The Knotting Hour

The evening was humid, thick with the scent of wet wood and old leather. A cabin in the middle of the forest, forgotten by civilization, served one purpose only escape. Not from the world. From himself.

He stepped inside with trembling hands, a pulsing vein at his neck, his heart pounding like an animal cornered. He knew it was coming. Not the first time. But tonight oh god tonight he wanted it. He wasn’t fighting it. He came to surrender.

Clothes came off fast, violently, as if he hated the fabric for still touching his skin. His body was already changing hair sprouting on his arms, his neck pulsing with heat, teeth growing sharp and long with a pleasure that hurt. But first… he had to.

He dropped onto the old leather couch. It reeked of sweat, old sex, time. His hand went to his crotch already swollen, disturbingly large, but he knew this stage. He knew what was coming. His cock throbbed, as if it sensed the change faster than the rest of him. He stroked along the length slick already with its own fluid, the head shining in the dim light.

He shuddered. Not from cold.

From pleasure so intense his nails grew out, clawed into the leather. His whole body tensed, muscles bulging as if inflated from within by pressure and magic and testosterone. A roar tore out of his throat, shifting into something inhuman.

Fur spread fast, thick, dark, gleaming under the bulb’s dull glow. His face elongated, mouth wide, tongue hanging – like a wolf ready to pounce. But not on prey. On ecstasy.

His cock... goddamn... it wasn’t human anymore. Overgrown, veiny, with a swollen knot at the base – pulsing like it had a life of its own. Each stroke of his clawed hand seemed to accelerate the transformation, like his orgasm was the ignition switch for full beast mode.

He moaned. A cry. A howl.

Cum exploded, thick and hot, streaking across his furred abdomen, dripping onto the leather, soaking it like a ritual offering. But that wasn’t the end. He was never satisfied after one.

He snarled, biting into his own shoulder, overwhelmed by a pleasure so deep his whole body jerked. Muscles rippled, chest heaved, and his hands now claws gripped his monstrous cock with savage force. Masturbation became something primal, a brutal self-fucking of a werewolf gone mad with lust.

The room filled with the scent of sweat, fur, cum the entire cabin seemed to breathe with him, creaking in rhythm with his spasms. The walls soaked in the sound of his howls, his moans, the wet slap of his hand on that leaking cock.

Finally, he slumped. But only for a moment.

The body still trembled, still pulsed with hunger. The need didn’t fade. It grew. As if the change had made him not only stronger... but insatiable. Solitude wasn’t enough anymore.

He needed a body. Another. Warm, trembling, scented with fear or arousal he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

His eyes golden, feral gleamed in the dark as he rose with a growl. Massive, horny, barely human. His cock still hard, aching... ready for anything.

A werewolf knows no limits.

Will you, sweet human, dare to come closer?