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From: Desdmona22@aol.com
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Subject: {ASSM} Howl at the Moon by Desdmona 2/2 {Halloween}
Date: Thu, 31 Oct 2002 02:10:03 -0500
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The following is a Halloween story that I began a year ago. I've done some
additional editing to Part 1 and added Part 2. It's intended for an adult
audience. If you're not supposed to be reading this, then don't!
Some scenes may be too violent for sensitive readers!
*************************************************
Howl at the Moon 2/2
By Desdmona
Copyright October 2002
Part Two
"Hello."
"Ben..."
"Mike? Is that you? Damn Bro! What time is it?"
"It's about six."
"Six! In the morning? What the fuck are you calling me this
early for?"
"Shh. You'll wake your kids."
I'd been awake all night with hundreds of thoughts speeding
through my brain. For the last hour, the thought of Ben and
his kids hiking up the gorge had me in a panic.
"This better be good, Mike."
"Listen, Ben. Promise me you won't take the kids hiking in
the gorge for a while."
"What?"
"Don't take the kids hiking!"
"What the hell are you talking about, Mike?"
"I don't know. I had a nightmare or something."
"Man, go back to sleep."
"I can't sleep." I wanted to shout into the phone, help! But
an inner voice warned me to keep Ben out of this. I couldn't
believe how frustrated I was getting. My leg was bouncing a
mile a minute. My skin itched, and the hair on my arms
bristled. How hard was it to understand? "Dammit, Ben! JUST
DO AS I ASK!"
"OK. OK. Calm down, Mike. Geesh!"
It took monumental effort to check the rage. A couple of
deep breaths later, and I managed "Sorry. Just do as I ask,
OK?"
"Sure, Mike, sure. Man, are you all right?"
"Yeah, I gotta go. Go back to sleep."
I hung up the phone and looked around me. The floor was
littered with paper, like a blanket of chilling knowledge.
I'd printed off everything I could find about werewolves.
The Journal of American Psychology assured it was a mental
psychosis, while Shiftchangers-R-Us claimed werewolves were
real, and for $8.95/month I could become a part of their
exclusive club. But buried in the melee were facts about the
history of lycanthropy, dating back to King Nebuchadnezzar
in the Bible. Nearly every site had spelled out the
manifestations: increasing violence, increasing aggression,
unprovoked rages, insomnia, restlessness, and other bizarre
behavior, whatever the fuck that meant. Physical symptoms
like increased hair growth and the ability to heal quickly
were also mentioned.
But the creepiest records were about ins and outs of killing
a werewolf. It was complicated stuff. In short, its heart
had to be stopped. None of the information made me feel
better. The way I figured it, either I'd suddenly developed
schizophrenia, or I'd soon be eating flesh by the light of
the moon. Talk about your double-edged swords.
I needed to calm down. There had to be other answers. I
hadn't slept. Who could say if that was insomnia or just
self-induced anxiety? Sure, I was edgy, but no sleep and
reading mountains of carnage could be the cause. But I
couldn't get past the hair growth. My beard had completely
filled out overnight, and my body hair was getting longer
and sleeker. I needed answers, and there was only one person
who had them.
"Moira."
The bitch had me hypnotized. Like Pavlov's dog, I salivated
just by saying her name. I couldn't believe my cock was
poking at the confines of my pants, AGAIN. As I researched
site after site, I'd whacked off four times through the
night. I was drained and raw, but thoughts of Moira
entangled my brain like her long, black hair had entangled
our bodies. I yanked down my zipper and let my cock pop
free. It bobbed viciously against my lower stomach. A beast
of a cock. Wouldn't I like to shove it in that hot, sweet
cunt of Moira right now and smell the aroma of her used
pussy where I'd fucked her all night? "Don't bathe, Moira."
I wanted to say. "Let me smell you. Smell us." The crudeness
aroused me further.
I grabbed the strawberried skin of my shaft. It stung like
hell. I thought of some lube, but it was in the bathroom and
might as well have been miles away. The urgency that had
held me captive all night did so again, and I pumped and
dreamed of the elixir of Moira--hot and creamy. The stinging
turned into fire. Pain shot through the back of my eyes as
my head pounded. My forearm muscles burned with lactic acid,
and still my hand worked. I forgot about everything else.
Who cared? I needed to come. I was in a sexual delirium. So
much so, that I didn't hear the opening door.
"SENOR MIKE!"
Damn! Mrs. Morales, my housekeeper, stood posed with hands
on hips and mouth agog. I'd forgotten this was Monday, her
usual day. Normally, I'd be gone to work by now.
I should have stopped, should have covered my crotch, should
have apologized, but I did none of those. I met her wide-
eyed gaze and watched her surprise turn into alarm as I
continued my act.
