It's almost ten miles out of town from where you live before you reach the road leading into the national park. The park is closed but unguarded, and there's no one to stop you as you pump your bike up the path to the picnic grounds at the base of the tallest hill. As you come around a curve you pause to look down into a nearby valley, where some isolated lights twinkle. It's Fort Suffolk, the place where David had his accident. There seems no reason the military guys would be able to trace David back to you—even if they had some inkling of what had really happened to David. Still, it might be worth scoping out the base at some point, at least in animal form, to see if you can learn anything useful.
At the picnic grounds you set your bike down and look around. You doubt you'll find a wolf here, but you might find something you can use as bait. As if on cue, you hear a crash from one of the garbage cans.
It's a possum, a big and ugly thing, and it turns to stare at you balefully as you walk up to it. It won't win any prizes for beauty or grace, but you only need it to entice a wolf. So you spit up a little bit of your liquid body into your hand, roll it into a ball, and flick it at the creature.
You hits it square on the muzzle and wrap yourself around its nose; the possum hisses and you slip into its mouth. There's a quick and highly uneven struggle, and then you're staring at your human body out of its beady little eyes. You pick it up and start hiking up the trail and deep into the woods.
You doubt whether your human body would be able to find a wolf, but the possum apparently can. Soon, your possum nose is twitching and your little possum brain is flashing all kinds of danger signals. You can't imagine it would be other than a wolf, so you set the possum down and send it waddling through the underbrush, making as much noise as you can. Even with your human ears, you hear something padding quickly after it. You run your bait faster, trying to lure your quarry with the promise of fresh, healthy meat, and soon you hear the pursuing predator closing quickly on it. So you collapse the possum and turn it stomach side up, vomiting the goo you'd put in it onto its belly. The predator comes close, sniffing hungrily. The protoplasm has a strange smell, but the possum's is stronger, and it can't resist. It sinks its teeth into the exposed flesh, and then you are thrusting your liquid body down its throat.
Suddenly an entirely new vista on the world opens up: close to the ground, with faint, pastel colors, but vivid smells like smears of neon across the landscape. There's a strange but delicious taste in your mouth: raw possum. Eagerly you tear at it and swallow more, working your muzzle deeper into the corpse and snapping the bones with your teeth. Afterwards your lick your muzzle until every bit of scent is off and in your mouth. Then you sneeze with pleasure and trot off to find others in your pack.
You have your first wolf.
There are two more farther up the hill, standing at the foot of a tree with their front legs on it: they seem to have cornered something. You trot your wolf up and vomit up first one and then another neat little pillow of blue goo near them. They look down, their ears forward and their noses quivering, and come forward to sniff at them. One of them actually starts lapping it up, and then you're looking out of its eyes and licking a sticky film off its muzzle. The other is more cautious and only sniffs at it, but that is enough: you snap a pseudopod out, catching it by the nostril and pulling yourself in.
You bring your three catches back down and stroke them lovingly. They are your brothers now, you think, and you kiss them on their coarse and smelly foreheads, and pant their breath in your face. Then you cough out more goo for them to take back to the rest of the pack. Wolves can't count, but you can, and by the scents in their memories you know there are more to be had before your hold on the pack is complete.
So you find five more on a pale, bare rock near the hill's summit: an old bitch and her full-grown cubs. You send your three wolves in and hack up five neat little piles of David and other contents from their stomachs. The four cubs lumber to their feet and come forward curiously, only to leap back when the goo twitches and shoots up their noses. But the old bitch seems wary, and won't come close to your vomit, even when you nudge her with some of your muzzles. Instead her head goes down and her ears go flat, and she growls. But she's no longer the mistress of the pack, and with seven lean wolves around her she must bob and weave to keep you from surrounding her. Your own wolves are quiet, which unnerves her, and her growls take on a whining tone. With one of your wolf bodies you gobble down the vomit she has rejected, and then lope menacingly toward her. She growls and slavers and lowers herself for a leap ...
And then springs away, trying to escape. But you're already the master of the pack and send her progeny flying after her, snapping at her heels and leaping for her back as she tears through the bushes. She is still very strong and quick, and you haven't got the feel of the wolf bodies completely. But just as it seems she is about to make her escape, you throw the biggest of her boys against her haunches and spin her around. With a yelp she tumbles to the ground, and then your brothers are atop her, pinning her down while she struggles and bites and froths. You walk the lead wolf around calmly to her head and blorf blue goo on her.
You sit on the pale, bare rock and watch the city lights below while the pack lopes back to you, the bitch herself in the lead. They've run far, but not so far that they can't still smell you, and soon you hear the soft pad of their paws behind you. You turn and stare into eight pairs of hungry wolf eyes; and with eight pairs of hungry wolf eyes you stare back at yourself.
And then the pack is all around you and over you, rubbing their backs against you, dousing you in their musky, lupine scent. You rub your face in their coats and your arms under their bellies and scratch the lonely place behind their ears. The scratch is intoxicating, and you pant and whine doggishly at the odd sensation of human fingers running across your furry heads. Your human body smells strange, bathed in harsh chemicals, and you lick it up and down to get the stench off and replace it with something natural and honest. You shove a snout down into your crotch and rub against a thrusting erection; at the same time, you stroke at a hairy belly until a thin wolf penis pokes out and begins to throb. You whine and strain as your human fingers delicately stroke it, and you grunt as you pull out a human cock and run a sandpapery wolf tongue up and down it; and then you yelp and snap and leap as wolf semen sprays everywhere, and then your own back is arching as you send human cum to cling, sticky, to fur.
Afterwards, naked, with the pack huddled close and panting its warm, moist breath onto you, you watch the gibbous moon hanging in the western sky, pale and threatening. You feel a sudden yearning for it, a hunger welling from deep within. Trembling, you raise your hands to clutch it, but it is out of reach ... and a howl breaks from one of your wolf mouths. And then another. A third begins to bay, and then a fourth. You feel dizzy, and then your own throat feels raw, and only when you feel a chill in your joints do you come out of your reverie and realize that you've been howling with the pack too—not a human imitation, but an authentic wolf yowl rippling through your throat. It ends with a hungry growl.
It's still an hour or more until dawn, and there's a military base you can explore. Or you can go home.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author