Elf Flesh, Wolf Hunger

Humans, Aethra thought
as she plodded along the forest road,
never understood the problems
of being an elf. Elves shouldn’t plod,
for one thing, but for some reason
humans couldn’t fathom them moving
with anything but grace.

However, as a female elf undertaking a long journey on foot,
plodding was to be expected.
Under the weight of the massive rack
with which all females of her species were endowed,
her back had been aching for hours
and she wasn’t even a quarter of the way home.

The moon was rising.
She should find a tree to rest.
Up amid the canopy, surrounded by leaves,
she could recuperate.
These trees, though,
were too small, too fragile.
She’d have to continue into the deep woods
to find a suitable place to bed down for the night.

Then she heard the howl.
Not too close, but not far enough.

Glancing behind her,
she lengthened her strides.
Why o why hadn’t she simply stayed an extra night
at the inn? Instead of setting out in mid-afternoon
and hoping to make the five-hour trek by nightfall,
she could have left at dawn
and proceeded at a pace better suited
to someone with such burdensome breasts.

The howl sounded again.

A tree. She needed a tree
Now. Surely, amid these spindly newborn birches
and adolescent maples,
she could find an old oak or a stolid beech
in which to take refuge.

She quickened her pace as she veered off the road
into the woods. Oak, she prayed.
Father Oak, help me.

But all around her
she saw only
the young birch and willow,
too thin to bear her weight.

Don’t panic, she told herself.
Just keep going. You’ll find a tree.

Really? asked the part of her brain
that she wished would shut up right now.

If the wolves picked up her scent,
they’d find her an easy target.
Her breasts, never easy to maneuver
at the best of times, were now a dead weight.
Literally. An encumbrance that would,
she decided with cynical resignation,
probably prove her downfall. And yet
if ever anyone found her skeletonized remains,
the bones would bear no signs
of ever having belonged to an elf
whose enormous breasts had gotten her killed.

She laughed out loud then,
with a nervous pitch that made the nearby trees quake
as if a cold wind had touched their branches.

The howl hadn’t sounded again.
She took heart from that fact.

Through the leaves, the light of the full moon
silvered all that she saw. If she hadn’t feared for her life,
the scene would have held her spellbound with wonder.

Then she heard the warbling of a brook.
Following her ears, she found it quickly
and stepped into its fast-flowing water.
If she was lucky, it would keep the wolves
off her scent. She walked onwards,
the water eddying about her feet
as the moon rose higher in the sky.

How late must it be now?
The welcome coolness of the brook had,
for a while, made her forget the ache in her back
and the sweat trickling between her breasts,
but now more than ever
she was feeling her exhaustion.

The brook widened then, deepening into a little pool,
and she knelt down to rinse the perspiration and dirt
from her exhausted body.
Around her, the water sang,
songs of rain and storm and flood and drought,
that at another time
she would have paused to learn.

I see them, said the alder suddenly.

They have left the road, said the hazel.

Climb me, said the birch with an urgency
that brought tears to her eyes.

She turned towards its rough white trunk.
“No, my friend.
You would bend,
and then you would break.
Save your strength; grow strong.”

Climb us, said the maple. Climb us,
and we will keep you safe
as your people have kept us safe
from the axes and sawmills.

“Friend maple,” she said, swallowing her tears.
“You cannot bear my weight.
This I know, for I have lived long
and seen better trees than you
topple under the weight of a lesser woman.
I will go on, and if I survive, I vow
that I will return to this grove
to give my thanks to you
for your great generosity.”

Watch out, shouted the linden,
too late.

She whirled around in time to see
the wolf pack’s eyes gleaming red and yellow
in the darkness. Then she went down
in a maelstrom of fur,
her great breasts precluding her
from much of a fight
though she gnashed her teeth
and kicked and punched and screamed
as they wrestled her to the ground.

The largest of the wolves pinned her into the moss,
its maw slavering over her breasts
and its claws digging into her arms
whenever she tried to move.

Beneath that mass of fur and muscle
she turned her head in time
to see some of its companions straighten
and stand up on two legs
as they faded back into the shadows.

She couldn’t quite stifle her gaps.

Not just wolves,
but werewolves.

