Karen and I ran down the street. Aftr a mile of running I was winded, and stopped to catch my breath. Karen, much less tired, panted slightly.
"It looks like we've outrun them--I guess they're more interested in fucking one another than killing me." I couldn't help shuddering. Seeing Arnold and Kyra rut incestually was disgusting. That's what I tried telling myself, but I was even more disgusted that I had found it strangely arousing. Was it because I felt a sexual attraction to both of them? Kyra I had a slight crush on--but Arnold? No! I told myself. What was I saying? I couldn't be gay.
Karen was now in full wolf form, and I was getting turned on from watching her too (thank God for that I thought, still preoccupied with my sexuality). We decided to seek refuge in the park. Once we were tucked away inside a remote glen, I thought with sorrow over what I had done. I had turned friend (my best friend? Yes, I realized, he probably was my best) into a raging lycanthrope who was out to kill me, and he'd turned his cute kid sister into a bloodthirsty bitch. And now they were fucking each other. It was all my fault. I clearly didn't deserve to have the ring, and now the world was being taken over by werewolves.
Karen had curled up and was in a light sleep. I guess she hadn't slept much the night before. I was too busy worrying about the mess we were in to feel sleepy. Of course, with just a few wishes on the ring, I could make everything right again. Or would I just make everything even worse? And didn't part of me get a thrill out of how things were now? Suddenly Karen bolted from her nap and growled. I could hear another growl emerge from the surrounding bush.
And then, as if from out of nowhere, a werewolf charged at Karen. I could tell from its extra breasts that it was female, and I could tell from its black fur that it was probably Kyra. They must have tracked us here with their noses, I thought. The two she-beasts rolled and tumbled, locked in one another's arms and claws like inhuman wrestlers. It was a hell of a cat-fight--um, sorry, wolf-fight. They snarled and snapped at each other, and drooled on and swiped at each other's breasts. I could see all twelve of their heavenly globes boucning in the moonlight. Shit, my dick was getting hard again. I couldn't stand here perving at the sight of she-wolves wrestling--I had to get away! I ran off toward the street, only to halt in terror as an enormous brown-haired werewolf stepped into my path and faced me.
It was Arnold. I locked eyes with him and we stared at each other. I was too scared to even remember the ring--I was too wrapped up in the staring contest. His eyes were amber and hypnotic. I blinked, and the beast advanced toward me. My knees buckled, and I fell to the ground in shock and fear. I closed my eyes, waiting for the werewolf to kill me. A few seconds passed, and I opened my eyes again. The werewolf was sniffing me, as though he was getting reaquainted with me. What had Arnold told me? "I kept a small bit of my human side"? Maybe it was too small to resist his werewolf side, which plainly didn't remember why it should be mad at me--after all, the first thing Arnold did after changing was not to kill me, but to stay and fuck his sister. I remebered what I had thought about in the afternoon, after watching video clips of werewolves on the internet: "the werewolves weren't killing anyone, but simply attacking and moving on to the next victim. This wasn't a war yet, simply a recruitment drive, and one that had two days yet to go."
Could it be that--
I paused in my recollection as the wolf's snout hoovered over my body, eagerly sniffing. "Remember me Arnold?" I said. "Or not? Umm, nice doggie. Nice doggie!" The creature's nose moved down my tummy and to my privates. I was embarassed to find that I had a hard-on. Christ, I swear I'm not gay. Could he smell my arousal? I tried to move out from under the werewolf, and my hand accidentally brushed his fur-covered testicles. The beast froze and stared at me with an inscrutable expression in its deep yellow eyes. I couldn't tell what the hell it was going to do. "Oh God, please don't kill me" I implored. I had to do something, quick! What would soothe the beast? My hand instinctively clenched up, accidentally cupping Arnold's balls. I cringed--why was I enjoying this?!--but the beast seemed to relax. My hand wandered upward, and found the creature's sheath. I rubbed timidly, and felt something oily and hard rise into hand.
"Uh, you like that boy? Good boy, good boy," I muttered uncertainly. Cut it out, I thought, you're talking to your best friend as if he was a dog! Well, he sort of was, wasn't he? The werewolf moaned, and then got on its knees. One clawed hand clamped my head, and pushed it toward Arnold's privates. As if in a replay of last night, I could see Arnold's sheathed wolf-cock, and see a bright red tip poke out. And again, I found myself getting even harder. I cursed myself. Was I a cocksucker?! I couldn't do this! But could I risk making the werewolf angry? Shouldn't I please him? And anyway, could I really still pretend that I wasn't getting off on this too? My face was pushed ever closer, until my head was paralell to Arnold's quads, and my mouth was above his now erect, red penis. It was now or never. I opened wide and--