The Alpha Men's Secret Club: A Scorchingly Hot BBW Shifter Romance

by Dawn Steele

  The air around her was heated. Everyone in the room was looking at her, waiting to hear what she would say. She sensed that if she said the wrong thing, she would condemn someone. And yet . . . she did say ‘no’.

  She said, “I . . . don’t think I’m ready for . . . what they proposed to do to me. B-but I’m not angry or anything. I’m not pressing any charges.” Her cheeks burned. Where did she think she was? In a police station?

  Everyone visibly calmed down. Or at least, it had gone from Defcon One to Defcon Two. Perhaps it was the right thing to say after all.

  The Undertaker said, “You clearly don’t belong here, girl. Would you like to go home?”

  Everyone paused again, waiting for her answer. Rust’s eyes glinted. She couldn’t read his expression. Did he look hopeful? Did he want her to stay or go? Did he even know who she was? He did have a penchant for not knowing his students’ names after all. But Carlo was here. Surely he knew who Carlo was.

  Both Thomas and Carlo seemed discomfited by the whole thing. Their cocks had turned flaccid. Their ardor had been obviously cooled. Her blood was still overheated by the whole incident, however, and the attentions of so many attractive men made her heady and a little reckless.

  Kate said, “No, I wouldn’t like to go home. I’d like to stay, please.”

  Smiles curled on some of the revelers’ lips. She knew what they were thinking, and she flushed. Slut. She was playing hard to get.

  “But – ” Kate quickly added, “I want to go with him.”

  She pointed at Rust, who did not seem surprised.

  Titters and murmurs filled the room. Thomas and Carlo did not look pleased.

  Rust drew himself to his full height. He was easily six foot two, she thought.

  “Are you sure?” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  Kate swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Then she is yours,” the Undertaker pronounced. “Take her and do with her what you wish.”

  Do with her what you wish. Uh . . . Kate wondered if she had made a mistake. She didn’t sign up for that, or did she?

  It was too late though. Rust held out his hand.

  “Come,” he said simply, commandingly.

  Transfixed by his spell, she took his hand. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck up to look at him. She could not take her eyes off him. He mesmerized her, sapped every ounce of her willpower.

  His beautiful green eyes burned as they took her in. His hand was warm.

  Without another word, he led her out of the room.

  9

  Rust led her down the corridor and down a flight of stairs. They were descending to the bowels of the Earth, she sensed. Her heart was beating wildly behind her exposed breasts. She had no time to conceal them. But she should not think of concealment when he himself was proud and naked beside her.

  This was certainly a fantasy of hers – to be with a naked Rust O’Brien. But she certainly hadn’t expected it to be in a scenario such as this one. They passed a few half-dressed people. More wolves and foxes, who sized her up with their glittering eyes.

  Then finally, they reached a chamber.

  “Get in,” he said roughly.

  She was more than a little scared of his anger as she stumbled into the room. Her heels threatened to trip her up, but she remained on her feet thankfully. She would be mortified and extremely embarrassed if she fell flat on her face in front of him.

  Rust slammed the door behind him.

  “What do you think you’re playing at?” he demanded as he rounded up on her.

  She faltered. The room was a standard one, almost like a hotel room. There was a bed, a desk, a dresser, some closets. Was this his private room?

  “I’m not playing at anything,” she said bravely.

  He stared at her flushed face. Her breasts. Belatedly, she tried to tuck them into her bra cups, but it wasn’t easy. The cups were too small and even Rita had required some expertise to ease her large tits into them.

  “Don’t bother doing that,” he said.

  Her trembling hands paused. What did he mean, exactly?

  He took two strides towards her. She tensed. She should be afraid of him, really. He was so intense, and he was a shapeshifter. He was an exotic paranormal being. She should run out of here and never look back, and yet . . . she was strangely excited. More excited than she had ever been in her brief life.

