Buford pressed excitedly against my jeans, impatient for our special after-hunt fuck. Picturing my plans for later, my hand dropped to my aching cock. I rubbed it through my jeans, grimacing when it jerked and stretched in need of tighter, hotter friction. I glanced around, made sure no one could see, and whipped Buford out. Poor thing was flushed, hurting, distended and swollen. I gave him a couple of sympathy jerks to take a little pressure off the building head of steam. With a calming pat and a few words of consolation, I tucked him back in and buttoned up, reminding myself that only a short wait stood between having both my culinary and sexual hungers sated.
A plaintive howl rose on the early evening air, interrupting my train of thought and informing me another of my kind prowled the city. The lonely, haunting cry drew my mind back to the beauty of the coming night. On the horizon, the moon hung low, the sight of that bright, mysterious beacon soothing my agitation and distracting my troubled thoughts from my escalating hungers.
My smile but a mere lifting of my lips, I glanced about and found myself in a remote section of San Fran, off the beaten track but still well within the greater boundaries I had previously marked as my private territory. This small segment of city was unfamiliar to me. Though claimed, it remained unmarked and, right now, devoid of human watchers. With deft, quick motions, I unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them and my boxers down. Freeing my cock, I sprayed the corner of the building and the alley walls. I nodded in satisfaction. The strong smell of my claiming wafted up, carrying my signature pheromones. Any wulf prowling about had better take heed and avoid trespassing on my grounds this evening.
Man, was I ready to howl. It had been a while since I’d really let loose and I had got a truckload of pent-up lust and sexual heat to dissipate. The woman I chose tonight would have her hands--and her cunt--full of randy wulf.
My mind still focused on the coming events, I headed back towards my main territory. As I strolled, I gazed at the starry sky, stunned by the brilliance and beauty of the twinkling panoply. The oversized moon hung low in the star-studded heavens, swollen and pristine in her beauty, her chill light pouring down. In response, my beast rose up, beating against the fragile walls of skin that imprisoned it.
“Soon, Mother,” I crooned, throwing my head back and emitting a soft howl, joining in the chorus of renewed greetings offered by the others of my kind. My anticipation grew as I waited for true dark to creep over the city.
Too soon to change, loath to go back to my dirty, empty duplex, I pondered my options. I decided to head over to the little corner Mom and Pop’s Italian Dining parlor in the midst of my territory, my mood now geared toward something hot and tender with a lot of red sauce.
The restaurant lies about twenty blocks from my apartment and I was currently ten or more blocks away, coming at it from the other side. As I strolled along, the night wind carried the life of the city to my quivering nostrils and I breathed it in, engaging my senses in processing the never-ending flow of information. I felt good, full of vigor and possessed of a powerful appetite. I was getting hungry, too.
I Encounter an Intriguing Smell
Two blocks out from my destination, an elusive scent brought me up short. Sexual hunger roared through me, causing my stomach muscles to clench while my cock stiffened. Fighting an almost overwhelming urge to change and take on fur, I angled toward the maddening aroma, breaking into a ground-eating sprint.
Coming to an abrupt halt, muscles quivering and nose a’twitch, I found myself trying to wag a tail that had not--yet, anyway--burst through my skin. I stared, instantly lost in lust. Like a damned pointer spaniel, my cock tented the stiff material of my jeans, aiming with unerring precision at what had drawn me from five blocks away.
Oh, Mother above, her aroma knocked my good intentions, my long-held beliefs--my world--sideways, tilted it upside down. Holding grimly to fast-shredding control, barely preventing a precipitous change, I battled to breathe. The heat radiating from my face told me my eyes glowed with the golden otherworldly gleam of imminent pre-change.
Fur rippled and flowed along my back and down my arms, coating my goose-pebbled flesh. My mouth widened to accommodate gleaming fangs. I cursed. My nostrils flared, drinking in the female’s mouthwatering aroma. Wrestling my body back to a more normal human state proved difficult.
She looked and smelled…edible. Her dark, creamy-looking skin gave off the richest, darkest, lustiest fragrance ever to waft across my nostrils. She smelled and looked like living chocolate, a confection against which I had no willpower.
