ABOUT THIS STORY: This "serial novel" started out as a supernatural murder mystery that I originally intended to publish as a mainstream book that was meant to answer a random question I once asked myself, "If witches gather together in the woods on the nights of full moons to celebrate their sabbats, why don't the werewolves kill them?" That is, until I stupidly didn't back up my work and lost everything I'd written up to that point. The last few years have been feeble attempts to rewrite the story as it was, only to find myself bored with the task and ditching the whole idea. Here, I've decided to reimagine the story in its entirety, including sex scenes not previously included, and explore my own bisexual nature through a supernatural lens.
WARNING: This story is a horror story and does contain references to murder and graphic scenes of violence, bullying and forced sexual encounters of non-minors. If you are sensitive to such subjects, or are morally opposed to such content, please do not read this story. Nifty has a large library of other stories you might better enjoy. Also, due to the nature of the story, not all chapters will include sexual activity, only when such scenes fit into the narrative will sex/ intimacy be included.
I will publish each chapter as I finish it, so please be patient. It's plotted out to be a long story containing many chapters I have yet to write, and I am writing other stories simultaneously.
A CIRCLE OF WOLVES Chapter One: Old Friends
I lay on my belly on the ancient oriental rug that nearly completely covered Bethany's bedroom floor, closely examining the art of a Batman comic book I had just finished reading. Having a natural talent for art (specifically drawing) I was always studying the art of others, learning by example, often copying their use of lines and shading techniques for practice. Comic book art was of particular interest for its stylized use of line and color.
Glancing up, I watched my girlfriend, Bethany, hunched over a glass of water, her long, curly black hair falling around her face like a thick veil. At the bottom of the glass was a needle she dropped in about a half an hour earlier, a needle she was trying to move with the power of her mind. It was an exercise she read about in one of her many books on witchcraft, one of a countless number of exercises she'd tried in the past few years in an attempt at gaining magic powers. Considering myself a man of science, I scoffed at the whole notion of magic, but kept my views to myself out of respect for our relationship, and, to be honest, to not cut off the sole source of my receiving the occasional blow job.
While we were sexually active in every other possible way, we had not had actually fucked. I did once sort of fuck her, sliding my lubed cock up and down her labia, stroking her clit in the process. It was awkward, and I was constantly fighting the urge to just "accidentally" slip my cock inside, but I restrained myself to only what she would allow. In the end, we both got off- and without the possibility of any unwanted rug rats becoming the result of the desires we had for each other that always found ourselves naked.
Bethany was openminded about sexual experimentation, a fact I did not fully realize until the tomboy I knew as my childhood friend expressed her love for me when we were fourteen. In those early days, I was battling with my sexuality, aware of an attraction for other guys I was pretty sure the guys at my school did not share. Her nearly insatiable interest in sex kept my mind on pussy (specifically hers) and my balls drained.
In the beginning, she insisted we start masturbating together. First, while we watched each other, then doing it for the other. It wasn't long after she began employing oral and I found myself following her instructions of how to eat her pussy the way she liked it. In time, I got creative and began experimenting with different moves, like a musician composing variations on a theme. It never really went beyond oral and masturbation, because neither of us wanted to be teen parents. Sometimes I'd just get my blow job and be sent home without any expectation of reciprocation. You know you've lucked into finding the right girl when she loves sucking your cock nearly as much as you love getting head.
"God damn it!" she hissed, raising and twisting her head to stretch the kink out of her neck, "This is useless. I'm never going to be able to do this."
"Not with that attitude," I teased her, the best I could do to stop myself from howling with laughter at the absurdity of the subject. Despite my firm belief that the whole premise of witchcraft was born from superstitious bullshit, I continued to be a source of encouragement to my best friend/girlfriend. And did I mention she sucks me off? No way I'm going to do or say anything to fuck that up.
"Maybe you should try it," she suggested with a wicked smile I was all too familiar with. Ever since we were kids, she was always getting us into trouble, or challenging me to do something I otherwise knew better about, and always employing that same smile. She was always the boss, always the leader, and I was always following her lead like a stray puppy, which is how I earned her nickname for me.
"Oh, no!" I protested, "You're not dragging me into your Devil worship."
"Please, Puppy," she pouted, "I'll make it worth your while."
God damn mother fucking bitch! As much as I was willing to do to feel her plump lips wrapped around my cock, she used that weakness against me with equal success. Rolling my eyes and closing the comic, I pushed myself up on my knees and crawled to her, sitting cross-legged in front of her, the glass of water between us.
"What do I do?" I sighed with defeat, accepting my place at the bottom of the sexual food chain.
"It's pretty simple, really. You just will the needle to move."
"Oh, when you put it like that..."
