Time of the Wolf

Mf, primal, dubcon
Moon, glorious moon. It’s all I can do to not tip my head back and howl when I go on the prowl. Tonight, a seedy little bar on the outskirts of the airport district. Lots of hotels. Lots of motels. Lots of people traveling hither and yon. Some of them are women without companions. Stewardesses, businesswomen, tourists, just to name a few of the prey on my list.
But not just any will do. I want to be smitten. I want to be enchanted, drawn in, weakened by their fierce radiance. Just like the moon. I want to be compelled with lust and need and want and desire that there is nothing left to me, a drive to take what’s needed. I want her to compel me to howl at the moon while her nails rake down my back hard enough to draw blood. I need to want to lose myself in her, our bodies a twisted, cavorting, howling mess of scent, sweat, musk, and aching need rushing to release.
I turn my nose at plenty of potentials. There’s the sorority girls, giggly, obnoxious, playing oh so coy to get others to buy them drinks. Too young and vapid to properly cast a seduction spell, they create a tangled snarl of unrequired wants. They don’t even know what they want yet, just a cartoon version of desire. There’s the woman who’s removed her wedding ring and put a hungry need of her own in its place. Too easy. While there would be the thrill of something new for her, it's too rushed, on a timetable, she only has so much room to find something and satiate her own needs.
But the woman with the wedding ring on, now that is alluring. She’s broadcasting stay away, telling everyone she’s taken. But with each drink, she slides a finger along the glass, leaving a trail through the perspiration. The bartender asks her something, and she smiles, shakes her head, but when he departs, her eyes follow him with a hunger I know all too well. She’s my doe. I want her. Want to hear her cry out. See her writhe under me. Smell every pheromone of her.
I slip into the stool next to her and ask if it’s taken. A shake of the head as she sips something crowned in an umbrella. I thank the heavens and introduce myself, hi, yada. A pause, I make certain she watches my gaze wander to her drink and back up to her eyes. I ask about the umbrella. She returns a wary smile, explains it's sweet like her husband. The game is on.
The bartender is busy, busy. Good. It allows me to ask her to get his attention. She does, I order, then ask what exactly she’s drinking, it gets added to the order. Typical opening fare. She protests, but doesn’t reject the new, sweaty drink in front of her. Looking at her glass, I hunger to see her sweating as well. Bathed in perspiration, little jewels sprinkled across skin.
Getting her to talk about sweet hubby is easy, they all love to talk. Especially about things that make them feel safe. She asks about my wife, none I say, while baring my fangs… while smiling. I lock my gaze on her, let her feel that moment of intensity, desire, want. She covers a light flush with a long sip. We go back to talking about safer things. But that moment is there, hanging between us.
After the second round, I ask, pool? We settle on darts. She’s terrible but enjoying being swept away in another’s interest. As the third round comes, I wrap arms around her. A hand goes to her wrist, showing her how to throw. She tenses. She should. I’m wrapped around her, a head taller, fit, and letting her feel every bit of it. I release her quickly enough. And while she doesn’t improve, the memory of that impromptu embrace stays with her. She knows she’s being pursued. How long has it been, I wonder?
Back to bar. A final round of drinks. Laughter masking hunger. Eyes all over each other. She announces she has to go. I ask if she’s in the hotel across the parking lot. Yes indeed. The façade of a gentleman offers to escort her through these treacherous lands. I knew she’d agree. Tipsy, we make the trek to mentioned elevator.
She turns to bid farewell, but I crush it from her lips. One hand snakes around waist and yanks her into me. My lips, her, crushed together. I suck her breath away. Mine now. My other hand, mind of its own, slides along back up to gather a fistful of hair. I devour the moan. Ding, we fall into the small private space as clerks watch.
Hungry mouth devours her. Lips and teeth are everywhere, mouth, neck, shoulders. Her squeaks drive me hard. Door slides with a dry mechanical sound, totally opposite to the grunting chaos of our entangled selves. Now my hands are everywhere, small of back, ass, neck, shoulders, hair. We tumble to the wall, and I crush her. An oof of sound from her, When’s the last time that happened to her?
She breathlessly whimpers, floor three. I smash a fistful of buttons too hungered to dare break my feast.
Moon, glorious moon. I feed on her. Sucking her scent deep into me. Lips and teeth and tongue tasting everything, yet we all want more, more, more. Skin of neck tastes oh so delicious, salty, perfumy, feminine. What I really want to put my mouth on lies far below. I want to drown in her juices, suck her completely dry.
All rational thought vanishes in a cloud of superheated desire. Finger on flesh, exploring every inch. Defiant clothes mocking my every effort to have her right then and there. I tug at the button of her jeans, but can’t quite remember how they work. The animal wants her so bad right now that all rational thought flees. I snarl in her ear, and she struggles to keep clothing on.
A ping and she exclaims, this is it. She struggles to break free. Dazed, not quite understanding the words, I let her slip away. Just long enough for her to step out into a hallway lined with doors. Her doe eyes look up to mine. Thoughts evaporate. I want to own her and those eyes. We collide against wall. Her head tips and sighs, and my hands find those oh so delightful spots. Growls fill her ears.
Three Twenty One, she says from oh so far away. Numbers. Meaningless here and now. An ache fills my center. The scent and taste of her driving me on. I growl again, telling her how bad I want her. Fingers rip at my hair. She staggers away, backing away. Hands out, stretched, pulling me with her.
Moon, glorious moon. Tonight I will howl.