18+ ONLY

> optional part 1 (ive named them since then)

The Sisters began to sneak off together at every opportunity. They snuck into cupboards, closets, pantries, and stairwells. Tucked together in their tiny hiding places, they sat thigh to thigh with their habits hiked up and their fingers between each other’s legs, gazing into each other’s eyes and stifling their moans as they relieved each other’s secret aches. Christina told Rosita that it was a private act which must be done in private. Rosita accepted every word with big trusting eyes. Christina didn’t mention that what they were doing was a shameful sin. Her sighs and moans upon Christina’s shoulder were pure pleasure free from guilt. Christina aimed to keep it that way.

They were pressed very close, breath mingling in the hot little closet, fingers wet with each other’s pleasure. Rosita’s soft body felt perfect pressed against her. Christina couldn’t resist reaching over and feeling one of Rosita’s perfect breasts with her free hand. Even through the thick fabric of her habit it felt soft and heavy. The weight in her hand made her think of doing all kinds of lewd things to Rosita. Rosita did not object to the touch, she seemed to enjoy being groped and panted over. She gazed up at Christina pleadingly while her fingers felt her faster, enflaming Christina’s heart with love and lust, enflaming each other’s swollen parts to the point of sweet release.

When they really needed it, when Rosa was begging for it, sometimes all they could do was find the closest place that would do at all. That was how they found themselves squeezed into the confessional together, hidden behind only the velvet curtain, practically sitting in each other’s laps. Their fingers found their way between each other’s legs at record speed. Their panting faces were pressed close in the dark. Rosita’s cheeks were heavily flushed. Christina couldn’t stop staring at her lips, close enough to kiss.

A sudden shuffling of noise made them both freeze. Someone was getting into the confessional on the other side of the screen. There was a short silence, then the clearing of a throat.

“If you’re already there, you may begin.” It was the priest who came to their convent to hear the nuns’ confessions.

Christina and Rosita stared at each other without breathing. Rosita’s eyes were wide in the dark. Someone had to say something.

“Bless me father,” whispered Christina, “for I have sinned.”

“Tell me, child,” said the priest kindly. Christina scrambled for something innocuous to confess, but her thoughts were scattered by Rosa’s fingers continuing to play with her, by the big dark eyes looking up at her lewdly in the dark. Almost with a mind of their own, Christina’s fingers resumed their own work of stroking the soft slick parts between Rosa’s thighs. Hardly knowing what she said, she confessed out loud to half-invented sins in a trembling voice, while the priest “hm”d and “ah”d along doddingly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Rosita pressing her hand over her mouth. She was going to reach the peak of her pleasure. Christina stroked faster, desperate to get her there and see the expression of ecstasy on her face.

Rosa’s body rippled beside her with delicious release. She gripped her mouth to hold back her cries, and her thighs were squeezing tight around Christina’s hand and wrist, holding her fingers in place. Christina’s release came next, just as shattering, and it was all the two of them could do to grip each other tight and keep quiet.

“Is everything alright in there?” asked the priest with concern.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well today.” Christina forced the words out.

“That’s alright,” said the priest. “I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Now go in peace and get some rest, my child.”

They snuck away somehow without being seen. Christina couldn’t believe what they’d done. They would be damned for this blasphemous act. Even if no one found out, God had seen them.

It was snowing outside, but the wolf and rabbit were tucked inside the rabbit’s burrow. They were wrapped in each other’s embrace, wearing nothing but tshirts and boxers, and nuzzling into each other’s necks. The rabbit’s hips would not stay still. He pressed himself against the wolf, panting and rubbing the bulge in his shorts against the wolf’s thigh. Horny little thing. The wolf growled and pinched the rabbit’s long ear between his claws. The rabbit whimpered with pain but only rocked his hips faster. The wolf rewarded him by grabbing his hips and realigning their bodies so that hips pressed into hips and their bulges rubbed over and against each other through the fabric. The rabbit moaned and bucked his hips even faster while the wolf held him close, grinning. His jaws suddenly closed around the rabbit’s delicate ear. The rabbit gave a ragged gasp, torn between the pain of being bitten and the pleasure of grinding his cock against the wolf’s, the pleasure of being held in the wolf’s warm arms.

