The Wolf's Woman
The forest was dark, the trees thick and stifling, hemming her in as she wandered through them, squinting to see even a few feet ahead of her. The thick canopy blocked out the glow of the full moon, but Hermione was no fool. She knew the wolf was hunting her.
She supposed she should be afraid. After all, it was a full moon, and there was a werewolf hunting her. But she wasn't. Not yet. She was never scared until she had to face him.
The sound of snapping twigs behind her prickled her ears and Hermione turned, looking over her shoulder before she gulped at the sight he made. Hulking and thickly furred, he was easily the biggest wolf she had ever seen. His eyes glowed green and eerie in the dark of the forest and Hermione felt her muscles begin to coil, the urge to run undeniable.
She tamped it down. Running would make her his prey and she didn't want that. If she was prey, he would bite her, perhaps even kill her.
"Fenrir," she greeted him quietly, turning to face the wolf as he padded closer.
She knew it was him. He'd been hunting her for months now. In the past she'd been clever enough to apparate away and outwit him if she ever encountered him on the full moon. Fenrir growled at her, baring his lethal and infectious fangs to her gaze and making her gulp audibly in the suddenly silent forest.
She knew what he wanted. What he'd been wanting for months as he stalked her through the forest near her home, and as he showed up on her porch in human form when the moon wasn't full. She knew why he'd come. Fate dictated that no matter his heinous past, Hermione belonged to him. The curse of all lycanthropes to find and claim their mates drove him to pursue her, and now here he was, once again seeking her out.
To say she hadn't been tempting fate would taste a lie. She'd come walking in the woods tonight knowing he would be there. He wouldn't hurt her, she knew. He couldn't. Not really. He could infect her, but she knew from months of his pursuit that he desperately wanted to avoid doing that. After all, if he infected her, she would never be able to birth his children into the world, and Hermione knew without a doubt that cubs were something he desperately wanted.
"Must we continue to play this game, Fenrir?" she asked of the wolf, though he couldn't currently talk, forced into wolf-form as he was. "Why can't you seek me out when you are human, and I am less likely to turn you away?"
The wolf emitted a soft growl, padding closer.
Hermione didn't realize she'd begun backing away until her back hit the thick trunk of a tree. The gleam in his eyes seemed to suggest that he knew that this time, she wasn't going to run. She'd been putting off this encounter as long as she could, her morality unable to reconcile what needed to be done.
In order to complete the bond that would cement her as his fully realized wolf-mate, he had to fuck her. As the man, which he had done months and months ago when he'd burst into her cabin in the woods and bent her over her kitchen counter, hard fucking her against the cool marble benchtop until he'd howled in triumph. She had the bite mark of her shoulder to prove it.
Unfortunately, that single act hadn't cemented the bond. Wolf mates were supposed to both be infected with lycanthropy, and as such, were also supposed to fuck as wolves to complete the ritual. Only, Fenrir refused to infect her when doing so would keep her from ever becoming the mother to his children. That refusal had caused more problems for Hermione than she dared admit.
He still had to fuck her as the wolf, only his refusal meant that she would still be woefully human when he did.
Hermione knew how badly he wanted it to work, and how badly he wanted her to comply. The man loathed the use of Wolfsbane Potion for the way it let him keep him human mental faculties during the full moon. He considered it's use abominable. And yet, for the past three moons, he'd been drinking it. Drinking it and then hunting her.
She'd chickened out last time. She couldn't do it. He was a very large wolf. An animal. No matter the state of his mind in that form, he was currently an animal. One that wanted to put the engorged and throbbing cock he sported, deep inside of her. Pressing further back against the tree, Hermione's breath began to come in sharp pants.
She was frightened, and she knew he would be able to smell it. She'd been trying to mentally prepare for this for months, but there was a part of her that she suspected would always be squeamish at the thought of fucking a wolf. She tried to remember what he'd told her, his instructions that if she just got down on her hands and knees, and closed her eyes tight, it wouldn't even feel that different from the times he fucked her as a human.
She doubted it. She knew it would be different. But she also knew he was running out of patience. She suspected that if she tried to run again this month, he would stop bothering with letting her consent to it, and would simply take what he wanted. Fenrir Greyback was not a patient man, and he'd been exceedingly patient with her, so far.
"I…" Hermione choked out, her eyes wide and her heart racing inside her chest, her nervousness getting the better of her. Fenrir padded closer and closer, his eerily glowing eyes fixed upon her and making her all the more nervous. She could see the determination in those eyes to have her. She could tell that this time, running wasn't going to be an acceptable option.
Gulping loudly, Hermione closed her eyes and stepped around the trunk of the tree. He growled, obviously thinking she was going to run again. Instead, Hermione turned her back to him and sank to her knees. She felt tears burning for release beneath her eyelids, loathing herself for her weakness even as she bent forward, resting on all four there in the dirt of the forest floor. She flipped her skirt up with one hand, revealing her naked arse to the wolf's hungry gaze.
