The Wolf Chase
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The car stops on the shoulder where the trees start, and he knows before she says a word.
It arrives in his skin first, the way it always does. The stillness of her hands on the wheel. The drop in the air pressure of the moment. Some shift she has not spoken yet but that his whole nervous system has already caught and started turning into heat. The engine ticks. Pine and cold water through the cracked window. Every hair on his arms standing up, and lower, a first thick pull of *** already answering something he can’t name yet.
She turns and lets him see it. The low thing that has been building in her all trip, and it is deeper today, older, coiled behind her sternum and lower, in her belly, in the wet ache that has ridden her for miles. Her body has decided. She has been ripe with the wanting for days and today the wanting has a shape and the shape is him. She can feel herself slick already, just from the plan of it, from what she is about to make him run for. She keeps her voice level, which costs her everything she has.
“Get out of the car”...she growled…
“Take everything off.“...she purred…
“RUN!”...she commanded…
A heartbeat pulsed.
“You get thirty seconds.Then I hunt”, she laughed as a promise.
He doesn’t move, and it isn’t hesitation. It’s the flood, the words hitting all at once and turning to fire behind his ribs, too much and exactly right. Then he is out. Cold door under his palm. Gravel biting his soles. He drags his shirt over his head and the evening lands on his bare skin everywhere at once, cold air and dusk and terror and want pouring down the same wires, his cock already thickening in the chill air with nowhere to hide it. He drops the last of his clothes on the seat. Looks at her once.
Her eyes have gone black, and there is something in them tonight past hunger, something that has made up its mind about him at the level of the ***. Her gaze drops to where he’s hardening and her tongue touches her teeth. Run, her eyes say.
So he runs.
She counts out loud so he can hear it fade behind him, slow and cruel. One. Two. Three. Her greedy pussy gets wetter and wetter with every number she ticks off the timer. She makes her hands stay on the wheel. Everything in her is pulled tight toward one purpose and she can feel it, the heat gone molten and low, her thighs already damp, her whole body turned into a single instruction. She is going to run him down and open him up and take what she needs and she is going to keep it inside her. Tonight she means to be bred, and once will not be enough. Twenty. Twenty-one. She toes off her shoes. She will not need them.
The forest takes him and it is enormous. Every sense thrown wide, no room left for thought, only input. The ground is a language under his feet, moss then root then the shock of a cold flat stone, and he reads all of it at a dead run, branches dragging bright lines across his shoulders, breath loud in his skull, sweat already breaking cold across his back and chest despite the chill. And under the ***, threaded all the way through it, is the knowing that makes him ache even as he flees. She is coming. She is going to catch him. And there is a new weight in the knowing tonight, a certainty about what she wants to pull out of him when she does, that empties his head of everything but the drum of his own heart and the heavy swing of his cock as he runs. He does not want to get away. He runs anyway, because the running is what makes the taking mean something.
Thirty.
She is off the wheel and into the trees before the number finishes leaving her mouth. The whole world drops in temperature as the branches close over her and she loves the shift, the green dim secret of it. She does not sprint. She lopes. She reads his trail the way he reads the ground. Bent fern. Scuffed earth. A single pale thread of him snagged on bark, and when she brushes it her mouth floods and her cunt clenches around nothing, hot and empty and demanding. She marked this one long ago. Tonight she finishes what the marking started. Tonight she makes him hers all the way down, past the skin, into the parts of him that do not have names, and she takes his seed twice for the trouble of it.
He hears her before he should, the cruelty of how he is built, sound arriving in him sharpened and close. A branch. A breath. Deliberate. Wanting to be heard. His whole switchboard lights and he finds s***d he did not know he had, lungs burning, sweat running now, a stitch under his ribs and a disbelieving laugh caught under that, giddy, because this is the most alive he has ever been. Hunted through the dark. By the one who has decided to breed him and keep him.
She sees him now, flickering pale between the trunks, the sweat on his back catching what little light there is, and everything in her narrows to it. The lope breaks into a run. Her feet find the ground without asking her permission and the gap thins like ice underfoot and a sound comes out of her she did not plan, low, more growl than anything, the sound the female makes when the chase is nearly won and she can already feel his cock splitting her open. He hears it. She watches the pleasure of it shudder through his shoulders. That flinch. That is the moment she picks the tree she is going to take him down against.
