I Share A Little Revisionist History
“Were you bitten, you poor thing? Is that how you became a werewolf?”
I had curled up along side her, nestled against her soft curves while we recuperated from that last bout of strenuous fucking. Her ridiculous remark had my head snapping around. I glared at her, fangs bared. Maybe the snarl that ruffled my snout and my sharp barking protest adequately conveyed my disgruntled reaction to her ignorant question, but to make sure, I attempted mind-speak.
I had never before tried it with non-pack; still, our DNA had blended well during our two lengthy mating sessions. Theoretically, she should be able to both hear my thoughts and project her own to me.
What a revolting idea. I have a heritage, not a disease. I’ve told you I am not a werewolf. I am Wulfen--spelled with a ‘u’. My sire and mam are Wulfen, as were most of their parents before them, all the way back to the crash.
An absurdly huffy expression came over her face. “Well, la-dee-dah! I don’t see why you should take offense. After all, I know nothing about you, how you became what you are, or whatever. I’m trying to be understanding, here.”
What would you say if I were to ask you who painted your skin that luscious color? Better yet, what if I decided you came by your lovely dark skin tone by bumping into Rainbow Bright? I thought at her, trying to get her to see my point of view.
“Rainbow Br--don’t be ridiculous! I would tell you the situations are nothing at all the--hey!” She reared up, narrowing her eyes and glared down at me. “Hey, are you talking inside my head? You are! How come I can hear you?”
We are mates. Wulfen pairs are telepathic within their bond and within the pack.
I leaned up and licked her chin before flopping back down and laying my head in the comforting bowl of her lap. She absently combed her fingers through my fur, sending shards of pleasure through me. My tail thumped against the mattress like a metronome gone crazy.
“Cool! I can deal. I’ve always loved Star Wars and Star Trek and stuff like that.” She gazed at me, eyes shining. “This is all so…neat. Telepathy, huh? Truthfully, I did wonder how we were going to communicate, what with the completely different species-thing going on between us. I mean, no one’s ever known for sure if dogs could understand human speech beyond ‘fetch’ and ‘roll over’ or if they were just responding to the tone of voice.”
I lifted my head and gave her a long, mock mean look. Not so completely different, and I am not a dog. Don’t make me bite you.
“Sorry. Of course you aren’t.” She agreed hurriedly, unsuccessfully smothering a giggle while tentatively scratching behind my left ear. “Just what the hell are you? I mean…if it looks like a dog, and barks like a dog then logic suggests…”
I don’t give a rat’s ass what logic suggests. I am a member of an alien race that crash-landed here on Earth during your Ice Age. Wulfen are bipedal/quadrupedal hominids, possessing three forms--or two, with a mid-way manifestation. Unlike you humans, who are locked into one form, we shift. During certain times and seasons, one form takes precedence over the other.
“Get the shit out! You’re pulling my tail.”
No, I’m not. You don’t have a tail. Delicious looking tush, but no tail.
She cuffed me. “You know what I meant.”
What’s easier to believe, the fact that I am alien or the fact that I am Wulfen? My people crash-landed on this planet thousands of years ago. Ours was a military transport ferrying a take-over government to an embattled world galaxies away. They were accompanied by ten packs of soldiers, predominantly males. The few females were quickly taken as mates by the pack leaders and government heads.
“What does a pack consist of?”
At the time, it was a company of a thousand soldiers.
“Whoa!” She sat up, dislodging me from her lap. “Ten thousand soldiers is a lot of people!”
Don’t forget to add in the government officials.
“Damn! How big was that ship?”
It was huge. Do you want to hear this, or are you going to keep interrupting?
“Sorry.” She grabbed a pillow, plumped it and stuffed it behind her head. “Okay, I’m comfortable, now. Go on.”
I resettled my head in her lap. Her fingers resumed their soft combing of my fur and I closed my eyes in ecstasy at the erotic tugging on my skin. She would be aghast if she knew her actions were considered an invitation to share carnal pleasures.