"Mrs. Morales," I said with my mouth hanging open and drool
slipping from my lip. She backed up to the wall, her hand at
her throat.
I suddenly had the urge to see the mounds of nutmeg-colored
skin hidden under her loose-fitting uniform. I imagined
pendulous breasts with dark-tipped nipples, fleshy rolls of
belly, and a black mass of pubic hair hiding fat labia and
spicy pussy. I stood to walk toward her, my cock
flamboyantly leading the way.
She was trembling. "Aus -šntese de mi!"
But I didn't stay away. I inched my way to her.
"La Madre santa de Dios!" Her plump hand flew to make the
sign of the cross. "Usted es el Diablo!"
Was I the devil? Maybe. A devil with a raging hard-on.
Mrs. Morales glanced at the door, no doubt trying to gauge
the distance. When she looked back at me, her black eyes
were wide with fear.
My orgasm was spontaneous. A small burst of semen landed on
the floor, followed by a couple of anemic dribbles.
My cock sagged and then I realized what I'd done. Mrs.
Morales had been my family's housekeeper for ten years. What
I'd done was horrific. What kind of monster was I? This
wasn't me. It wasn't my fault.
"Go away," I said, fumbling with my zipper.
But she didn't leave. She walked straight to the kitchen and
began to clean like nothing had happened. It was crazy, like
something from the Twilight Zone. I had to get out of there.
On my way out the door, I grabbed a handful of the papers
littering my floor. There was only one place I could go,
only one person who might understand. And I thought I just
might kill her if I found her.
***
The drive up the gorge was interminable. I tried listening
to the radio, but then a DJ would babble inanely and my
fingertips ached from punching the buttons. The morning sun
glared through my window, causing me to squint most of the
way. I was such a mess that I nearly panicked at one point,
fearing that light sensitivity was another symptom. But that
was just T.V. vampires.
Two-thirds up the highway I had to take a piss. I didn't
want to wait for a rest stop, so I pulled off at the scenic
overview. The road had been virtually empty so I was a
little surprised to see a silver Le Baron already parked to
the left. A middle-aged couple stood by the lookout railing
snapping pictures. They glanced my way when I got out of my
car and then continued their sightseeing. I figured they'd
be leaving soon and I could do my business then. I tried to
ignore them, tried not to hear what they were saying, but
their voices carried right to my ears.
"C'mon, honey, ask him."
"I don't know, Barb. He looks a little strung out," the man
answered.
"It's just one picture, Stu."
They huddled for another minute. The woman leaned up close
to the man's ear and whispered something I didn't hear, but
I did see her rub down his chest and graze the bulge of his
pants as she spoke. Women were such fucking manipulators.
"Excuse me, ah Sir? Would you mind taking a picture of me
and my wife?"
Hell, yes I minded! I needed to take a piss. I thought of
saying that but decided to take the damn picture and hope
they'd leave right after.
"Yeah, whatever," I said.
Stu and Barb suddenly became chatterers.
"We've never been to West Virginia before."
"The changing leaves are beautiful."
"Are you from around here?"
"The camera is auto focus, so don't worry."
Shut the fuck up, I wanted to yell, but I didn't. But god,
they were annoying.
Stu handed me the camera and I got a whiff of female. When
he started to back away, I aimed the camera directly at him.
"Have you been eating your wife's pussy, Stu?" I snapped a
picture.
Stu was speechless. Barb blushed from head to toe.
"Bet you like having Stu's tongue digging in your cunt,
don't you, Barb?" She was crimson. Click. Click.
"Now listen here..." Stu had found his voice and came at me,
but he was slow and out of shape. I grabbed his arm and
twisted it behind his back, amazed at my own strength.
"You wanted some fucking pictures, and you're going to get
them, Stu. Now get over there by your wife!"
Stu wasn't a fighting man. I shoved him hard and he stumbled
over to Barb. They grabbed each other and held tight, their
fear bubbling around them. They were so easy, so pliable. I
didn't want to hurt them, but damn! I did want to see how
far I could push them.
"You've got one chance to make this a good shot, Barb, or
*I'll* decide how it's going to go. DO IT!"
She startled when I yelled, but she looked at me defiantly.
She was smart. I could see in her face she understood that I
was in charge, and there was nothing they could do about it.
It only took her a minute to make her decision. She yanked
down her pants and panties in one quick move. Stu didn't
even know what was happening.
"Eat me, Stu," she said.
"BARB! My god!"
"Just do it!"
I had to hand it to her. Barb had moxie. She stood there,
legs spread as wide as allowable with her pants around her
ankles, and she never took her eyes off of me. Stu was at a
loss.
"Just do it, Stu," she repeated.