Despite the werewulf’s natural partiality to protein, we all tended to have a sweet tooth. Me, I was an avowed chocoholic, and rather than fight temptation, I indulged my demanding weakness at every opportunity. Glancing down at my distended fly, I saw Buford knew opportunity when he sniffed it.
Note to self: Confirm reservations for late-night chocolaty snack.
The black woman leaned against the streetlight lamppost situated on the corner of Divisidero and Webster, her wide, lush hips riding the thick pole. She wore a “come-hither” look, and not much else, that almost had me cumming hither and instantly deciding I’d soon be cumming in her.
Did I say chocolate? Make that fudge: Dark and chunky, thick and creamy. Licking my chops…um…lips, I minutely examined every inch of the well-displayed feminine flesh.
One generously curved leg, bent at the knee, braced her ample torso against the metal post. Her sultry stance caused her tight red dress to bunch up around her thick thighs, affording me a most pleasant view. My lips peeled back in a smile until it suddenly occurred to me that any male on the street could avail himself of the same sight. My hackles rose and a territorial snarl trickled from my mouth. There were too many wulves out tonight. I needed to get her off this corner.
Her alluring body drew my eyes, a silent siren calling to me. My anger dissolved as a sigh of utter longing lifted my chest.
By the Moon, just look at her! I smacked my lips. I simply adored big thighs and, by golly, she had the roundest, fattest thighs--no wobbly loose cellulite, but tight, packed haunches. All that buttery-smooth, creamy dark flesh displayed for my benefit made my mouth water. An ache swelled in my balls and Buford grew impossibly hard.
A thick thigh was quickly becoming an endangered species nowadays. It was rare for a fellow to see ones like these on public display since women had started torturing their bodies into thin, unsightly shapes.
I once glanced through a female body builder magazine in the grocery store. The pictures were obscene. Naked women--hard everywhere they should be soft (Ouch! Bruises-Are-Us)--gazed out at me through crushed, celluloid eyes, their poor little nipples sitting atop hillocks of iron and stone, looking lost and forlorn. I remembered thinking what a rocky ride their bodies would provide and decided I’d pass. It would be more pleasurable fucking a steel plate.
I knew I wasn’t the only one who thought this way about this issue, since most of the males of my species--certainly this male--wanted a woman with some meat on her. We wanted rebound when we slammed into our woman, rebound and cushion. “More bounce to the ounce!” was my motto.
In fact, given a chance, I’d hop a time machine to go back and murder that damned Twiggy model chick. It would be worth snapping her skinny stick ass in two, to stop her from screwing with more than half the population’s thinking, ruining females’ bodies for us males.
Where in hell was Jules Verne when you needed him?
I went back to devouring the striking woman. She might have been five-feet-six, seven inches…tops. It was hard to tell, seeing she had on a pair of bright red, strappy kick-ass heels that elevated her at least three more inches. Closing my eyes, I visualized taking her for the first time. She’d be wearing nothing but those sexy fuck-me shoes while I held her gently rounded ankles wide as I pounded between her generous thighs. Buford leaped at the thought.
From across the street, I could see her lovely, dark, cappuccino complexion glowing with natural health, her
lively golden brown, almond-shaped eyes flashing and sparkling with life. Her wide cheekbones balanced her broad nose, its flattened bridge flaring into nicely proportioned nostrils. I had no idea what she painted her full pouty lips with to make them shine so. I only knew I wanted to lick them clean until they glistened with the more natural sheen of my saliva.
A little red number of a purse dangled from her shoulder on a long, thin gold chain, swaying against her waist, which indented deeply enough to let me know where her top stopped and her bottom began. Everywhere else, she had plenty of flesh--built-in love handles, enough to allow a male a good grip.
Her fat nipples pushed audaciously against the tight bodice of her sequined dress, demanding my notice. Boy, did I notice. Those plump, heavy breasts screamed at me.
Shapely and full, her generous mounds had me licking my lips, longing to have her chocolate melt in my mouth and my hands. Meanwhile, those impudent nubs, masquerading as giant, bite-sized candies, had my jaw aching. I barely resisted the temptation to walk over there and bite down on the twin peaks straining against the constricting fabric of her bodice.
