by Casey Morgan
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.
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 fi
ghts. 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 bad 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.”
He briefly took his eyes off me and filled a glass with two fingers of the closest whiskey bottle. Then he pushed it towards me, sliding it over the clean finish of the bar.
I assumed he would leave me alone then, but he didn’t. I had poorly chosen a seat next to the wash sink and the man busied himself, cleaning glasses just a foot from me.
“If you’re staying more than two days then you need to check in with Terrell,” he informed me over the hiss of the water. “He runs things around here. Everyone who comes has to check in with him.”
I laughed, and it ended in a choking sound. For some reason, he had assumed I was part of a rival gang.
“Even bums?” I asked, the snark apparent in my voice.
I went so far as to wave a hand up and down my body to indicate my disheveled appearance.
He looked up from the sink but didn’t change positions. His eyes, which were a yellow-brown color, bore into me. He looked me up and down again and then shrugged.
“No, I suppose not,” he muttered. “All the same, it’s probably best if you sit in the back. A big guy like you is bound to cause trouble in here.”
Jutting his chin out slightly, he indicated a booth in the back left corner.
His warning was kind. In rough bars like this one, men liked to try to take down the biggest guy in the place or at least challenge them. I was in no mood for that.
I took a sip of my whiskey and felt it burn a tiny bit going down my throat. Drinking didn’t do much to wolves, but the alcohol tasted good and would give me an excuse to be in here.
Pulling a ten from my jean’s pocket, I slid it over to the bartender and grabbed my glass to move.
I gave him a quick nod of thanks.
“Just don’t stay too long,” he warned me.
“Thanks for the words, friend.”
I wove my way through the pool tables towards the back of the bar, doing my best to not draw any notice. There was a booth in the far corner that didn’t have a good light; it was at the perfect angle to sit and watch but not sit and be watched.
I slid my drink onto the rough wooden table. It needed a new sanding and another coat of polish, but I was guessing that that was treatment that it would never receive. The pleather seats were also worse for wear. Their vibrant red was dimmed beneath scuffs and dirt. Several slits curled up through the material. Some had been duct-taped.
Taking a seat, I moved till I was in the exact middle of the booth. Here I could relax, spread out and watch the room. Which I did. I took another sip of cheap whiskey and raised my arms along the back of the booth. I let out a small sigh and dropped my shoulders.
A tall, red haired man slid into the booth next to me. When I turned to look at him, he raised his whiskey glass in a friendly salute.
“You’re new in town,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
“Aye. Don’t think I’ll be in town for long. Just drifting through.”
“Mmmhmm.”
He took another sip.
While I waited for the stranger to get to the point of his intrusion of my space, I looked him over. He was only six-foot but looked taller, due to his thin build. His red hair topped a ruddy face with round cheeks and a square jawline.
This fellow was in no way a handsome man, but he did seem friendly which was odd in a place like this. Under my gaze, he adjusted his leather vest, making sure that his membership patch for this club was visible—the patch had the same gear shape as the sign outside the door.
He wanted me to know that he belonged here. I wasn’t sure why.
“Nights are cold here and it’s not safe to sleep alone in the abandoned buildings. There’s a rival gang here, the Southlanders, well, they will knock a sleeping man senseless and take his belongings.” He looked down at my patched-up backpack. “Such as they are.”
I went to interrupt him and assure him that I held nothing of value, but he surprised me by pulling a card out of his pocket and handing it to me. It was green and it had a little cabin on it.
“The Woodside Motel,” he said, as I read the same text on the card. “My cousin owns it. He’ll negotiate the rate for a…man like you. And he keeps secrets.”
The card felt odd in my hand. After so many years as a lone wolf, kindness was not something I was used to. I gave the fellow a sideways smile.
“I don’t think I have any secrets for any man to keep,” I told him.
The odd guy must have thought I was on the run from something.
I slipped the card into the pocket of my hoodie and held out my hand. He shook it gently and gave me an inquiring look, his eyes just a bit wider.
“I guess I have somewhere to go tonight.” I chugged the last bit of my whiskey and stood. “Thanks, friend.”
He gave me a slight nod and slid out of the booth. Once I was alone again, I relaxed and allowed myself to sip my drink.
Maybe Gray Acres wasn’t that bad of a place. It might do for my new home.
Chapter Five
Celeste
There was a loud crash at about three in the morning. I jumpe
d out of bed and ran out of the room. My father stopped me at the head of the stairs by putting a hand on my shoulder.
“It’s just graffiti, Celeste,” he cautioned; his thin form being illuminated by the moonlight coming in the downstairs windows. “They paint. Nothing more.”
My hands balled into fists at my sides. Graffiti took forever to deal with.
“Shouldn’t our protection be dealing with this?” I hissed.
Dad gave me an annoyed look.
“It is what it is, child. Don’t let the hate from outside bring hate within this family.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My shoulders dropped and I relaxed my hands.
He was right; I was blaming him for a bad situation. Sure, he didn’t deal with it the way I wanted, but I shouldn’t hate him for it. He was doing what he thought was right.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered and stepped forward to put my arms around his waist.
He held me and kissed me on the top of the head.
“We are together as a family, little one. Always remember that.”
He released me and pointed my shoulders towards my bedroom door.
“Let the painters do their work. We will fix it in the morning.”
I nodded and went back to bed.
The next morning, Father, Mother, and I stood outside and looked over the damages. Luckily is was a decent day, weather wise. The sun was out and there was no chance of snow, but it was still bone chilling cold.
I huddled in my warmest winter coat, my hands in mittens tucked into my sleeves. They were in fists again.
Despite my father’s wise words earlier in the morning, I was angry. There was a lot of damage. My family’s bakery was one of five shops that ran in a row, with the living quarters upstairs.
The graffiti from last night covered all five of our shop windows and two others of each of the shops that stood empty next to us. I knew my father would insist on fixing the windows from the other shops, even though we didn’t have the money.
