The first time he changed for her was the first time he fucked her in his other form as well. They did it without words, without speaking. She barely dared to breathe. It was in her house, and he had moved into the corridor beyond her bedroom to change. He had warned her before doing so not to touch him when he was changed. To keep her distance. And she didn’t do either of those things. It was so strange to see this creature, wild and dangerous and powerful, and know that it was him – the complex, quiet man she had come to know. She had to touch him. And so she did. She put her hand on his chest.
After that it was only a matter of minutes. She was touching him, and he bent his head close to hers and smelled her. His features mapped onto a powerful muzzle, teeth the size of her fingertips, sharp as picks. She could sense the savagery of him lurking just beneath the surface and it made her wet. Helplessly wet. The kind of rushed, urgent arousal that was beyond any real explanation, beyond words. She felt like something was dissolving in her belly, a need that was almost effervescent.
She touched him. He smelled her. His hands (still shaped like his hands, but more muscled now, larger, tipped with claws that she knew could shred her flesh) hovered an inch from her skin. He held himself back from her. Eyes narrowed. Scenting her. And she stood, terrified but trying not to show it.
“It’s me,” she said. “You recognise me?” He nodded. He recognised her. And she recognised him, however changed he was. A foot taller. Bristling with fur. Claws and jaws and muzzle and snout. But she recognised him. “You can touch me,” she said. “It’s okay.”
So he touched her. And then he grabbed her and pushed her down. She went onto the floor, hands and knees, and he was on top of her, heavy weight bearing her down. Arms wrapping around her. Breath huffing hot and animal into the curve of her neck. His claws were too clumsy in this form to undo the delicate fastenings of her skirt, but he didn’t need to. Pain raked down her back and her skirt fell away, her tights ripped to shreds. Later she would crane to look over her shoulder in the mirror at the four parallel scratches that ran down the long white curve of her spine.
She didn’t speak during it. She could not. He was inside her within seconds, and this felt right. No human preamble, foreplay, dawdling, drawn out moments of waiting. This was base, vital. Animals rutting like they had since the beginning of time. His cock was bigger too, stretching her almost to the point of pain as he pushed in deep. Almost too deep. She yelped and clutched the carpet. Words were something she had left behind. Words had no meaning now.
He pumped into her, hard and fast, her wetness welcoming him. After a few strokes the pain eased, and she loosened to him. His weight pushing her face down into the carpet, holding her in place. Her ass up in the air, legs spread, open and offering. His hot breath still on her, ragged and panting now. Those teeth an inch or two from her ear. Part of her longed wildly for him to bite her, take the scruff of her neck in his jaws.
He didn’t bite her, but she could sense that he wanted to. Strong thrusts, hard and fast and deep. She could feel his fur tickling her back and his claws digging into the flesh of her hips, her shoulders. There would be marks there too, she sensed, and she welcomed them. She could feel herself shaking. A mental image: her smallness compared to him. Her pale body beside his huge and muscled and furred one. All the power of his muscles – she could feel it in the way he held her down. She could do nothing to resist him.
In the moment she didn’t think of anything. There was no time or space to think – no words in her head with which to form human, cogent thoughts. Just blurred impressions. The mingled pain and pleasure of his cock thrusting into her. The animal lust of it, the absolute, basic urgency. But later she would lie in his arms and reflect on how different he was when changed. Brutal. Swift. Taking and using. A rough, half-wild animal. Primal and fierce. And how, in his arms, she became just as animal, responding to something ancient and ingrained in a way that was far beyond her own control.
He was rough with her from the start, but as he neared his climax she felt his strokes becoming wilder. He was growling – the noise starting deep in the back of his throat. It was a noise she felt way down in her stomach. Growling with each thrust and pushing deep and clumsy, and she knew that it was going to happen a second before it did. She felt his cock twitching inside of her, swelling up an extra little bit.
She came when he did. When he pushed deep into her and made a hoarse, urgent sound of pleasure in his throat, and wrapped his arms tight around her. Strong muscles enveloping her, holding her in place even as his cock bucked and spilled inside her. His come was hot. He pumped into her and she could feel it, actually feel it filling her up, and for a moment everything about that was right. Being held so tightly it almost hurt and filled up and the thrum and heat of him against her back. She felt her body twitch. The twitches always started a second or two before the waves of pleasure. Her body losing control, untensioning. And then the pleasure, flooding and soaking through her like water spilled from a vase. Wave after wave, bright and keening.
He held her through all of it. She had never been held like that – by something so much bigger and more powerful than her. Something that could rip her into pieces if it so chose. But he held her tightly and she could not move, and she did not want to move. She shivered in his arms. Twitching. Coming. Knowing that he was coming too.
This is an extract from The Hunt – an erotic short story about a couple and their unusual relationship. The complete story is just ninety-nine cents, and by picking up a copy you’ll be supporting Lascivity, and me as a writer. Go here to buy the book.