by Casey Morgan
I shiver at this, feeling my nipples go hard. Round themselves out in my bra. Pucker under the slightest touch of the pad, but I don’t touch there. I keep touching my clit. Stroking every inch of my folds, my long nails biting into the tender flesh a bit. Giving them a little slap as I move back up to my clit. In and around the tender bit of flesh, I’m beginning to feel myself quake. Shudder, to the point where I have trouble keeping my fingers on me. Add to that, the fact that my thong is practically soaked. So laden with liquid, that it’s not even really staying on me anymore. One little brush, and I would be touching myself directly.
Which I decide to go ahead and do, just as Charles decides to start licking my navel. My hips and thighs. My innermost heat, remarking on how long he’s been waiting for me. How beautiful and curly my hair is down there. How motherly it makes me, and how much he can’t wait to fill me to the brim. Make babies with me.
“Tabitha,” I imagine him saying in his sexy, growly whisper as his long, luxurious hair hangs in my face. He’s gotten up to start positioning himself for extra fun. Penetration of my sopping-wet pussy, which he’s promised to lick clean after making a mess of me. “Tabitha, I’ve waited for eternity to be with you, and now that I am, I’m going to make love to you. I’m going to penetrate and fill you so deeply, no distance will ever mean anything anymore. No connection too far.”
In my head, I imagine the way I am under him. The way I squirm. The way I moan and whisper his name. Part of me hears that I’ve done this out into my bedroom, but I’m past caring. I’m more focused on caressing and vibrating my fingers on and through my lips. My clit, and even into my hole. My opening, already reaching out to grab me. My three fingers, as if they are Charles’s cock. A cock I imagine is already stroking the back of my leg. Teasing the ends of my lips, the edges of my moist, glistening hole.
I imagine he flexes his muscles as he leans over me a bit more. I imagine I feel his cock whisper against my ass, and more of my silky, tense flesh as he positions himself just right. As he takes another testing dip in me. One that drives me wild. One that makes me open my greedy, salacious legs to him.
“It seems my mate is more than ready for me,” he murmurs, after humming observantly. His eyes fix me in a similar way a second later, their dark color driving into me like intoxicating teeth. Claws. “It seems she is ready to have all of me in her. To let me make some glorious werewolf babies.” I imagine he smiles wickedly at me. “Which shouldn’t be hard, since I’ve got a lot to give you. My cock is nice and big. And ready for that beautiful, magical pussy of yours, my dear.”
“I am,” I imagine I say, taking my fingers out of my wet, sticky opening and putting them back on my clit. There, I press out a frantic, intermittent rhythm. One that matches my heart, and my tenuous hold on the book. What I’m using to guide some of this fantasy. While also taking some creative license. Like a part where Charles kisses me. Bites my lip, before wiggling his cock inside me. Inserting the tip and then more, more. His length blossoms in me. Blooms outward, gently and intoxicatingly stretching me.
I imagine him moaning. Groaning with a sexy, barely restrained hunger. It’s a deep animal sound in his throat, and one that makes me spear my fingers into my hole. As I feel my lips and walls expand to accommodate three of my fingers held closely together, I imagine that it’s his cock doing this. His girth dominating me in this way. As I begin to move in and out of myself, I imagine it’s Charles.
I imagine I can see and feel him rocking above me. Beginning to pound me like crazy, his balls and hips slapping me like liquid muscle. Sinewy and soft manhood. Manliness personified. His musky, sweaty, earthbound sent fills me. As does the imagine sound of his rough, untamed breathing. The way his hands and fingers dig into me.
I let out a sighing whimper. I yelped out a soft, “Fill me. Give me all of your big, meaty cock. Ram me full of you, and your fucking cum.” As I say this, I finger myself faster and harder. I stick my fingers in as far as they will go. Pinch and rub as many of my little textured bits as possible, feeling my stomach rolling and clenching. My vagina walls doing the same, and more liquid is beginning to drench me. Try to push me out, as I say these dirty, lusty things. “Give me everything you have.” As I say this, I let out a hot, forceful breath of air. Something that’s between a growl and a sigh. I open my legs up more, though this is unconscious. Much like the way my hips are rising and buckling. “Don’t worry about fucking breaking me. I’m not pure anyway. I’m not weak, either.”
