Tenderness of Wolves

THE TENDERNESS OF WOLVES

The following story contains sex acts between male teenagers where consent is somewhat ambiguous. While these situations can be really hot in a fantasy, they'd be absolutely dreadful in real life. This story is only a fantasy, and it's not meant to be taken seriously, or to be condoning the idea of forcing people to have sex. If such stories are not legal in your locale, well... you know what you're supposed to do.

It's a werewolf story. People get killed. Flesh is eaten. If you don't like horror mixed in with your smut, go read Playgirl. If the idea of something primal and savage like a werewolf gets your juices flowing though... Read on. ;)

The Tenderness of Wolves is an awesome musical piece by Coil. This is where the title comes from.

Feedback and encouragement is welcome and appreciated. You can get a hold of me at queer_tribes@yahoo.ca.

Have fun! :)

CHAPTER 3 -- Conrad

Scent alone could tell Connie that a morbid pall had befallen the school. Marco Williams, Terry Hartigan, and Max Ballantine were loved by many. The Wolves had struck close to home. Conrad made a special effort to appear less nonchalant than usual. After yesterday's fun, it was better to refrain from shocking the mourning. There was enough rumors about him already, and he saw little need to excite the crowds further. He was already taking enough of a risk by trusting Jules Rodrigue with their dirty little secret.

Mrs. Mortimer was droning about French verb tenses. She did her best to sound chipper, but her efforts fell flat. Students paid little heed to her; many were doodling, others were texting discreetly, phones hidden under their desks. Conrad could smell the bad cologne that Mitchell White had put on this morning; maybe he hoped it would open a female's legs for him, or at least distract people from his zits. The teacher's cheap perfume teased his nostrils; she put it on every day, out of habit -- there was no passion behind it, no secret desire to arouse male attention, just rote routine. There were a lot of subtle body odors: adolescent sweat buried under deodorant, unwashed cum from chronic masturbators, sweet pussy juices clinging to the human girls who had made out with their beaus this morning. Someone had farted, and it hung in the air, thankfully at an appreciable distance from the werewolf boy. But behind it all lingered the scent of quiet terror.

The young humans had been reminded that death could swoop down and take them at anytime, and that I would come from a beast hidden among their very midst. Conrad gave thanks everyday that he was spared from knowing that fear, that he was the hunter rather than the hunted.

He was doing his best to ignore his cock. Whenever he shifted position in his uncomfortable plastic chair, his dick rubbed ever so slightly against the fabric of his black jeans, and it made him horny - again. The hypersensitivity of his tool was driving him crazy at times. He knew it was the heightened senses with which Wolves were blessed that caused it, but Catherine liked to tease him by saying it was just him being a normal teenager. He had fucked her good and hard after she'd said it again this morning; the residue of her cunt juices still caked his cock. When it came to fucking, Connie could give as well as he could take, and Cat most certainly appreciated it, especially considering his was the only natural cock in his new pack. He was glad Cat, Chad and him were fucking -- it did help bring them closer. It was so difficult for them to trust him, and he couldn't blame them -- he wouldn't trust himself either.

He sighed. Chad had gotten angry when he had told him about the three humans he had murdered. He'd made his tight face of his that he puts on when he's pissed off. "Too close to the school", he had said. "Don't kill near your den." Then Conrad had told him about Jules. It had been difficult; he'd had to push himself not to lie. You mustn't lie to the pack. Chad berated him, insulted him. "Are you fucking stupid?! He knows who you are, what you are, and you let him go?!" Something had snapped in Connie. "It's my fucking life! You're not the boss of me!" He'd done it -- Chad had changed all the way, his muscles expanding and bursting through his clothes, his nostril flaring with barely contained anger. Even Cat had pulled back, realizing this was a fight in which she wanted no part. The still focus of danger had fallen on Connie. He had almost changed himself. He could take Chad. He could take anyone.

Instead, he had bowed his head down in submission. "I'm sorry, Chad."

