The Better to Fuck You With
Ruby, waking late with the winter sun,
rose from the warm cocoon of her bed
and fed several logs to the masonry heater
before diving back under the duvet.
Only when the one-room cottage blazed with heat
did she cast off her blankets
to seek out breakfast.
The good thing—the best thing—
about Grandmama’s old cottage was its isolation.
Town life never allowed her
to indulge in the pleasures of nudity;
even if one drew all the curtains
and divested fully of one’s clothes
only in the dead of night,
some gossip-addled gimlet-eyed neighbour
was sure to find out.
Here, though, surrounded only
by snow and sunlight,
she didn’t bother to don her clothes
and her naked breasts bounced
with unbounded enthusiasm
as she sat down at the old oak table
with a plate of bread and cheese.
Wistfulness tinged Ruby’s smile
as she looked about her.
As a child, her mother had sent her
through the woods every week
bearing a basket for Grandmama.
When she arrived, inevitably
Grandmama would prepare a simple lunch
from its treasures: fresh-baked bread and butter
with a slice of cheese or cured ham,
and, if they were very lucky, a bowl of yoghurt
topped with a spoonful of jam.
Now, though, Grandmama had been gone
for nearly ten years. The cottage sat empty
most of the time but for weekends,
when Ruby made her escape from the agonies
inherent to life as an oversexed, underfucked
milliner’s assistant.
Her latest Friday night fling had featured a knight who,
far from helping her complete her quest
to find the elusive female orgasm,
had cum and gone without doing much
to assist her in her pursuit.
This failure, given her previous experiences,
had not surprised her,
but she had begun to suspect that men,
despite their pretty packaging,
in fact might constitute nothing more
than useless fleshbags.
She sighed as she stretched out
on a pile of sheepskins before the heater.
Forget those idiots, she told herself,
not without some sternness.
Easier said than done, of course.
She gave herself the same lecture nearly every week,
and look where that had gotten her:
back on the floor of Grandmama’s cottage
with only herself for company.
Still, she supposed, the competency
of her own hands was nothing to sneeze at.
She cupped the soft flesh of her breasts in her hands,
squeezing and kneading until her breath quickened.
Ohhhhhh, it felt so good to splay her legs open
and play with her clit, not worrying
about needing to muffle her moans
as her fingers slid through her slick folds.
She rubbed faster,
remembering the look of hunger
on the face of the young woodsman
who had stopped by yesterday at dusk.
He had come to warn her, he said,
that werewolves had recently returned to roam the country
and that she should bolt her door after dark.
If he’d even hinted at wanting her,
she would have accepted the invitation
despite knowing full well
that she’d probably end up adding him
to the long list of men who’d thrust and pumped
into her snatch and left her yearning for more
even as their cum trickled down her thighs.
He would have been different,
she told herself as her fingers circled her clit.
Mmmmm…ohhhhh, yes,
he’d touch her just like that…
In truth, he hadn’t even spared a glance
for her giant bosom. Or if he had,
she had been too enraptured to notice.
His hazel eyes had never wavered from hers
as he laid out in excruciating detail
the kinds of things that happened to wayfarers
when the full moon shone in the woods.
“In Wyck and Reedholm,” he said,
his voice so low
that she had to lean to hear him,
“the people say that wolves defile
the women that they run down.”
Even in the cold,
he wore no coat; only a flannel shirt,
its first two buttons undone—
just enough for her to smell
the intoxicating blend of soap and man
and wilderness and sunlight
that rose up from his bare skin.
“Wh-what do you mean—defile?”she stuttered.
Her senses swam in his scent.
“Chopping up corpses?”
The compulsion to insinuate herself
against him and lick his throat
made her grip the doorjamb
as she swayed on her feet.
“They turn maidens into women.”
He spoke without inflection
and without emotion; only bare facts.
She started. “What?”
“They hold her down,” he said,
the softness of his voice tempered
by an undertone of steel.
“And then they fuck her.”
She stared at him,
folding her arms over her chest
as a pink flush crept over her skin.
“The whole pack?”
The evening light caught his face
and his eyes glinted golden in the sun.
He shrugged.
“Sometimes. Sometimes
only one. Or two. Or so
I’ve heard.”
His gaze dropped to her bosom for the first time,
as if to emphasize her vulnerability.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled
and she stepped away,
trying not to breathe too hard.
“Stay inside,” he said,
and without even a word of farewell
he turned and walked back
into the woods, axe in hand.
Ruby fell back against the sheepskins.
Her massive rack heaved and jiggled
as her mewls of pleasure subsided.
She lay there spent, her trembling breath
the only sound in the little house.
Gently, she raked her clit again.
Her pussy’s swollen folds still ached
for something more than her slim fingers.
Maybe not multiple werewolf dicks,
but she wouldn’t have said no
to the woodsman right now.