It was all over now. Hopefully
he’d kill her quickly and the trees
would tell her people
what had happened.

From the trees, the eyes of the pack gleamed gold and red.
Only their leader remained alone with her
in the clearing.

And then it too rose to stand
and towered over her.
“So, elf,” it said.

She struggled up on to her elbows and gaped up at it.
Or, more precisely, at him.
He was definitely…well, if not a man,
then a male. His cock hung proudly between his legs.
Given its size in its flaccid state, she thought,
it must attain truly magnificent proportions when aroused.

Where had that thought come from?
Stop it, she told herself.

Who cares?
You’re about to die anyway.

Do you want spend your last moments
thinking about a werewolf’s dong?

No. No, of course not!

She forced her gaze down,
counted three long breaths,
and with the modicum of calm
that they brought her,
her brain relinquished its speculations
about the size her captor’s sexual organs
and latched on to the fact
that the werewolf had spoken.

Never had the legends or the elders
given her to understand
that such creatures could speak.
Yet not only had he spoken,
he registered her surprise at this fact
with an expression of such human arrogance
that she sat back on her heels.

He laughed. Or she thought he laughed;
his tongue lolled for a moment, the fangs seemed
to somehow curve upward,
and a fey light gleamed in his yellow eyes.

“Yes, elf,” he went on, his voice rasping.
“I have the faculty of speech.
As do my friends. And I would be remiss
if I did not use that gift to thank you
for straying from the road on a moonlit night
when our pack is hungry.”

She drew in a breath.
So she was going to be eaten indeed.
Well, at least they’d get a good meal out of her.

Rixling watched the elf’s tits heave.
It was, of course, the first thing
that anyone ever noticed about female elves,
and this one had been blessed
with a truly tremendous pair.

They’d spotted her not far outside town
before the sun had even set.
The boys had been on the cusp of shifting
and eager to taste her early in the evening,
but he had held them back.

This moment had been worth the wait.

“On your back,” he said.

Her wide eyes held his, her huge breasts
jiggling as she lay back against the soft moss
of the clearing. His groin tightened at the sight.

She was brave, he’d give her that.
She probably thought
that they were going to carve her up,
but she didn’t even try
to preserve her modesty like so many other women would have done;
she simply lay back under the weight of her breasts,
her fine-fingered hands at her side
and her long, slim legs stretched out.

Like all elves
she was hairless but for the hair on her head.
Rixling paced around her,
his cock thickening.
The sleekness of the elven body
was not one that he and his pack
often enjoyed, for the simple reason
that elves usually took to the high trees at nightfall.

Especially on nights when the full moon waxed.

This one would be a rare treat.

He let his eyes linger on her body.
She had closed her eyes
and her breasts rose and fell with every breath.
Her lips had parted slightly,
and as he watched her pink tongue darted out
to moisten them.

In the trees about the clearing, he heard
the boys shifting and panting,
knew that they too were riding the rush of power and desire
that came with moments such as this one.

They had watched her bathe herself.
She had cupped handfuls of water to her breasts,
and the silvery liquid gleaming on her skin had sent
some of the youngsters into a frenzy.
He’d dealt Yoden a blow to the head,
baring his teeth to underscore the importance of patience
while on the prowl.

Now they were waiting
to see what course their alpha would take.

He went down onto all fours
and settled between her legs, lifting them up over his shoulders
to better inspect her pussy, so smooth and clean
after that interlude in the brook.

“What—what are you doing?” she asked.

He didn’t bother to reply.
The scent of her fear mingled with—what was it?
Curiosity, yes, that was it—
as he bent his head
and licked her from anus to clit.

She shrieked, but his well-honed senses told him
that it was surprise, not fear. He licked her again,
his tongue exploring the soft folds of her pussy.

“N-no,” she said faintly,
her hands in the fur of his head,
trying in vain to push him away. “S-stop.”

He licked her again, this time teasing
the round little bud of her clit
until it swelled against his tongue.

“Ohhhh,” she moaned, arching her back
despite the weight of her breasts,
and he grinned to himself.

Her scent was changing now. Fear
was giving way to arousal, and her pussy juices
had begun to flow. He lapped up their sweetness
as his tongue probed her silken flesh
and she began to writhe beneath him,
moaning and lifting her hands
to pinch her nipples.