Shortly after the crash, the government officials got to worrying about our chances of surviving as a species with so few females among us. They ordered our scientists to come up with a solution.
The first breeding program they tried was with what you call dogs. Guinea pigs were needed, and a hundred soldiers volunteered for the preliminary experiments.
It turned out the biological make-up of Wulves and Canis domesticus were closer than some skeptics thought. Live births occurred.
Not many of those pups survived. The few that lived did not have the power to change. They did have increased intelligence and the ability of telepathic communication with their sires. Also, they had some of our biological imperatives such as mate loyalty, which they passed on to future generations, establishing the different wolf breeds. Though the government vetoed the dog program, the minimal success of those pairings gave our scientists the basis of the information that made it possible for our race to breed with certain strains of humans.
It took many years before the scientists and the government reached a compromise. While both sides knew it wouldn’t be much help in the short-run, it was agreed the initiation of a long-term breeding program was the most viable solution.
A thousand volunteers were drafted--one hundred from each pack. My first planet-side ancestor was one of the thousand. He left a journal.
“Drafted volunteers, huh?”
I forgave her interruption because her giggle was so damned cute. Still, I turned my head and gave her a warning nip high up on the inside of her thigh. The return slap to the side of my head had my ears ringing and my cock distending from its sheath. Her gasp told me she noted the new development.
You should know that a show of female aggression is highly arousing to my kind.
She harrumphed. “You should know that those teeth are damned sharp.”
You didn’t seem to mind those teeth earlier, I reminded her with a soothing lap of my tongue to the abused area.
She squirmed under my ministrations, uncomfortable with how close my tongue was to a more interesting site. “Yeah, well,” grabbing my jowls, she pulled my mouth away, “this ain’t earlier. Get back to the story.”
The thousand underwent genetic modification, received human DNA before leaving their packs to roam among the primitive humans. They took human females by force, mating with any strong enough to survive the genetic coding implantation. No doubt, many of your werewolf tales of abduction and seduction arose from those times.
“So, technically, you are what we call a werewolf. Or, at least, what we have called werewolves all through the ages.” She sounded very smugly satisfied, back to believing her assumptions valid.
Sorry to burst your bubble, bitch; however, there were no wolves, as you know them in existence when we arrived. I just told you the only species closely resembling us was the primitive form of Canis domesticus.
“Darwin sure didn’t take you guys into consideration when he postulated his theories, did he? By the way, I got your ‘bitch,’ Hunter!”
She frowned at me, smelling of burnt rubber. I batted at my nose with a paw, trying to clear the acrid scent from my nostrils. Tucking away that little fact for future reference, I noted: When mate smells like burnt rubber, walk softly.
Among my kind, ‘bitch’ is a word of respect and honor.
She didn’t look too convinced, so I left that topic for later, too. When I took her home to meet the pack, she would learn I spoke truthfully.
The offspring resulting from those first unions, if they lived p
ast puppyhood, were able to mate with either species. Most female children were collected before they reached puberty and returned to our enclaves. There, they became the property of wulf males eager and desperate for mates.
A few escaped our detection and lived to mate with human males. The children of those unions carried the wulf DNA as a dominant/recessive gene. Their descendents thrived and went on to mate with others, passing down their dominant genetic modification to their descendants. We found we could activate the gene by delivering a new infusion of wulf DNA.
“Is that why you bit me?” Her hand crept up to the sore spot on her throat.
Yes.
“So, how many of us are there? Breed women, I mean.”
Relatively speaking, I would say, not many. Actually, there is no way of knowing. It is illegal for us to reveal our existence so few of us socialize with humans more than we have to. The great Pack Council has decreed we are to maintain a low profile.
“Why?”
For two reasons: First, the Council fears human governments will panic and mount a “witch-hunt.” They will seek to destroy us because they will fear us, fear our abilities and our intentions.
