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There is a legend the villagers tell about the local forest. They say that an enchanted wolf lives there, a proud and lonely creature cursed in some fargone age by the gods to live forever and to be burdened with a mind as sharp as a man’s, that it might know its loneliness.

Of course, there are many stories about the deep wood, and most pay them no heed. After all, believe in such faraway tales and you might as well believe the stories you hear about fairies and a young boy catching a sunbeam on his fishing line.

But I know that the legend is true. I’ve seen it—when I wander into the forest to pick flowers or collect stones rubbed smooth along the riverbed, kneeling carefully so as not to muddy my dress along the riverbank, sometimes I look up and see a pair of fierce amber eyes staring at me from out of the bush. At other moments, I’ll see a fleeting grey shadow darting away between the trees, or hear a lonesome, baleful howl arcing over the trees.

Others call me a silly girl, or claim that I spend too much time with my head in the clouds. And perhaps they are right.

But sometimes, late at night, when I know no one can hear, I snake my fingers in between my thighs, squirming to the driving drum of my own heart, my bottom lip pinned beneath my teeth to stop my desperate moans from eking out, and I touch myself to certain thoughts—images of the magic wolf chasing me through the grass and glens, finding me, pinning me, claiming me…

I push into myself and imagine it’s his thick canine cock, and after I cum, I let myself lazily ebb asleep, blushing at my own debauchery—at the thought that my foremost dream in all the world was to lie with a wolf.

—

The sky is dappled with clouds and patches of greyish blue. It’s another lazy day in late spring, a day like any other. By now I have explored every nook of this boring backwater village; I know the small-minded, boring people here from childhood, and I listen to their squawking voices and obstinate calls with barely-contained boredom. Isn’t anyone tired of this? Isn’t the idea that we are all going to be doing the same thing, over and over and over again, bothersome to anyone?

But none of the others seem to mind their squalid, repetitive lives. They just traipse through the same muddy paths with cart ruts in them, stepping past smelly pig pens and checking themselves in scratched and splintered mirrors.

I’m told by the shopkeeper whose stall I sometimes help manage that we need more mushrooms. I don’t need to be told twice—any excuse to get away from this dingy village is a fine one by me.

The forest, as always, sings to me. It’s everything the village isn’t: quiet, cool, clean-smelling, lovely. I walk idly down the worn path, skipping past the small clumps of grass growing in patches. I know where best to find mushrooms, but I take my sweet time getting there—after all, the more time spent away, the better. The sun emerges from behind clouds and pokes its head away again, the spotty light filtering down through the leaves to create a shifting, almost dreamlike patchwork of yellows and greens and greys in the forest. It invited you to lose yourself…

I take my time, meandering to the gnarled old tree whose roots shelter the best mushrooms. When I get there, I can’t help but frown—they’ve already been dug up. Troublesome, to say the least, but nothing I can’t handle. I’m a clever girl. I know another spot.

The other spot lies off the path, and as I wander through a low tunnel of arching boughs, I hear a baleful, far-off cry, and shivers skitter up my arms and the back of my neck, my hair standing on end. The legend is real, and it doesn’t matter what anyone says. I know it’s true.

I’ve never seen the wolf in full—only bits and pieces. Flashing shadows, or the burning eyes in the dark. It’s seen me, though, and I wonder what it thinks of the tall, lean-bodied, strapping village lass who visits its woodlands for hours at a time.

Lost in thought, I take a wrong turn, and then another—and by the time I realize I am in a part of the forest where I have never been, the day is cooling and darkening, and night is on its way.

I try not to shiver, not to become frightened of the forest I love so much. Forget the mushrooms—what I want most of all is security. I hop over boulders, duck beneath vine-draped branches, and spin past flowered glades—

And then, feeling eyes on my back, I turn and see him.

He is noble, the magic wolf; standing tall and proud. His fur is shaggy but not unkempt, a dark and stormy grey speckled with a reddish brown. His legs are long and powerful, ending with paws whose claws leave little imprints in the dirt. His tail is long and lithe, curved lazily to his right. His ears are alert; his muzzle is short, for a wolf, and softer grey on the sides where his whiskers emerge. His snout is black and shiny.

I cannot help but hold my breath. This is it. This is him. The legend I thought of for so long.

His eyes are as I remember. Golden amber, round and piercing. There is something of proud intelligence there, some indefinable quality that makes him different than other animals. It’s hard not to bow away from such a powerful gaze, and I duck my head, a gesture of submission.

The sound of his feet slowly padding over the forest floor touches against my ears, and my breath catches. I back up a few paces but find my back against a tree. Nowhere to run now.

When I dare to glance up he is only a few paces from me, his eyes bright and vivid. I try to say something and swallow when I fail. The wolf stares at me unblinkingly.

