The Werewolves #7
I concentrate back on the wolf in front of me. This magnificent beast could crush me, but he's putty in my hands. He's enjoying this, I just know it. I can do this. I'm going to give him the best fucking blowjob on the planet.
Pearlescent pre-cum still spills from his slit, and on instinct, I lean forward and lick the tip. His knee buckles again, nearly compressing my head between his powerful thighs.
My own hips work the empty air. This stupid work uniform with my short skirt does nothing to hide the wetness now dripping out of me, soaking the thin cotton material of my underwear. I'm grateful I'm alone in this little room.
I can't wait any longer; my mouth is literally salivating. I open my mouth and feed his long, thick cock past my lips, swallowing him down. Then, I shimmy my hand between his legs and fondle his heavy sac, earning me another foot slam.
My head is spinning. I feel weightless. How can I feel this excited sucking off a complete stranger? Is this normal? Is this what Keely and Braden feel every time someone invites them into a room? Like you're the center of someone's world, for however brief a time?
I swallow this werewolf down like he's my long-lost lover, like I need to taste him, like making him come is my life's work.
I bob my head, hollow my cheeks and suck.
Holding the base of his cock with both fists, I twist and pump furiously in time with my mouth, working him inside me. He thrusts, trembling in my grasp.
He's pumping his hips faster, and I'm so fucking wet and turned on, all I want is to climb on and shove this strange, beautiful cock inside me.
Fuck. Maybe I'm not cut out for this work, because dammit, I want this man. This one right here.
Finally, by some miracle, I remember I'm actually working, and he seems close to coming.
I could grab the small tray on the table with containers to collect his cum, but I want every drop.
Remembering the pamphlet, I grip the knot at the base of his shaft and wrap my fist tight, squeezing it like he was locking himself inside me.
His hips buck like a wild man, and if it weren't for the bar and table locking him in place, I'd struggle to hold him down.
I feel his orgasm as if it were my own. My body is hot, cheeks red, jaw sore, throat raw, and I'm aching so bad with need. I wish he were mine. I wish we were alone. Or in a private room upstairs.
Maybe he'll request me.
That thought—that he might be as into this as I am—has me holding tighter.
Thick streams of cum shoot down my throat, and I keep squeezing his knot and sucking, pumping with the other hand, swallowing him down. A frenzy of helpless, needy lust claws out of me. His warm cum slows to a drip, and a tear leaks from my eye.
And then he softens—barely—and I release. His knees are still shaking.
I feel like I just came, too.
I stare for a moment, watching his dick twitch, my jaw aching from the blowjob and the giant grin painting my face.
And then the rest of the room comes into view, and embarrassment washes over me.
My shaky hands reach out, and I snag the water bottle, and I guzzle the entire thing. The air is cool, making goosebumps break out over my arms and legs.
I take a step back and look around at the rest of the cages. I still have one green light. No one else has requested service.
I look back at the man I just took care of.
I've seen the look on monsters' faces, up above on the main floor.
After they come, everyone at the table immediately joins in.
Someone always needs to break the ice. I wait a minute, but no other screen beside the cages indicates a green light.
The other three cubbies are still red, two are closed completely.
Two more exposed bodies, and only one green light.
Minutes pass. No one else requests service.
Did… did he not enjoy it?
This little private room in the lower deck, beneath table four, is quiet. The legs I can see are fidgety. The starkness of the room shatters the illusion. This is a job. I'm a professional.
He climaxed, I remind myself. Then again, he comes to the pleasure house often. Maybe it was mediocre. Maybe I was mediocre. It's not like it's hard to climax when there's a mouth on you.
Inexplicable hurt stings my eyes, which is ridiculous. Fuck, I'm not cut out for this.
I'll finish this table, then I'll take Eli up on the job offer, and serve drinks for the rest of my life. Maybe I can get a job in marketing for The Monster Playhouse, help them franchise or something.
I look over at the only remaining green light. I take another sip of water, then I'm ready.
Much like the first client, his whole body jerks, as if in surprise, when I grab hold of him. His feet slam erratically. I can tell by his legs he's a little smaller than the first werewolf, but not by much.