“Well, that’s silly. You’ve been among us for thousands of years. I’m sure your people could have conquered us way back in the past. Obviously, ya’ll aren’t interested in ruling the world.”
True, but our government has never been sane. Imagine the other governments of the world.
“I see your point. So what’s the second reason?”
There are factions among us who fear we will dilute our heritage by mixing with what they consider to be mutts.
“Mutts? You mean us, don’t you? Breed females. What’s the name of this faction?”
Melody, calm down. They’re fanatics. No one really takes that group seriously.
“Never mind that, just answer the question.”
They are called the Separatists. Despite their worries of a naturally occurring wulf/human breed, our scientists still maintain our species is not genetically compatible without artificial manipulation. Other than with Breed females, who are more Wulfen than human, no records have been found supporting the few outlandish claims. Besides, the only time our sperm is viable is when we fuck while in fur form. We’ve been forbidden to do that with humans.
She stilled. Her fingers ceased combing through my hair and tentatively stroked her abdomen. “You were still knotted inside me when you switched into this form. Does that mean…?”
I fought hard to keep my elation from coloring my thoughts. That I could have made you pregnant? It’s possible.
A frown creased her eyebrows. “Why do I get the impression you wouldn’t mind that a bit?”
I wouldn’t mind. I won’t deny I want pups with you.
“Did you say pups?”
She reared up to stare into my eyes, hands cradling her belly as if guarding against invasion. “Hunter, tell me I’m not going to birth puppies! That would be…” She swallowed hard, facial expression going blank. Her shoulders bowed. Her head moved back and forth in a negative motion. “I can’t even think of a word to describe what that would be!”
My barking woof--laughter in this form--shook my body.
Mother Nature takes better care of her creatures than that. Your body shapes the body of our child. He or she will grow in your belly and be born in skin form. Shortly after birth, if all goes as normal, the child will change to fur form and remain that way for about a year.
Melody slumped against the pillows. “This is all too much to take in!”
She was right. I’d tossed a load of information at her, without giving her the time to assimilate it.
All right, baby. Let’s leave this for now. I’ll share more history with you later. Why don’t we talk about your problem and how we plan to deal with it?
I saw her neck muscles jump as she swallowed hard, her eyes growing large and wary.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
I cut across her verbal dithering. Don’t lie to me. I can smell your deception. You know just what I mean.
She didn’t realize, yet, that I could read some of her surface thoughts. They were still sketchy, but as our bond deepened, so would our communication. I refer to your brother-in-law and the troubles he’s caused you.
As she had done earlier this evening when mention of her troubles came up, she blanched. Her beautiful skin turned a sallow hue that leached the vitality from her pretty face. Both hands clenched in my fur, trembling, and she buried her face against my side.
“Please, Hunter, leave it alone. Gerald is a vicious animal. He’ll try to kill you. I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to you.”
I am the vicious animal, here, my love. Never forget that. This Gerald has caused you pain and for that, alone, he will die. Do not doubt that I can and will avenge you of every tear he has made you cry.
She sat back up and I watched her thinking about what I said, watched her eyes roam over my huge form stretched out beside her. On all fours, in Wulfen form, I was almost as big as a pony. My broad head reached higher than her shoulders. My shoulders and hind legs bristled with muscle. My muzzle and jaw, wider than the normal wolf configuration--were equipped with an arsenal of deadly fangs. They could snap a man’s arm off or sever his head from his neck with ease. It took me a while to recognize the emotion growing in her golden brown eyes: Hope.
I will not be alone tonight. My cousin will arrive soon. Once he gets here, we will beard this Gerald in his den. Until then, let’s play!
I’d been bombarded by her scent while we conversed. Her unique flavor had flooded my senses until I had to have another taste of her.