He took his time, letting his tongue explore
every crease and fold of her soft skin.
“Ohhhh,” she cried again, her back arching again.
“Oh, oh…mmmm.”

He let his claws rake her breasts.
Gently, drawing no blood,
but enough to leave a mark.

His mark.

“Now, little elf,” he said
as she turned her hazy gaze towards him,
“it’s your turn
to pleasure me.”

“Aethra,” she said, struggling to her knees.
Whatever he’d done to her
had befuddled her brain
and the word left her lips blurred and thick.

His ears pricked up
and he cocked his head at her,
displaying his fangs.

“My name—my name is Aethra,” she faltered.

“Aethra,” he said as if the word
were one upon which to meditate.
“Aethra.”

She didn’t bother to nod.
Her nipples were throbbing, and her pussy…
well, she’d rather not think about that.
What had he done to her?

“Well, Aethra,” he said, his rasp sinking to a whisper
redolent of both mockery and cajolery,
“come to Rixling.”

Rixling.

Oh, Father Oak.

Werewolves were one thing,
but Rixling Warg was another.

From his expression,
she was sure that he knew
his reputation had preceded him.

His cock preceded him too.
Dark, thick, and fully erect with all the glory
that she had imagined it to possess,
it was easily as long as her forearm,
and probably—no, definitely—thicker.

Given the way events were proceeding,
she was probably going to have to figure out a way
to fit it into her mouth.

Not taking her eyes from that column of flesh,
she obeyed him, padding forward
on her hands and knees.
Maybe that was how they planned to kill her.
The wolves weren’t going to tear her apart limb by limb;
instead, their alpha would fuck her to death.

On the other hand, if he could work the same magic with his dick
as he had worked with his tongue,
then maybe it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

“Oh, Aethra,” he said again. Maybe
it had been a mistake to tell him her name.
He had turned it into a pejorative,
giving it a sing-song tone
that emphasized her vulnerability.

The column of his cock bobbed before her
like a battering ram awaiting battle.

“You sweet little elven mouth
knows what to do,” he said.

Was there more human now
in his form? In his expression, certainly.
As she leaned forward
his musky scent surrounded her.
Her pussy leaked new arousal onto her thighs
and she kissed the tip of his massive organ,
swirling her tongue over the crown
and lapping up the pre-cum.

He stroked her hair, his claws
massaging her scalp in a curiously tender way.
“Rixling,” she moaned.
He was stoking some fire inside her
that she had never known was there.
Elves were supposed to be masters
of themselves but he
had unleashed something in her
contrary to all elfdom. Embarrassment,
fear, lust, and confusion rattled about in her brain.
Maybe, she thought hazily,
his bodily fluids contained an aphrodisiac.

Or maybe he had simply unbound her true self
from the chains of elven culture
that demanded moderation and mastery
at every moment of one’s waking life.

As she opened her mouth to take him in,
her jaw strained in a way that made her breasts ache
and her pussy weep even more.

She cupped his balls and he growled,
dispensing with all niceties then
and driving deeper into her mouth.
She gagged, and he withdrew at once
so that only his crown rested on her lips.

He teased her, tracing her lips
with the tip of his cock and withdrawing
as soon as she tried to lean forward
and take him back into her mouth.
Distantly she heard herself mewing with desperation,
the little sounds of thwarted need
growing more and more pitiful as he refused
to indulge her need to suck him.

Then at last he pinched her jaw between thumb and forefinger,
opening her mouth. He moved slowly now,
his cock sliding across her tongue, allowing her jaw
to adjust again to his girth—and she braced herself
as she realized that he was aiming for the back of her throat.

Between her legs, her pussy creamed itself
at being forced to open her mouth like this
with her wrists firmly clasped in his hands,
her breasts weighing her down in a way
that meant she could never escape.

He growled again.
The sound reverberated through the night.

At his signal, the boys emerged into the clearing.
Their cocks were straining,
and given the rapidity with which
they’d obeyed his command,
they were only too eager to join the fray.

Too bad. They’d have to wait
until he was satiated,
and he was nowhere near that point.

