Authors: Sage Domini
Tags: #werewolf, #bbw, #mate, #bride, #virgin, #alpha, #curvy
THE LAST WEREWOLF
By Sage Domini
The Last Werewolf Bride:
The Last Werewolf Bride 2:
The Last Werewolf Bride 3:
All events and characters are
Warning: Explicit content meant for
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THE LAST WEREWOLF BRIDE: Alpha
en would never lust
after me. I was used to that. I had made friends with a shower
nozzle and a battery operated lover I called Max. But tonight I’d
had enough. Liza was also a law student and the stuff of male
masturbatory fantasy. Tiny waist, blond hair, perky (fake!)
breasts. She tried to be nice, pushing me forward
“This is my friend, Jessa.”
But the two men who had eased over to be next
to her cast vague glances at my unimpressive form and let their
eyes drift back to Liza. I knew I wasn’t repulsive. But my thighs
were on the thick side and the loose enveloping shirts make me look
shapeless, sort of a fleshy female garden gnome. Liza was critical
of my choices, saying I had some great assets to work with. “Look
at those tits!” she had shouted with what I guess she considered
encouragement. “Work the mammaries.”
The sad truth was I wasn’t even trying
anymore. I had for so long been deprived of positive male
attention. I figured now that I was twenty four it probably wasn’t
going to get any better. I had only agreed to go out tonight
because Liza was nursing a fresh breakup and “needed a good fuck”.
It looked like she might have found at least one of those as the
two handsomely suited young businessmen danced with her in an
awkward sort of sandwich. The bar was crowded and loud, as bars in
college towns perpetually are. I cast furtive glances from the rim
of my Sex on the Beach. Liza was rubbing herself on a darkly
trousered leg. She closed her eyes in bliss as a wide-knuckled hand
slipped beneath her translucent blouse and moved in
I looked at my watch. It was only eleven. So
my choices were to either resign myself to a long night of watching
other people dry hump while growing increasingly sweaty, or else go
home to my apartment and waste a few hours on Netflix Doctor Who
episodes. No contest.
“Liza. Liza!!” I had to scream. She flashed me
a look of ‘what the hell do you want?’ annoyance. “I’m heading
Liza rolled her eyes. “We barely got here.
Jesus Jessa. At least try not to be such a rag.”
How was I supposed to answer that? The Suit
Twins watched me mutely. I imagine they were also wishing I would
disappear. Liza seemed to feel a sudden twinge of pity and reached
out to squeeze my arm. “I’ll call you tomorrow!”
I wasn’t sorry to leave the pulsing chaos of
the bar behind. My apartment was a three block walk away. It was
convenient to campus and The Avenue, a motley collection of bars
and clubs which were the heart of local night life.
People teemed outside the bar; kissing,
vomiting, shrieking. But by the time I had reached my street all
was dark and quiet. I had the uncanny sense of being watched, but
shook it off, reasoning that such feelings were what came from
walking alone in the dark. I looked up. The Man in the Moon looked
back. His silvery grin was full tonight. “Just you and me,” I
I felt better once I reached my apartment. It
was a tiny studio but all mine. It was the first place which had
ever actually been all mine. I’d grown up sharing a room with a
pair of much younger cousins after my parents were killed in a ski
lift accident. My father’s sister had not liked me. “You watch
yourself,” she’d said more than once but I never knew what she was
talking about. I was a good girl. Perfect school grades, not a
twinge of trouble in my record, no surly teenage boys sniffing
around. She was a miserable woman anyway. Her husband evidently
thought so too because he ran off with a buxom neighbor strangely
named Twiddly. I had escaped to the other side of country as soon
as it was legally feasible.
I tossed my clothes off and stared critically
at myself in the bathroom vanity. I was a little bigger than a
woman my height ought to be, but my skin was smooth, my face clear
and pleasant. I unhooked my bra and unleashed peachy tubular
breasts. There must be a man somewhere eager to appreciate this.
Perhaps Liza was right. I should go shopping tomorrow to find
whatever tit-bearing tops my meager budget would allow. I sighed
and let my hand travel south. I would get myself ready for a romp
with Max. It would be the most excitement I would see anytime soon.
After I enjoyed the guilty glow of an artificial orgasm I would
settle in front of the television with Ben and Jerry.
I frowned. The slow swirl of inner pleasure
wasn’t coming. I felt too distracted, uneasy. Perhaps it was the
loneliness which plagued me in the bar. Maybe it was the creepy
walk home. Whatever the reason, I couldn’t concentrate. I gave up,
throwing on a large t-shirt. It barely covered my ass, but who was
there to see?
I surveyed the living room restlessly. The
worn red futon seemed depressed. I felt stifled suddenly by the
smallness of my life. I opened the latch to the sliding glass door
and stepped out onto the shallow balcony.
The night was cool. The silver light of the
moon played upon the courtyard. In the community pool a barely
discernible male/female pretzel was locked in a pose of wet
ecstasy. I stared. Would this be my life?? Casting sneaky glances
at the pleasure of others before bringing myself to a forlorn
I closed my eyes and imagined strong fingers
undressing me. They explored my honeyed depths before my legs were
spread to welcome that engorged organ which required satisfaction
in a tight wet place. Even as I pictured it and could nearly feel
it I was terrified such delights would never be mine. I had one
more year of law school and then what? Likely some dismal grueling
position in a corporate hellhole. So I tried to console myself with
the possibilities. A late night working on a brief with virile
coworkers in rumpled suits…. Perhaps there would be conference
table begging to be used in an unconventional way. Perhaps no words
needed to be spoke and he (or they; I was generous) would sense my
ripe need and bend me over that conference table. There would be
neckties to play with, orifices to abuse. I didn’t want some
dullard’s hand under my shirt in a seedy bar.
