Seven stories of werewolf erotica. We all struggle with the lustful animal that lurks beneath the skin. What more apt lens to explore the erotic possibilities, but the mythic creature of the werewolf? These stories run the gamut from playful to intense, exploring pack dynamics, magic, and the natural world. [Warning: Explicit sexual content.] Includes: Lunacy by Elizabeth Reeve, The Moon Is My Mistress by Vicka Corey, Carolina Jasmine by David Hubbard, Carnival of the Grotesque by A.D.R. Forte, Dark Divine Light by Becca Ovadia, Lupin House by A.N. Cortez, and American Werewolf In Budapest by Joe Nobel.
Therapy, though… Well, I’m still human most of the time. And sometimes I need help coping with what the other half of me is capable of. No, it’s nothing like that. I’ve been able to control the bloodlust since the very beginning. It’s the other kind that gets me in trouble.
“So you’ve had another manic episode,” Dr. Manspeaker says, calmly. Isn’t Manspeaker a great name for a therapist? I told her I thought so during our first session, and she chuckled a little bit. I like to try to make her laugh.
Dr. Manspeaker purses her lips, makes a note on her tablet. “Did you try any of the things we talked about last month?”
“Yes,” I say. “Remember, we talked about making a splurging budget? Well, I tried that.”
“And how did it go?” Spending sprees are a pretty common feature of bipolar mania. Dr. Manspeaker probably thinks I’m buying shoes or something. I’ve never mentioned that what I overspend on every month is lingerie. I have more lacy bustiers and leather corsets and silk stockings than a burlesque show.
“When I felt the urges coming on, I decided on fifty dollars. And I just kept telling myself, ‘It’s okay. I can buy a treat, but I’m going to stay under fifty.’ ”
“Did it work?”
“Yes,” I say, pleased with myself. I was very tempted by a scarlet lace bodysuit, but in the end I kept myself down to a handful of thongs and a new push-up bra.
Dr. Manspeaker makes another note. “And how about your other manic behaviors?”
I frown, less pleased. “Well…”
“I won’t be disappointed in you, Janet. There’s no judgment here.”
“I had sex,” I blurt out.
Dr. Manspeaker tips her head, looking at me over the tops of her glasses. “Sex is a normal part of a healthy adult’s life,” she says mildly.
I blush. “With a stranger,” I add. “Again. But we used protection.”
“That’s good,” Dr. Manspeaker says. “I’m glad you’re working on keeping yourself safe.”
She pauses, making one of those inviting silences that therapists like to use, waiting to see if there’s anything else I want to say. There’s not, really.
“How long has it been since you pursued a longer-term relationship?” Dr. Manspeaker’s pen is poised, ready to make another note.
I sigh. “A long time.” It’s just too complicated.
He grins. “Hey! Janet, right?”
“We met at O’Malley’s last weekend.” He steps up next to me and lowers his voice. “And then we, ah, hooked up.”
He’s a little embarrassed, and the red flush across his cheekbones reminds me of how his face looked when I was on top of him, pinning his wrists to the mattress.
I can feel that I’m blushing, too. I can’t think of anything to say.
“Yeah, we did, and it was pretty nice. Gotta go!” doesn’t seem right, somehow.
“Listen,” he says, awkwardly, when I don’t reply. “I meant… You were gone before I woke up, but I wanted to take you out to breakfast. Still want to. Or dinner, or a movie or something?”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “It was just, you know. For one night.” I don’t even remember what his name is.
His blush gets darker. “Sorry. I think I’m breaking one-night-stand etiquette. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
He smiles and does a little half-nod in my direction, then picks up his coffee and leaves.
Scott, I think, grabbing my mocha. His name is Scott.
I pressed him against the wall just inside the door, and felt the wolf rise in me as I kissed him, hard. “Don’t worry,” I growled. “It’s easy.”
He took my hand when we came up for air, and led me into the bedroom. When he paused in the doorway, uncertain again, I put my arms around his waist and started working on his belt. My breasts pressed against his muscular back, warm even through three layers of clothing, and I inhaled sharply, breathing in his scent. In my heels, I was nearly his height, and I had a sudden, strong urge to sink my teeth into the nape of his neck.
Down, girl, I told myself, letting his pants drop. He moaned as I ran my fingers up his thighs and then under his shirt, caressing his chest. But when I started working on his buttons, he pushed my hands away and yanked his shirt off over his head before turning to face me.
“What about you?”
I leaned into him, pressing my lips to his, and guided his hand to the zipper at my back. My dress slid to the floor, and I kicked it aside.
“Oh, God,” Scott said. He traced the lace edging my garter belt, breathing heavily. “I didn’t think anyone really wore these.”
I licked my lips. “I can keep on wearing it, if you want.” I leaned into him again, urging him back towards the bed. He stumbled a little, tangled up in pants and shoes, but managed to get free without taking his eyes off me.
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