This close, I am overcome by his raw and heavy scent. It is not bad, but it is certainly overpowering—a rich, earthy, animalistic musk that reeks of wild places and wild living and wild appetites.

I swallow again, and squirm, and as I feel the slickness on my thighs I recognize the second scent filling the air: my own arousal.

It makes sense, after all. The phantom figure from so many fantasies and dreams is here in the flesh before me. All I have to do is to reach out and touch it…

The wolf cocks his head, a look something like satisfied amusement playing about his muzzle. Then he looks past me and gestures with his head slightly. I chance a look over my shoulder and see a barely-discernible game trail. All at once it comes to me: he is offering me a way to escape out of the forest.

I turn my gaze back to the wolf, who is looking at me expectantly, his eyes as amber and captivating as ever. He seems even bigger up close, his head reaching almost to my shoulder. Trying to articulate myself, and failing, I finally shake my head ‘no’, and then muster the courage to grab my skirt in my hands and hitch it up.

His eyes alighting with delight, the wolf nuzzles close, burrowing his snout between my thighs. I gasp at the touch, his fur brushing over my sensitive skin, and I can’t help but squeal out a low nnnnnn as I feel his breath, hot and heavy, tease my flushed skin.

His nose closes right up onto my slick folds, and his whiskers trail along my skin, and my voice rakes out of my lips in a low hiss. Yes, yes, this is everything I dared to fantasize about, I’m here with him, the legend, and I—

He dips his tongue into my folds.

The sensation is gratifying, instant—a blistering moment of shock followed by a storming quake of pleasure, the sensation riding up my spine with the energy of a wild mustang or—or a hungry wolf. My voice half gasps, half shrieks through the low forest trees, and between my legs I feel him rumble and chuff with what might be laughter.

Whimpering, I squeeze my thighs on either side of his head—not enough to hurt, but enough to hold him there unless he pulls away. “Please,” I manage to force out between pants, “please, I need—ah! Ahhhnh! Nnnnnngggahhh!”

He heeds my plea and I devolve into incoherent chokes as his tongue—oh, oh it does things I never knew I wanted. It laps across the outside of my pussy, leaving hot trails, making me shudder and dance to the touch out here in the glade, and my back presses against the hard wood of the tree as I squirm with delight.

After a few teasing laps on the outside of my folds, his tongue finds my clit, and my cries become a high and desperate whine. “Ahn! G-ghhahn! Yes—yes, please, more, I need it!” I force out. The wolf understands me, and energetically laps more and more, going at my clit with a mixture of passion and delicateness I never would have thought possible from a dumb beast.

But then, I muse, he’s no dumb beast at all—he clearly understands.

His attentions are already the greatest experience I have ever known—my own fingers and my own fantasies seem pedestrian, now that I know the electric taste of a wolf. It was everything I ever thought it would be—and more.

As I drift along in a blissful haze, he dips his muzzle lower and pushes his tongue into my pussy, and my world rocks. It’s like an earthquake of delight that rocks me to my core, and I’m idly aware as I’m being eaten out that my dress is knotted up in my hands. My fingers are clutching the fabric so tight that a vise would have been gentler.

Minutes pass like that, the great wolf lathering my sex with attention as his tongue glides over my folds, teases my clit, and surges into me. Finally, when he pulls back, I sink to the ground with a plaintive whimper—already so close to cumming, and exhausted from the attentions. Yet I am far from satiated. I want more—more—more.

The wolf pulls away from me, evidence of my own slick on his muzzle, and he eyes me with satisfaction and—or am I imagining this?—a slight query as to more. His gaze drifts down to my by-now blossoming cunt, and between my panting breaths and my hammering heartbeat, I can spy his own massive cock standing at attention between his legs—enormous, red, with a thick canine knot at the base.

Hesitation doesn’t even cross my mind. “Yes,” I stammer out, my voice slightly hoarse from all the cries I was making, “yes, please, I need it, I need you.” I throw off my dress, baring myself to the world, and I shakily flip over, resting on hands and knees and raising my rump to him like a bitch in heat.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted—fuck me, claim me, breed me, I need you!” I cry out.

He needs no more prodding than that. Almost instantly his massive body is looming behind me. I shudder from the sensation as he mounts me, the fur of his belly dragging along my back, the sensation slightly tickling. His front legs drape over my shoulders, surprisingly gentle, and his head sinks down near mine, his breath slow and hot.

I can feel his cock teasing at my entrance, and I squirm needily. “You’re all I’ve ever thought about,” I confess. “Ever since I was old enough to touch myself I fantasized about laying with you… it was my foremost fantasy. Please, I—au-aughnnngh! Nnngh!”

My words die as he pushes in. His cock—enormous, thick, and red—fills me like I never knew I needed filling. Even though he is going slow, and gentle—he seems to understand that it’s my first time with anything besides my own fingers—the sensation is still unbelievable. The sheer presence of the cock in me drives me wild, shouldering the thoughts from my brain, and before long I am content to just rest there, hands and knees in the dirt like a wild bitch, and let my wolf claim what is his.