She knew from the sound of his soft huff that he was shocked that she'd actually done it. The frantic sound of his nose as he sniffed at her, breathing in her scent, made her quiver. She wanted him to hurry. She knew she wasn't going to enjoy this. It was going to hurt and it was going to be awful and she couldn't stand it. Drawing it out would only make it worse.
"Please hurry," Hermione breathed, knowing he would hear her; knowing he would be able to smell her anxiety and her tears as they slipped down her face.
Hermione squealed when his cold nose touched her sensitive skin, followed quickly by a large, hot tongue. She squirmed when he did it again, apparently unable to resist the urge to taste her when she presented herself to him so sweetly. Hermione writhed when that long hot tongue swiped between her folds, delving inside of her and tasting her. She loathed that for all the ick factor, there was pleasure there, too. He didn't discriminate which parts of her he tasted, and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut when, in addition to licking out her throbbing cunt, he tongued the tight pucker of her arse, too. Merlin, it felt… good.
Hermione hated that it felt good, especially she realized her was so thoroughly lapping at her flesh as tasting her to better lubricate her for his penetration. A terrible thrill of fear and disgust and longing coursed through her to think that he meant to fully fuck both of her hungry little holes whilst he was the wolf. She hadn't realized until that moment that, had she been capable of transforming, he'd have done so simultaneously when he took her. As a human, she was built differently, and as such, he'd need to be more thorough. Gods, she hoped it wouldn't hurt.
He lapped at her cunt and her arse until Hermione hung her head, breathing hard and clenching fistful of leaf litter in her hands, there on the forest floor, loathing that he was making her enjoy it so much.
"Oh, gods, Fenrir," Hermione whispered brokenly when he drove that long wolf tongue deep inside her, as deep as it would go, far deeper than his human tongue had ever delved. She could feel the scape of his fangs against her flesh and Hermione cried out.
She was so close, and she wanted it so badly that she pushed back, feeling him slide deeper. He made a sound that was suspiciously like laughter and Hermione hissed in displeasure when he withdrew his wicked tongue before stepping closer. The thick fur of his legs tickled her bum and her legs as he stepped closer, mounting her like she was his bitch. His furred chest brushed her rump as he moulded his enormous form around her petite one.
He'd instructed her to wear a thick jumper and a cloak tonight, and Hermione realized why as she felt his claws digging into the fabric over her hips before he wrapping his muzzle around the top of her shoulder. He held her in place unforgivingly, ensuring she wouldn't run when she felt the first, wet brush of his throbbing cock against her sensitive cunt. She knew exactly why he held on, too, because the horror and the fear and the disgust as the memory that he was a wolf and not a man resurfaced. She tried to bolt.
His heavy weight and his tight grip prevented her escape, and Hermione cried out when that huge, blunt cock nudged at her flesh before impaling her.
She howled. Hermione howled in pain, her body stretching, trying to accommodate the girth and the length of the instrument forcing its way deep inside her. She could feel him nudging her womb as he drove into her, bucking his hips, humping and rutting her with fervor now. Fenrir growled when she writhed, fighting him, trying to get loose. He drove into her harder, the wolf's cock spearing into her and Hermione screamed.
He didn't stop.
He rutted her like the horny mutt he was and Hermione cried, loathing that for all the deep-seated ache in her pelvis thanks to his weight and his girth, her body knew the feel of her mate riding her like he'd been born to do. The wolf fucked her like she was a bitch in heat and Hermione squealed when the effect of his licking combined with the repeated, unending stimulus of his cock and pushed her over the edge. Her cunt clenched and throbbed, squeezing him, making her sting and ache even as her juices gushed forth, easing his passage and unwinding the knot of tension in the base of her spine.
There was no going back now. She'd fucked a wolf and she'd come, creaming like a porn star all over his huge canine cock. He fucked her harder when she surrendered, her head hanging forward, her body limp, pliant and willing as he took what he wanted and what he needed.
When he jerked that huge cock out of her pussy, Hermione was too weak to do more than wiggle with a surge of fear, feeling the blunt head of his cock nudging her arsehole, seeking entrance. Gods, she'd let him fuck her up the arse in human form enough time to know she would enjoy it, but sweet mother of Merlin, it was going to hurt like a mother-fucker. Fenrir wasn't a small man, and he definitely wasn't a small wolf. She'd squirted enough lube into her arse before coming to the woods tonight that she could've drowned herself with it, and it had been leaking out as she walked. His tongue had lapped up some of it, too, but even the amount still slicking her anal passage wasn't enough to keep the ragged scream from escaping when he caught his cock against that ring of muscle and push forward.
Hermione could feel herself stretching, her body trying to accommodate the invasion without tearing and they both groaned with agonize delight when he breached her sphincter, his enormous cock tunneling deep inside her and filling her to bursting.
"Fucking hell, I hate you Fenrir Greyback," Hermione cursed when he released his hold on her shoulder to nuzzle her neck and lick her cheek affectionately, knowing she wasn't stupid enough to try and run when she had her arse full of him. That was guaranteed to end badly.