  Her pussy clenched, contracting painfully. Contracting with want, with need.

  He seized her arms. Her breasts heaved. Oh, she so badly wanted him to touch them. He did not disappoint her. He grabbed them – those sleek, big globes of flesh. His grip was painful, and so tears came into her eyes. He was touching her – her Professor. The man she desired more than anyone else in the world. She was elated, exhilarated, terrified and in the height of anticipation all at the same time.

  She could only stare into his lovely green eyes as his hands kneaded her breasts, tweaked her nipples. Blood rushed into her areolas, giving them a red tinge.

  “Is this want you want?” Hs voice was still harsh. There was glittering desire in his eyes, nevertheless. And conflict. Why was he conflicted? Because she was his student?

  Did he even know who she was – the wallflower who stood in the fringes of his crowd, who never said a word? She was confused and unsure. His words suggested he had an inkling of who she was, and yet, she still wasn’t sure. She could only play this out.

  “Y-yes,” she gasped.

  He continued to rub her nipples slowly. Back and forth. Bringing the blood into them. Plumping them so that they were lush and protuberant.

  Then he pushed her back, and she fell onto the bed.

  “Off with your clothes,” he said.

  He did not wait for her to obey. He fell onto her and started to rip her bodice. The sound of tearing filled the air. No man had ever wanted her this way before. She was no virgin, of course. She had been fucked by two boys in high school before – sticky gropings under the bleachers and in the janitor’s closet.

  But not like this. Definitely not like this.

  She let him tear away the taffeta skirt. She didn’t know fabric could rip like that. She’d always thought it was the stuff of storybooks. He flung the offending pieces of contrasting material – taffeta and latex – onto the floor. Now only her garters and stockings and crotchless panties remained. Her betraying pussy was wet. She wondered if he could see the wetness, the creams pooling at her hole, running down the thin membrane separating her vulva and her anus.

  He gazed down at her again, taking every part of her body in – her heaving breasts, large and voluminous, her newly shaved pussy. Her pussy leaves were colored a blush of deep pink, and her clit peeked out shyly.

  Her thighs were together, and he forced them apart with his hands. Now there was no hiding her lust. She could not take her eyes off his beautiful face as he prized her labia apart and rubbed her clit. She almost came right then and there as her fleshy morsel was teased, prodded and squeezed by his insistent fingers.

  Then he stubbed two of his fingers into her vagina. The movement was so swift and sudden than she cried out.

  “You’re not a virgin,” he said, exploring her wet canal. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her pussy. His fingers explored her walls, her depth, going in as deep as they could.

  “No,” she squeaked.

  “How far do you want to go?” he demanded. His fingers went in deeper, and his knuckles bunched, widening her tunnel.

  Now she was afraid. She didn’t know what he meant.

  How far do you want to go?

  He was a shifter. She was clueless as to how far they went. She didn’t know the sexual practices of shifters. She didn’t know what they did in this club. For all she knew, he might devour her after the act. But then, if she left now, she would never know what could be possible.

  She found her voice saying, “As far as you want to take it.”

  Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs.<
br />
  Ba-dup.

  Ba-dup.

  Ba-dup.

  He half-smiled, his beautifully shaped lips curling. Then his knuckles curled within her pussy. He inserted another finger and yet another. Each one adding to the bloat . . . and more, and more. Walls being pushed outward and backward and forward and outward again. Until all four of his fingers were inside her tight, tight passage, which was being stretched to its maximum.

  It was all she could do to spread her thighs as wide as they could possibly go so that his hand could go in. Her head tipped backward and she had to hold every ounce of her breath so that her pelvis could expand.

  It was the only way her engorged pussy could take his entire hand.

  Ohhhhh!

  He fisted her, and the pleasure and pain both engulfed every part of her groin.

  She cried out, and her screams pierced the air. Her own fists grabbed the bed sheets. As far as you want to take it. Sexually, she has never been this far before.