The pine comes up out of the dark, huge and old, a clear patch of needled ground at its foot, and something in him chooses it, steers for it, some part of him that surrendered a mile ago arranging the terms of his own defeat. His hand hits the bark.
Then she hits him.
All of her weight at once across his back and shoulders and the world turns over. They go down together onto the soft dark floor, needles and cold earth, her arms locked around his chest, and the air leaves him in a sound that is half his breath and half hers. She has him. God, she has him. His heart slamming against her forearm, his skin fever-hot and slick with sweat from the run, his cock caught rigid between his belly and the cold ground, the whole length of him pinned and heaving under her.
He goes still, and then, as her teeth find the back of his neck, he goes loose.
She sets them there and bites, not gently, a slow deliberate deepening pressure right where the neck meets the shoulder, the exact place the female takes her mate, and she feels the fight run out of him all at once. Feels him understand it is finished. She drags her nails down his sweat-slick flank, four long stinging lines, and he arches up into the scratch instead of away, chasing the burn, grinding his aching cock down into the earth, a broken sound going out of him into the dirt. “Mine,” she says against the bite. Then, lower, the truth of the whole night: “Going to milk you dry. Going to take it twice and keep every drop.”
He turns because she lets him turn. Onto his back beneath her, chest heaving and shining, and he looks up through the dark and gives her the last of it. The throat. The open hands. Everywhere she scored him is singing, every nerve lit, and his cock stands up hard and flushed and leaking against his belly, the whole want of it plain. She looks down at what she brought to ground, at the wet head of him glistening in the dim light, and her grin is all teeth. She reaches down and drags her fingers through her own soaked cunt, shows him the slick on them, then grips his cock and slicks it with her juices and rises up over his hips and takes him inside her in one slow certain drop, all the way, no build, no asking, and the sound they make is the same sound.
She rides him upright at first, hands flat on his chest, hips working in a deep unhurried grind, her thrown-open shirt hanging off one shoulder, her eyes never leaving his face. She wants to watch him. She wants to see every place she owns. Her wetness is running down him already, slicking them both, the obscene soft sound of it filling the dark between the trees. She ***ls one of his hands off her thigh and pins the wrist to the ground beside his head and leans her weight through it, and the pin makes him buck up into her with a groan that comes out wrecked, his cock driving deeper.
Then she takes both his wrists.
She stretches forward over him and gathers them, presses them flat to the earth above his head, brings her whole upper body down heavy so her mouth is at his throat and her weight holds him open beneath her, and she starts to drive. Him flat on his back and pinned, her chest to his, her tits dragging across the sweat on his skin, her hips slamming down from above, in control of every inch of it, her wet cunt swallowing his cock to the root with every stroke. He cannot move his hands. He does not want to. Being held down under her weight while she rides him is undoing something in him thread by thread, the sensory flood total now, the slick heat of her and the cold ground and the needles under his back and her breath in his ear and the relentless downward drive of her taking his cock, and he turns his face into her jaw and takes it, all of it.
“You ran so pretty,” she breathes against the bite, rolling her hips down hard, grinding deep, wanting his cock as far inside her as it will go. “But you were always going to end up here with your cock buried in me.” Her nails find his ribs. “Feel how wet you made me? That’s all for you. That’s your cunt now. Say it.”
“Yours,” he gets out, ragged, arching up into her weight, his cock jerking inside her. “Yours, take it, take whatever you want out of me.”
“Going to breed me,” she growls into his shoulder, and bites down into the muscle there and pulls, riding the shudder it sends through the whole length of him, feeling his cock swell against her walls. “That’s what you ran for. That’s what I marked this cock for.” She grinds down to the root and holds, deep, claiming, her juices soaking them both. “Give me your seed. Fill me up like you were made to.”
The words wreck him worse than the teeth. He strains up under her pinning weight, every scratch and bite alight, the instinct of it catching in his own *** now, the need to empty everything he has into her rising fast and hot. She feels it building, feels his cock go rigid and desperate, and she is not ready to let him yet. She sits back and pulls him with her by the wrists so he has to follow, then presses him flat again, deliberate, palms on his chest, her weight her tool. She likes him there. The reach of her body over his, the way she can pin and grind and watch his face come apart. She sets a slower, meaner pace, drawing it out, her thumbs tracing the raw lines down his sides so the sting rides under the pleasure, her cunt gripping him in slow wet pulls, keeping him at the edge on purpose.