"The water is supposed to lend some buoyancy to the needle, making it easier to move. That's the theory, anyway."
"Theory?" I asked incredulously, the logic-based centers of my mind screaming for me to put an end to this immediately, but my dick told my brain to shut the fuck up, "Okay, let's test this "theory' of yours."
I considered the needle, lying at a slight angle against the side of the glass, then focused on the water. Buoyancy. I focused on the water thickening around the needle, then rejecting it as if it were a foreign object in the body. The needle shifted slightly, and Bethany sucked in a sound of surprise that I barely acknowledged. My mind was focused with pinpoint precision on the needle now, lifting it until it stood upright.
"Oh, my god," she breathed with barely a whisper.
The room went silent, even the muffled sound of someone mowing his lawn from outside her bay window died away. The room grew dark as my focused narrowed and my surroundings slipped away. The needle slid upward through the water with ease, piercing the barrier of the air and came to a stop, balanced precariously on its point on the surface of the water.
"Holy FUCK!" she exclaimed excitedly, slapping me on the arm playfully. All of a sudden, I was back in her room, the sound of a lawnmower buzzing in the distance beyond the window, and the needle was lying at the bottom of the glass. "I can't believe you did it!" she was giddy to the point of hysterics. I felt woozy, the way I did when I drank one of the beers Bethany stole from her father when we were ten, complete with the mild dizziness and nausea. "Oh my God, are you okay?"
I looked at her, her emerald green eyes seemed to sparkle, her creamy porcelain complexion was almost translucent, and I could see the blue highlights in her hair, even in the dim light of her room. The black painted walls of the room seemed somehow empty, like they weren't really there, only illusions I could see into, but not through to what was on the other side. My skin seemed to vibrate, feeling a little clammy.
"I'm fine," I protested as she helped me to my feet. The world moved around me, just a little off kilter, and I sucked in a deep, steady breath to keep from puking. Then it was all righted and everything was back to normal. "That was weird."
"I imagine it was," she laughed, "You just discovered you're a witch!"
"I am not! There's no such thing as witches," I yelled at her, "And don't you mean warlock? I shouldn't have to point this out, but I am a man."
"Both men and women are called witches in the Craft," she informed me snootily, "Warlocks are oath breakers, liars and thieves. Only Hollywood calls male witches warlocks. And I have never thought of you, nor treated you as anything but a man. My man! She moved in and loosely wrapped her arms around my waist, kissing my chin. (At six foot two, I towered over her by a good six inches. I was as tall and lanky as she was beautiful and curvy. Most of the guys in our school were completely perplexed about her interest in me, including myself. "Now, take off your clothes."
I pulled off my shirt without thinking about it, always obedient to her every word. I watched as she slipped the black and gray sundress above her head, becoming completely nude with one clean motion. I knew she wasn't wearing a bra because I saw her slip out of that as soon as we entered her house. She hated wearing them and only wore one when she felt it was absolutely necessary- like at school, or church- but I was surprised to see she wasn't wearing panties either. When had she taken those off? Had she got lucky and hooked up with someone at school? I felt a twinge of jealousy, but decided it was unfair to accuse her of cheating just because she wasn't wearing underwear. I shucked out of my pants and underwear at once, my hard cock bouncing up and outward at full staff.
"Wow, you look ready." She giggled, softly stroking her favorite part of me. I was sporting a thick eight inches, and she insisted it was a big cock, pleading that I didn't get any bigger when I hit that mark at sixteen.
"He knows what's coming."
"He thinks he knows," she corrected me, producing one of her father's ties, "I'm going to blindfold you."
"I'm not getting tied to the bed and having my balls spanked or anything like that," I protested.
"Nothing like that," she laughed as she tied the tie across my eyes, "I read that the loss of one sense heightens the others. I want to experiment with that hypothesis."
"Okay," I sighed, knowing full well she was using my own language against me. She was up to something (she always was) but as long as I didn't involve being physically tortured or humiliated in any way, I was down to try something new. "I'll do it for science."
"That's a good Puppy," she cooed, leading me to the bed and settling me into place.
I lay on the bed, my cock throbbing in the air waiting for her to join me. I wondered if she was getting Bruno, the dildo she took my virginity with, out to fuck me. The thought made me smile.
The feel of the bed shifting announced her presence. The feeling of her long, black painted fingernails running up my inner thigh caused me to flinch with delight. Up the thigh, softly grazing the skin like a stone feather, she made her way to my ball sack, then up the shaft of my prick. There was a pause before she started licking my boner from the base to the tip and engulfing the swollen head in her mouth, lips sliding down the remnants of my foreskin. A gasp escaped my lips.