  And then, as suddenly as he had begun, he stopped. His fist exited her swollen tunnel, and a gush of her pussy creams spilled forth. Her pussy walls contracted, and the relief from the pressure of his fist was immediate. At the same time, her groin felt a sense of loss.

  She wanted his hand back where it was.

  “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, oh, oh!”

  He watched her face amusedly. She could see him out of her slitted eyes. He watched the juices flow out of her pussy and stain the swollen area of her perineum, dripping down to the bed.

  His creamed fist darted up and grabbed her right tit. He smeared her own creams onto her breasts, her nipples and her belly so that she was coated with her own lust. His act seemed almost Biblical in its connotation.

  She wanted him to fuck her so bad. She wanted his long, thick cock inside her pussy where his fist had been.

  But he had other plans.

  He got up and off the bed. She was too winded to do anything but lie there and watch him.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “Keep your legs apart.”

  Then he walked away towards the door. He exited, still naked and not looking back at her.

  Her heart was racing a million miles a second. But she did not dare move. She did not dare close her legs. She did not dare wipe her own sticky goo from her own breasts, which no longer seemed as though they belonged to her. She stared at the ceiling and strained for sounds outside.

  Oh, what was she to do?

  10

  Does he remember me?

  Does he not remember me?

  Does he know who I am?

  Does he not know who I am?

  These questions churned in her mind, like the plucked petals of a flower thrown into a wind of chance. And still, she didn’t move.

  How long had he been gone for? Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? It was an eternity. Her thighs ached from being opened for so long. She wondered if there was a hidden camera in her room. If she hadn’t been here, she would be in her dorm room now with Michaela, snoring away.

  Did Michaela miss her? Or would she chalk it up to the fact that her roommate and best friend might have gotten lucky? Kate did mention she might pull an all-nighter to catch up with her prep work.

  The door opened again. She hadn’t heard any footsteps. She raised her head.

  Rust came back into the room.

  Her anticipation pricked up, along with a tangible fear. She was afraid of this man, and yet she desired him more than anything. He was still naked, even though his cock was no longer erect.

  Where did he go? she wanted to ask him. Did he fuck someone else out there? Did he transform into that fluid, lethal and magnificent tiger and finish off his fight against the red wolf? Her pulse accelerated. So much she didn’t know about this man. So much she wanted to find out.

  Some objects glinted in his hand. Metal. He came back upon the bed, between her legs.

  “You haven’t yelled ‘uncle’ yet,” he said.

  No, she hadn’t.

  “Do you want me to stop now?” he added, his green eyes imposing jewels in his orbs.

  “No.” This came out whispery. There was a frog in her throat that she hadn’t cleared.

  He showed her the objects. They were pretty pieces of metal jewelry. Earrings, she reckoned. He got me a present, her elated mind told her.

  He posited one of the jewelry pieces on her right nipple. There was a clamp there, something she had mistaken for an earring clip. The clamp bit down on her nipple, indenting the flesh.

  “Oh!” she cried at the sudden pain.

  He smiled at her.

  “You like that?” he said.

  She didn’t know how to answer.

  “It’s quite a sensory experience,” he said, clamping her other nipple with an identical piece. Little shiny crosses trailed from the nipple clamps. He tugged at them both, pulling the tactile flesh of her nipples along. Little spools of pleasure and pressure shot through the tips of her breasts.

  “You’re a good girl,” he said, looking down between her legs – at the splayed, messy pussy with its betraying font of ever flowing juices. “You follow orders well, don’t you?”

  “Y-yes.”

  He took hold of her left labia and pulled it apart. Then he pinched it with a smaller but no less tight clamp. He did the same with her right labia. Now four of her erotic zones were inundated with unyielding traps, and the pressure on them was intimate and omnipresent.

  The pad of his finger slid down her clit. Her soft morsel of wrinkled flesh began to swell to his firm touch. She squirmed in ecstasy. Please, she begged him with silent eyes, please don’t torture me so.

