ponytail. It was golden-blonde, nothing like the black of my mother’s.
I looked myself up and down and scoffed a little. If she wanted a daughter who looked more like her, then she should have chosen one. I was adopted when I was three—there was no secret about what my coloring was going to be, even at that time.
Mary asked, once, if I remembered my life before I came to live with the Blenkos. I don’t really.
I told her that any memory I have is a hazy jumble of images: flashes of government buildings and social workers, people promising that they were going to help me. Oddly enough, I didn’t remember being in an orphanage. In that jumbled mess of recollections, there were none of other children surrounding me.
I stuck my tongue out at my reflection. I looked dumpy, not fat. My red sweater was much too large; it didn’t show the area where my waist narrowed.
A slight quiver went through my whole body as I looked at myself.
What would a man see? I wondered. Would a man find me attractive?
My fingers slid to the hem of my sweater and I pulled it over my head. Ivory skin exposed, I glanced at my bulging breasts.
Mother always hated buying me bras—double D cups are expensive, and I needed thick straps to hold up their weight. I looked at my image again in the mirror: huge, round boobs, narrow waist and wide hips.
I secretly liked the way I looked. I liked the curve of my figure. Maybe I was plump, but in my not-so-humble opinion, the weight looked good on me.
I hoped my future husband would think the same thing. If I ever found one. I had a few boys interested in high school, but my father wouldn’t let me date. He wanted me to marry within our church, The Path of God; he was insistent.
That had always seemed unlikely, though, and still did up until this day. There were very few people in church that were my age—just Mary and me, really—and not many new members joined.
Maybe I would be single forever. The thought was depressing, especially this close to Valentine’s Day.
I wanted to be touched by a man. I was a twenty-three-year-old virgin.
Really, I had never even been kissed.
What would that be like? I often wondered.
I snuck romance novels and read them when my parents weren’t around, but words in a book and actual reality were very different.
I also sometimes played with myself in my lonely bedroom, exploring my own body since no one else could. I knew my parents thought it was a sin, but they didn’t have to know about it.
Because I had no money and nowhere else to live, my parents might have been able to control how I dressed and looked and acted in the outside world, under the threat of kicking me out when we had fights, or, more often, just by shaming and guilt tripping me due to my natural desire to bond with and please them.
But in my own bedroom, I was in complete control of my body and my thoughts. And today, my thoughts were on sex.
How would a man look at me?
A pair of deep brown eyes popped into my head. I startled myself by realizing that they belonged to the tall man from earlier today, whom I had tried to get to come inside but didn’t.
Had he gazed at me with lust or was it just the sweet treat I offered?
He had been handsome under that rough, wanderer getup. His tall body and broad shoulders appealed to me. I was able to tell that he was muscular by the way his old duster had pulled at his arms.
I closed my eyes and imagined him before me, duster and hoodie gone. In my vison, he wore his rough jeans and an old gray t-shirt that showed his large pec muscles. He smiled a lopsided smile and reached for me like we had known each other all our lives.
In my fantasy, I ran to him and he picked me up. My weight was nothing to his strong arms and back.
“Hello, darlin’,” he said.
Alone in my room, I giggled to myself. I didn’t even know what a man would say to me if he wanted me.
Would he ask me if he could kiss me or just lean down and do it?
Yes, I liked that second idea better. I supposed I wouldn’t know what to say if he asked me first, even if I wanted to.
I imagined my mysterious stranger leaning down and putting his lips on mine. He was gentle at first, but then his mouth became more insistent. In my mind, I opened my mouth to him and let his tongue explore mine until I caught it and sucked it quickly.
Surely, he would want to touch my breasts, or I hoped he would. I opened my eyes and took off my bra.
Full and heavy, my breasts stuck out before me like ivory globes. I ran my hands over their sides, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin. I imagined my mystery man reaching for one.
Were his hands big enough to hold one? Would he squeeze it with his strong fingers?
I imagined him doing just that. He took my left breast in his hands and squeezed it tight. Then he ran his fingers around my nipple.
I mimicked his movements on my own. My nipples became hard, their pink color turning to a darker dusty rose with my excitement. He took my nipples—one by one—to his mouth and sucked gently. The fantasy made my pussy begin to ache.
Such a man would want to see me fully nude. I unbuttoned my long skirt and pulled it down over my hips, shimmying slightly so as to not tear the fabric.
My panties—white cotton and plain—came off next. I was nude in front of my mirror and dreaming of standing exposed for my mystery man who had been at the window.
He would tell me how beautiful I was while he undressed himself. He pulled his tight t-shirt over his head, messing up his wavy brown hair, and his stomach was exposed to me. Hard in all the areas I was soft in, his defined muscles gleamed like the mounds of power they were.
My eyes worshiped every inch of his torso, until they dropped down to his jeans and the button he was unbuttoning. The jeans parted and dropped, revealing boxers underneath and long strong legs.