Aethra’s lips stretched around his cock.
If she saw their audience, she gave no sign.
Little wordless murmurs of pleasure filled the air
and her pert ass swayed
as she focused her ministrations on him.

Her tongue swirled
and he grunted, driving his flesh
deeper into her mouth. She looked up at him,
her eyes wide with an imploring, almost innocent look
completely belied by the sight of his cock
stuffed into her mouth.

If she was hoping to suck him off and finish him quickly,
she was going to be disappointed.
With a finger he traced the long length of her ear
and she burbled her pleasure around him.

Her scent had long since lost its initial desperation.
Instead, the smell of her arousal, mingled with his desire
and pent-up energy of the pack,
thickened the air.

Rixling smiled, brought his hand up to her jaw
and gently disengaged his dick from her mouth.
She blinked up at him, as if
she hadn’t quite understood
what had just happened.

That silver hair now fell in
now in disarray, her lips swollen
and her nipples flushed with excitement.
He hadn’t missed her hand
creeping down between her legs
as she pleasured him.

“On your hands and knees,” he said.

Throughout the known world,
the emotional cold-bloodedness of elves
had led other peoples to prize them
as assassins, judges, and historians.
One could always rely on an elf.
Elves never raised their voices in anger.
never threw punches in taverns,
never challenged rivals to duels,
and, Aethra knew, would probably rather die
than submit to being ravished by a pack of wolves.

Their loss.
She sank back to the earth on her hands,
her breasts, curse them,
jiggling and drawing the appreciative gazes
of the younger wolves that had formed a half-circle around them.

Then without further ado, Rixling gripped her hips
and impaled her. Her pussy, slick with excitement and need,
nevertheless objected to his girth
and she scrambled against the ground,
her hands clawing for purchase
as she attempted to rise up from pillow of her breasts.

The discomfort of his dick,
too thick and too deep inside her,
jolted her back to her senses.
She was an elf, for fuck’s sake!
A race that, from the cradle,
taught its children coolness under fire
and to allow neither flesh or emotion
to cloud one’s judgment.
What was she doing here,
sniveling and whimpering
and generally acting
like a helpless virgin who didn’t know
how to escape from a wolfdick?!

She stretched her arms out, trying
to claw her way to escape. But her breasts, damn them,
refused to budge and despite her flailing legs
he had seized her waist and continued to fuck her at his leisure.

She felt like he’d stuffed her with a prize marrow
like the ones that humans in Gresten displayed each summer
at their harvest festival.
Actually, a giant marrow
might have been less colossal
than the wolfdick currently plumbing her pussy.

Her hands found small stones and bits of moss,
and she tried to struggle forward again
against the mass of her breasts, pulling away
from his iron grip.

“Brandis,” he snapped.
“Restrain her hands.”

Another wolf stepped forward
and gripped her wrists.
She looked up at him, imploring him
with her eyes to let her go,
but his gaze was elsewhere,
and she realized with a start
that he was watching his alpha’s cock fuck her.

Her breasts shook
each time that he slammed his groin against her ass
like her own personal earthquake.
Rixling drove her onwards,
tension coiling inside her with every stroke,
and she wailed, arching her back
as he scored her clit lightly with his claws.

Suddenly he snarled, braced his hands on her ass cheeks,
and pumped his hips one last time.
The howl that he let loose
as his cum filled her to overflowing
sounded of triumph and pure beast.
Her kinsmen would hear it, or echoes of it,
in Reedholm; and humans, she was sure,
would tremble from Gresten to Wyck
to remember this howl in years to come.

That was her last conscious thought
before she felt herself go boneless
as his ecstasy unleashed her own.

The elfgirl lay limply on the ground.
Rixling, lapping at her jutting nipples
that he had, sad to say, neglected until now,
watched his cum gush out of her
to form a little silver puddle beween her thighs.

He hadn’t expected this turn of events.
She’d put up a fight, to be sure,
but it had lacked vigour
and her lithe body had almost immediately
surrendered to sexual pleasure.
A revelation, really.
He’d heard that elves were cold fish,
but this one was more like a firecracker
waiting for someone to light her fuse.

“Brandis, Varon,” he barked.
“Cavel. Your turn.”

