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"I hate running..."

If it were up to Jon, he wouldn't even bother with what boiled down to a pastime activity, but in the grips of a terrible case of cabin fever, he still found this a more enjoyable way to spend his evening than sitting in the lazy clutches of a couch, flipping through channels until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

Much as he mentally groaned with every step he took, Jon couldn't deny that he was feeling better at the behest of the jog: the ground was soft under his footpaws, the babble of a creek nearby was random, soothing and liberating in contrast from the same old news, advertisements and garbage that he heard every time he turned on the radio.

Even the sound of his own breath as it passed between his tusks was more pleasant than the static loop that he'd become trapped in; he just hated the activity required to get such a tranquil place.

As pleasant as the rest of the natural world was around him, it wasn't just the sound of his own voice that had a problem with his activities. Mother Nature seemed to hear his protest, but it didn't give him pause in the way that he would have expected.

A sudden downpour, a biting wind, or an impassable trail would have all been fine motivations to turn him back home, but none of those things would have scared him like the deadly sharp claws that hooked into his tank top.

"Woah! F-fucking tree branch," Jon groaned, but when he went to brush it away, he found himself bouncing in place. Legs that no longer reached the ground began to dangle, and effortlessly, his tank top was ripped away from his body, left in tatters by the side of the empty trail. "...T...Tree branch, right?"

It was wishful thinking, and it didn't have time to fester into hope before something boldly stepped out from the shadows of the trees. Even as Jon tried to push his weight down to the forest floor, he was lifted higher and higher, all without a hint of effort from the creature that had captured him; he made a promise to himself in that moment that he would never go jogging alone again.

He knew better than to rush to make a promise, but there was no way for him to know that his being tackled to the ground from there wasn't the terrible omen he thought it to be. " Uuhf! C...come on, let me go!" he shouted, but the sensitive ears of the beast were ignorant to his frustrated tone.

She dropped her thighs right on either side of his head just after it landed in the dirt path, and in the next moment, Jon's shorts met a similar fate as his tank top: they didn't stand a chance against the jagged claws of the werewolf.

"Wait, y-you...you're not trying to eat me?" Jon asked, wondering if she was even remotely capable of understanding his words. "Oh, those fangs are big...pleasedon'tputthoseanycloser-

His voice trailed off into a fearful whimper as he watched, but she was just making herself familiar with him in a way that made her more comfortable in his presence. She was grinning, and he caught sight of her crooked, eager smirk as she looked back over her shoulder a bit...but she was more keen on leaving her muzzle right near the base of his exposed length, wanting to know the more intricate notes of his musk.

He wasn't being given a choice in exchanging that kind of _information_with her, as her tail lifted high and exposed the full, swollen pout of her womanhood.

"Jeez, you're...you're soaked," Jon murmured, shocked that she could be showing such powerful signs of arousal. "Does terrifying random strangers turn you on or something?"

Jon had taken a lot of things for granted that evening: going for a jog in the woods when there was a full moon overhead probably wasn't the best idea, no matter how bright the trail was in the grasp of a silver curtain.

The fact that he hadn't been devoured only seconds after being pounced was the kind of thing he needed not to take for granted, and having to inspect her body in exchange for his life wasn't the worst deal he'd ever been offered.

She's so hot back here, it's almost uncomfortable, he thought. It's probably driving her crazy to be like this without being touched...

The legends of werebeasts living in the woods and preying on passersby always played out a little differently in storybooks and urban legends; Jon was happy to be living in the version where he escaped with his life, but no one would ever believe that a busty werewolf was shaking her hips from side to side, lowering her petals toward his face until the pout of her petals was tickling against the end of his tusks.

He worried that she might end up catching herself on them, but where he expected to hear a grunt of pain from the other side, he caught a noise that he hoped was positive.

It was a low, heavy rumble, carrying such bass that it shook the base of his cock and forced a little life into the pliable flesh of his length. It was more than a feline purr, but as it continued, there was an even greater sense of urgency in the once slow drop of her hips.

She didn't seem worried at all about drowning him with her liquid arousal as she planted her mound on his muzzle, and the slick, tender flesh dropped right off at the point of contact, forcing her asshole to press up against his lips.

He gasped just before he felt the powerful heat against the front of his face, but couldn't close his mouth in time to avoid his tongue pressing flat against the warm, tender pucker...and the happy, subtle rumble turned into a full, eager growl as the werewolf encouraged him to go a little further.

As much as she was enjoying his oral work, she didn't seem entirely keen on returning the favor.