“You like when I hurt you,” the wolf said into his ear. The rabbit didn’t deny it. The wolf gripped the rabbit cruelly by the ears and forced him onto his hands and knees. The rabbit trembled with pain and anticipation. He gasped when he felt the wolf rip the crotch of his boxers using a sharp claw. His hole clenched hard and his cock throbbed miserably behind his packer as he felt the wolf nudging his hole with the tip of his cock. The wolf did not release his cruel grip on the rabbit's ears. He pushed his cock deeper and deeper into the rabbit. His other paw gripped the rabbit’s packer through his boxers. It felt swollen like it was straining to get out. The wolf stroked it as he pushed deeper, encouraging the eager movement of the rabbit’s hips.

Finally he released the rabbit’s ears, and the intense relief from the cruel pain almost had the rabbit cumming on the spot. He thrust his packer harder into the wolf’s paw, grinding his cock and moaning stupidly while the wolf fucked his swollen hole. The wolf’s teeth suddenly clamped around the rabbit’s neck. His hips slammed into the rabbit. He was about to cum. The rabbit came first, moaning like there was no tomorrow, cock throbbing and hole clenching tight around the wolf. The wolf gripped the rabbit’s packer possessively tight all the way through his orgasm. He whined and growled in the rabbit’s ear as he pumped the rabbit full of cum.

You're deep in a serious makeout session, lips locked, arms wrapped around each other, hips pressed tight together, humping each other with mounting urgency. His bulge grinds into your pussy through your clothes and the friction between you hurts just enough to make his cock swell and your cunt ache, leaking. Harder, you moan and beg without knowing what you’re saying. He can feel the lips of your cunt through your clothes, the shape molded into the fabric. He presses against you harder, desperate, driving you crazy.

The two of you strip without thinking until you’re naked from the waist down. No no no, he can’t put it in. You know he can’t, but can't he just rub it against you, just a little, please? He can't resist. He’s nearly salivating as he lays the hot length of himself against the wet lips of your rubbed-raw pussy. His cock feels like it’s getting sucked between your lips, sinking into the valley between them. He moans and thrusts his hips without thinking, sliding his cock through your slickness, and the softness of your insides brushes him back and forth. It’s not enough, god it’s not enough but he can’t stop thrusting, he feels himself catch on your hole but he can’t let himself sink into you, no matter how badly he wants to.

You and your boyfriend were snuggling up together under the covers, getting ready for bed. You waited for him to turn the lamp off, but you felt him grip your arm, and he looked at you with big puppydog eyes.

"Again??" you asked. It was nonstop with him lately.

He glanced away, embarrassed. "Please," he said, "I just really need you right now." His words and the desperate way he said them had your tcock instantly throbbing.

"Don't forget I have to work in the morning…" you grumbled, but you pulled him closer. He responded by fitting his mouth to yours and groaning into your parted lips. He crawled on top of you and fit his hips against yours and rolled his hips to rub your tcocks together through your boxers. You groaned when you felt how hard he was already, he really needed this. Your bodies were pressed so close together, you groaned into each other's mouths and pulled each other closer as hips moved with hips. You whimpered underneath him and your tcock throbbed as he pinned your shoulders to rut against you even harder.

You clumsily stripped each other, unwilling to let each other go but desperate for your cocks to touch. You moaned out loud and gripped the sheets when he fucked his tcock against your hole, slicking himself up and spreading the wetness up to your own aching cock, then bucking his hips and rubbing your cocks together until you were both whining loudly and desperately rutting against each other. It felt so good, your cock was pulsing so hard every time it slid against his, everything was throbbing hard and messy wet. Even though he was the one who begged for this, now you were the one who was getting too close too fast. He heard you gasping, getting louder. He groaned in your ear, desperate, "Good boy, are you gonna cum for me?"

"Please cum with me, please," you begged. You both came so loud and hard for each other. You did your best to muffle your cries of pleasure into each others' shoulders and hoped that the neighbors weren't paying attention. Then you just laid there panting together with both of your brains buzzing and exploded. His body felt so comfortable and heavy lying on top of yours, easily lulling you back into sleep—until you felt the slow thrusting of his hips, and heard his bitten-back groan of exhausted pleasure. His tcock throbbed against yours, making yours respond in kind, making another little whine escape you.

