Cilantha: Catwoman of the Cherubim Cemetery

From her usual hideout next to the weeping angel,
Cilantha smelled him before she saw him.

His name was Yvain,
Xyris had told her.
He was a banker in the City
and also a werewolf.

In his human form,
he walked every morning and every evening
through the Cherubim Cemetery
on his way to work.

His scent set him apart from the rest of the pack.
He smelled less of sex and more of man
than the others, and this paradox
had fascinated her ever since her arrival
at the cemetery two weeks ago.

Today in particular
she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.
Tonight was the full moon
and hence also the Chase.
Tonight, Antithea had told her,
the pack in their wolf forms
would charge into the cemetery
and chased the catwomen.
It always ended, Antithea went on dreamily,
in the same way: fucked into orgasmic oblivion
by one wolf or, if one got lucky,
by many.

Cilantha shivered. If she were lucky,
it would be Yvain.
She hadn’t been long enough at the cemetery
to have yet experienced the Chase,
and while the wolves in their human form
were all tall, all handsome, all built,
and all, according to Ondine,
well-hung skillful lovers,
surely a cat — however pleasure-seeking
and pleasure-loving — could admit
to some trepidation.

She didn’t know why she’d fixated on Yvain,
only that she was sure
that she would gladly surrender
if he chased her down.
Preferably alone.

Unlike Antithea,
she was not particularly looking forward
to the simultaneous penetration
of all her holes. After all,
tonight would be her first Chase. Surely
one wolf would suffice?

“Ohhhh,” she murmured,
lounging back against the grass.
Out of the corner of her eye
she saw Xyris stretching,
the elegance of her splits
attracting appreciative glances
from the pack as they passed.
Meanwhile, Ondine was brushing out her hair,
arching back and letting the morning light
silhouette her curves against the chapel.

Cilantha let her legs fall open
as she kneaded her breasts
and imagined one wolf in particular
looming above her, his tongue lolling
as his fangs gleamed in the moonlight.

Her eyes fluttered closed. Her fingers
slid down her torso between her legs
to meet the petals of her pussy
already damp at the mere thought
of Yvain in his wolf form,
touching,
taking,
fucking.