Can you tell a personality by someone's cock alone? That seems silly. But the way his hips shake and knees tremble, there's something sweet about this guy. The more I work him over, the quicker I forget about my earlier disappointment.
He comes faster than the first. Eager and ready, I barely grip his knot before he's coming down my throat, and I almost choke at the surprise.
He comes longer than the first, and I work my lips over his velvety length, humming against the soft skin, feeling a rush of pleasure every time his foot slams down beside me.
I'm wet again—still—and when I finish him off, greedily drinking him down, again, it's like I'm right there with him, ready to grind myself against his body and hold him close.
I'm sweating, and the cool air chills me.
Even more so now, when I let go of the wolf and lean back. And take in the room. The quiet. The cold. The alone-ness of it all.
I can't do this job. I can't feel this wet with need, this attracted to these strangers without faces and, worse, feel this empty after every client. How do the other employees do this?
I clean up, use the bathroom, taking extra care to clear away the embarrassing amount of wetness from between my legs.
My underwear is a lost cause, so I take them off and stuff them in my bag.
I drink another bottle of water, stalling, hoping that when I return, I'll have three more green lights.
Because if this is my last night down in the lower deck, I want it all. I want them all.
But when I return to the table, all five werewolves are gone. My chest tightens as I look around the empty, stark room, and my heart skips a beat, falling out of rhythm, so strong I can feel my pulse churn in my gut.
Again, inexplicably, tears burn my eyes.
I guess I didn't do a good job after all.
Arlo
When a werewolf catches a scent, nothing and no one can run from us. Sweet apple pie, sticky burnt sugar, fresh autumn air.
The scent of home. The scent of our mate.
My wolf has two modes: feral beast and patient hunter.
Right now, they collide, fighting for control. I can't see straight with the thought of her so close. Hunt. Catch. Bite.
"Arlo, stop!" Knox's voice pierces through the chaos in my mind, but I'm so hazy, I barely register him. There's too much urgency. Mate, my wolf chants. Find our mate.
There's nothing else, nothing exists but that one thought, one task. Find her. Apples, autumn leaves. Find her.
Sweet human, nervous, neurotic. She sounds perfect. A few throwaway words about her, and I already think she's the most wonderful person on the planet.
Dodging monsters, fighting the shift while I hunt, I note traces of her scent littered throughout the club.
I run frantically between the tables, toward the bar, accidentally running into a server—the cotton candy girl—sending a tray of drinks in the air.
Movement across the room tells me a troll is already on his way toward me.
An orc I wasn't expecting plows into me from the side.
I land hard, then retaliate with a swift kick to his knee.
He lands a brutal punch to my stomach, but all I can think about is my mate.
My claws emerge and I swipe, cutting into his mossy green skin.
Blood seeps from the orc's neck, but the troll catches up to us, his lumbering steps shaking the ground, and he pulls me out of the orc's grasp.
Knox punches the orc in the face. They're evenly matched, but against the troll, I'm fucked.
Hoisted into the air, the troll tucks me under his arm like a misbehaving child. Half-wolf, snarling and slicing, he carries me through a set of double doors while I'm a desperate flurry of resistance. I manage to get out of his grasp just as Knox barges through the doorway.
"Let him go! Our mate is here, we need to find her!" Knox's voice booms as he slams into the troll from behind. He lands on all fours, still in human form, but rebounds and attacks again.
The troll is unmoved. He throws out his arm slowly, but it's like a swinging anvil, flinging Knox into the wall. Knox is huge, and he lands hard against the confined space, leaving a crack in the plaster.
Knox takes a second to shake it off, and that pause gives me clarity.
"Our mate is here. We found her. She is here," I plead with the troll. "We must get to her."
He furrows his giant unibrow and huffs, then tosses me to the ground. My heart is racing, I'm panting. I begin to shift again, then glance behind us, back toward the club. I can run faster as a wolf.
The troll catches my line of vision. He moves surprisingly quickly for such a massive beast, then stands in my way. All he does is point in the direction he was carrying me. Further from the club, from my mate.
Nico, Teddy and West are still out there. We will get through this. We will find her.