After a few moments of nervous bar scanning (and possibly realizing that everyone except her and the bartender is an animal-person, and that she’s not going to leave here as a human), she takes her first tentative sip of her Black Wolf beer.
You grin, as much as a wolf-man can with your completed muzzle. Another sniff in her direction picks up her almost immediately altered scent. As she takes a second sip, and a third, and then a swig, the woman smells less human and more lupine. You can hear her moaning from across the bar, as she leans her head down into the palm of her hand, elbows braced on the countertop.
You decide to make your move, and stand rather awkwardly, having lost your shoes in the transformation of your feet and legs. You think it inebriation at first, before realizing you merely weren’t standing up properly. Once you get yourself on the balls of your paws (how lushed are you to have not remembered THAT?!), you manage better. Still, there’s the matter of your tail, bunched up uncomfortably inside these human jeans. What possessed you to wear clothes, anyway?
“Shay, ‘keep,” you slur, salivating all over the bar. “Whas your polishee on nuditee in thish eshtablishment?”
He shrugs in response. “I don’t expect my clientele to wear clothes. Don’t really see why you did in the first place.”
You ponder that for a moment, stroking your furry chin with a clawed finger. “Me neither,” you growl, as you quickly tear away your belt and jeans away. You stand naked, erect, and proud before everyone, wagging your lush tail and howling in drunken happiness, the perfect specimen of wolfhood. You walk away from the human clothing, not caring what happens to it.
As you approach your amour, you know you’ve won her over. Her attention is solidly locked on you, and not just the obvious part. She smells like a wolf bitch, and you can make out the tiny beginnings of black stubble within her cleavage and the barest hint of points cresting her ears.
“Hello there,” she grins as you take a seat on the reinforced stool beside her. “Thanks for the drink, big guy.”
“Think nothing of it,” you say with a dismissive paw wave. “It’sh good, isn’t it?”
She nods as she fidgets with her blouse a bit more, scratching idly at her chest. “Damn it,” she spits out, finally pulling away the offending clothing and tossing it disdainfully on the bar. “Stupid clothing always makes my pelt itch.” She doesn’t think anything odd of the thick growth of fur between her breasts, nor does she appear the slightest bit concerned about the mammarian swelling that begins tearing the middle of her black lace bra. Even the budding nipples along her stomach that will eventually become two new sets of breasts don’t cause her any alarm.
“Sho,” you stammer, still thoroughly buzzed. “Whash your name, shweetie?”
She smiles coyly. “Vanessa. Vanessa Wolfe.” The pair of you can’t help but snicker at the irony of her surname. Her fully lupine ears by now are poking through the mane of hair, now coarser like the rest of her spreading coat, currently working its way across her shoulders.
Vanessa takes another deep drink as you leer the trail of sprouting black fur along her spine. She orders a second as you watch the bud of flesh at her coccyx that will soon be a sexy wolf’s tail. Playfully, you grab her ass with a paw, expecting to get slapped.
Vanessa instead reciprocates, grabbing your furry, muscular rump as she locks her mouth across your muzzle. You kiss each other deeply, as your tongue brushes her sharpening teeth. Brazenly, you squeeze one of her developing teats; she responds with a finger trace along your sheath, lightly drawing the curling claw along your sensitive flesh.
“Hey, hey, you two,” the bartender exclaims, setting Vanessa’s second Black Wolf before her. “We’ve got rooms for that kind of thing. Unless you’d rather just go out into the forest.”
The two of you gaze into each other’s amber eyes (while Vanessa takes a generous gulp of the mutating beverage), and decide what to do next…