Lone Wolf (Patreon)

Another older piece, this time from 2023. A friend and patron pointed out to me that I hadn't uploaded much werewolf-themed art, so here's some of that.

And it's gratuitous porn, because of course it is.

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The man whose name didn't matter was up late. He was sitting on the balcony of his northernmost lodge, watching the full moon rise on the snowy Alaskan field.

He was nursing a hot chocolate spiced with some expensive liquor he didn't remember the name of. He didn't really care for it, but he was too prideful to turn to cheaper, palatable drinks.

There was the distant howl of a wolf. Then another. Then another. The man smiled. The sound was wild. Untamed. Unfettered. In his plush robe, drinking hot chocolate, the man fancied himself a rugged individualist. He had gotten to where he was on his own, stepping on people all the way.

This was the way of the wolf, he thought. Survival of the fittest.

There was another howl. It was closer than the others had been. The man didn't think he was scared of wolves, but he was still not thrilled about the idea of one in his immediate vicinity.

There were more sounds. Howls, yes, but also the sound of large animals moving through the woods. It reminded the man of a bear more than a wolf. More than one bear, actually.

There was the sound of the front door opening down below. Then the sound of it being torn from its hinges.

Something was tearing its way through the man's house. He dropped the mug, which clattered against the wooden floor but didn't break. He heard what sounded like the freezer being torn from the floor. Fabric, god knows what, was being torn en masse. Glass broke, wood splintered.

He contemplated jumping. It was maybe fifteen feet into snow. The odds of survival were not stellar, but hopefully better than facing whatever—

A monster burst from the house onto the balcony, slamming through the door with a shoulder. It was huge, bigger than a bear. Sharper, too. More angular. It carried itself differently than an animal would.

“A w-w-werewolf?” The man asked, rhetorically. He got halfway through ”Those don't exist,“ before he was knocked to the ground by his new guest.

It pinned him to the cold floor with one hand. It kneeled above him, looking annoyingly smug. If it was going to kill him, it could at least be less mirthful about it.

”Hullo, Bitch.“ the werewolf said. The voice was deep, deeper than baritone, like the rumbling of a great machine. It spoke softly, almost gently, but firmly. Authoritatively.

”I'm, what?“ the man asked, confused. He had been expecting to have his guts splayed in the snow, not insulted.

The werewolf leaned down, still pinning him. It sniffed his face, his neck, his chest.

It wasn't insulting him. It was naming him.

”Wait just a second, here—“ said the Bitch as the werewolf lifted him up with one hand, and with the other removed his robe. It tore like tissue paper around him.

”Wait-wait-wait!“ said the Bitch as the werewolf pulled him to his chest, holding his head down and forcing him to breathe in werewolf musk. It was overpoweringly strong and smelled like mulch and sweat and smoke, was what the Bitch thought, before he lost the ability to think coherently.

”Wggggghhhhug,” said the Bitch as the werewolf moved him from his chest to his armpit. Despite the Alaskan night the Bitch felt like he was in a sauna, not that he had the presence of mind to express that.

“Lick,” said the werewolf. The Bitch complied, lacking the ability to conceive of not complying. The Bitch's mouth filled with the taste of werewolf, heavy musk clinging to his tongue like a strong drink. The Bitch was in heaven, jerking in pleasure even in the werewolf's vicelike grip.

After what felt like an eternity but was more like fifteen seconds, the werewolf released the Bitch, setting him back on the floor. The Bitch stared upwards, body boneless and writhing. He was painfully hard, and his mouth hung open widely in a vague smile.

The werewolf plopped down on him in such a way that the Bitch only felt the brunt of the weight for a moment, then was simply pinned. The Bitch said “Ouugh—” which was interrupted by a fist-thick werewolf tongue cramming its way down his throat.

The Bitch groaned again in lazy pleasure as the werewolf frenched him, exploring every inch with his tongue. The wolf's muzzle squashed against the Bitch's face, hot breath filling his lungs as he struggled to breathe through his nose. He was crushed, overheated, and had a massive foreign object violating his mouth and throat, and he loved it. He needed it.

The wolf, satisfied with his quarry's mouth, pulled back and licked the Bitch's face, a surprisingly tender gesture.

“Doin’ well,” he murmured, nibbling the Bitch's neck. Then he turned around so that his crotch was facing the Bitch, and he was facing the Bitch's neglected cock.

The Bitch understood what to do even before he understood what was happening. He opened his mouth wide as the coke-bottle cock of the werewolf pressed its way in.

Where the werewolf's tongue was thorough and exploratory, his tapered cock was steel-hard and demanding. The Bitch, pliant as he was, was still sucking cock for the first time, and struggled to not gag around it. He wanted to savor the experience.

Wanted to taste every inch of salty wolf cock in his mouth. Wanted to serve.

But that would come later. For now, he was simply a hole, and that thrilled him in a different way. The Bitch's own cock was entirely engulfed in the wolf's maw, its thick tongue just rough enough to make the Bitch's cock feel like it was going to explode.

It was gentle here, too, even as he hammered away at the Bitch's throat, paying close attention to what was too much stimulation for his Bitch to handle.

It wasn't very much, as it turned out. So much excitement had brought the Bitch to painfully hard even before his dick had been touched, so a hot mouth and gentle suction had been enough to bring the Bitch to release.

He came into the wolf's mouth, who swallowed it effortlessly. He spent a minute diligently cleaning the Bitch's cock, balls, and taint, and then knotted the Bitch's throat.

The Bitch didn't scream, because he couldn't. The wide knot in his mouth forced his jaw open like he had shoved a grapefruit in there, the pulsing cock pushing so far down his throat he could feel it in his chest. His face was already completely stuffed, barely able to allow air to flow, when the werewolf shot his own load.

The Bitch was lucid enough to hold his breath as his throat, stomach, and mouth were all flooded with molten wolf cum.

Every inch of space was consumed with it until he could feel it pouring out of his mouth and onto the ground. Eventually, after nearly a minute, the deluge had slowed enough that the Bitch could manually swallow.

After a few thick gulps, the Bitch's stomach was full and his throat ruined, but he could at least breathe. Everything tasted and smelled like wolf cum; salty acrid seed coating his entire throat and most of his face.

The Bitch didn't have long to appreciate relatively-fresh air: the werewolf, with an air of finality, twisted to his side so that the Bitch's face was right up against the wolf's hefty balls while he was balanced on the werewolf's frame.

The werewolf promptly fell asleep. At some point, so did the Bitch.

In the morning, the Bitch's jaw hurt like a motherfucker. He was sweaty and coated in hair and cum. He wanted a shower, except he liked the smell. It smelled right.

The werewolf was nowhere to be seen. He had been dragged to the bed, which was only mildly torn up. The rest of his room, and presumably his house, was trashed.

More crashes from below. The werewolf; his werewolf; stepped through a forcibly-widened doorframe.

“We're leaving,“ was all he said. He stood, waiting for a response.

”This is goodbye, then?“

The werewolf made an incongruously articulated “Pfft“ sound. ”Yer comin’ too, Bitch. Gonna knot yer ass later.“

The Bitch chose his next words carefully. ”Was that what you did to my mouth last night?“

The wolf paused for a moment. ”Ya.”

“Then let's get going.”