Alas—he made himself scarce
for the rest of the day.
The wood-fired hot tub
on the back porch steamed
in the cold air. Overhead, the stars
twinkled with a hard brilliance
as Ruby rose, water streaming off her body.
The pert roundness of her ass lifted
and her nipples peaked in the frosty air.
as she bent forward to reach for her towel
Then she heard the growl.
Or rather, she felt it.
It resonated in her blood
like a great bell tolling her doom
and she stilled, towel in hand.
Too late she remembered
the woodsman’s words:
Stay inside.
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
The hot tub hugged the house;
she hadn’t even considered it
“outside.”
The growl became a snarl.
Ruby dropped the towel and ran,
naked and unheeding of any thought
but to put as much distance between herself
and the howl that now went up
deep and full-throated,
chilling not only her bones
but also those of her ancestors
whose blood ran in her veins
and who remembered
starvation winters, marrow-deep cold,
and wives and maidens lost
to the maws of werewolves…
She had rounded the corner of the house
when her brain caught up with her body,
including her madly jouncing breasts,
and demanded to know:
Where was the wolf?
She stilled. In the snow,
her bare feet burned.
Her nipples, objecting strenuously
to the freezing air,
had hardened and peaked.
She strained her ears
for a hint of the wolf.
Nothing. Not even
a breath of wind.
On the balls of her feet
she started forward.
Between her and the door
a pair of golden eyes glowed
in the darkness.
She shrieked, turned her heel, and sprinted—
or at least moved with as much rapidity
as the bulk of her chest allowed her—
away from the beast
and into the woods.
The chase, such as it was,
did not last long.
Ruby toppled over, screaming,
her breasts thudding into the snow
and her legs thrashing
against the hairy bulk of her captor.
Its claws on her waist kept her down
as its hot breath heated her neck.
It was going to eat her.
The snow would turn crimson
and for the rest of the winter
ravens would pick her bones in this clearing.
She renewed her struggle,
but the werewolf hardly seemed to exert itself
as she snapped her teeth, twisting to and fro
like a beached whale on top of her breasts
until her strength drained away
and she lay there, panting.
Behind her, the wolf shifted
and at that moment she realized
that it was not an it but a he,
and it was his arousal,
in the form of the silky smooth
club of flesh, currently pressing
against her backside.
The woodsman’s words
came back to her in a rush.
They hold her down.
And then they fuck her.
Ruby went still. Her mind,
putting two and two together
with a strange lethargy in the face of current events,
concluded that
having succeeded in holding her down,
he would soon proceed to fuck her.
Her pussy began to weep.
Mercy, it cried. Show mercy. No man
has ever satisfied me.
My mistress’ caresses
offer the coldest of comforts. Please, take pity
and fuck me with your monster cock until I come,
preferably more than once.
Her ass shouldn’t have pushed itself
up towards him to offer her womanly delights.
Her thighs shouldn’t have trembled
as she remembered the slick of cum
left by her other lovers, and wondered
if the wolf would do the same.
Her lungs shouldn’t have heaved
a sigh of relief, and then hauled in
a great breath of anticipation.
But they did,
and the wolf’s paws slid from their iron grip at her waist
to knead her ass as a deep growl sounded in his throat.
The needle-sharp points of his claws
dug into her flesh, yet never pierced it.
Ruby held her breath, her ass twitching in the air.
She whimpered as he took his time,
rubbing his thick length between her ass cheeks
and gently thrusting his hips against her backside.
The roughness of his fur chapped her soft skin.
She wiggled her ass; her pussy throbbed
and wordless sounds of need trickled out of her mouth
and into the darkness.
Ruby growled in frustration
as the tip of his dick teased her soft folds.
His paws slid around her waist, exerting
just enough pressure to silence her desperation.
He leaned forward and she gave a little cry,
arching her back,
as his fangs grazed the back of her neck.
She pushed her hips back,
gyrating against his groin. He snarled
and, with a single powerful thrust,
filled her to the hilt at last.
Ruby shrieked. Oh, she’d wanted it, all right,
but his dick was enormous—so much bigger
than she’d imagined, and although her pussy
stretched eagerly to accommodate him,
that part of her body had already proven itself
not particularly capable of critical thought
and the possibility that its shortsightedness
might cause her death by means of a werewolf dick
splitting her in half did not appeal much at all.
As if he sensed her apprehensions,
he held himself still, allowing her body to adjust
to his pulsing cock. Her legs shook;
she forced herself to measure her breaths.
If she’d been able to reach beyond her breasts
to touch her belly, she was sure
that she’d be able to feel his length
all the way up to her ribcage.
He began to thrust,
his balls slapping her pussy with every stroke.
The sound echoed like some obscene metronome
among the trees. Her senses reeled.
