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  • Added : July 22, 2020
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The Werewolf At Dinner

She’d invited someone new to dinner this week, someone you weren’t even remotely familiar with. She worked with him, just like the other friends she brought along, but you hadn’t seen him when you went to visit her at work. She’d teased that he was your type, and you scoffed and told her that your type was werewolves and for her to stop messing with you.

And now here you are, at the table, trying not to stare at the elegant man in the black button down shirt, matching vest, and gold tie. His skin was a dark amber and his hair was cut neatly but still fell forward. He flicked it back when he laughed, which was often. His thumbnails were painted black.

“Hey–! I’ve been calling you for the last couple of minutes, do you want any of this?” Your friend held out a plate of roasted carrots. 

“Oh, uh, sure,” you said, giving yourself a shake. Despite your embarrassment as you took the plate, his smile wasn’t condescending.

The others at the table, her husband, her best friend, a couple of friends of yours, talked about work-related things you could care less about on a regular night. This was not a regular night.

You decided to make small talk over the carrots, as you tried to serve them to yourself without dropping them, which you failed miserably.

“I usually work the night shift,” he said, in response to your question. “May I?” He gestured to the carrots, and you handed the bowl to him, abashed. “Except, of course, on the full moon.”

You blinked at him, two and two just not quite coming together. “That’s an odd time of the month to take off,” you said, oblivious, and he laughed again as he served you and then himself some of the carrots.

“Well it wouldn’t make sense if you’re not a werewolf, no,” he said, and your stomach flipped over.

The meal was officially underway, but you weren’t sure you could eat. It would be rude, however, not to, so you picked at the barbecue on your plate and tried not to watch him eat. He was just as neat and mannerly as his clothes suggested.

Conversation rose around you, and you struggled to think of things to say. He masterfully guided the conversation however, making you feel better about your inability. You told him maybe more about yourself than you might’ve intended, but he didn’t judge. He merely nodded and smiled, and replied as you might’ve hoped. You glanced at your friend. She just smirked at you.

You excused yourself from the table when the meal was done (your plate was only empty because you’d put so little on it). He’d disappeared while you’d gone to wash your hands.

You went outside, onto the balcony, to catch your breath, to take in some fresh air, and deal with the fact that your friend had invited a werewolf of all people, to dinner.

But he was already there, smoking a cigarette. A glittering golden cloud of smoke curled from between his lips, and he turned around the moment you came out, leaning on his elbows, lounging like it was a comfortable chair and not a balcony railing twenty feet up.

You had to catch your breath. Heart pounding, you offered him a pleasant, if nervous smile. The air felt thick.

“So, I hope you don’t mind me being direct,” he said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and letting it sit between two elegant fingers as he leaned back again. He shook his head a little to get his hair out of his eyes.

“No,” you said, not sure how wise that was, but not really wanting to say you minded.

“Pardon the language,” he said, lifting the cigarette to his mouth again, taking a drag, and letting smoke drift from between his lips again, “but do you wanna fuck?”

That was about the point you were pretty sure your heart stopped. Could he read your mind? Or your deepest darkest secret fantasies? You hoped not, but at the same time you did. Your stomach compressed into a knot.

He mistook your silence for disinterest. “Sorry,” he said, “that was probably too direct, and too rude. Forget I said that.” He waved his hand to dispel the smoke, and straightened.

“Wait,” you said, finding your voice, praying it didn’t crack. “I didn’t say no.”

“You didn’t say yes, either,” he said, tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, and tugging his vest neatly back into place. “And forgive me but I don’t take anything but a solid yes.” He started for the door.

A man after your own heart. Okay, maybe you wouldn’t go that far. “Hang on,” you said, wonder of wonders, your voice was steady. “Give me a second. Most people aren’t usually this direct. I take it you’re serious.”

“Very,” he said.

Under ordinary circumstances you might’ve slapped or even punched someone rude enough (or bold enough) to ask something like that. Maybe it was pheromones, maybe it was the fact that he’d been polite, maybe it was the fact that he’d insisted on an emphatic yes.

But you were not only considering it, but very firmly leaning toward yes. “One question though,” you said thoughtfully, thumb pressed into your lips, “how do I know you’re really a werewolf, and not just trying to get into some unsuspecting fool’s pants?”

“That’s a good question,” he said, and for a moment it looked like he rippled and you rubbed your eyes, and there was a wolf standing there wearing a gold tie and holding a tiny cigarette between two fingers. “Does this answer it?” he asked.

You were ashamed to say you yelped in response to that. One moment you were wondering if the cigarettes were laced with something, and the next there was a giant man-wolf standing on your friend’s balcony.

“Y-yes,” you managed, stumbling over the simple word in your shock. It was one thing to know werewolves existed, another to be faced by one.

He just grinned toothily at you, before tamping out the remains of the cigarette, and flicking it off of the balcony. You jolted forward to reprimand him for it, and he pointed a clawed finger at it. It disappeared in a flash of fire.

“Never mind,” you said, shoving your hand over your head, rubbing it back and forth as you so often did. “Uh… you look… nice.”

The tail shifted in what could only be called a wag, and his head dipped briefly in acknowledgement of the compliment. “Thank you,” he said, and his voice had barely changed, there was a deeper, slightly feral edge to it, but that was all. “Convinced?” he asked, spreading his hands.