Ordinarily a skilled cock sucker who could get me off in short order, she employed her softer, teasing technique, the way she normally did when we sixty-nined to prevent me from cumming before she did. It was a sloppy blowjob I both hated and loved. The way she excruciatingly made the pleasure draw out for what seemed like forever was wonderful, but also frustrating. In no time my breathing grew heavy, my body twitching as I fought against the instinct to fuck her mouth and have my climax.
Occasionally, she'd pull her lips from my dick to lick and suck on my hairy balls, giving me a sense of tickling pleasure and terrified comfort as she rolled my testes around in her mouth. Then she returned to teasing my cock further.
Sometime into my wonderful, excruciating, frustrating long blowjob, her lips parted from their work and I felt the bed move again. I rationalized she was changing her position, and I soon realized how right I was as I felt her knee brush my outer thigh before I felt a tight, warm softness envelop my cock. It was a different sensation, while similar to the feeling of her mouth. But it felt so much better than the sloppy, wet blowjob I was being tormented with. As the warm softness slipped down my shaft, I heard her moan with pleasure. This was definitely not a new blowjob technique I wasn't familiar with. This was her pussy!
My first thought was to protest and throw her off me, but that tight, soft warmth began milking my cock in the most exquisite way, a pleasure foreign to me. Instead, I just lay there and let her have her way with me, silently enjoying every stroke.
"Oh, fuck, you're so big," she barely managed to say, her voice little more than a breathy sound I had not heard before. "Oh, God, you're going to make me cum."
As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I loved making her cum even more than having my own orgasm. Her orgasms weren't like mine, and there was something about watching her squirm and pant that brought me a sick sense of dominance I otherwise never felt when we were together. She was always the boss, and I was just her little puppy following her every little whim.
"Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed as she began riding my cock hard, driving it into her deeper, harder. My own orgasm was rising, and I knew I wouldn't be able to hold off much longer. She screamed, deep and guttural, as I felt her body began to tremble, her hands sliding between her legs, fingernails stabbing at the base of my dick. I moved to pull her against me, her large breasts pressing against my chest, my cock nearly sliding out of her. As she gasped and gulped for air, her pussy pulsed around my dick, another new, sweet sensation.
I held her to me, my arms wrapped around her until she caught her breath. Readjusting my hips beneath her, I thrust my cock into her wet pussy. Her body rose slightly from mine, but I pulled her back into my arms, holding her tightly against me. My orgasm had subsided, edged to the precipice, then pulled back into the soft, warm valley of despair. Again, I trust upward, driving my cock deep into her warm delights, relishing my being in control of her, if only briefly.
"Yes," she moaned, "Please fuck me." With her permission, I began fucking her with slow, long strokes. My overstimulated cock quickly returning to a state of pleasure I knew I shouldn't enjoy but couldn't resist.
"You want this big dick inside you?" I asked with a sudden, hard thrust.
"Always," she moaned. Her breath caught a growl that I only heard when she sang while playing her guitar. It was an expression of heartache I was all too familiar with, and it broke my heart that it rose from her passion for me.
I rolled her onto her back, gripping her wrists and pinning them to the bed. With deep, thrusts that nearly kept the full eight inches of my rock hard manhood buried deep inside her, I fucked her like I hated her. Part of me did, for the way she kept me on a short leash and expected me to follow her like a tame animal, but my love for the many ways she made me feel like I had a purpose and made my life complete outweighed any resentment I had for her emasculating me every chance she got.
I fucked her hard, with deep thrusts, delighted with finally getting inside her, blindly feeling her labia stretch around my shaft, pushing and pulling with my thrusts, listening to the sloshing sounds her wet pussy made as I fucked her until I could stand it no longer and started cumming, shooting my load into her wet, accepting depths. It wasn't until after I collapsed into her embrace that I realized what I had done.
"Oh, FUCK!" I yelled, attempting to pull myself of and out of her.
"No, Puppy," she hushed me quietly, "It's okay."
"What if you get pregnant?" I asked, pulling the tie from my eyes to look down at her.
"It doesn't matter, Jesse," she said seriously, "I've already decided who the father of my future children will be. Besides, we're almost out of high school, both eighteen, and both in love. We'll figure it out.
I didn't want to figure it out. My mother was a single mother until she met and married my stepfather. I was young, but not so young that I didn't know how she struggled to support us. Even though I was as certain as she was that we were meant to be together, I didn't want to bring a baby into the world without a means of supporting it, and I thought she was on the same page.
"I'm not ready to be a father," I told her firmly, breaking free of her hold and rolling over next to her.
"I know," she smiled, "But getting upset about what has already happened isn't going to change anything. Besides, I talked Mom into getting birth control to for me."
"You should have led with that," I said happily, snuggling in next to her to toy with her hard nipple, "You wanna go for round two?"
