Terry's personal fantasizing was broken by the sensation of Charlotte shuddering suddenly on the end of his penis. She pulled her mouth off of it immediately after,
sitting shivering and doubled over, her eyes cast towards the ground where he could not see them.
"Charlotte, are you okay?"
Charlotte moaned, and then spoke.
"Perfectly okay, Terry," she said, her voice sounding rougher, huskier, "Never better, really."
She raised her gaze to meet his, and Terry gasped in shock.
He knew Charlotte wrote about this. Hell, she even had a small series of stories with a werewolf heroine. Once, She'd posed for a sculpture she'd made him do of
her fictional character's first change.
It had turned out eerily like the sight that now greeted his eyes.
Her short-bobbed chestnut hair was becoming increasingly less so, dangling near her shoulders already, wild and unkempt. Her eyebrows were bushy, pointing
shaggily upward, and her hazel eyes had intensified, to an unnerving, almost luminous shade. She let out a soft but bestial snarl as her darkening lips drew back and
her tongue traced sharpening teeth.
"Mate or food, Terry," she said, with a feral chuckle, "mate or food?"
Terry didn't even think to bother to tuck his member back into his boxers before he scrambled to his feet and broke into a run.
=====================================================
Windsong smiles toothily at you.
"Excellent, My queen, my mate. Now that we have a wolf queen, all females within the forest will know freedom."
"Yes, and when they gather here for the mass howl, we will be able to direct the gift beyond the land of night, to the nearby college. However," you say, your
muzzle approximating a suggestive grin, "you are not the alpha's mate yet."
"What do you mean?"
"You will see. It is not fair that you be less than me."
With that, you suddenly sink your fangs into Windsong's shoulder. She yelps in pain, but it heals quickly, the healing accompanied by change. You stroke her
stomach as her teats stiffen, soon beginning to swell into full breasts. Her already dark nose presses forward as her pointed ears creep to the top of her mane. The
change completes as her perfect muzzle finishes forming.
"Oh, my queen, thank you."
"Call me Swiftfang, and no, thank you, my Princess Consort, my mate..."
======================================================
Though all nights in Wolf Lake are beautiful, this one was especially so. Those in the campground's sites assumed it was a meteor shower, and enjoyed it.
Thus far, only Charlotte Robinson was beginning to know what the "shooting stars" really were...