“Not yet,” she tells him, low, when she feels him strain. “You come when I say. You come when I’ve got you where I want your seed.”
He whines, deep in his chest, the most honest sound he owns, his cock throbbing inside her, his whole body sheened in sweat under her.
She rewards the surrender in it. She braces both hands on his chest and drives down fast and deep and merciless, her wet cunt clenching, chasing her own edge now, her breath breaking into that growl, and when it takes her she comes down over him with her teeth in his neck and her nails in his skin and her whole weight bearing him into the cold ground, clamping down around his cock, greedy, pulling. “Now,” she snarls against the mark. “Give it to me now, give me your seed, breed me.”
He follows her over with a rough broken shout that ***ters up into the branches, his cock pulsing hard, spilling everything he has deep into her exactly as she chased him to, and she works her hips through all of it, grinding him deep, milking his cum out of him in thick waves and keeping every drop, her cunt fluttering greedy around him, taking. He empties himself into her until there’s nothing left and still she rocks on him, wringing the last of it free.
For a moment they lie there, both slick with sweat and her juices and his spend, his cock still buried and twitching inside her, his chest heaving under her weight. But she is not finished. One was never going to be enough tonight.
She lifts her head from his shoulder and there is that grin again, all teeth, her eyes still black and hungry. She tilts her hips to keep him plugged inside her, keeps every drop where she put it, and she starts, slow, to grind again. “That’s one,” she murmurs against his jaw. “I told you I’d take it twice.” She feels his softening cock stir at the words, at the merciless promise in them, and she reaches back to cradle his balls in her palm, rolling them, coaxing. “Get hard for me again. You’ve got more to give and I’m going to take all of it.”
He groans, oversensitive, wrecked, but his body answers her the way it always answers her, *** pooling thick, his cock filling again inside the tight wet grip of her, and she feels it and purrs. She rides him back to full hardness with slow filthy rolls of her hips, her wetness and his first load easing every stroke, the slick obscene sound of it loud in the dark. When he is full and rigid again she rises up, sinks down slow to the root, and takes both his wrists once more, pinning him flat beneath her the way she likes him best.
“There he is,” she breathes, and begins to fuck him in earnest, harder this time, her tits swaying, sweat dripping off her onto his chest, her cunt driving down onto his cock over and over. “You feel that? Feel how full of you I already am? Going to make you fill me again. Going to keep both loads in me. Nobody breeds me but you.” She bites his throat, drags her nails ***y-hot down his flank. “This cock is mine. This is all it’s good for. Filling me up until it takes.”
“Please,” he gasps, past words now, hips bucking up to meet her every downstroke, chasing the wet heat of her, “please, I’m yours, breed me, take it, take all of it.”
“That’s it,” she snarls, riding him savage, her weight bearing him into the earth, her cunt clenching down in tight greedy pulls. “Give it to me. Give me your seed. Every drop. Now.”
She comes first this time, hard, clamping around his cock and throwing her head back with a growl that has nothing human left in it, and the vice of her drags him over the edge right behind her. He spills into her again with a broken cry, his cock pumping the last of what he has deep where she demands it, and she grinds down through all of it, sweat-slick and shaking, wringing him dry a second time, her cunt milking him until he has nothing left to give and still she takes.
After, she does not get off him.
She stays seated over him with his softening cock still buried inside her, both loads sealed deep where she chased them, drawn low and possessive across his chest, her mouth against the bruise where his neck meets his shoulder, in no hurry to let a single drop escape. His heart is a wild thing under her cheek, slowing. Pine and earth and salt and sex, sweat cooling on both of them, the smell of the two of them mingled everywhere. Every place she bit and scored is a low warm hum he will carry for a week and be glad of. She tilts her hips to keep him plugged and drags her nose along his throat, lazy, satisfied, sated at last, the hunt finished and the mate caught and bred exactly as she wanted, twice over.
“Mine,” she murmurs into his skin. “Both of you now. And whatever takes.”
He turns his face into her hair. Doesn’t need to answer. She already knows.
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