Then his hands reached for his boxers and… wow. I’d be standing in front of a nude man for a first time. A nude man who wanted me and wanted to take my virginity.
My hands slid down my front, over my stomach, to the mound that sat at the top of my legs. I rubbed myself gently, inching down slowly till I found the folds of my pussy.
Every touch I gave myself, I imagined it was him—the drifter from this morning. I thought about his fingers tenderly teasing my folds, opening them gently and seeing if I was wet for him. I was.
As he touched me, I reached out my little hand and felt the silky-smooth skin of his dick. A thing I had never seen in person, only in pictures; glances that Mary and I took of an anatomy book in the public library.
I cupped my hands around his balls, then slid my fingers back along his rock-hard shaft. When I reached his rounded head, I licked it—right where the little hole was, and tasted his precum.
In my imagination, I took his whole tool in my mouth and sucked it, feeling how hard it was. I bobbed my head up and down, letting it move in and out of me, getting it wet with my spit and warming it with my mouth.
It hit the back of my throat and I relaxed, to let it slide down further.
In my room, I moved to my bed and lay down. I could still see myself in the mirror. I watched as I fingered my own pussy while my thoughts were full of imagining my mouth crammed with dick.
My mystery man happily fucked my face for a bit, with one hand on my jaw and the other pulling my hair tightly. His cock was so thick it pulled my lips and jaw wide open till they hurt just a little. Its warmth filled my mouth.
&n
bsp; It got wetter and wetter, till it started to leak a little. More precum hit my tongue and I swallowed it.
He pulled out of my lips and moved to my legs. After opening my legs wider, so he could access my womanhood easily, he gently pushed his cockhead to my wet folds.
He ran the head up and down a bit, teasing me, and turning me on more. My stomach tightened with anticipation.
He pushed into me and filled me with his long, hard cock. In the real world, I pressed my fingers inside myself; it was a poor substitute for a real dick, but I made do, fucking myself while I imagined my stranger. He pumped me hard, thrusting himself in and out of me, bringing me up to the brink of orgasm and causing sensations to run through my pussy and my body.
As he fucked me, my man told me how wonderful I was, how beautiful, and how good I felt to him. To him, I was perfect. His praise added to my enjoyment. I quivered under the feel of him and the experience we were sharing.
Lost to pleasure and desire, the man with the dark eyes grunted suddenly. His cock slammed into me hard and filled me with his seed.
My orgasm came quickly after—in the real world and the fantasy. My pussy clenched and pumped at my own fingers, wishing that they were cock, and I let out a low moan. Bursts of electric sparkles ran up throughout my body.
After, I lay on my bed and tried to catch my breath, alone once again, in my mind as well as in reality. It was a good orgasm, but as always, it left me wanting more.
Gone were the days where I could sufficiently satisfy myself. I needed a man and I needed one soon.
Chapter Four
Mason
Gray Acres was ringed with woods. The trees were thin and the undergrowth overgrown, but it was still a nice little wilderness. In a pinch, it was a good place to sleep in wolf-form.
I had found a fallen tree with a little bit of a hollow to stash my bag and my clothes in. I was sure I was the only person sleeping in the woods and that no one else would find my things. They were safe enough.
Drifting from town to town wasn’t the way I wanted to live. But it wasn’t a choice, really. Werewolves couldn’t live just anywhere, especially alphas such as myself. There could only be one alpha in a town or territory. If there was more than one, fighting occurred until one alpha dominated the other and made him give up his alpha powers. It was a fate I had no intention of tempting.
So, I had been living on the road, searching for an empty town for twenty years. Gray Acres was just one town in the many that I had visited. I wasn’t sure if it was the place for me, but it might be. I usually took a day or two to hunt around for other wolves. So far, this place seemed empty.
The morning sun pushed through the trees and warmed my fur. Still in wolf-form, I stretched and pulled out of the little burrow I had made myself. I shook off the dirt and bits of snow and started the slow change back to being human.
The shift took over. My bones ached and lengthened. My skin ripped and fur disappeared. My nose replaced my snout.
As quickly as the pain came, it was gone, and I stepped out on bare feet. Goose bumps appeared on my flesh, but they would be gone soon.
Cold air kissed my ass cheeks and I shivered a bit. My cock hung low and forgotten. Female Weres were rare and hard to find. It was a search I had given up on.
Fighting the chill, I pulled my clothing on quickly: boxers, jeans, a t-shirt and then my old blue hoodie. I pulled my socks and shoes on before covering myself with my old brown duster.
My stomach rumbled—I hadn’t eaten much for days—and my inner wolf rose. It longed to smell prey on the air and hunt, but I couldn’t. I could no longer smell a thing. My sense of smell was completely gone, lost to a military experiment when I was twenty-years-old.
The predator within me was still there, though. The urge to hunt was always with me, even if the actuality was lost to me forever.
Once I was fully dressed, I grabbed my bag and headed back into town. Trash lined the streets—carelessly tossed cups and old food containers mostly; it made this little town feel grubby, dirty and unwanted.