"Can we keep going…" he groaned.

You and your housemates are throwing a party tonight. It started out as just a small thing, but it always goes like this with these kinds of events, word gets out, people bring their friends, friends of friends, and then suddenly the house is way too crowded and loud. You don’t even know half the people here at this point. You and the werewolf—one of your housemates—are standing together in the corner, holding tight to your plastic cups, trying to get out of the way of all the milling bodies. The werewolf is the biggest person in this room, and even he managed to get swept aside. You always find his large awkward presence comforting in these situations. You wonder if he’s noticed how you always seek him out.

Then the front door opens again, and in through the doorway comes the last person in the world you want to see. Your stomach plunges. Who the hell invited him? You take a second to decide if you’re brave enough to stand your ground, and you decide that the answer is no.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say abruptly. You turn and force your way through the crowd, down the hallway and into your room where you slam the door shut. It’s not far enough away. You wish the house had a staircase you could crawl up.

You sit down on the bed and feel your heart pounding uncomfortably with shame and fear. You hate having him here.

There’s a knock at your bedroom door.

“What?” you call out, irritated.

The door opens, and a large furry head pokes itself in. The werewolf steps halfway inside, blocking the half-open door with his large body, and stares at you where you’re sitting on the bed.

“Uh… are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” you say, annoyed and embarrassed.

“Is it that guy who just came in?” he asks.

“Uh…… yeah.” Whatever. You decide to just tell him. “Remember when I told you about that guy, who like… did stuff to me?” You stare down at your fidgeting hands, trying to figure out how to say the rest.

“Yeah…” says the werewolf. “Okay… Stay here.”

Before you can say anything else, he turns and leaves, shutting the door behind him. You get up and go to the door, cracking it back open just enough to hear him over the noise in the other room, saying, “Hey, you need to leave right now.”

You hear the angry reply—“What, man?”—in that stupid, annoying voice.

“Get the fuck out.”

A medium-sized commotion follows, in which you can hear some of your other housemates getting involved, and for a minute you’re afraid there’s going to be a fight. But it sounds like they manage to get him out the door, spitting angry but leaving nonetheless. You would be lying if you said that this didn’t make you feel extremely happy and smug.

You sit back down heavily on the bed and drain the rest of the contents of your red plastic cup. Your housemate pokes his snout back through the crack you left open in the doorway.

“Hey…” he says, leaning around the door jamb. “He’s gone.”

“I heard,” you say, staring down awkwardly at your fingers again. “Um… thank you.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No… Yes. But I need another drink first.”

“Okay,” he says, and then disappears again. He’s gone for a few more minutes, during which time you just sit there staring into space and listening to the babble of the ongoing party. When he comes back he’s carrying a whole unopened six pack.

“Those are supposed to be for the party,” you say, laughing.

“Whatever,” he says, tearing the box open in his claws and handing you a beer. He sinks down to the floor next to the bed, making himself comfortable with his own can. It looks very small in his large paws.

You’re working yourself up to say something when there’s another knock at your door, and one of your other housemates pokes their head in.

“Heyyy…” they say, looking back and forth between the two of you, then settling their eyes on your face. “You good in here?”

“Yeah,” you say, embarrassed to be fussed over.

“We kicked that guy out.”

“I know.”

“Should we throw everyone else out too?”

“No no,” you rush to say. “I’m fine, keep having fun, I’ll just be in here.”

They leave to rejoin the party, shutting the door behind them, and then it’s just the two of you again, sitting in awkward silence with the loud hum of voices in the background.

“I know it’s stupid,” you finally say, “but I feel kinda bad for making you guys kick him out.”

“No way,” says the werewolf. “Fuck that guy. It’s your house.”

The two of you spend the rest of the party talking alone in your room. You go through the whole six pack together. You tell him a lot—too much probably—and you’re pretty happy with yourself because you don’t even cry. The noise of the party continues in the background, fading in and out, breaking into occasional cheers and exclamations as a game gets played, until you can hear it finally starting to wind down out there.