I could only guess at their relationship, but a second
later, Stu dropped down and lifted Barb's shirt. For a brief
moment, I saw the sun shine through the gap of her thighs
and glint off the light brown pubes at her apex, and then it
was blocked.
Within minutes, Barb had her hands on the back of Stu's
head, forcing him tighter to her mound. Her hips rocked
against his face and her face relaxed. It wouldn't be long,
and I knew it. I aimed the camera, adjusting the telephoto
lens to include the oranges and reds of the trees on the
mountain behind them.
Barb was quiet. Her mouth was slack. Her fingers twined into
Stu's hair and dug at his skull. Just at the moment of
climax her eyes batted shut, and I snapped the picture.
"Very nice, Barb. Ever do any posing before?"
"You arrogant, bastard!"
Barb nudged Stu out of the way and jerked her pants back up.
I held the camera at arms length and she rushed to get it.
Stu tried to wipe his face and hide the bulge in his pants.
It made me laugh, for the first time in three days.
"Get out of here, both of you. I have to take a piss."
They scrambled to their car and sped away. I wondered if
they'd be calling the police. The only real evidence was a
camera with pictures of their acts. They'd never looked at
my license plate as far as I could tell. And to be honest, I
figured Barb enjoyed it too much to destroy the memory. And
poor old Stu would do whatever she told him to. But just to
be safe, I did what I came to do and got back on the road.
When I finally pulled into the parking lot where Moira and I
had parked before, it was empty. I realized I'd been holding
out hope that this was going to be easy. I had no plan.
Moira had said she'd be moving upwards. There was no way I
could hike around blindly. I'd never find her. So I decided
to do the only thing I could think of--stay at the campsite
and hope she'd show up.
Luckily, the few things I'd packed before were still in the
backpack in my car. The trail to the campsite wasn't as easy
without Moira leading the way. I stumbled along and took a
couple of wrong turns through partial clearings before I
finally found where we'd stayed. Nothing had changed.
Moira's tent was still pitched, and the food bag still hung
on the tree branch, but her white T-shirt was missing from
the makeshift clothesline.
I kicked around the ashes in the fire pit, hoping to see a
spark of fire, but it was cold. Then I remembered the
matches Moira had tossed at me. Sure enough, they were still
in my pants pocket. I used the remaining kindling to get the
fire going and then went to get some more substantial wood.
Maybe I'd run my body to exhaustion, or maybe it was the
surroundings, but I was feeling calmer. I could actually be
still without feeling like my insides were crawling. The sun
was still high, and sitting by the fire, I grew warm. The
last thing I remembered before falling to sleep was staring
into the fire and seeing Moira's face.
***
I was burning up, running, faster and faster. My skin felt
charred wherever clothing covered it. I ripped it off.
Hurry! Faster. I tried to breathe and fire burned through my
lungs. Pain seared my arms and legs. Horrible screaming
blistered my eardrums. I was running, but couldn't get away
from the clawing inside of me. In the distance, ahead of me,
someone panted. Breathed. Sweated. The scent was an
aphrodisiac. My cock grew large. My prey grew near. Fire
consumed my gut. A little more speed and it was mine.
Perfection. Salvation. One quick swipe and it lay bare. One
quick thrust and I was sleeved to the hilt. It fought me
with muscle and brawn and clenching buttocks, and still I
plunged and scratched and howled until its breath was gone
and my zenith was complete. It crumpled beneath me and I
feasted on shreds of flesh--still warm from life--and gnawed
on muscle, bone, and tendon until my hunger abated.
***
"Mike."
I was dreaming. I knew I was dreaming. I tried to wake up,
but I was warm and comfortable.
"Mike, wake up."
I could hear my name. She was calling me, but it was so
warm, and I wanted to sleep. I recognized her voice, husky
and soft. My eyes sprung open.
"Moira!" I was disoriented. Where was I? Was she really
here? I'd had another nightmare, grizzly and violent, but I
felt strangely peaceful.
"I knew you'd be here," she said.
"What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
What did I mean? I had to think a minute. Remember a minute.
I was at the campsite. I'd come here looking for Moira. I
needed answers. I was suddenly wide-awake. I tried to sit
up, but was tangled in the sleeping bag, and realized I was
nude. When did that happen? I struggled to a sitting
position, holding the sleeping bag around my body.
"What the fuck have you done to me, Moira?"
Moira shrunk back, an odd look of fear touching her
features"I-I..."
"Answer me, dammit!"
"I'm trying to."
"Try a little harder!"
"I'm not sure where to begin."
With a force of will, I checked my rage. "Begin with telling
me why you ran out of here the other day" I said.
"I was scared."
"Of what?"
"I was scared to tell you what I know I have to tell you."