At his command, Brandis lay down
and Varon and Cavel held her steady on either side
as Rixling guided Aethra down onto Brandis’ cock.
He slid into her easily, but still
emitted a little shriek as the new angle
allowed him to hit new, untouched places inside her.

And then he flexed his hips,
and she bounced.

Rixling sucked in a breath at the sight.
Her breasts, those mountains of perfect flesh,
quivered with each jounce.

“Holy Fenris,” cursed Javer,
fisting his dick.

“Storven,” said Rixling.
“Fuck her mouth.”

Good little slut that she was,
she opened wide as Storven approached dick in hand.
Rixling saw the younger wolf’s eyes roll back
as the elf’s mouth engulfed him.

“I’m gonna cum,” Brandis muttered
through clenched teeth
just as Storven jerked and growled.

Rixling knelt beside her.
Her breast, too tempting to ignore,
splayed out on the ground
and he pinched her nipple, hard.
She gave a little cry
at the bite of pain

even as she reached for Yoden,
who received her attention
with a shit-faced slobbering grin.

“Good little elfwhore,” said Rixling.

Did she detect
a note of affection in that deep voice?
A scant hour ago
she would have raised a silver eyebrow at those words
and fixed the speaker with a look
that would have frozen him in his tracks.
Yet now, far from cringing or drawing back
from the cock now in her mouth,
she simply accepted the epithet.
After all, what else could one call
an elf who had fallen so far from anything
that her people would call grace?

The lack of control
that she had exhibited in this glade
constituted the very antitheis of elfdom.
The unending thirst for the joys of the flesh,
the greed with which
she was stuffing her mouth and pussy
with eager cocks,
the wanton abandon of her actions tonight—
oh, it felt so good
but it was so, so bad.
If anyone in Reedholm ever heard
even a whisper of what the moon had seen thus far,
they would shun her.

She had knelt before a werewolf
and fondled his balls and begged him
to cum in her mouth as his companion
pistoned her from behind.
She had let her body betray her
in its eagerness to indulge every new sensation
offered to her by the wolfpack,
and she had enjoyed it.
For all this there was only one word:
Shame!
Shame!

Only a few hours ago
she had hoped that the trees would one day tell her kin
of her death at the hands of a wolfpack. Now
she hoped that they would stay silent.

Oh, Father Oak, she was a bad, bad elf.

“That’s right,” said one of the wolves
as he tipped her head back.
“You’re a bad, baaaaad elf.”

She choked, more at his words
than at the wolf-dick now halfway down her throat.
Had she spoken out loud?

Rixling smiled.
Moonlight gleamed on his fangs.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re a naughty elf-slut, Aethra.
But I won’t tell anyone
if you don’t.”
He ruffled her hair.
“Now be a good elf-whore
and give Javer his due.”

His words spurred her on.
She sucked and slurped
and when Javer blew his load on her face a few minutes later
Aethra allowed herself a moment of rest
to look up at the moon.

They rode her, and she rode them;
they sucked and pinched and squeezed her breasts;
she swallowed their cum
from the fountains of their cocks;
and they turned her womb into a cumbucket,
filling her again and again and again.
On her back, on her knees, and on her belly,
Aethra Elf-slut gloried in her newfound role.

Then she felt Rixling’s giant cock tease her asshole,
its blunt head trying to breach the tight pucker.
Immediately she stiffened.
She wasn’t a complete stranger to this sort of thing,
but the variety of vegetables
that she had lubed up
in the privacy of woodland glades
bore no resemblance, either in length,
girth, colour or texture,
to the wolfdick at her back door.
“N-no,” she said faintly. “I can’t—you’re too big—”

He only growled and another wolf—Varon, maybe?—
came to stand before her.

“Aethra,” he said.
His tone was gentle;
he seemed, she thought hazily,
more man than wolf.
“Suck me again, sweetmouth.”

Obediently, blindly, she opened her mouth
and felt herself relax as Varon guided her hand
up to the root of his cock, showing her
how to work her mouth and hands in tandem.

Behind her, Rixling’s paws had definitely become hands.
His fingers had begun teasing
the crinkle of her asshole
with feather-light touches that only hinted
at what was to come.

Varon, she told herelf.
Don’t think about…back there.
Varon wants his sweetmouth slut to suck him.