There’s something else you want to tell the werewolf. You might as well, since you’re already oversharing. You’re lying on your back in bed now, staring up at the ceiling, so you don’t even have to look him in the face.

“Is this a weird time to tell you that I have a huge crush on you?”

His large shoulders shake as he laughs. “It’s a little weird.”

“You like me too, don’t you,” you accuse him.

“Yeah,” he admits, still laughing.

You don’t think it’s very funny though. All the breath leaves your body in a heavy sigh. “So what do we do now?” you ask him. “I don’t know how to be intimate with you. It’s hard for me to touched… like that.”

“We don’t have to be ‘intimate’ with each other just because we like each other.”

“But don’t you want to?” you demand.

“Well—yeah,” he says, and you can hear him laughing again.

“Me too,” you say, sighing again. “That’s the problem.” You wish you could laugh with him, but you’re starting to regret all this oversharing. This isn’t a very sexy conversation. You’re suddenly worried that you’re scaring him away.

“Okay,” he says. “Here’s my idea.” When he doesn’t say anything else, you lift your head to look at him. He’s lying down on his back on the floor, spreading his long body out across the carpet. He reaches his arms up over his head, so that his large paws are resting near his ears, out of the way.

“I would just lay here like this,” he says, looking up at you, “and you could do whatever you wanted to me. I’d keep my hands to myself, and I’d do whatever you said, and I wouldn’t move at all unless you told me to. And like, maybe it wouldn’t freak you out so much.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“Like, right now?”

“Oh. Well—” He looks a little taken aback by that, but his eyes hold yours shyly. He doesn’t move from his prone position and his paws stay where they are. “Yeah. If you want.”

You stare at each other for several seconds, him looking up at you from where he’s spread out on the floor, and you looking down at him from up on the bed.

“You’ll do whatever I say?” you ask again.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Okay,” you say, laughing. “How do we, uh… how should we start?”

“However you want,” he says seriously.

“Right. Okay… Can you um, take your shirt off?”

He reaches down to grab the hem of his shirt, and then pulls it up over his head, wriggling out of it, tossing it aside and then placing his paws back on either side of his head—awaiting orders.

“Your pants too,” you blurt out, fighting not to laugh. You’re kind of messing with him. You want to see how far he’ll actually go. But he obediently lifts his hips and slides his pants down over his hips, wiggling out of those too and then kicking them off. He puts his paws back up over his head, in a pose that now seems unintentionally seductive. Almost all of his body is on display for you, all of his long limbs and interesting musculature, all of that short messy fur. Your gaze follows his down to his boxers, the only thing he’s still wearing, and to all of the interesting shapes suggested underneath the fabric.

“Those too,” you say.

He hooks his thumbs under the waistband and slowly slides them off, and then he’s completely naked on your bedroom floor. You can see where his thick fur gets a little lighter and sparser over his lower belly and between his legs, where his testicles and his thick sheath are now visible, with the red tip of his cock just starting to poke out.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say, but your voice is a little wobbly. You’re feeling a lot of pretty intense things right now, in lots of different places. “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he says, almost smiling.

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “Can you, uh…” You can’t help laughing. “Can you feel yourself up a little bit?”

“Seriously?” he asks, laughing with you, a little breathlessly.

“Yeah, like… stroke your chest or something. I don’t know, is that too much?”

“No,” he says. “I’ll do it.”

He slides both of his large paws into the fur over his chest awkwardly, unsure. He gives you a helpless look and then you’re both laughing again.

“I’m gonna do it,” he insists, his voice husky, both of you still laughing. He starts to runs his paws through his fur, slowly stroking up and down his chest and stomach, self-conscious at first, but then you think he starts to get into it, and his breath hitches whenever his fingers graze the small nipples running in pairs up his stomach. Between his legs, his alarmingly red cock is starting to slip farther and farther out of its sheath. You feel mesmerized watching him.

“Is this good?” he asks breathlessly.

“Yeah,” you say. Your voice is rough around the edges. “Can you touch your thighs too.”