Your body answered before you could formulate a word, giving a sharp throb down low that embarrassed you even though he couldn’t see anything. “Yes,” you said, firmly.

His smirk told you that he hadn’t needed to see anything, and his nose twitch only confirmed it. “They’re downstairs, you know,” he said, helpfully. “The garden’s pretty dense… neighbors couldn’t see through the trees even if they were nearby…”

Your stomach fluttered. Here. On the balcony. Yes, you supposed that wouldn’t be so bad. You nodded.

“You will have to be quiet though,” he mused, which made the butterflies go wild in your stomach. It was a silly thing, you’d have thought being exposed would have been more arousing, but no, forcing yourself to be quiet while a werewolf fucked you on a balcony…

“I-I can do it,” you said staunchly, and you meant it.

“Then we’ll do it,” he said, and stepped close to you, but not too close. “Do I have permission to touch you as I like?”

You think, trying to think of any hangups you might have, but none sprang to mind. You nodded, vigorously.

“Use the word, please,” he said kindly, “I prefer to hear the consent.”

“Yes, please,” you said, your chest tightening a little at the idea of huge furry hands on your body. When he stepped close enough you could feel his hot breath on your skin, the rest of your body followed suit.

His muzzle pressed to your shoulder, and he set his hands on your sides, which encompassed enough of you to make a little shiver run down your spine. His hands roved over your clothed body, pinching here, squeezing there, making goosebumps rise up over your arms, and your hands dig into the fur on his back.

This was what your dreams were made of, warm fur and groping hands, and a hot voice whispering in your ear.

Fingers traced along your skin at the waist of your pants. A tongue graced the soft skin where your neck and shoulder met, and his voice became a light growl in your ear. He fumbled with your pants, the growl turned softly frustrated. A metallic ting told you all you needed to know.

And then his hand was inside your pants and you didn’t care if his claws were filed or not (they were). He touched you in places warm furry hands had only touched you in fantasies, and you groaned encouragement.

Suddenly, he pushed you away, and against the balcony railing. Swallowing hard, you leaned against it uncertainly. He turned you around, so that you were facing toward the garden and the trees, and you felt something hard and hot against your thigh, his gently throbbing cock. You hadn’t seen it, you’d been too distracted, but you felt it now, every vein it seemed grazing against your hypersensitive skin.

One hand covered yours, gently pinning it to the railing. His other hand sought the soft skin of your backside, stroking it, squeezing it, making you gasp without touching anywhere else.

His muzzle brushed your neck, and his hand slid over your hip and over your groin. His fingers were nimble and deft, and he touched you with skill and care, making you tremble in his grasp, his furry weight heavy against your back.

His hand slipped behind you again, and his hand was suddenly wet, baffling you for a long moment. And then you remembered the cigarette, however foggily, and realized what was happening. Your whole body tensed as you felt heat growing within you.

He slicked that hand over himself, his furred knuckles brushing the small of your back, and then over you as well, making you shiver. You felt the hard, wet heat of his cock brush over you, stroking you so intimately without entering.

Fire kindled in you, starting low and spreading as his cock stroked against you, lightly at first, and then more firmly, until you thought you might faint from the pleasure. His hands gripped your thighs, then, as he moved closer, and you felt him against you, the swollen head of his cock pressing against you and then pushing inside of you.

The pressure was slow, and his muzzle rubbed slowly and gently against your neck and shoulder. His tongue brushed your skin, even as you could hear him breathing heavily in your ear, hot breath shooting tingles over you.

You could vaguely hear voices down below you, and that only aroused you further, so much so that you were startled when he was suddenly filling you entirely, and you felt his furred hips pressed against you.

“Yes,” he growled, moaned, whispered, into your ear, and shivers overtook you again.

You arched back into him, and despite his words, asking if you wanted to fuck, he held you and moved within you with a gentleness that word didn’t seem to hold. At least, at first.

He was slow and gentle until you wanted to beg him to come, and he must have smelled it on you because suddenly his hands shifted to grip yours, pressing them into the balcony railing from where they’d strayed into his fur, and he withdrew most of the way, and then slammed into you, making you have to bite back a full-throated groan.

And then he was fucking you, almost crushing you against the balcony, his cock sliding in and out of you, his hips thudding into yours as he thrust, fast and hard.

You writhed under him, barely able to keep your feet, mouth open wide but no sound emerging other than gasping breaths, your knees gone to water. Your body was hot, so hot, drawing up tight, ready to explode.

He pushed your legs apart with one knee, spreading his own legs further, and you felt him push in deeper still, that fantastic knot sliding in with a pop you could feel down to your toes and up into your stomach. That was it, you were done, coming so hard your toes dug in and your fingers clenched his tightly.

He huffed against your shoulder as your body squeezed his, and he let out a faint whine, and then a low howl that raised goosebumps along your skin, drawing another orgasm from you, and then leaving you to melt into his furry arms.

He dressed you again, and carried you to your room, despite your protests, laying you gently on your bed. He pressed his muzzle to your forehead, before excusing himself for the night.

“I’ll see you again,” he said, as he went out onto the balcony again. He was mostly a shadow as you watched him pick up his clothes and disappear over the railing.

I just fucked a werewolf, you thought to yourself, with vague amazement.

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