I wanted something else.
My musings had brought me to the point where
Max would be welcome. I was about to retreat indoors when the close
weight of a dark shape made me gasp. There, having launched himself
onto my narrow second story balcony, was a large grey wolf. His
amber eyes glowed. He was so close I could nearly feel the bristle
of his fur. The sight was so astonishing that for a moment I did
not move. I opened my throat for a scream but a rough hand sealed
“Don’t,” a low voice warned.
The face peering into mine wore a grizzled
shadow but was definitely the face of a man. And the hand clamped
over my mouth was nothing more than that, a hand. My eyes shifted.
Where was the wolf? Was I dreaming? Was I high on some unknown drug
furtively slipped into my drink?
Slowly the stranger relaxed his hand. I could
see his form in the moonlight. He was large, muscular. And naked.
Almost involuntarily my gaze shifted down, past his spectacular
abs, down further to where that enormous part of him swung between
his legs. I became suddenly conscious of the fact that I was not
He knew my name. “Jessa.” One finger brushed
along my jaw and down my neck. I still didn’t know who the hell he
was or why he was naked on my balcony and I couldn’t even begin to
address the sight of the wolf, but my deprived body didn’t seem to
care about any of that. I felt my nipples rise with the electricity
of his touch. I was instantly wet with want. He spoke again, he
voice low but sure. “It is finally time.”
My breathing quickened. “Time for
He pressed against me. He was impatient. The
hardness of that part of him I had briefly glimpsed in the
moonlight pushed against my belly. “Surely some part of you had to
know what you were? The last of the Caprese line.”
I was utterly confused. Caprese had been my
mother’s maiden name. “I don’t understand,” I whispered.
He ran his lips along my collarbone and I
nearly passed out. Dimly I wondered why I didn’t scream. Would that
be the usual reaction when being molested by a nude stranger in the
night? And yet…there was a familiarity to it. Some earthy part of
me screamed out in recognition there in the moonlight as he reached
between my legs and touched my center.
“I am Marcus,” he said, “leader of the Dark
Claws. I have won you, my sweet. You are the only remaining
survivor of a carefully cultivated bloodline.” With a fluid motion
he tore the thin fabric of the t-shirt. I gasped as he proceeded to
trace my nipples. “You were wanted by many, but I am the one who
will claim you.” Marcus lifted me against the sliding glass door.
Almost instinctively my legs snaked around his firm body. He
whispered fiercely, “Let the others mate with ordinary girls, but
you are mine. The last werewolf bride.”
And I felt it; his mighty organ searching for
that tight crevice and I guided him to me, crying “Yes Marcus,
yes!” And it made no sense and perfect sense.
The first thrust caught me unawares as he
pushed his way through the barrier of my virginity. My body gave
way and he was fully inside me, coaxing that needy muscle deeper
inside. My legs snaked around him more tightly, urging him on. It
was the most unbelievable thing I had ever experienced. I could not
believe it was real. I was afraid my insides might crack in half;
his need so large and his pumping so frenzied. I began actually
feeling the first twinges of pleasure from a real flesh and blood
throbbing dick as my body became accustomed to this sudden
intrusion. He managed to rub against the front of my pussy and my
clit responded with rapture. He came with a grunt and a potent
plunge. I felt the hot mix of his essence spiraling deep inside.
Some of it ran down my legs, which seemed too weak to stand at the
Marcus swung me effortlessly into a carrying
pose and entered my apartment. In the cool aftermath of our
encounter my mind raced with the effort to piece everything
together. Bloodlines? Werewolves??
Once Marcus had gracefully deposited me on the
bed I got a better look at him. Dark eyes peered at me from roughly
cut rakish features. I was not short but he would tower over me. I
estimated his height at about six foot five. He also knew his way
around the gym, as evidenced by the abundant swells of muscle in
all the right places. My tender female parts were bruised and sore
but I knew I would not object to whatever activity he might have in
mind next. I could swear he read my thoughts as he flashed a
devastating grin and shook his head slightly.
“Soon,” he said. He disappeared into the tiny
bathroom. I heard water running.
I sat up when he returned. I tried not to
stare at the shaft between his legs. “Marcus.”
“Shhh,” he whispered and gathered me up into
his arms again. He brought me swiftly to the tub where I was
deposited gently in the water. My pummeled core objected to the
sting of the hot water, but the discomfort lasted only a moment.
Marcus cast his gaze over my nude body with a hungry look. His
touch was not ungentle as he outlined my breasts with a forefinger
but I recognized a certain possession in the act. He had said “You
are mine.” I didn’t know what that meant.
My blue bath towel had found its way around
his middle. I thought it amusing that he chose modesty now,
considering our balcony acrobatics. I was about to ask him where
the hell his clothes were anyway when he knelt by the tub. His
voice was liquid mercury as he explained himself. And me. And