  He rubbed her clit with up and down strokes, until it was warm and hard between her clipped labia. Then he bent down his head and licked it.

  “Arrrr!” she cried out with the pleasure. Her hands flew to his hair.

  “No!” he rapped sharply.

  Her hands clambered, uncertain. Did he not want her to touch him? She desperately needed to touch him. He was a god.

  “Don’t move until I ask you to,” he said.

  Her arms flailed at her sides and she turned her head. Forbidden, she understood. He was forbidden to her, unless he allowed her to touch him.

  He resumed his oral ministrations. His tongue, his teeth, his lips were all contrasting textures upon her flesh. His tongue wedged in between her labia where it was the wettest and most tactile. Her hips bucked and her throat issued little mewls of pleasure. His teeth bit softly down on the hood of her clit.

  And all this while, his fingers worked her labia through the clamps. Pulling them apart, letting them come together again. Scissoring one up and the other down. All sorts of combinations, like a ritual dance. Her pussy was a marionette, controlled by his strings.

  Teeth, tongue, fingers, lips – all working in unison to bring her further, higher . . . until she was spiraling out of control. Her groin clenched, and her pelvic muscles all contracted to throw her into a stratosphere of dizzying pleasure.

  “Oh!” she cried out. Her orgasm was swift and blinding. “Oh, oh, oh,oh!”

  She almost bit her own tongue in her rapture.

  He seized her clit with his teeth and inserted two of his fingers into her pussy hole to prolong her climax. It succeeded. The spear of white hot pleasure lanced through her spine, culminating in waves and waves which spread throughout her entire friable body.

  “Fuck me!” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. She sobbed. “Oh please, please fuck me.”

  Too late, she realized it was a mistake. She opened her eyes and saw his face. On it was a mixture of amusement and hardness.

  He grabbed her waist. “You don’t tell me what to do.”

  “N-no,” she whimpered.

  “You got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll fuck you when I want to. If I want to.”

  “Y-yes.”

  “You like playing games, huh, little girl? You like following me
around?”

  So he knew who she was! A surge of elation ran through her.

  He knew I existed before this!

  “No,” she said.

  He gripped her breasts and tweaked her nipple clamps painfully. “Liar!”

  “I-I mean . . . I . . . admired you from afar.”

  “Admired me.” The amusement was apparent in his voice. “Just what did you admire about me?”

  “Everything.” She licked her lips. It was the truth. “Everything about you.”

  “My mind? Did you admire me for my mind . . . or something else?” he said harshly.

  She sensed that they were at an impasse here. There was something significant going on with him. She wasn’t the only one with complex issues. He needed to hear something from her . . . what exactly, she didn’t know.

  Was he someone who had always been prided for his obvious good looks, and never applauded for all the other gifts he had to offer? Did he crave someone to see who he really was underneath that beautiful veneer? Did the fact that he was a paranormal being alter those perceptions? Was he alienated by his parents for who he was? An outcast?

  So many questions. She didn’t know where to begin.

  So she decided to tell the truth.

  She said, “You’re beautiful. Anyone can see that. Anyone would be attracted to you for that. But . . . but there’s always been something more about you. You’re brilliant. You’re a scholar. And there are some people who admire you for that.”

  “Like you?” He was tense, waiting.

  “Yes. I admire you for everything you are.”

  He relaxed his grip on her teats.

  “Would you be following me around so much if I weren’t beautiful?” he said harshly.

  She paused.

  “I don’t know. Your beauty is part of what you are. You can’t take it away, as much as you can’t cut off your own thumb to spite yourself.”

  He took this in.

  “Cut off my thumb. Good metaphor.” He seemed suitably impressed. “You’re more than I thought you were.”

  She breathed in deeply, her breasts moving.

  “I want you,” she pleaded.

  “Even now that you know who I am?” He was breathing hard too.