The tight swath of red, sequined material passing as a dress faithfully delineated her round belly and jiggly, high-riding ass. Damn, but that bottom looked perfect for some slap-and-dive activity. I started to pant, tongue literally hanging out of my mouth at the thought of how snug Buford would be as I inched up that tight channel, all that flesh squeezing in on either side. My pulse stuttered and my knees weakened as I envisioned that dark, sinful glide.
She had it all: Thighs, an ass to die for and a face beautiful enough to launch ships. Not to mention nipples a yard long. Yummy! What more could a wulf ask for?
Pussy!
The only thing that roused my appetites faster than a nipple-topped confection of smooth, buttery tit was the smell of sweetly fragrant pussy. Yeah, the one dessert I loved more than chocolate was cherry pie--hot, juicy and ripe--exactly like the one tucked snugly between dark, rounded thighs, smelling up my world from across the street.
Oh, this woman had me reeling in glorious, mind-rattling lust, stumped by the delicious choices facing me. There was just so much of her; I wanted to grab it all at once. Breasts, thighs, ass, pussy--I didn’t know where to begin, though I knew exactly how I planned us to end. And I knew I didn’t have much time.
For once, the San Franciscan air was distressingly clear of smog. The early evening breeze blew brisk enough to carry scents far and fast. With my luck, the damned street would soon be swarming with hungry wulves.
A quick swipe dealt with the drool sliding out the corner of my mouth. I gave a tug on my jacket, straightened it. Gathering up my resolve, I stepped off the curb, anxious to secure the prize before another wulf caught a whiff of what I had found.
I Invite Her to Be Dinner
By the Moon, I had never sniffed a more lushly fragrant pussy. I had to get some of that! I walked over to her, mind spinning in a sexual delirium caused by the rich, gut-wrenching smell of her chocolate-covered cherry sex.
I wanted nothing more than to skip the opening conversational gambit and dive right into her, wallow in her sweetness. Calling upon all my reserves of character, I resisted temptation. Even I knew I couldn’t get away with simply whisking her around the corner to a dark alley and fucking her against a convenient wall. I needed to pull back, proceed carefully, and rein in my almost out-of-control lust. I’d gain nothing by spooking her and possibly scaring her away.
“Mhmm, mhmm, mhmm--don’t you look good? Hello, lovely lady.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me and continued to lean.
I let my gaze roam up and down her in slow, open approval. “You look good enough to eat. Can I interest you in dinner?” I smiled, wondering if the classic simplicity of the direct approach would work for me this evening.
San Francisco was a liberal city--one of the reasons I chose it as a dwelling place, where just about anything goes. Still, due to the recent public outcry against the two police officers found brutalizing some of the city’s poor blacks, the volatile issue of race relations had again taken a front row seat in local news.
While I, personally, had no qualms about light meat or dark, I had no idea if my chosen snack harbored such biases. Would she balk at fucking a white guy? I mean, some black women just don’t do white, even while conducting “business”--if she truly was engaged in the business. Up close, I noted her scent belied any recent coital activity.
Tilting her head back against the light pole, she gazed up at me, eyes widening as she took in my bulk. A flash of fear came and went so fast I almost missed it. I would have discounted it if the brackish musk of fear hadn’t risen, sharp and tantalizing on the still evening air.
“I’m a working girl. I don’t have time for you if dinner is all you’re interested in.” Her sultry voice purred, delivering the matter-of-fact statement in the dulcet tones of a sex queen. With difficulty, I resisted the urge to drop to my knees and offer up worship at the altar of her queen-sized body.
Shivers ran down my spine and the fine hairs at the back of my neck stiffened. Hair wasn’t the only thing that stiffened on me. Ol’ Buford sat up and waved high…er, that is, waved hi as in “hello.”
My lips parting in a hungry smile, I indicated the massive bulge in my pants. “Does this look ‘interested’ enough for you?” A feeling of gratification swept over me when her eyes dropped to the flagpole tenting my jeans then snapped back up to meet mine, wide with a mixture of trepidation and awe.