It was almost worth having fucked around
for too many wasted years in order to find out
at the surprisingly capable hands
of a werewolf who could kill her at any moment.
She moaned, rocking her hips back and forth
as his paws trailed up her body to her breasts.
He dug his claws into those soft mounds.
“Mmmmm,” she managed. He bent over her,
growling, the pace of his hips quickening.
Inside her slickness
he had found just the right angle
and with every thrust his dick caressed that sensitive spot
as she shuddered and gasped.
Where, she wondered vaguely
as her head began to swim,
did werewolves learn these things?
Was there some sort of school
where teachers drilled them
on how to plunder women’s bodies
and turn them into puddles of need?
And then another class
that taught them to tear apart their victims
from limb to limb?
“Aaaahhhhh,” she wailed.
Stars and sunbursts overtook her vision,
exploding like fireworks behind her eyelids.
Leaning forward, the wolf braced his paws on either side of her.
With her ass pushing up to meet him,
he thrust deep one last time
as he threw back his head and howled.
The sound sailed up above the trees
and he went rigid inside her
before a great flood of heat
bathed her womb.
He howled again, thrusting more gently now.
Her semen-slicked pussy squelched.
Ruby keened and cried as he slowly rose up
and then withdrew,
cum hissing on the snow
like droplets of water on a hot frying pan.
Would he eat her now?
Lying wrung out in the snow,
she realized that she didn’t care. At last
her body had learned the secrets
of satiety, and, that lesson now imparted,
it needed nothing else.
Turning her head, however,
to her shock she saw
that although the werewolf had come,
his erection hadn’t subsided.
In fact, it looked ready for another round.
The males with whom she’d shared sexual congress
had, as a rule, rolled on to their backs
and fallen asleep as soon
as they had blown their loads.
Either that,
or they’d buttoned up their trousers,
bid her farewell with a perfunctory kiss,
and left her naked and trembling
with both fury and frustrated desire.
Even that elf, for whom she’d harboured
such high hopes, had proved a disappointment.
Who would have guessed that elves,
given their reputation for sensitivity,
would exhibit such obliviousness to their partner’s needs
or that they snored?
The current situation seemed much more promising,
even if her current lover was a werewolf
and even if he only intended to fuck her
as a prelude to her death.
Ruby smiled, sighing with contentment
as his paws turned her on to her back
and she looked up
to see him kneeling above her, his cock
within reach of her eager mouth.
At least
she’d die happy.
How she made it back to her bed
she would probably never know.
Not, Ruby conceded, that she cared much—
she had survived an encounter with a werewolf,
and the details of how she had come
to wake up in the coziness of a down duvet
were, in her opinion, of much less importance
than the acts preceding her return home.
Her body ached.
He’d done things to her
that she had never even imagined,
fucking all her holes—and she meant all of them—
until they’d overflowed with his cum.
The last thing that she remembered
was lying on her back
helpless under the weight of her breasts
as the wolf hooked her legs over his arms
and speared her ass with his dick, howling
as he fucked her into the snow.
Her pussy quivered at the memory.
She gave a little moan
and pinched her nipples. Not
that it helped much. Having learned
the pleasures of a wolf’s touch,
her own brought little satisfaction.
A knock sounded at the door.
She cast about for her clothes,
remembered too late
that she’d left them neatly folded
next to the hot tub last night.
The knock sounded again.
She bit her lip. Well,
if she opened it just so
and only showed her head,
then her state of undress wouldn’t matter.
Carefully she angled herself behind the door
and poked her face out.
The young woodsman stood there,
his shirt unbuttoned to reveal
that same delicious patch of skin
that had so tempted her the other day.
For all that last night’s wolf-sex had convinced her
that human men were a lost cause,
she had to admit that she might still
make an exception for him.
“Good morning,” she said.
He gave her a nod. “And to you.”
A beat of silence ensued.
Finally, “How are you?”
Ruby asked just as he observed,
“There are wolf tracks
in the snow about your house.”
“A-are there?” she managed.
Without even reaching for her cheeks
she knew that embarrassment
had made them flame bright red.
An awful combination with her hair,
but what could one do, especially
when in the midst
of a naked conversation verging altogether too closely
on events that she most definitely
did not wish to broach with a stranger?
“I-I didn’t know.”
“And yet you are whole and hale,”
he went on. “A good thing.”
“Y-yes,” she stammered,
not meeting his gaze.
Why did he speak with such maddening slowness?
Had he guessed that she was naked behind the door,
and sought to amuse himself by dragging on the conversation
to discomfit her?
“It…it is indeed a good thing.”
The woodsman looked at her
with a golden flicker in his hazel eyes,
and then he smiled,
showing the pointed incisors
of a wolf.
THE END
If you enjoyed this story, check out more from the same author:
Roxy Beckenried
Roxy Beckenried