Chad had snorted and changed back to his human form. He'd then stormed off to his room, naked, leaving Connie with Cat. She had been nicer about the whole thing. Truth be told, she did enjoy flirting with danger, and she occasionally entertained human lovers who were aware of her nature. These flings rarely lasted long, and few of these humans had a good track record of staying alive. "I can't blame you for keeping a chew toy", she had said, "but you should stay away from humans who know too much about you." She had plopped down on their old couch. "Should we trust your judgment?"

"I know what I'm doing", Conrad had replied.

She had shaken her head.

"You're such a pup. Sit down, come watch some Doctor Who."

The school bell rang. It was not an actual bell, but an electronic chime that hummed the ancient, iconic five-note tune from Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Da-dee-duh-doo-daaah. Conrad doubted most of the students had ever even heard of Spielberg's old flick. Ignorance had a knack for disappointing him. He stood up calmly, while the human kids rushed out of the class. He took his earphones out, put them on his ears, and pressed play on his worn-out MP3 player. Febrile bass sounds strummed against his eardrums. He walked out. The school hallways were awash with adolescent apes, heading towards the cafeteria for lunch. The scents weaved an intricate tapestry, and Conrad could tell that the sentiment of freedom that accompanied lunch hour had subdued the previous moodiness that haunted the school grounds -- at least for a while. The lives of the human teenagers around him saddened Conrad somewhat. The world was such a big place, yet these people's

universe felt so tiny. They did what they were told. Many resented it, many fantasized about the day they would leave. A few disobeyed, although their transgressions were almost invariably insignificant: skipping class, throwing a fit at a teacher, shoplifting, getting drunk, smoking dope, picking the occasional fist-fight -- kid stuff, really. Violent Femmes hummed in Conrad's head, the ugly singer reminiscing about a girl he had hated more than any other girl in the world. School bored Connie, but at least his presence here was his decision.

He entered the cafeteria and wrinkled his nose. Fish. Not a hearty tuna steak nor a mouth-watering slice of smoked salmon. It was cheap, overcooked sole filet. Thankfully, he had packed a lunch, a decadent roast beef sandwich -- a monster of a thing trapped inside a sliced-up crusty baguette, seasoned with horseradish and onions. He would not lower himself to eating cafeteria chow; his dignity as a predator demanded it. He spotted the two guys with whom he usually hung out, Joey and Frederic, standing in line waiting to be served. He waved at them, and they waved back. He motioned towards a table, and they nodded back. He headed there and sat down, then searched his backpack for his lunch. He was hungry.

Joey and Fred had decent taste in music, and they were fun, in a harmless, PG-13 sort of way. They smoked weed and cigarettes, talked about sex a lot (way more than they had it), and Fred could get a good laugh out of Conrad. Joey was actually quite well-read, and Connie enjoyed discussing politics and anarchist philosophy with him. Both boys were human; neither suspected his predatory true nature, and he had no intention of revealing it to them. They were a convenient cover, a pretense of a social life in school. Conrad did feel a genuine fondness for them, but it was a detached sentiment, akin to the affection one might experience for a plant you water everyday, or for a video game that kept you entertained on rainy days. Joey and Fred were aware of his homosexual inclinations and didn't mind. Conrad had actually sucked Fred off on occasion. The young man was straight, smelled straight, but he apparently enjoyed blowjobs more than he cared about the

sanctity of his heterosexuality. As for Joey, his looks were a bit too peculiar for Connie's taste, and he'd never done anything sexual with him. He could smell a horndog hiding under the dorky facade though, and he felt a bit sorry that the human boy didn't have some pussy in which to bury his dick. Joey had actually met Cat and Chad once (Conrad had introduced Catherine as her cousin, and Chad as her boyfriend), and Connie had considered asking Cat to fuck the poor virgin. Cat had a habit of breaking her toys though, and in the end, he would be sad to see Joey hurt (or Fred for that matter), so he'd let it be.

Conrad had had a couple of bites from his sandwich by the time his two companions sat down next to him. He made a face when he smelled the fish.

"Guys, anything that smells like that hasn't seen the sea in a long time."

"Wanna trade?", asked Fred. "Your sandwich looks awesome, man."

"Over my dead body. The only fish I eat is pussy."

Fred snorted through his grape juice.