He rumbled an affectionate sort of growl, and Hermione kept her eyes closed as the wolf fucked her arse. She squirmed, feeling him beginning to thicken.
"Not my arse, Fen," she whispered. "Fuck, please don't knot my arse when you're the wolf. Please."
He ignored her, and Hermione knew why. He couldn't come in her cunt while he was the wolf without risking impregnating her with some devil-spawn half-wolf, half-human wretches and neither of them wanted that. His knot grew and grew and Fenrir wasn't the only one who howled as he rutted her hard enough to rattle her teeth before squirting her full of his seed. Her arse felt like it was on fire and the gush of hot spunk inside her warmed her uncomfortably, stinging and aching, making her feel like she might vomit with the pain of it.
Every ejaculation filled her more and Hermione cried as her elbow gave out. She flopped to the forest floor on her face, screaming again as his knot began to loosen and he pulled out of her. He growled and Hermione moaned when he dug around until he could slide his cock back inside her cunt. Her whole body ached and she cried there in the dirt as he settled himself over her, his fur tickling her legs and her arse, and his tail teasing her bare feet. Hermione was only dimly aware of him by then, too lost in the pain and the horror and the wretched pleasure she'd taken from all of this.
He fucked her throughout the night, repeatedly fucking her pussy and bringing her to orgasm, never moving off her as the moon drifted across the sky. Hermione didn't know if she lost consciousness or if she just dozed as the effect of their mate-bond settled in, and the exhaustion of the ordeal claimed her.
When dawn broke, Fenrir transformed back, trying to writhe as little as possible, determined to stay buried inside his witch until he was a man, once more.
"You did good, girly," he purred in her ear when he could speak once more. "You did so good."
She grizzled, mostly asleep even as he thrust shallowly, knowing she was sore. He knew he should get off her; that she needed rest, and care; that she probably wanted to hex him stupid, and that she was probably in agony. He was by no means small and she'd taken him deep all night long. But he couldn't resist fucking her one more time.
He took his time about it, nuzzling her neck and nipping her ear the way he knew she liked as he slowly made the closest thing to love he could muster. Her body, so overused and sensitive, responded to the touch of her mate and Fenrir smirked, nuzzling his nose under the neck of her jumper and sinking his fangs into her flesh, claiming her as he squirted her full of his spunk, hoping that this time he'd impregnate his little bitch.
She clamped around him, her body pushing through another orgasm, though she grizzled like it hurt more than it felt good. When it was over, Fenrir sighed, breathing in her sweet scent, forever mingled with his own, marking her as his to any who'd a nose for such things. He was loath to rise, and his body ached with the effort it had taken not to fuck her until she broke through the night. Pulling out of her, Fenrir knew that if she was still conscious, she'd be making a face of disgust when his come dribbled from her pussy and her arsehole, coating her skin as he rose to his feet before scooping her petite frame into his arms.
He carried her the short distance through the forest to the small cabin she'd purchased years ago. He climbed the stairs and pushed open the door, carrying his mate across the threshold of the home he'd never shared with her for more than a night or two. He wouldn't be leaving, this time. Carrying her to the bathroom, Fenrir laid the little witch in the tub and ran the taps, peeling her out of the remainder of her clothes, needing to see the damage he'd done.
She was black and blue from his bite and his claws. When he carefully bathed her abused flesh, twitching her wand in his hand despite the way he loathed the instruments, he found that she was terribly hurt from what he'd done to her.
Never again, he vowed silently to himself, his brow furrowed as he healed her wounds as best he could, undoing some of the damage he'd done to the only person in the world who mattered to him. He added some healing potions to the water, resting her head carefully against the side of the tub before climbing into the shower to bathe the blood and the sweat and the dirt off his flesh.
She slept on throughout the entire ordeal, her body healing under his tender care, and Fenrir carried her to bed when he'd dried her off. She stirred when he tucked her under the covers, slotting himself in beside her and gathering her in his arms.
"Fenrir?" she asked, her voice muzzy with sleep as she binked big doe eyes open to meet his gaze.
Fenrir smiled at him, the beast inside his chest yipping with delight at the lack of fear in his mate's eyes.
"Sleep, girly," he whispered. "You did so good. Rest now. I've got you."
She mewled like a puppy, burrowing her face against his chest and curling her arm over his hip, nuzzling into him and knowing she belonged there in his arms. She would hate him for it tomorrow; never an easy witch to live with and entirely too moral to tolerate the monster he'd been before he'd found her. She'd rile and scream and call him a monster and tell him she never wanted him to darken her doorstep again. And she'd purr like a fuckin' kitten when he bent her over the kitchen counter and fucked her all over again, before she'd hiss and pull away to fix them both something to eat – knowing he'd hunt something and eat it raw on her porch if she didn't feed him.
Fenrir knew that she hated him as much as she loved him, though she'd never admit to loving him. He knew she would never be some meek and pathetic little woman who'd surrender to him without a fight, and Fenrir almost hated that he loved her for it.