He holds himself in me, his cock only partially inside, before pulling out, slooooooowly. I can barely register the emptiness before he pushes in, farther this time, and my voice hitches. As before, he holds before slowly pulling out, and then he surges in again—this time pushing in so far that I feel his knot bump against my folds.

My pussy clenches around him and my vision haloes as I cum, my voice high and trilling. I feel a low rumble of satisfaction grind through his body. He keeps his paws clutched tight around my shoulders and then starts rutting me proper.

He goes slow, at first, but inexorable—in and out, in and out. Still in my post-orgasmic haze, the sensations of his fucking reach me like distant thunder, each sensation dull yet pleasurable. After a minute or two of this he picks up his pace, going in faster and faster, and it’s all I can do to stay conscious: my mind is a cacophony of pleasure, the last remnants from my orgasm blending into the new sensations. Every thrust is like a new burst of ecstasy, continually racing through my body. The thrill is almost all-consuming.

For minutes I simply lie there, moaning in pleasure, as the wolf fucks his new mate, claiming her sweet hole as his own. I idly wonder what the reaction would be, if a villager chanced across us—the aloof young woman stripped down, rutted by a great beast and loving every second of it. The thought makes me smirk. Those rubes don’t know how to live—nothing that hovel offered me could ever compare to this.

I can feel his heartbeat thundering away in his chest, and hear the growing crescendo of pleasure burbling in his throat. “Don’t hold back, my wolf,” I manage to force out, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I can take it. I want it. Fuck me—knot me—breed me. I want your cock, I want your seed. I’ll give you pups if my womb allows, just don’t hold back!”

With a single, proud howl, he complies. He surges forward, as deep as he’s ever been, his knot straining against my slit—and then, slowly, it forces its way inside. I sob with bliss and satisfaction and he howls again, his knot and his cock filling me more than I had ever expected. I feel them pulse and throb, and before long hot wolf cum is splashing into my womb and my sex. His knot does its job well—none of it leaks out of me, and I am left reeling from the sense of fullness.

I cum again as well, my mind reeling and my voice carrying across the glade.

I sink to the forest floor, no longer capable of supporting myself; but his knot keeps my rear suspended. I rest there, held aloft by him, and he dips his head down near to mine, chuffing softly.

Reaching out a hand, I caress his warm, inviting fur. “Thank you,” I say, my words soft and weak from the exertion. To think that my first time would have involved getting knotted by a forest wolf—and to think that I would have loved it so. “I mean what I said,” I continue. “I’ll bear your pups. I’ll be your mate.” It was something that had filled my fantasies for quite some time. “The magic that lets you understand me will let me give you young, I know it will. I don’t want to go back to that filthy village with those filthy people… I want to live here in the wild, with you. If you’ll have me.”

I feel him shift over me, and he dips even closer, his head brushing against mine, a low and appreciative rumble emanating from him as he nuzzles his mate.

Me. His mate. The wolf’s mate.

I laugh, and laugh some more. Nothing could ever be better.

—

I’ve stopped counting the days and weeks. Such arbitrary measures of time don’t matter in the wood.

The leaves have changed and the days are shorter, and here in the wild recesses of the forest, I am happily swollen with pups.

My belly is big and taut, and I am now so heavy that I cannot even stand. My wolf alternates between hunting and dutifully protecting his mate. He often noses my belly and licks at it, and I giggle when I feel our offspring squirm in reaction. “They’re ready soon,” I tell him. “They can’t wait to see their father.”

Now I am curled on my side, my arms blissfully curved around my belly, as my mate fucks me sweetly. I murr and keen in soft appreciation, the sensations spiking through my core. My pregnancy did not stop me from desiring my wolf’s cock—far from it, in fact. I am hornier than ever, and he is more than willing to satisfy me, our nights devolving into nothing more than luxurious lovemaking as I take lupine cock again and again and again.

When he is finished, I murmur for him to attend to other needs of mine. “They’re sore,” I say, motioning at my swollen breasts, and he pads over, dipping his muzzle down to drink from me.

I sigh long and contentedly as my mate nurses the milk from my swollen and tender breasts, helping to ease the honeyed ache that has characterized them of late. They’re filling so fast; the better to provide for my coming pups.

He drinks from one, and then another, and then he lies down gently next to me, warmth spreading from his bulk into me. I sigh again, trailing one hand through his fur while the other clutches the gravid globe of my belly. I’m so heavy. The pups will be coming any day, I muse, and I can’t wait. They will be the first of many.

As I drift off into sleep, I reflect on what I have become: the mate, the bitch, the breeder for the king of the forest.

I’ve never been happier.