More towns were going the way of Gray Acres—ignored and disrespected or forgotten altogether. Maybe this was the best place for me. Part of me kind of hoped that it was.
Constantly traveling was wearing me down. It was making me feel like an old wolf before my time. Hell, I only looked about twenty-five in human years, but werewolves age more slowly. My true age was closer to forty-three.
I had been alone for a long time. At this point, I had resigned myself to the fact that I was going to be a lone wolf for the rest of my life. An alpha without a mate was rarely strong enough to have a pack.
In my long years of wandering, I had only seen a few females and they were already claimed by rival alphas. They had found love and deep at heart, I was a romantic. I wouldn’t try to take someone’s mate.
The loss of the packs was a catastrophe caused by the United States government that started almost fifty years back. When the military found out about werewolves with our superior strength, healing, and powers of domination, they started to fear the packs that populated the rural areas. So, they were broken up—a process that was continued for years.
Males, especially alphas, were taken from their families and sent to be raised on military training camps. The United States government wanted us to be trained as super-soldiers, and some of us—like me—were experimented on.
But that dream of theirs was short lived. It never occurred to anyone in power that military training and alphas shouldn’t mix. Alphas are impossible to control and didn’t like being ordered around.
Our guards and teachers died easily under our hands. They were the ones who had trained us on how to fight efficiently and how to take their lives with ease. The camps were destroyed, and the program forgotten. Werewolves became ignored and forgotten, giving us alphas the chance to roam the country and try to put our lives back together.
When the packs were broken up and then for years after that, females were adopted out to human families who didn’t know what they were or who promised to raise the girls without any knowledge of their werewolf background. Much of the time, those adoptions went badly, with the girls getting placed in overly religious households who feared that they were monsters or were on par with monster hunters.
Sometimes these adoptive parents were controlling and abusive. Other times, the girls shifted without any knowledge of what was going on. Many killed themselves. Many others killed their whole families in the blood lust that comes with the first shift. It was a constantly continuing tragedy that kept their numbers down.
Females were rare now and we all suffered for it. I knew or heard of some Alphas who found one of the adopted girls and helped her discover who she really was. But that almost never happened. Most of us were forced to join up and be subordinates in established packs. I tried once, but as soon as they found out I was defective—without my sense of smell—I was attacked, so that obviously didn’t work out well.
I had no intention of suppressing my alpha nature and playing lowest man on the totem pole. I never put my belly up in fights. So, I never belonged. And thus, I kept having to move around, town to town, village to village, looking for a place where there were no wolves and I could live out the rest of my life alone among the humans.
Now, I kicked an empty cup in front of me and pulled my duster closed against the wintery breeze that came in from the Northeast. As a Were, I was mostly immune to the chill, but I was tired and sick of being cold.
I needed to find someplace inside to hang out for the day. Some place that wouldn’t immediately throw out a man who looked homeless. I had passed a bakery the day before that looked comfy, but that wouldn’t do. From what I could see of it, it was clearly a family place. I needed someplace rougher that I wouldn’t tarnish with my presence.
After a few more blocks, I was almost resigned to shift into wolf form again and risk being taken in by the local dog catcher. I could get out of the pound, but I always felt ba
d about the damage I dealt later. So, it wasn’t worth it.
After a few more blocks, an old brick building rose before me, dingy and dirty like the rest of the town. The sign, which had gears on it, was falling apart and the red door was splintering.
The Grinder was the name of the place. It was run down but seemed to be open early in the morning. It was probably a place where brutes and thugs hung out, but that wasn’t a problem. Once I proved that I wasn’t someone to mess with, I knew that they would leave me alone. Human thugs were never a problem for me.
I pushed open the door and enjoyed the blast of heat. As I went up to the bar, there were glances my way and whispering behind my back. I ignored it all.
The bartender didn’t ask what I wanted. He just leaned towards me on and placed his big forearms onto the wooden top of the bar. That much was clean, I noticed. This man took his job seriously.
“Whiskey,” I ordered. “I don’t care the brand. Whatever’s cheap.”
He looked me up and down; taking in the long leather duster I wore and the rips it had in it. Under that, I had on a hoodie and had pulled the hood up over my hair. I probably stunk, but I didn’t know or care.
“What’s wrong with you?” the bartender asked.
I flinched slightly. It was such an odd question. No one was usually that up front.
I calmed the expression on my face and gave the bartender a one-sided smile.
“PTSD,” I said.
It was a lie I had used before to get people off my back who wondered why I wasn’t a fully functioning member of society.
He shifted his weight and glared holes in me. His regard started to feel uncomfortable, so I dropped my eyes and slumped into myself.
My inner wolf wanted to tear his throat out for disobeying me, but I didn’t. This was just an over curious human, I told myself. He didn’t know who or what he was dealing with.
“I have money,” I assured the bartender, assuming that was the problem he was worried about. “I can pay.”