"Man, like you're the expert. Pussy that tastes like fish hasn't seen the sea in a long time either."

"Sea?", asked Joey, his eyes never leaving his busy work on the plate. "Work on that one, Fred."

"You know... Sea, water, bath, washing. It all made sense in my head."

"I'm glad I'm not in your head."

"Maybe you'd be getting more pussy if you were."

Conrad peered behind Fred, who was sitting across him. He had just spotted Jules, on the other side of the cafeteria. The Haitian was sitting with his younger brother -- what was his name? He squinted, trying to remember.

"Man, you're making funny faces", said Fred.

"What's Jules Rodrigue's brother called?"

"Jacob", replied Joey. "He's an eight-grader. That's a bit young for you, isn't it?"

Connie smiled, and took a sip from the bottle of red Powerade he'd stashed with his sandwich. To be honest, the younger brother had gotten a better deal than Jules in the looks department, and he knew how to cultivate them better. He was growing dreadlocks that gave him an easygoing charm, and the young human obviously worked out -- his biceps bulged whenever he flexed his arms. He was a chick magnet: he sold weed in the park nearby, and was almost always in female company when he did. He wore some dreadful gangsta clothes, however, although he didn't flag a gang. Still, he was a looker. Conrad wondered if the boy put out at his age.

"You know what they say: if there's grass on the field, play ball", teased Conrad.

"Man, that's sick. He's like 13", chuckled Fred.

"Anyway, I'm more into the older brother."

"You dig Jules Rodrigue? He's such a fucking nerd", said Joey.

"Like you're better. He's a lot less goofy-looking than you."

Joey shut up, and Conrad picked up whiff of self-consciousness from him. He was understandably sensitive about his looks, being the forever-alone type. Connie cared little for human egos, and he didn't feel like apologizing. The three of them always picked on each other anyway.

His eyes hadn't left Jules. He was chatting with his younger sibling while nibbling on a sandwich. Jules kept his shoulders hunched, and spoke quietly. His brother seemed more agitated, perhaps even a bit angry. Connie wished for a moment that he could shift to the feral form to eavesdrop on their conversation; the more animalistic humanoid form granted excellent hearing. It would stir quite a commotion in the cafeteria though, to say the least. Conrad wondered at times how the other students would react if he ever shifted all the way to the bestial form right here, right now. He had never been seen by a large crowd in the monstrous werewolf form, and he was curious about the extent of a panic that a single Wolf could cause. It would be a howl.

Suddenly, Jules raised his head and noticed him. They locked eyes for a moment. Although the Haitian boy was doing a good job at maintaining his composure, something in his gaze wavered. Conrad gave him his wickedest smile. Jules looked away, seemingly bringing his attention back to his brother.

Jules Rodrigue... He had been curious about the boy for a while. School did little to keep Conrad truly busy -- he knew a lot of the stuff already -- so he spent a lot of time human-watching. That sort of observation took on a whole different meaning when you were a Wolf. Wolves' greatest asset as hunters of humans were their ability to mingle unnoticed with their prey. Paying close attention to a group of humans and noticing the way they interacted was important to hunting, but also to a werewolf's safety. It was all about noticing who was well-liked, who gravitated around whom, and who was left out. Humans were ruthless when it came to their outcast. Wolves used that to their advantage, but also needed to take care not to end up themselves in the position of the outsider. Truth be told, Conrad took risks with the big punk look, but it did also attract friends, other marginals who had things in common. People like Jules Rodrigue, however, who were

clumsy when it came to fostering friendships, were another story.

So it was almost his natural instincts as a predator that had led Connie to notice the quiet, nerdy boy. He didn't have much in the way of friends, besides his brother. Other students had a lot of vicious fun at his expense. It seemed like a faceless, arbitrary form of bullying, one boy performing a cruel jest, a different one pulling a disheartening prank. Sometimes a girl would mock flirting with Jules just to humiliate him. It was terrible, really. The Haitian boy did his best to feign indifference, to remain stoic in the face of these attacks. Yet it did not take a Wolf to notice how each stroke of the knife left a cut, how it inexorably whittled away at his resilience. Most Wolves would have seen an easy picking in Jules: engage, befriend, betray, eat. Instead, Conrad saw wasted potential, and that angered him.

