In the suburbs of London, when wealthy Victorians died there was only one place to be seen dead. Highgate Cemetery. Thirty-seven acres holding over 170,000 souls at rest in the damp London clay.
The vast park was soon filled to capacity, trees and Gothic tombs and headstones cluttering up the lawns all vying for space. Then, within a generation, even the living who came to pay respects to their beloved, fondly remembered dead where themselves gone. The gates where shut, and nature left to consume the weeping stone angels and heartfelt epitaphs under its relentless green maw.
It is then, the perfect place for a clandestine pack of werewolves.

Roused from there dens by the rising of the winter moon, they came in groups of two or three from shattered mausoleums or open tabletop tombs shaking out the dew that had collected on the tips of their fur whilst they slept in huddled piles. A call urged them on, waking even the deepest sleepers who dreamt of warmer days and ancient myths told to them during the long submission into the pack.

In the largest open space within the claustrophobic urban jungle, was a clearing, a pit torn by the falling of a great tree. He sat there, in the twisted roots of the tree, hairy curved back resting on entangled bit of marble, uplifted when the tree fell in last year’s summer storm. He was their Alpha, Tim. It was not a very wolfish or scary name, he knew; but in this new life as a 6 foot 10 wolf-man he had quickly found out your size and scent meant more in the tumult election of leaders, as well as other more feral talents.

The pack was small, only twenty-three including Tim. He watched as they all arrived into the hollow below. Some striding in upright on long powerful legs using their tails to help keep balance, others more animalistic in their approach, low on all fours the hand-like paws suited for both holding and stroking or running like a hound. They spoke little, if at all. Content to let body language and subtle smells alien and invisible to normal men do all the talking.
It was as the friendly greetings, now bonding began to get playful that Tim knew he had to get their attention on more human like matters of state, and not waste the night - again - on baser instincts.
He began to howl, low at first, then with a slight treble getting louder until all below began to slow down, ceasing to roll and pounce with such vigour when they could hear their masters call and began to join in, united in their sound of adoration to the moon, to their earthly leader and spiritual eidolons. Tim stopped howling, lowering his head, and looked down to see all his pack-mates had as he had drilled into them by his will and animal dominance sat down, neatly, facing front.

He smiled, showing off his large off-white teeth. Seeing the Alphas pleasure with them caused some of the more enthusiastic members of the pack to begin wagging their tails. “Brothers!" Tim began, in a voice that rumbled deep in his strong barrel chest. "So glad you could make it, hard day at work?" This earned him some low panting titters. “Tonight, it is important we coordinate the expansion of our territory beyond the cool safety of tree and stone our sleeping ancestors provide”. He leaned forward, to punctuate this remark by reviling the shattered marble tombstone he had been resting on. ...ery part of life, we here on earth do fade as do the flower.... Tim fell forward, catching himself on a thick mass of dirt and roots, into all fours. He raised a paw palm up to point as he continued. “I want you, you and you to seek out Richmond Park and extend the scent markers out further than we ever have before. Winter is here and if we are to feast on more than sausage (more titters) and stolen bread then we will be needing to borrow Her Majesty's deer. Hamish, take Toby and....

At the back of the pack, sitting behind two rows of furry bodies almost unseen from Tim's position at the front, was Simon. Simon was finding it hard to follow what the Alpha was saying, not that he was stupid, oh no. The issue was compared to most of his pack-mates, and especially Tim, Simon had taken very, very well to the more instinctual attributes of his new life in the pack. What did enter his soft lupine ears however, perking them back up from a state of sleepy boredom was the talk of sent-marking. Now that was a welcome word among the verbosity of the Alphas speech! Just him and his pack running across rooftops, sneaking into the Underground Tube tunnels or padding cryptically though dark alleys away from the watching eyes of the Metropolitan & City CCTV camara network. Taking turns on all the trees in the park, seeing who could piss highest, everyone together stretching and sniffing and jumping and - And that was it. Simon looked down into his lap to see the red tip of his penis was already poking out of its fuzzy sheath. Fainting an itch to bite, he bent down at the waist from his sitting position to lick the small drop of precum on the tip, panting slightly at the smell of his own arousal emanating from the sheath. Already it was bulging, rippling the dark musky fur, begging to draw back and expose more of his red wolf-cock, teased by the feel of breath playing over the veiny thin skin. He longed to stay prone like this and start licking with the long rough tongue in his mouth, but he did not want to displease his Alpha by not paying attention to his words, so settling for a quick brush to the sensitive head with the tip of his tongue, Simon sat up and re-adjusted his body so his tail was tucked in from behind. It came up from under his butt, hiding his crotch behind its long-brushed hairs. Now obscured, he began to gently stroke himself with the softer parts of his paws. The complex hands now mostly paw gripping delicately on the slickened exposed shaft, up and down in slow careful movements to maximise the pleasure of the still engorging member.

However, the one thing he could not hide was the smell of his hardening distraction. The two wolves aside Simon soon sniffed out what was up, and at first toed the line by slowly parting a lip to expose a tooth and growl a warning at Simon to behave. Lost in his own bliss, Simon was letting a stupid smile rest on his face. A revere ended when the two wolfs hissed at him to behave, the one closest to him swatting at Simons crotch, putting claws into his member, scratching it in a painful way. Simon stopped has masturbation and whined inaudibly. As a sign of submission, he rolled over presenting his neck to the wolf on the left, and his balls to the one on the right. As he did so, Simon spotted both had begun to sweat, a slight wiggle of the jaw as they swallowed uncomfortably. He knew why, both where dominant tops, and the smell of a horny submissive was taxing all their willpower; to ignore this clear invitation of an exposed sexually available, aroused wolf and pay attention to the Alpha's now overlong speech.

