Wendy strained against her bonds, desperate for escape by any means possible.
Using her anger would only fuel her changes. Surrendering to her heat would do likewise.
All paths led to the Sisterhood. She could only fight it for so much longer.
Carla was turning up the heat, quite literally. Her caresses and stimuations had quickened their pace, and with it, Wendy’s changes. Every moan brought forth more fur, which now covered her face in wispy flows. Her fangs and ears were now at their apex, and Carla showed great delight in teasing all six of her teats. Her tail felt extremely uncomfortable bound beneath her; she wanted to free it. Her jaw hurt; already, the mandibles had begun to reinforce themselves, in preparation for their outward push.
She felt her lover shift above her, bringing her own lupine sex into view. She sat back, close enough to allow Wendy to taste, her tantalizing aroma making the girl’s mouth water, as Wendy felt her mate’s thick tongue brush her soaked furry slit.
Susan felt as though she were burying herself. She pressed into the grass as much as possible to minimize contact with Penny, to little avail. Her flesh, her fur, her teats, everything was hypersensitive enough to make the barest touch an ecstatic flood.
The craze of werewolves in heat made resisting that much harder. The snarled and howled as they groped and bit each other, fingering and licking and grinding each other into howling rapture.
Penny growled and snarled, warring within herself. One moment brought a glimmer of sanity, and she pulled away. The next saw carnality reassert itself, and she pressed down harder into her captive.
The signs of Penny’s impending transformation were readily apparent. Her face had already lengthened slightly; her tail became fuller and longer with each indiscretion. Her ears had begun to fold, making the slow trek through her wild mane to the crest of her skull. She had given up human speech a minute prior, now content to snarl and growl, like the wolf she was becoming.
Susan was faring slightly better, though her teats were now undeniably tits. She felt her own heaving breaths, ragged and feral, and thought of the irony of being sent here to become a-- how had Dad put it? -- “socially and morally well-adjusted girl.”
She wanted to laugh at the thought. Instead, she clenched down, biting her own tongue with her sharp fangs, and steeled herself against joining the revel for one more second.
Pheobe prayed through her fear as she plummeted to her death.
She fought the urge to reach out for something, anything that might break her fall. The thought of giving in to the change to save herself invaded her thoughts, and was forcefully pushed away.
She didn’t want to live as a werewolf. She’d rather die as a human.
Stronghowl struggled in her grasp, desperately wiggling to lessen her impact. She howled in anger as gravity did its work.
The brick walkway rushed up to meet them, and Pheobe strained to hold onto the twisting form of the werewolf. She lost her grip, feeling herself being pulled over top of her falling partner.
They crashed, together.
Pheobe felt the wind blast from her chest, felt the certain bruising and breaking of several of her ribs. She bounced back-first onto the ground, where she lay in semi-consciousness for countless seconds, taking growling breaths.
It was nothing compared to Stronghowl’s injuries. She whined in agony, her broken body trying to regenerate itself around the imprint of caved-in brick. She wheezed, barely able to draw breath. Blood pooled from large gashes in her skull, matting her mane. She strained to lift separated shoulders, and to sit up despite her crushed spine.
Pheobe wearily looked over to the crippled werewolf, past her own lacerated forearms. Her wounds mended, much more quickly than those of the full she-wolf beside her.
“W…w…hy? Why did…you…shield me?”
Stronghowl smirked. “Wanted…you…to…live…” Her voice lightened, even as it faded. “Philip.”
Pheobe blinked. “I…I killed you…”
The lycanthrope’s features quickly retracted, fur fading inside skin and fangs constricting into teeth. The changes creeped to a halt, until a fully human Laura Tierney lay beside her, shattered beyond repair. She strained for breath, squinting from the dulling pain.
“I…forgive…you…”
Pheobe felt herself able to slowly rise, felt fur and teats and tail replace her cuts and breaks. She knelt by the human woman, her would-be mate, dead by her hand. She cried freely, mourning her loss and cursing her actions as she squeezed Laura’s bloodied hand.
Despite it all, Laura smiled. “Rem…em…ber…me…” Her grip slackened.
Pheobe watched Laura breathe her last, before shouting her grief to the heavens. Her cries came forth as a howling dirge for her fallen packmate, and the soothing sensations of cool moonlight and her final transformation momentarily eased the she-wolf’s pain.