Doggy

I was camping alone in the Rockies about this time last year. My companions had worn out and left early, before the end of our two-week vacation. I had been carrying them. I could move freer and faster alone. I was enjoying the solitude and freedom. I was intoxicated by the wine-scent of peaking autumn. The scent of approaching snow brought no apprehension.

The howling began even before sunset. I was familiar with the wail of coyotes, but this was stronger, more full-bodied. Wolves I guessed. I was in a valley meadow, with peaks above me on three sides. The wolves were up there, their baying above me. By some sense, I knew them to be male.

They hit me just after I turned in. Sharp claws made a mockery of ripstop-nylon. Before I could locate the zipper of my mummy bag, the pack leader was upon me. Immense canine teeth filled my vision, the drooling fanged muzzle directly over my throat. I tried to rise, tried to resist, but he had grabbed a pawful of my hair and pinned my head back, baring my throat. I saw a circle of glowing eyes surrounding me in the firelight. The shaggy wolfhead, silhouetted against the moon above me, began to descend.

A series of howls arose from the open side of the valley. Female, instinct told me. Yellow eyes stared into mine, then the beast made a reasoned choice. He quickly tore away my shirt, exposing the muscle at the top of my shoulder. He bit, nipped really, almost playfully, before he released the grip on my hair, sprang up and loped down hill. My last thought, before I passed out, was "Wolves don't have thumbs."

The changes came slowly at first. I became a night person. I rescheduled more of my classes later each semester and slept mornings. Last term I discarded my glasses. My senses of hearing, taste and smell became more acute. I began to avoid noisy crowds, smoky rooms, and seasoned foods. I craved physical activity, and moonlight. I found myself running endless marathons on dark country roads.

The changes accelerated with the phases of the moon. On the night of the full moon my blood fairly bubbles with energy. I'm driven. I run with my tongue extended, sampling and savoring the millions of chemical signatures that float in the air. I'm hunting for one in particular. I didn't know it yet. When I found a scent that was close, it was almost natural to run on my hands and feet, head thrown back, gulping scent.

As autumn started, I found myself moving into the city at night. I patrolled alleys instead of country lanes. I found stealthy ways to get downwind of people, hunting the scent that doesn't belong to the group. I had been tantalizingly close to my quarry. I'd felt my lips drawing back, my muzzle extending, tongue lolling. Salivating.

I found the scent. I found HER this evening, Halloween, in the park. She was with a man, pulling him by the hand into the shadows. A howl ripped from my virgin throat. I began to bay at a hundred yards. My cock began to emerge from its furry sheath, definitely showing red. The stupid human didn't know how to respond to my challenge. He did not know how to stay alive.

He should have dropped his head and slunk away. He should never have stared at me. He could have dropped onto his back,turned his head away, and lived. Instead he stood between us and pointed something metal at me.

My reflexes were screwed up at this point in the change. I didn't want to hurt anyone. I tried to slap him away with open hands, but my unfamiliar claws slashed him open. I would have left him then, but he was too close. No one alive can be that near when we're knotted. I tore out his throat.

The timing was exquisitely close. She was on hands and knees, scrabbling further into shadow, when I caught her. I threw her skirt up, her other garments were already gone. She was wet, and fragrant.I was just at the point of erection when the shaft is stiff, but the knot has not yet formed. I penetrated her so easily. A half dozen strokes later the knot had formed on the end of my shaft, fist-sized, deep within her.

I thrust forcefully against her, my paws pulling back hard on her furry flanks. We were locked together until her orgasm, until she dipped her cervex into my sperm. The sensations were overwhelming! The terrifying vulnerability of being locked together, the overwhelming triumph of taking a mate, the crashing physical release of orgasm. Like animals, we humped our bodies together. I pounded into her with mindless force, and velocity that was nearly insane. My rutting explosion triggered her climax.

Exhausted we clung together until her sheath unclenched. Lust dissipated, my knot relapsed, and my cock withdrew. I extended my muzzle and gave her the ritual nip on the back of the neck, before I rolled off, exhausted. Our howls mingled.

People think our howls are distilled bloodlust. They couldn't be more wrong. We don't want to kill. We want to breed.