Rising and leaping from the bed, I flexed, first my hind legs, then the rest of me out in a lazy stretch, working out the kinks I’d gotten while curled beside her. Ready for sex, I approached her, gingerly navigating the soft mattress with the studied gait of a drunken sailor. I jumped on her, my massive weight bearing her down, tumbling her back against the pillows. Straddling her thighs, I lowered my head, trying to get my muzzle near her pussy.
To my unwelcome surprise, she grabbed my ears and hauled back, keeping me from my prize. I easily broke her hold and dove for her vagina, lips drawn up in a warning growl. Just before I reached my goal, she slapped me, hard.
Ears ringing, I sat up on my haunches, shaking my head in bewilderment.
What the fuck?
Then it hit me. She didn’t want me to fuck her while in fur! In full Wulfen form, my thought processes are slower, more primal, which explains my being so slow on the uptake.
Do you reject me? Is this form monstrous to you?
I couldn’t understand her reaction. She had consented to be my mate, had fucked me and enjoyed it while I held mid-change form. It never occurred to me that she would not want sex with me in all ways.
Her grip eased but she did not let go entirely. “It…will take some getting used to. At least, in your other form, I could still see traces of your humanity. In this one…”
I am not human in either form. Only the outside resembles your kind.
“I understand that…intellectually. It’s just hard to get past this shape.” She sighed, petting my present form. I didn’t want her to pet me, damn it. I wanted her to fuck me.
I cannot change back until the moon wanes. This is our mating night and I want to fuck you again. Are you afraid? My cock is large, yes, but smaller in this form than it is in mid-change. It will not hurt as much as it did before.
She bit her lip, took a deep breath. She was gearing up for something, but I swear by the Moon, I never could have imagined what she said next.
“Look, I lied about being a prostitute, okay? Tonight is the first night I’ve been on the street in sixteen years, and for over ten of those years I’ve been Mrs. Joe Vanilla. Hell, my husband was a minister and didn’t believe in practicing oral sex.” She paused, nodding sagely at my involuntary yelp.
“Now you know why I blew sky
high in the restaurant. Vanessa appreciated the hell out of that entrée, let me tell you, having gone without for more years than I want to remember. At any rate,” she continued, wriggling into a more comfortable position against me, “fucking a…being who looks waaaay too much like a dog…I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”
Then don’t fuck me. Let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing…just lie back and--
“Think of England? Excuse me if I can’t see the difference. A dog between my legs is a dog, whether I let him or beg him.”
I didn’t bother reminding her I was a sentient being, not a dog. She knew it better than she let on. Subconsciously, her ability to converse with me mind-to-mind had to be reinforcing my claim to true sentience, no matter my shape. Incidentally, I loved the fine edge of sarcasm sharpening her words. My mate could turn a phrase with more panache than a square dancer could do-see-do his partner.
All right, you need me to convince you it’s okay to fuck your mate--which is like being your husband, you know. I don’t think wives are supposed to deny their husbands. Isn’t there a law about that?
“I’m sorry.” She sighed, shaking her head, no. “It would be like fucking Lassie.”
Now you have really insulted me. First, a bitch played Lassie, so I’m very glad to hear you wouldn’t want to fuck her. Secondly, you--a black woman who should know better--are exhibiting the ugly trait of bigotry.
She gasped. “I am not!”
Yes, you are. It’s okay to fuck me when I look human or even when I look half-human. Let me take on fur and all of a sudden, I am persona non gratis. You need to remember I am the same person you sank your nails into, crying, “Fuck me, Hunter! Fuck me harder…make me come.”
Yeah, yeah, I knew that wasn’t very gentlemanly of me, but then, I was no man, gentle or otherwise. I was an aroused Wulfen whose swollen cock was hanging out of his sheath, ready for fucking. That pussy belonged to me and I didn’t like her trying to deny me. I would never force her against her will, but I sure in hell didn’t have to be polite about her refusing me.
Werewolf Journals 01 - Wild in the City Page 10