Jules was intelligent. He excelled in class. Despite his inability to stop the relentless harassment that he faced, he always gave the impression of being on to people. He did not take anything at face value and could ask clever questions. But it seemed like the people surrounding him were well intent on making sure that he'd never flower and thrive. Connie remembered his days of being human. He too had had to fend against a hostile environment, like a vivacious weed that kept growing back despite being constantly pulled out of the ground, but which was never allowed to grow fully. It had hurt, and he still carried the memories with him. The Change had freed him of much of that pain -- Wolves entertained a quiet serenity about many of their hardships -- but he could not pretend that seeing it done to others did not bother him. It did, and he could not stop wondering what sort of being Jules Rodrigue could become with the right... guidance.

Yet his feelings towards Jules had been merely a vague sense of injustice and a sort of curiosity, nothing strong enough to prompt Conrad to actually get involved in the human's life. But yesterday, he had overheard Williams and his cronies talk about how they were going to do Jules in after school. Beat the fag, show him his proper place. Ice-cold focus had poured into Conrad's mind when he'd heard those words. With a quiet resolve, he had known what he would do. He would keep close tabs on the would-be attackers. If they ever crossed the line, he would give them a taste of the powerlessness and fear they hoped to visit on Jules -- he would murder them and refuse to show the slightest hint of mercy. Less then an hour later, the human boys had sealed their own fate by stalking Jules and ambushing him in the Girard alley on his way home.

Snatching Jules in the aftermath of the attack had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Cops were coming; someone had probably seen the attack and called 911. Jules would have had a hard time to explain why a werewolf had just slaughtered three people and left him alone, so Conrad had chosen to spare him the trouble. Also, the smell of the terrified, frantic teenager had aroused him deeply. He had wanted to play, and taking the things he had taken from Jules had been delicious. He could tell that the instinctive, sexual part of the black boy's brain had wanted it too; to Hell with however Jules' rational mind would cope with the experience later. It's the animal that he wanted to feed within Jules -- not the puny human reason that never ceased to limit itself.

Connie stirred in his chair to accommodate his growing erection. He was remembering the taste of the thick, dark cock he had sucked along with the sweet arousal that had kept seeping from it. He longed for it again.

"Man, you totally are staring at him. People will notice."

Connie breathed in quietly, struggling to bring his instincts in check. Part of him wanted to grab a hold of Jules, rip his pants down, and show the whole school in what manner the Haitian boy's cock deserved to be serviced. He hungered for them to see how Jules Rodrigue was superior to most of them, and why he would thus have every single one of his sexual desires thoroughly met, no matter how shocked or disgusted it would leave the meek human audience. He could do it, right here, right now, and no one would have the power to stop him. Maybe he could even maul a pretty boy, and offer Jules to partake in the succulent flesh along with him. All Conrad had to do was to shift in the mighty bestial form, stand tall, let nature run its course.

Instead, he gave a chuckle and took a bite from his sandwich, savoring the juicy meat. He shuddered.

"Like I fucking care if they notice", he mumbled, chewing. "Let them talk. That's all they do anyway, talk and gossip all day."

"Fuck them", agreed Joey. "You want him, at least you should be able to get an eyeful."

Connie glanced sideways, sizing up his companion. It was a bold statement, coming from Joey; the boy could be a bit tame.

"I'll make sure to let you know if I ever catch a girl wetting her panties looking at you like that, Joe."

A slight, reddish hue flushed the teenager's cheeks. Connie caught a faint aroma of longing. Poor Joey -- girls never looked at him like that, Conrad was quite certain of it.

Fred stirred in his seat.

"You guys think the Were was somebody from school? The one who did it for Williams, Hartigan, and the other guy?"

He had blurted that out all of a sudden, in a hushed voice. He darted his eyes around, as if he feared his words might call forth the terrifying beast. Maybe he was just concerned someone else would catch him partaking in school gossip. Fred liked to think of himself as being above that, although Conrad and Joey both knew well that he wasn't.