Gradually and with leisurely motions, Simon edged his muzzle into the sinistral dominant wolfs lap and began to lick his sheath, while flicking playfully the other dextral wolf with his tail. Both their heads stayed true, looking dead ahead to the tree roots. An inexorable rising pressure within both their sheaths broke the last reserves of resolve they could muster. They began to let go and relax into their beastly desires. Simon's licking progressed to sticking his tongue into the sheath of the now heavy breathing, trembling Dom. Erecting as if some lewd prize the large cock to which he greedily began to nurse. Bobbing his maw, taking the scarlet red shaft into his muzzle, wetting it with every coiled lick from his long tongue. Unable to ignore the tail flicking him or the ass it was connected too, the second wolf took one surreptitious look round, confirming that the others in the pack where inattentive to the illicit play, then plunged his muzzle into Simon's grey furry crevice to prepare that pert ass for his own growing member.

By this point all ears on the remaining werewolves swivelled like SETI telescopes to the commotion brewing in the back-row seats. Noses twitched as the cool night breeze poured the aphrodisiac scent of male arousal and sex into the hollow, filling it up with the intoxicating musk. Tim, still in the roots of the tree, completely lost in the sound of his own voice heard and smelled nothing over his own deep drone. Nineteen heads all looked at each other. Furtive glances that then turned skywards towards the moon. Renouncing a life of pure humanity to become something closer to the deep magic's buried under Britain came with responsibility. A heavy burden made light, shared by the brotherhood, the mentoring that came with the slow transformation into a creature of the ancient woods. A strong clear head made for good shoulders to keep the pack alive and fulfilling its purpose. However, the bodies strength was born from a heritage of blood and lust that needed its own attentions, especially on clear, cold moonlit nights.

Simon yelped as the dextral wolf ceased in licking his tight, hairy tail-hole, and punched his cock inside, bumping to a stop at the knot. The shock of being filled up so suddenly had caused Simon to nip the relaxed wolf he was sucking. This enraged the sinistral wolf, who with a sloppy pop removed his pulsing member from Simon's mouth and swiftly grabbed him by the cheek, paw-pad thumb inside Simons mouth, the claw holding his head up. “That hurt.” he said, looking deep into Simons eyes with real threat. “Keep your voice down, pup, unless you want to get us all caught”. The derogative pup caused Simon to become painfully aroused, so erect his knot grew to full size. The sound of nineteen furry tails all turning to look caused the three guilty werewolves to freeze.

The one called Hamish padded over. “Bertie, cut him some slack” he said, scratching Simons ear while Bertie lowered his hand. “Besides, I thought you liked a little pain”. Hamish with his other hand pulled hard, down on Bertie's tail – while sinking Simon's head onto his cock. With the action resuming, the dextral wolf restarted his humping. The shock to Bertie to have his old weak spot exploited like this, caused the final swelling of his knot to lock Simon briefly in place while he came, the rich white cum filling Simons senses. Combined with the rutting from behind, and the taste of a stronger man on his lips, allowed him to relax, and take the knot into this ass. Simon began to drip, then squirt out his own orgasm. Spilling his seed into the earth while swallowing down Berties.

Tim had at this inopportune moment turned his back to all of them, to better point out guiding stars and routes needed for the nights plan. When he turned back around, to end his speech with a rousing call to action he slumped like a puppet abandoned by the puppeteer. All of his pack where paired off in twos or threes, churning up the dirt into a mud bath. The smell of wet dog and sex was powerful enough now for even a human to detect. There in the centre of it all, where the mass of sweating pelts humped to growing satisfaction in each other’s exposed holes or open maws, tongue lolling, was Simon unrepentant. Muzzle stained white by spurts of hot cum, now coming from Hamish's cock held in his paws, gripping the base of his knot in an attempt to aim the rich manly fluid down his throat, while from behind he was knotted, now rear-to-rear with the other wolf, who while shooting loads into him was busy preparing the next submissive wolf for action by lifting his tale up, to better lick from his balls and to the waiting, hungry hole.

Seeing that nothing was going to get done this night, Tim roared with anger, then jumped down from his perch into the pit, now sticky with the seed of twenty werewolves, to remind them why he was the Alpha male, in the way they would understand as most just; that in pack orgies he had first choice in mates. Striding upright, he cut a menacing silhouette against the sky, his pack mates looked up in awe to his strength of will, taught lean body and firm heavy balls. His path ended at Toby, his favoured brown-haired little wolf. He pushed him off the knot he had been riding and picking him up with both hands jammed his larger, angry red dick inside, electing a squeal that only drove Tim to pump faster, now biting Toby on the shoulder to hold his fast breathing chest closer to his as he stood tall in the pit.

It was not a sexual position to savour your partner, or grow intimacy, but one to show off to all how they could at any time be called forth and surrender to him. Tim came quickly careful to avoid knotting so he could, now with more care, put Toby down. His ass up and on display to all, white alpha cum leaking into his tail. Tim’s position within the pack and authority assured, the rest of the werewolves ceremonially offered to him their own tail-holes, as tribute. All save one. Simon lay there panting, a sticky mess on the floor. Blissed out of his mind, he barely could string a coherent human thought together. Insubordination, even those impelled though the call of the wild urges within could not be tolerated for long, least the mantle tip and they all devolve into the pitiful evil creatures’ werewolves have a reputation for being. Tim, with the pack's aid would help the still new werewolf Simon rise up to hold his burden with humanity, in the secret histories and bedtime stories that only werewolves know. They would still have to punish Simon, if only for his own good. A bath in the cold River Fleet would satisfy both as a punishment, and well-needed wash to remove the dust and semen.

For now, Tim's dream of Elizabeth's venison gracing the table in his Egyptian Avenue den would have to wait.

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Pub: 26 May 2021 19:38 UTC
Views: 1197