She took him deep into her mouth—
and just as she did so, a thick finger speared her bottom,
opening her back channel.

Given her experience with cucumbers,
she had expected the edge of pain
that forced itself to the forefront of her conscienciousness,
and she made herself focus on the wolf in front of her
as Rixling slowly, torturously withdrew his finger.

“Good girl,” Varon said, stroking her hair.
Beside them, another wolf approached
and she reached for his dick, fisting it
even as Varon held her firm and began fucking her mouth.

How long it went on for
she didn’t know. She felt the tell-tale pulse of cum
moving up Varon’s length, felt him tense in her mouth,
felt the rush of liquid onto her tongue,
and swallowed. In the midst of everything,
another finger joined the one in her backside, and then another.
Her hole protested, but ever more weakly
as Rixling stretched her—

and then, just as another wolf had moved forward
to take Varon’s place,
she felt the blunt head of Rixling’s cock,
slick with pussy juice and cum,
push against her asshole.

“Relax,” he said, leaning forward
to whisper in her ear.
“Tyro needs your mouth now,
and I want you to be a good little elf-slut
and help him cum.”

Be a good girl, she chanted to herself.
Be a good little elf-slut.

Yes!
Good girl!
Rixling’s little elf-slut!

She whimpered as Tyro fed her his cock
and Rixling advanced into her dark channel.
Every inch burned;
be a good girl, my ass. Literally!
She wriggled her hips, trying to dislodge him,
and when that didn’t work
she bucked.

Instantly, she regretted it.
That motion allowed Rixling to drive in to the hilt,
and she shrieked even as Tyro fucked her throat
with long, leisurely strokes.

Behind her, Rixling panted,
the fur of his face rough against her shoulder.
He held himself motionless

and in the stillness she relaxed again.
Slowly, her asshole began to adjust to its new dimensions.
As Tyro spent himself and withdrew, she hung her head,
imagining how her anus must look now,
stretched so wide and tight around Rixling’s thick flesh
like a glove made to measure.

She experimented
with gentle movement in her hips.
He laughed softly,
his hands squeezing her ass cheeks as if to encourage her,

and then began to withdraw.
At once all the world narrowed
to the burning sensation in her ass.
Pleasure warred with pain,
and she let out a little whimper-shriek.

Dimly she wondered
if any other elf had ever known such depravities.
No one ever spoke about such things,
but that didn’t mean they hadn’t happened, of course.
Still, the thought that she might be the very first in all elfdom
to have her ass stretched by a wolfdick
made her reach back and spread her ass cheeks
for the wolf behind her.

Her tender hole protested only mildly
as he advanced again. She trembled.
What a fool she had been to imagine
that vegetables of the root and vine
could ever serve as a substitute for a real cock.
Cucumbers and carrots were all very well as a crudités
but in no way could they compare
to Rixling’s dick probing the darkest secrets of her behind.

She pushed her ass upwards
and he growled as he sank deeper.

“Ohhhhhh,” she moaned,
rippling her hips to meet his groin.
He growled, matching her rhythm
gently at first and then, at her instigation,
harder and faster as the pain faded
and became a delicious burn.

Every nerve in her ass tingled.
She heard her shrieks
mingle with his howls
as he set aside his former gentleness
and fucked her hard,
driving her soft breasts into the ground
while she screamed his name.

He howled again,
and she hoped that she was only imagining
his cock swelling even more inside her
as his hot cum bathed her rectum
and she collapsed with the sensation
of a supernova in her ass.

She’d taken his length up her ass
and, having done that,
Rixling didn’t think there was much else she couldn’t do.

Spent now, he let the boys loose.
Her ass, well-stretched after his pounding,
opened like a flower for Cavel
as Yolden fucked her pussy
and the others took turns with her mouth.
Her enormous breasts, sticky with cum and sweat,
gleamed in the waning moonlight.

One by one, the boys, sated at last,
began to withdraw to the woods.
Rixling smiled.
As alpha, it was his duty
to see that the pack not only survived
but thrived, and tonight
he had more than delivered.

And now for Aethra.

She was exhausted.
He carried her back to the brook,
gently sluicing water
over her swollen pussy
to rinse away the night’s debauchery.