Connie shrugged.

"I'll bet you it's Mrs. Mortimer. She killed them because Hartigan couldn't read for squat, Ballantine always texted dirty jokes in class, and Williams wouldn't pound her pussy because she's too old, even though he'll fuck any girl in school that'll spread her legs for him. And she always douses herself in perfume to make sure she doesn't smell like a wet dog."

Fred howled in laughter. Even Joey gave an amused snort.

"Con, I'll never look at her the same way again. What has been heard cannot be unheard."

"You'd better do your homework from now on, Joe!", roared Fred. "Or Mrs. Mortimer will eat you."

Conrad snickered. Joke about who's the werewolf, and people won't think twice that it might be you.

"I gotta go", said Joey. "I have a math exam this afternoon, and I need to reread my notes."

"Boohoo. Boring Joey", complained Fred. "No wonder he can't get his dick wet. Always studying."

"Some of us have ambition, Fred."

"See ya later, Joe", said Conrad.

Joey picked up his books, nodded, and left. Fred sat there in silence, picking at the rest of his plate. Eating the pale fish seemed to demand a fair amount of abnegation. After a moment, he spoke.

"Man, you want to come to my place after school?"

Conrad didn't answer. His nose was having no difficulty picking up the horniness exuding from Fred.

"My parents won't be home", added Fred.

It was codeword for Fred wants a blowjob. Connie recalled their past encounters -- Fred lying on his bed, his pants down, his pencil dick thrusting his way to orgasm between Conrad's expert lips. He was fun to suck, a randy boy who was unafraid to lose himself in pleasure. He kept a chocker chain tied to his bed post; he would always grab a hold of it and wrap it around his hand when he blew his load in Connie's hospitable mouth. Conrad had always wondered if he did the same when he jerked off by himself. Fred would be a happy boy if he ever found himself a kinky girlfriend.

Connie glanced over Fred's shoulder, checking out on Jules. His brother had left. The teenager sat alone, eating his food in silence. He would steal an occasional, nervous look in the werewolf's direction. The Haitian boy seemed to fidget a bit in place.

"I don't know, Fred. I have homework to do."

He picked up the last of his Powerade and took a swig.

"We can do homework together."

Annoyance crept on Conrad. Fred's insistence gave off a hint of pathetic desperation. Werewolves didn't dig "pathetic".

"It's not homework you want to do, Fred. Some other time."

Conrad wasn't even looking at his companion. His attention was once again focused on Jules Rodrigue. The human boy had noticed and struggled to ignore it.

"I'm... I have to study too", said Fred.

Connie nodded, keeping his eyes on Jules. Fred stood up in silence and left, leaving a scent of disappointment behind him.

Minutes went by. Conrad pulled a book from his bag -- Dhalgren, by Samuel R. Delany -- and delved into it. It was a difficult read. Connie loved difficult reads. He could go crazy if his neurons didn't get enough stimulation, and high school offered little of that. The protagonist of the story, Kid, was unwittingly becoming the leader of a street gang that haunted an abandoned megalopolis, which had been struck by unknown calamity. At this point in the storyline, Kid had a cute runaway boy giving him head. Connie liked that.

Barely contained fear. Trepidation. Buried desire. A deep, musky aroma in which Conrad had buried his nose the day before. Conrad took his eyes away from the book. Jules Rodrigue was standing in front of him. The boy tried so hard to look brave. He held Conrad's terrible gaze. Blood made its way to Connie's member; it was swelling, trapped by his jeans along the length of his leg. The werewolf realized that he wanted to break that boy. He wanted to hear him beg and plead. He wanted to make the young man face his own naked lust, to take away his defenses against it, to force him to acknowledge that he was nothing more than an animal in heat. He longed to tear from him any pretense of humanity, to free him from the hypocrisy of Man as a higher being. They were all animals -- the apes, the wolves. Conrad hated it when anyone pretended otherwise, Wolf or human.

"About tonight...", Jules started.

The human's voice was faint. The werewolf said nothing, remaining perfectly immobile, staring at the boy. Jules took a deep breath.

"You're on", he said at last.

TO BE CONTINUED