"Mrnn-" Jon was cut off immediately as he tried to protest, but he was only being modest about his desires: his voice wouldn't be able to make up for the throb of his erection as it brushed up against the side of her muzzle.

He knew there was greater warmth waiting against the flat of her tongue and the slick depths of her throat, but no matter how his rod pulsed in her face, she refused to welcome it in, preferring to look back over her shoulder and grin at the trapped otter.

Whether she was being an awful tease, or letting him experience some relief as her paw delicately wrapped around the base of his shaft, he simply couldn't decide.

She's thick...feel like I'm gonna pass out if she doesn't start moving, Jon worried in the back of his mind, but in the forefront of his actions, it was impossible to tell that he was in any trouble. His tusks were brushing against the full, tender flesh of her ass, providing him with an unusual, but entirely pleasant tickle...one that ran all the way through the flesh of his cheeks.

Much as he'd been worried about poking her with them before, her flesh was hearty, and under a thick coat of fur, he was providing her with a playful scratch that couldn't be replicated by any other means.

The star of the show, of course, was the way his lips continued to force their way open against her asshole, as it came to settle right on the peak of his muzzle. When he finally found the sweet spot, she stopped growling and glared back at him, her eyes carrying a different weight and intensity than they had at the start.

Guess I found the right spot, he thought. He tried to gulp back his nerves, but the pressure that came as she adjusted her knees and pushed down hard against his lips didn't allow him the time or the focus to accomplish that.

She'd trapped him into oral servitude, as much as it was possible to trap a otter like Jon into such an act.

Even as precum rolled down the underside of his member and trickled into the fuzz upon his sack, she didn't give him even the briefest flick of the tongue or kiss upon the tip. She worked some of the mess back into his skin with a soft, billowy grip, but those strokes were the most that she offered him.

Pleasurable as they were, others might have felt that they were getting the raw end of the deal; Jon wasn't most people.

Don't black out now, he kept chanting to himself in the back of his mind, enjoying the heavy, heated scent and aromatic musk of the werewolf too much to miss out on it for even a moment. She's close...she's leaking all over my chin...

Though his attentions were focused on her pucker and the way it stretched and moved around on the end of his muzzle, her petals were dripping with fresh arousal and soaking the top of his neck, until her juices had formed a small, fresh stream down to the ground, around the edge of his cheek. She seemed all too eager to mark him, and for his part, Jon found himself incapable of protesting...though he wouldn't have, even if he had the voice for it.

If this is what happens to me every time I go for a jog out here, I just might make a habit out of it...

His thoughts were finally going properly blank, but his paws held onto the sides of her hips and his tongue kept pressing deeper and deeper against the tight, warm entrance of her backside, until he felt something rhythmic happening against the edge of his chin, just at the crest of her folds.

Her attention to his cock came to a sudden, tight-gripped stop as Jon's tongue pushed her over the edge, leaving her seized up in place, straddling the front of his face with an impossibly tight grip.

The low, warm rumble from the back of her throat faded to a whimper, the sound broken apart by the occasional panting breath and suckling gasp, but the vice-like grip of her thighs around either side of his face refused to fade, now that her climax was striking. She was almost _too_still, until Jon noticed that her body hadn't seized up at all: little by little, the pace of her trembling hips slowed to the point that he noticed what had really happened.

Up against his tusks, she'd been twitching so rapidly that it was akin to turning his long, smooth teeth into her own personal vibrators, but she could only keep it up for so long before she let out a whine of delight that was entirely canine. Short of a howl, she still cried out into the night and pushed down firmly enough onto the lucky otter that his tongue became ensnared in her asshole.

The aftermath of it all was much like the end of a proper workout, with a pair of shuddering, panting bodies lying in the middle of the forest, with only the peaceful chirp of evening crickets bearing witness to what they'd just done.

I'm still conscious, Jon thought. Barely, but...I am so­ glad I stayed awake for that.

Slowly, a wiggle came around once more as the grateful werewolf shook her hips from side to side, her lifted tail offering a smooth, playful wag of appreciation for the otter's company. She could easily have gone another round, if he was willing...but she lacked the words to ask him for such a thing, and as far as she could feel, his tongue had gone limp against the front of his face, still coated with the fresh scent and taste of her most intimate bodice.

As she stood up from his muzzle, she looked back at him with less intensity in her eyes: replacing that frustration was a glimmer of appreciation and understanding.

Dazed, exhausted and floating on a cloud, Jon thought he saw a glimpse of longing in the eyes of the werewolf as she darted back into the trees.

"This is far enough to jog every day, right...?"