Her asshole had taken a beating.
After Cavel had spent himself,
Storven had learned the pleasures
of that dark hole,
and now she whimpered in her slumber
as he massaged the little crinkle
beneath the icy waters of the stream.

His hands lingered
over her breasts as the brook washed away
the shimmering cum

and then
he kissed her deeply on the mouth
before he too withdrew
to join his pack in sleep and shadow.

Aethra sighed as she forced her feet forward.
Reedholm was close enough now
that the wind brought her occasional snatches
of the sweet smell of lake air
but damn, she would need
at least another hour on the road
before she could surrender to her exhaustion.

She brushed back a lock of stray hair.
Last night was all a muddle.
She’d heard wolves, she remembered,
and sought safety among the trees
away from the road.
It had been so late
and she had been so tired…

And those dreams!
Wolves, moonlight,
and the most deliciously depraved acts
that she’d never even known
herself capable of imagining
had left her feeling as if she’d run
from one end of the Known World to the other
in her sleep.

The blush that flooded her cheeks
at the mere memory of her body
shimmering with wolf-cum beneath the moon
did not originate only
in embarrassment.

A dream. Yes.
It must have been a dream.
Her brain refused to entertain
any other alternatives.
Go home, she told herself.
Go back to your shop
and to your birch tree. And don’t,
whatever you do,
ever take to the road again
when dusk is drawing down.
Aethra Elf-slut is a figment
of your overactive imagination.

And yet.

Her breasts ached.
Her pussy ached.
Her asshole ached. 
Her back was fucking killing her,
but that was hardly noteworthy.

She sighed and looked to the sky.
Beside her, alder and birch and linden
offered only silence.

She trudged on,
back towards an eternity
of selling elf-brewed beverages
to the mortal masses who yearned
for a touch of magic in their lives.

One month later

Behind the counter, Aethra let out
a growl of frustration. The day had gone badly.
People coming in, buying nothing,
breaking vials, complaining
that they wanted a concoction of spring mist and strawberry
after she’d made it clear multiple times
that, given the season,
she stocked only autumn mist and damson.

Father Oak, was she really going to spend the rest of her life
servicing the whims of such whingers?

Maybe she should take another trip
to Gresten. And linger on the road, and hope
that the opportunity might arise
to service customers in quite another way.

Even if it was only in her dreams.

The shopdoor opened to the tinkle of bells.
She bit back a curse.
Just what she needed before closing:
another intransigent so-called customer
who would undoubtedly spend no money
while wasting all of her time.

She pasted a smile on to her face
and turned to greet the man
striding forward to the counter.

The sight of him sparked a flicker of recognition
deep in the recesses of her memory.
Yet stare though she might
she couldn’t place him.
Still, she must know him—
surely she’d remember a man
of such imposing stature
whose casual arrogance suggested
that he owned the world.

If he’d noticed her staring,
he let the lapse in manners slide
and instead favoured her with a smile.
His teeth were very white, she noticed,
and his incisors very sharp.
Flecks of yellow and gold gleamed
in his hazel eyes.

“Good evening,” he said.
The hint of a rasp underpinned his warm baritone.

Her nipples tightened at the sound of his voice.
“Good evening,” she whispered,
her mind reeling. It couldn’t be.
It had been a dream.

His smile widened,
and she saw now the wolf
behind the façade of the man.
“So,” he said conversationally.
“Aethra Elf-slut.”

She swallowed at the nickname
that she had never thought to hear again
outside the confines of her imagination.
“Rixling?”

He inclined his head. “In the flesh.”

“Wh-why are you here?” she managed.
Not a great rejoinder,
but no worse, she supposed,
than “How did you find me?”
or “You’re real?” or “So it wasn’t a dream?”

He merely laughed,
his incisors gleaming.
“Tonight the full moon rises.
Will you take to your tree
or take to the road?”

She stared at him.
The harmonics of his voice
reverberated so deeply inside her
that her pussy creamed itself
beneath the filmy fog of her robe,
the juices trickling down her inner thighs.

He merely winked at her,
and then he was gone
as the bells tinkled again above the doorframe.

FINIS

Illustrated PDF story

Get story illustrated with exclusive sexually explicit images

Buy PDF