“I know you’re not, my dear,” I imagine Charles says to me, as he begins to fuck me for all he’s worth. Slam in and out of me until my insides feel delightfully bruised. Delightfully punched and stretched by him, but I don’t want him to stop. If anything, I want to feel him swell inside me. I want to feel him shoot me full of so much cum, I’ll feel it drip out of me for the next day and a half. “You are strong. You are powerful. You are a werewolf just like me, and I will gladly break you. Beautifully. Sweetly. But not of your body and mind, but all of all the sorrows you’ve undergone.” Saying this, imagine Charles kisses me. Puts one of his hands on my breasts, and the other under one of my legs. Doing so, I imagine he presses himself in and out of me fast and hard. On each trip in, he lingers. On each trip out of me, he drags himself along my length. Drags me along his, each texture swapping. Joining. Swirling together.
Soon my head’s almost swirling too much for my fingers to stay inside. Stay with the maddening rhythm I’ve started to do, but I can feel the itchy, clenching warning signs. The pleasure-pain of pre-orgasm. I breathe into it, forcing my wet, pruning fingers to keep stroking. Keep plundering my depths, though I keep wishing I had something longer. Something better.
Like an actual man’s cock. An actual thick and massive tool, ready to spread me. Use me. Abused me with love and lust. Stretch and bend all of my secret places. I moan low and long, the sound sad and sweet. Lonely and mournful, but also lusty and wild. As the sound escaped me, my walls tighten around me. Clench around me, and begin to throb.
In my ears, I can hear is my ragged, hungry breathing. My rapid, irregular pulse. The way the blood is rushing through my veins. Now I can’t hear anything that I might be imagining Charles says. All I can do is feel him. His strong hands bearing down on me. Pushing me into the rock and earth, as he bends upward in release. Pushes himself as deep in me as he can go, and unleashes his torrent of cum.
The exact moment that I imagine the thick warmth rushing into me, bulging into all of my nooks and crannies, I experience a wet, warm and wild ride of my own. My muscles clench. Almost to the point where I find myself worrying about whether I should stop.
And then, as if to shut that thought completely and totally out of my head, my body releases. Snaps the tension inside like a water balloon popping. Wet and viscous, warmth rushes through and out of me. Creates a lake that quickly spills over and out of my thong and into my pants. As it does, I let go of the book. Almost fling it away from me, and press my now-free hand hard over my mouth to keep myself from screaming.
I’ve never had an orgasm that good, and I don’t want to sour the experience by letting my parents hear me and come check on me.
As I let the orgasm ripple and smash its way through me, I enjoy this bit of freedom. This moment of being able to be myself, and imagine that I’m in the arms of a sexy, strong werewolf. A being that is beyond all time and traditional sense of morality.
I imagine his eyes are locked on me. That he gives me a brilliant, earth-shattering smile. Sweat drips from his brow, but I imagine I enjoy the taste of it on my lips.
As I imagine looking into his brown eyes, now beginning to burn with flecks of gold and copper light, I come down off my pleasure. My little slice of heaven I’ve been floating around on, and renew my vow.
I don’t care what anyone says. I’m doing something that I want for my birthday. And that something is a beautiful, magical man. I’m losing my virginity the moment I turn twenty-one, and setting myself free from being a
virgin. Being “pure and sweet.”
The phone rings and I carefully I unfurl my legs. It’s Cami. Time for my one phone call of the week. I smile and answer.