I let my own avid gaze drop to her wide pelvis, felt saliva pool in my mouth. “In a manner of speaking, you could say I am interested only in dining, seeing I fully intend to feast on you.”
She looked startled, flustered and intrigued. I tucked her response away for later contemplation. They were not the usual reactions of an experienced woman of the evening.
“Look, your eyes tell me your sexual appetite is roused, too, but right now, all I want is to become better acquainted. Later, we can indulge our other hungers.” I cupped my straining cock, deliberately thumbing the thick ridge of flesh through my pants. “Besides, I can hear your tummy rumbling, so I think the first thing I’d better do is satisfy your cravings for food.” I stared into her eyes while adding, “You’re gonna need your strength, because I’m not into sedate fucking.”
As I spoke, her wide amber brown eyes gave my package and me a lengthy, contemplative perusal, as if weighing the benefits of accepting my invitation. As she looked me over, I wondered how I appeared to her. Did she see what I saw whenever I looked in the bathroom mirror? Did she find me appealing? Can any male ever predict what a woman will find attractive?
The best I could say about my features was they fit together. My sexual partners have told me I am handsome. No one has ever called me ugly. However, I wasn’t vain enough to take for granted she would consider me attractive or appealing on a strictly visual level. Wulves exude a pheromone that lures even human females, so I expected her response to that natural attraction. But what did she see with her human eyes?
People tell me I look to be anywhere between thirty to forty years old. I am 6’ 5” and weigh two hundred and ninety-seven pounds, packed with solid muscle. A few gray hairs highlighted my dark, shoulder-length shaggy hair, worn loose tonight. I usually bundled the unruly mop back into a haphazard braid. The rest of me consisted of hazel eyes, a sharp blade of a nose, wide shoulders, slim waist and long, muscular runner’s legs. My feet and hands were large, my fingers long with strong nails, and I was living proof the age-old adage--big hands plus big feet equals big cock. The proof usually stood perpetually at half-mast since Buford never got enough pussy to make the old dog lie limp.
“Okay, big guy, why not!”
I stared at her, not sure how to respond, having braced myself for a “no.” My brow creased in a momentary frown and my eyes narrowed in displeasure as it struck me just how giddy her “yes” made me feel.
“Big guy? Are you referring to B
uford or me?” I boldly palmed the part in question, deliberately trying to shake her up, to render her off-balance. It’s a lonely feeling, thinking you are the only one swinging in the damned breeze of an adolescent-like crush.
Her whiskey-tinted eyes swept my groin, lingered on the ‘growing attraction’ before lifting her stunned gaze to my face. I had stepped close, crowding her, and she had to tilt her head back a ways to meet my hungry grin.
“I guess I could assign that greeting to both of you.” She surprised me by touching a daring finger to the cloth-covered outline of my cock, sending a frisson of heat straight to my balls.
“You seem to be a tall drink of water, hon--both upright and sideways.” She tapped my jeans-covered helmeted head in a practiced, bodacious gesture.
“Sit down, dumb ass!” I hissed at Buford. The stupid thing exploded to full length until the bulbous head poked out the relaxed leg of my boxers. The thick shaft, etched in graphic bas-relief beneath the cloth of my jeans, reached to within three inches of my knee. I suppose, for decency’s sake, I should wear a cup, but I couldn’t stand caging Buford like that.
Her eyes widening, she skimmed a measuring finger just above my cock, verifying its girth and length. “Blessed assurance, this is a big guy!” She gasped in awe. “If cocks were snakes, this fella would be an anaconda! You must have smuggled it in, ‘cause that monster can’t be legal in the U.S.!”
Her nervous chuckle set all her lovely, delicious flesh to jiggling, distracting me from the curious dichotomy between her words, actions and emotions. I kept catching brief flashes of anxiety and nose-wrinkling whiffs of rank fear rolling off her skin. Ordinarily, my police training would have had me investigating those hints, but with Buford stretching and flexing under her arousing ministrations, my concentration centered on only one thing.
Werewolf Journals 01 - Wild in the City Page 3