She laughed and sat up, reaching for the pack of smokes she kept in her bedside table drawer. I watched her, then pulled myself up to lean against the pillow and the headboard, preparing to share a smoke with her. That's when I saw him standing there.
He stood at the foot of the bed with skin so sickeningly pale it rivaled the whitest parts of my naturally pale body, with the exception of his feet, which were as black as pitch, as if he'd just strolled through the ashes of Hell. The long bangs of his platinum blonde hair completely obscured his eyes, and a thick mass of twisting stitches formed a broad ear-to-ear smile where his mouth should be. The dingy graying tan suit he was wearing was ragged and torn, fitting loosely on the frame of what I guessed to be that of a twelve or thirteen year old boy. My recognition of the sight of this apparition frightened me, and I screamed.
Bethany turned to look at me like I had just lost my mind, then followed the direction of my eyes before looking back at me.
"Are you okay?" she asked with concern in her voice.
"You don't see him?" I asked, pointing at the boy at the foot of the bed, even as I suddenly recognized him as Crow, my childhood imaginary friend.
"See who?" she asked, getting up and dragging the rumpled top sheet to cover her body to conceal it from the prying eyes of the peeping Tom she couldn't see.
"Crow," I said with a sigh. Bethany knew me back in the days when he was an ever-present companion to me, and by association, to her as well.
"Your imaginary friend?" she asked with surprise, "I thought you stopped seeing him when you were thirteen."
"I did!" I nearly yelled at her, stressed by what I was seeing now, uncertain of why I was seeing him again.
I'm not imaginary, he signed to me, his only method of communication without a mouth. How I understood his hand gestures was a mystery, as I couldn't understand American Sign Language. It's as if it was his own special language.
"If you didn't like fucking me, just say so, Jesse," Bethany screamed hysterically at me, "You don't have to pretend to be hallucinating bullshit to get out of doing it again."
"Stop being stupid!" I yelled back at her, "I loved fucking you! This has nothing to do with that."
I'm not a hallucination, Crow signed silently.
I got out of bed and moved quickly to her, taking her into my arms, holding her naked body next to mine. She resisted at first, but gave in and held me to her.
"I don't know what's happening," I whispered to her, "But it has absolutely nothing to do with you giving me the greatest orgasm of life."
I looked back at Crow. He was still there.
You need to go home, he signed.
"Why?" I asked him.
"Why what?" Bethany asked me, pulling back to look up at me.
"He says I need to go home," I answered her.
Something terrible has happened, he signed, pointing urgently to the bedroom door. Despite my better judgement, I let go of Bethany and started pulling my jeans back on, not bothering with my underwear.
"I'm going with you," Bethany told me firmly, gathering her dress from the floor and pulling it over her head. I was pulling on my shirt and heading out when I stopped to hold the door open for her. There was no point in arguing with her. There was no way of telling her no. Crow's sudden disappearance didn't escape my attention, but it didn't matter. I somehow knew I had to listen to him, even though it made absolutely no sense.
We ran as fast as we could down the street to the old ranch styled house I shared with my mother and stepfather. My stepfather was in Louisiana bidding on a contract for the construction company he owned, but Mom was at home. She was a stay at home mom and author, writing a series of young adult novels about the adventures of a teenaged witch and her werewolf boyfriend that I had never bothered to read. I didn't need to. She was forever talking about the direction of the story while she cooked breakfast in the morning. Seth and I just looked at each other and smiled in amusement.
We entered through the garage door, as usual. The front door led directly into what would have been the living room in any other house, but was converted into an office for Mom to write in, barring Seth and I from ever entering without permission. There was a den off the garage that we used for watching TV and erecting the Christmas tree.
Mom's tea kettle was on the stove screaming for attention when I entered. Bethany turned off the burner and poured the boiling water into the tea-stained coffee mug that proclaimed my mother as the greatest mother in the world.
"Mom?" I called out.
No answer.
"I have your tea!"
Still no answer.
I headed deeper into the house, passing through the kitchen and dining room into the hallway that connected the other rooms in the house together. It was in the dining room that I smelled a strange coppery scent I was unfamiliar with. Rounding the door to Mom's office, I found the source of the weird scent.
The room was completely torn apart, everything, including Mom's heavy antique desk was turned over, loose paper had been scattered about, and one shadeless lamp rested against the side of the toppled filing cabinet, casting a glaring light on the blood soaked carpet and the Jackson Pollock knock off of blood spray and cast off.
Body parts littered the room, and I just stood there, not quite certain about what I was looking at until I saw the grotesque expression marring my mothers face staring up at me from her decapitated head. I only barely heard Bethany scream before everything began to spin and my vision faded into darkness.