Your attention for literature has grown dull by this point, your primal thoughts providing enough imagination as you pant and whine flowing with intimate longing for your rousing beast. You quiver finally dropping to your knees falling forward onto your hands, shoulders flex as you stretch out your body trilling growls of excitement. Being on all fours feel so much better, fingers grasping the carpet raking your nails; toes curling as you try to shift your posture to appear animal-like. Drool gathers at the tip of your panting tongue gradually growing lost to the torrent of wild urges that paint a vivid picture in your fevered mind.
A vast woodland landscape. The full moon cascading its silver curtain over the world. The silhouettes of sprinting canines ahead of you. You can smell the pungent fragrance of nature wafting pass your leathery nostrils, the musk of attractive mutts warming your animal frame stirring your loins. Feral eyes of wolves glance back to you, excited wild eyes that signal a needy response to catch up and be closer to them; to brush furry bodies.
Suddenly; you've stopped...yet your body continues to move; rock. A weight press upon your back as it bumps vigorous behind, unbothered by the figures extension slipping constantly between your swollen gates. It feels good what's happening; you indulge the shared carnal bliss of being mounted by one of the many studs of your pack choosing you as their mate, whether for life...you simply for the night. The only thought that sticks in your animal mind is embracing the need being favored, to be bred by your stud; to take in his knot.
You tremble murmuring soft whines and howls as you topple onto your back and roll about, limbs tucked in wiggling your rump as you brush your limp hands over your chest massaging sensitive breasts, sneaking lower between squeezed thighs to toy with the moist folds aching for stimulation.
Rutting...to be a stud's bitch. Add to that fascination of taking on a true lupine appearance and you would find yourself in true bliss. Succumbing to the whims of a horny wolf should be no surprise to a strange individual as yourself, considering how turned-on your tend to get simply behavior like one. You know this wasn't normal for a human to wish for, but it's difficult to deny the pleasures such fantasies induce. Wolfman, wolfbeast, average wolf; it doesn't matter what kind of form you could take (or your dream mate) as long as you looked and felt like a wolf.
Panting intensifies sounding yelps with nearly every thrust and stroke of your idle fingers burying themselves past your wet folds, rolling back onto your elbows and knees as you keep reaching back under your belly between your legs. You can feel your center swelling peaking quickly towards its climax, prying your fingers away back to the floor as you shift your posture and lift your legs and rump wagging the air; instinctively presenting as you drift farther into your feral fantasies.
A rush of heat spreads feverishly throughout your being, sweat forming upon your skin. Your bones and muscles begin to act, though that could strain from attempting to hold such a primal posture for so long. The coming orgasm muffles out any rational consciousness; panting heavily droning in soft howls as the daydream matches the moment in kind beginning to believe the studs in your imagination were truly mounted on top of you humping eagerly to complete the tie and seal your union.
Urges to howl. Urges to run. To hunt. To court. To breed. To bare pups and grow her pack. Such dreams matter more than what advances and philosophies humanity could offer. To be a beast; a wolf...as unusual as it should be you feel better romanticizing such a life. You want it so badly you feel prepared to accept any inevitable changes, stretching and snarling wildly as if hoping to trigger something supernatural within.