What causes me to tempt my own fate? What strengthens me? What dares me to toy with certain disaster? The same dark things that allow you to seize and own the night. Oh, indeed. Here I am! Though you have long owned me as you chose, in most every realm and have trained me in most every regard, you cannot stop the pulse of the one thing that causes you to return. You return against your own best, human judgment. And, I am there, against my own.
I am the SheWolf on the ridge. Every, single time. My silhouette taunts your dreams when you wish for human things. In that way, you rear to your own calling. You submit to your own uncontrollable rages. There are no Silver Bullets for you. Half man, half Werewolf. And, you know I do not evaluate or hold expectation in the things you might have been. I accept the things that you are. It is your existence that I challenge. My howling desires find and eventually pierce your eardrums. We ravish. We heal. We rise. We return. We dare to meet under the Naughty Moon, again and again.
You can see into the hilltops of my mind. Me ascending the craggy cliffs. Blonde hair, cascading down my naked backside. Flowing, lifting wildly, in the night breeze. Silhouetting my slight frame. My stature, offering the perfect fit. Glistening, in the dark. Transforming from woman, into beast. Poised and ready; my back arched. Unafraid. Plump, round haunches...waiting. Enjoying the Naughty Moon. Feeling the velvet folds of my privates pulse. Panting, as the wetness builds, there. Needing...My Werewolf. Whisper-Woofing. Ever so softly. Sniffing the air. Hoping you will hear. Hoping you will come and silence me.
A shadow. A rustle in the distance. Is that you? Whiff, whiff. Yessss. I smell you. I sense you are near and are contemplating what must be done. Come forth! Oh, please come forth! My neck arches. I look up and thank the Naughty Moon. My Werewolf is here. I can feel you! I am, again, weakened, even by your hidden presence.
A voice in my head reminds me, "Even when I am not with you..."
Feeling your nearness. Owning the space around me. I do not flinch. You are here. A handful of my hair, grasped just tightly enough at the scruff of my neck sets the Naughty Moon stage. Your human touch becomes carnal. I hear the sounds rising in your throat. A low growl. Familiar and admonishing. Animal Instinct unfolds. I stiffen, slightly. Not wanting to relent. Wishing I were not so weak to the moon, or to you. My spine-arch betrays me. I lift to you, involuntarily. Needing you, so. Wishing I could...repel you. Defeat you. Stop you, somehow. But, craving your expected reprimand for my slight delay in response. "Drop to position. Feed!" Your words become gutteral commands. Then, silent commands when words are no longer needed to communicate expectations. I am transformed, into the weaker animal. The SheWolf. Your prey.
I drop to all fours. Like a hungry wolf-pup, nuzzling into your warm hardness. Lapping and licking. Suckling deeply. My nails digging slightly into your thighs and hips. My own nostrils flaring, inhaling your scent. Pressing you closer and closer in hopes that I may nearly choke on the necessity that is you. Spittle, stringing from my lips. Animal sounds escaping me that I cannot humanize. Gasping and milking you. You pounding your Wolf Hard into my throat, again and again. Moon, overhead, mocking me for the things I thought I could control. I feast on you, and delight in the way that you can command even my breath.