Chapter 2
Tabitha
I’m lucky to have my friend Cami. The few hours I’m allowed on Friday night to be on the phone, talk about whatever I want, and feel like a normal twenty-year-old.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror mounted to my dresser. Despite being twenty, and into darker, edgier music, my room has been left just the way Dad wants it. As a time capsule. A time warp, in which everything is the way it was when I was between three to five years old. Covered in pink, roses, ballerinas along with Bible verses. Girly crosses and religious artwork.
When I turned eighteen, I moved on to werewolves and other wild boys, at least in my head. My room remained the same. I read about shape shifters, every book I could find. While my other friends, Cami included, went through a phase falling in love with sparkly, emo vampires, I was into wolf-boys.
These thoughts are interrupted by something my friend has just said. Some bubbly comment of hers about Halloween plans. How cool it would be to go to a party, or go trick-or-treating. Though Cami still lives at home too, she is sure that her parents would let her go to something like that. She says how it be cool for me to join her.
“I’ve heard there’s this really bitchen Halloween Rave going on close by,” she says. Over the speakers, I can just make out the faintest of notes from her German death metal. Another thing I’m in to, but could never admit to, given who and what my parents are to this community: substitute pastors and spiritual counselors for our church. “We could go in some cool costumes, meet some cool and cute boys.” The way she’s talking, it’s a as if all of this is already a done deal. Including my going with her.
I sigh, glowering at myself in the mirror. At my long, chestnut-brown hair that keeps falling into my face. The dorky, grade-school cut it’s still in, when I would love nothing more than to have a fauxhawk. Something shaved on one side, long on the other. Just to disrupt my parents’ expectations.
“You’re forgetting one important detail, Cami,” I say. “My parents are not your parents. They’re not cool. They’re not easy-going. And if I’m being perfectly honest” — I sigh, remembering every bit of the conversation Dad went out of his way to have with me earlier today — “I already have plans. Plans I’m not allowed to tweak or change, even though I’m almost twenty-one and am an adult.”
Cami sighs, a soul sister to me. A real sister in some ways. Especially on nights like tonight, when I’m left contemplating another year of being under Dad and Mom’s combined thumb. Being forced to celebrate my birthday with cake, candles, balloons, harmless cartoons on TV all weekend, and maybe a little candy. Maybe. If the candy’s packaging doesn’t depict ghouls, goblins or other fairytale nightmares. Such things that would be an affront to God. Which pretty much leaves out any Halloween-themed candy.
“Let me guess,” she says, “You have Birthday plans. Plans made by them, not you. Keeping you to the house, as usual.”
Now it’s my turn to sigh, almost growl. “As usual.”
I wish I could go to that rave. I wish I can go to any party, any Halloween party, ball or whatever. Anything that any normal, culturally-with-it person would find fun or cool to do on that one special night of the year.
My mind wanders away from the conversation, and to my fate tomorrow. The one my parents planned and informed me of. Me sitting at home, blowing out candles on my birthday cake; opening religiously-appropriate presents, eating candy and cake in moderation, before settling down to an impromptu sermon by my dad. A sermon dedicated to shaming and damning the neighbors putting up their Halloween decorations. Being reminded of how this holiday does not belong to us godly people, but everyone who’s depraved, amoral and should have no place in our neighborhood. If I have to sit through one more birthday party like that, I would prefer to be among the depraved and amoral.
Momentarily I feel guilty about that thought. I think about repenting it, and then I remember the simple fact that this isn’t the first time I’ve wished to be out of this horrible place. Out of this clustered and fucked life of mine. This isn’t the first time I’ve daydreamed that I would be at home with the devil when it came down to it, not damned….
Get Alpha’s Halloween Virgin here!
Read Alpha’s Halloween Virgin on Amazon!
Other Books by Me
The Spell of Three: An Urban Fantasy Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance
(Book 1 of the Luck’s Hollow series)
More in the Luck’s Hollow series coming soon!
The Seeding Spell: Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy
Thank you for reading and for your support!
Click here to see all of my books on Amazon!
Click here to join my newsletter and get FREE bonus material to this book.