He laughs, embarrassed but obeying, sliding his large paws down his stomach and onto his legs. His fingers run slowly back and forth through the light fur on his inner thighs, obediently touching only where you’ve asked him to, even though his cock has slid most of the way out by now, long and thick and dripping. He’s almost teasing himself now, since that’s the most he can do, his breath catching as he runs his fingers along the creases between his thighs and pelvis. And the part that’s driving you the most insane is that he’s looking right at you as he does this, his head tilted towards you and his eyes looking right into yours as he waits for your next instructions.

“Do you want to touch yourself?” you ask, almost whispering now.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Do it.”

You watch enraptures as he teases himself through his sheath first, still watching your face, whining a bit, then shutting his eyes and groaning as he slides his fist around his cock, gently stroking around the base. He gets lost in himself for a little bit, and then his stroking fist slows, his eyes blink open and find yours again, breathing heavy as he watches you.

You have to clear your throat before you can speak. “Are you still okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, and he grins hearing how his own voice sounds, how husky he sounds. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“You’re doing great,” you blurt out, and there’s this giddiness in your voice that has you both laughing again. “Me neither,” you clarify. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, keep, um… stroking it.”

“Okay,” he says, with another snort of laughter. But soon he has himself panting again as he works his fist over his cock, half-lidded eyes looking for yours but then falling shut, losing his focus as he strokes himself, getting himself closer.

“Don’t cum yet though,” you say.

“Fuck,” he says, laughing hoarsely. “I won’t.” His fist slows around his cock, and he whines as he gives it few more long strokes before stopping altogether, panting and staring into your face. You actually feel like you might overheat if you don’t go cool off for a second.

“I wanna go get some water,” you tell him. “Can you wait here?”

“I can wait,” he says.

“Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I won't,” he says, and he makes a show of placing his long arms back up over his head, away from his throbbing red cock.

You slip out of the room, full of nervous energy as you sneak down the hallway to the kitchen. The place is basically empty now, but the evidence of the party is strewn around everywhere in the form of plastic cups, paper plates, pizza crusts, and forgotten jackets. The TV’s still on, and someone is passed out on the couch in front of it. You go into the fridge and pour a glass of water out of the filter. You drink it in one long pull, and then you fill it up again. When you close the fridge door, one of your housemates is standing there, smirking at you from ear to ear. They have clearly guessed what you and the werewolf are getting up to in your bedroom right now.

“Shut up!” you say, even though they didn’t say anything, and you race back to your room, fuming with embarrassment. But once you shut the door behind you, everything outside the room evaporates. There’s still a very large werewolf lying naked and spread out on your floor, with his half-hard cock out and his eyes looking up at you in patient expectation. You feel a twinge of something close to panic. Trying to ignore it, you kneel down next to him and hand him the glass of water. He takes it from your hand, but he doesn’t sit up to drink it.

“You can sit up,” you tell him, embarrassed all over again.

He looks embarrassed too, but he sits up next to you to drink the water. You suddenly feel very small sitting there next to his large body. You really did feel more comfortable with him on his back, that was a good intuition on his part. He thanks you for the water, wiping his muzzle with the back of his hand, and you think with unease about what’s going to happen next. Now that you’ve had a second to clear your head, you don’t think you’re actually ready for this to go any farther. But now that you’ve instigated this, do you have a choice? Will he get mad if you want to stop? Your mind starts spinning itself into anxious circles, but his voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Is it cool if we stop?”

You blink up at him. “Yes of course. Are you okay?”

“Well, yeah, I’m fine…” He looks down at the carpet, looking embarrassed. “It’s not like I’m not, you know, enjoying myself. It’s just that…” He grins sheepishly. “I think we're both pretty drunk.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Do you wanna call it for now and see what we feel like in the morning?”

He looks at you with his big eyes serious, and his warm close presence still feels comforting and safe.

“Yeah,” you say. You look down at your fingers as you take his large paw in your hands. “But I don’t want you to go.”

“Can I sleep here?”

You grin at him. “Carry me to bed?” He grins back and slips his long arms under you and carefully stands, lifting you into the air, both of you laughing. It’s not the first time he’s carried you around like this—he’s very warm, and the touch feels familiar and safe.