She glanced away. She no longer had the self-confidence
she'd shown two days ago. For a brief moment I felt sorry
for her, and then I remembered what I'd been through in
those two days.
"I've been through hell, Moira! You have to tell me
something."
"I'm sorry, Mike. I really am. I didn't know it would happen
this way. You've got to believe me." Her eyes filled with
tears. "I didn't want to hurt anyone. I was just so lonely."
"God, just tell me, please! Am I a werewolf?" It felt
ridiculous to say it aloud.
She met my eye. "I don't know."
I didn't feel the same rage or frustration that I'd felt in
the last couple of days, but I still wasn't in the mood for
this cat and mouse game. I unclenched my jaw. "Just tell me
what you do know, Moira."
She sat down, crossed her legs Indian-style, and stared into
the dwindling fire. She was quiet, and for a moment I
thought she might defy me, and then she finally spoke.
"Two years ago I went camping with a group of friends, not
here, but on a ridge about sixty miles away. We met a guy
who was by himself and after getting to know him a bit, we
invited him to stay with us for the night." She paused and
took a deep breath. "I had sex with him. It was wild and
crazy and..." her voice trailed off.
"And?"
"And when I woke up the next day he was gone. At first, I
was just hurt that he hadn't said goodbye, but then strange
things started happening."
"Like what?"
"The day before I'd put a gash in my leg trying to stake the
tent. When I woke up, it was healed."
"Like the bites."
"Yes, like the bites on your chest."
"And your hair?"
"It grew out of control. Still does."
"The rage, and the nightmares?"
"When I returned from camping, it got so bad, no could stand
to be around me. Friends quit calling and coming over
because I'd blow up over silly things like tracked in mud or
missing gum. I was never close to my family anyway. I'd been
on my own for a couple of years."
"So you just moved into the mountains?"
"No, not at first. But when I could no longer deny what was
happening, I came to the mountains to try and track down
Phil."
"Phil?"
"His name is Phil Bleddyn. That's all I know about him."
"You've never seen him since?"
"No, but six months ago I met someone who had. She was like
a scared little rabbit. I tried to get her to talk to me,
but she couldn't string two sentences together. I heard they
found her dead at the bottom of the gorge. Labeled it
suicide."
"I remember reading about that in the paper. Her family had
had her institutionalized, but she escaped."
"Hmm."
We both sat quietly. I couldn't help but think what that
poor girl had gone through. I'd been living it for almost
three days now. Moira had been living it for two years.
"That's all? You don't know anything else?
"I know how it's transferred." Moira looked at me with gray-
green eyes full of regret. "Or I know it now."
"Sex?"
"And the bite, I think."
"Something I don't understand. I remember killing, ripping
a body to shreds. Why hasn't it made the news?"
"I'm not sure if that's real. Maybe it's just dreaming."
That was the first comforting thing I'd heard. There was a
real possibility that the nightmares were just nightmares
and not memories of real acts. Both times I'd awakened from
a nightmare, I'd been naked, but I'd also been clean.
Something else nagged at me.
But there was something else nagging at me. "Why did you
come back, Moira?"
She didn't hesitate. "I knew you'd be here. I knew you'd
want answers. I owed you that."
"I read everything I could get my hands on from the
computer. Some of it's in my car."
She tilted her head, and her eyes brightened a little. "I'd
like to see what you found."
"Werewolves." I laughed and shook my head. "Basically,
lycanthropy or schizophrenia, no one knows for sure which is
the truth."
Moira shivered and for the first time I realized she was
sitting in just her khaki shorts and T-shirt. My cock
stirred, remembering she wore no underwear.
"What are you going to do now?" she asked.
"I don't know."
"Stay the night, at least?"
I didn't know what else to do. I'd been obsessed to find
her, and nearly rubbed my prick raw with thinking of her.
The woman had probably damned me for life, and yet here I
was getting stiff thinking about having her slide in next to
me. I doubted if I could just up and walk away. So I did
what any hot-blooded man would do: I unzipped my sleeping
bag and invited her in.
She lifted her T-shirt over her head like I'd seen her do a
thousand times in my head over the last couple of days. Her
breasts jiggled on cue. She slid the shorts down over her
hips and wiggled out of them. I got another close-up of her
sleek, black pubic hair and the crimson treasure beneath as
she bent to get in the bag. When I grabbed her ass to pull
her closer, it was like ice, but her front side was warm as
a toasted marshmallow as she cuddled against me.
"I did some crazy awful things thinking about you, Moira."
"Tell me later."
"Why not now?"
"Because right now, we're going to fuck."
It started out as a hardcore fuck. She opened her legs and
my ravaged cock slid in between. But when I entered, and her
warm, soft cunt wrapped around me like a boon, I knew it was
more than fucking.
It was mating.
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