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Chapter 4

They gorged themselves and rested, napping by the carcass, woke to full darkness and gorged again, then waddled heavily to the spring pond and drank, soaked themselves, and drank again. Hellhound sign was plentiful there, some just hours old.

"Sneaky hypocrite-curs," muttered Garth as Molly used the claws of one paw-hand to gently tease away crusted blood and dirt from the fur around his throat wound. The wound itself was clean but she had done nothing with the fur until now. "Now we know why their fur was so shiny-fine! All dutiful-sounding about never crossing the border but they've been using this pool for years, maybe generations. See how-- yipe!"

Molly eased free a fur-snagged claw and muttered "Quit yer twitchin' an' hold still, woman! And git yer head down. I want the whole mess under water now."

"Yes sir," grumbled Garth, sinking his head down with muzzle tip just above the water while Molly swished and massaged him clean. When she let him go he continued "See how the pool's been dug deeper and wider over time? And they've got humans in on it too. This half's been pick-hewn through solid bedrock, for pity's sake!"

"Well of course they're sneaky!" Molly replied, moving back to begin work on his shoulder wound. "They have to be. You're a mage's son, Garth. You walked among the wealthy and you were taught that honor is the greatest wealth of all. As it is! Honor is the rich man's richest treasure but we lower classes lack honor and treasure both, and so must make do with guile instead."

"Molly that's a crude slur and you know it! Many a rich man is false and poor man true!"

"Aye," she growled, reluctantly, "perhaps yer right at that."

Garth fell silent and Molly ordered him to shift his sore shoulder down, rinsed it clean, then washed road dirt and bandit blood from his back, his flanks, his--

Garth snapped his tail down and yipped "Hold on, Molly! I'm not wounded back there!"

"No but the territory needs cleaning regardless, and you can't yet twist around far enough to do it for yourself."

"Well yes, but..."

"I'm a healer, Garth. And a midwife. And a mage's assistant. There's naught you can reveal to me I haven't seen before. Let me do my work and you'll be feeling better, sooner."

Garth gave no words in answer but slowly his tail relaxed, then moved to one side so she could work. "This part really is remarkable," Molly observed, wash-massaging his trifold bitch mound a bit more intimately than was strictly called for. "No piss-hole and no nubbin neither, but sensitive enough nonetheless!"

Garth shuddered and made as if to move away, but failed to follow through. "You said you've seen all this before!" he grated.

"In myself, yes. Your parts appear in most respects the same."

"Most respects?"

"Well your spade lips are gray with cream-pale fur around 'em while mine are black with silvered-black fur... but our inside slits are both the same: pink as a harlot's tongue and drooping down at just the perfect angle for easy penetration from behind. We bitches are all about the same when it comes to that."

"Arrrgh! I never dreamed my own father's magic would bring me to such a pass!"

"It's not his fault!" Molly growled. "I told you that already. And anyway, you volunteered for the job."

"Right. My gallant brothers from the academy will be so supportive of my choice to make of myself a wretched tail-flipping transgender wolf-bitch-demon-monster-thing."

"Ach me puur dear," Molly rumble-laughed, "how terrible low ye've fallen! Cursed wit' four feet an' a horrid hoary wolf-pelt an' a shameful twitchin' she-wolf's twat t'go wit' it! How ever will ye manage?"

Garth tried and failed to dislodge Molly's stroking paw-hand by tail power alone. "I'll manage fine," he growled, fidgeting his hind legs but still not moving away. "Ive run on four feet lots of times. When Prince Phillip was born my father was one of the mages who sought to reverse his curse. I was an infant then but I helped too, in my way."

"Your father used you for his experiments? His own son?"

"Yes."

"That's terrible!"

"No it wasn't. I loved being a fox, and I got to play with the Prince! It was wonderful fun and a golden opportunity for advancement except..."

"Yes?"

"I loved it too much. Rufus and I were growing up faster than his parents realized and in the Royal Woods one spring we met this delicious smelling, surprisingly friendly vixen and..."

"You didn't!

"I did. We both did. Somewhere in the Nouveau Rochelle Royal Forest our children's children likely prowl even now. Hunting foxes there was already forbidden but doubly so after word of our deeds got out, and my company as the crown prince's playmate was no longer required. Word got out to the academy, too, and that's when I was gifted with my 'Fox-Rocks' nickname. 'Tis certain my friends will think of a worse one now."

"If you live."

"If I live. Thank you so much for reminding me. Are you done yet?"

"No. I still have your belly to go, and your far shoulder, and a few missed bits thereabouts."

"I... ah... I can do that for myself..." Garth protested.

"No you can't," she corrected him, already massaging downward between his haunches then forward, along one covert-nubbled nipple line then moving over, just a little bit, to his bulging thick-furred sheath. The cock inside it was already hard but beneath her stroking it grew harder still, the massive knot sheath-locked but fully formed. "This thing is huge!" Molly marveled. "I have my doubts you'll find a hellhound bitch large enough to enjoy such a monstrous thing stuffed inside her!"

"Well you needn't worry," Garth growled, making to move again but once again failing of will. He bucked his hips a bit and tensed to hold them still, then bucked again. Molly let him go and circled round, seeing to his far side, and pronounced him clean enough to serve.

"Ah... thank you," Garth panted, muddle-voiced. "Let me, ah... let me return the favor..."

Molly shook her head no. "I'm fine," she replied, pulling off her dead master's silk pouch with its worthless pebble and swish-washing the softened blood crusts from it then slipping it back in place around her neck. The cut lanyard ends were tied together and it was smaller now, riding high like a collar and nearly hidden by her sodden shaggy fur. She curled around, wincing, and began to wash herself. "My wound is not so bad, really, and you're still too sore to--"

"Molly I'm not that sore! Hold still and I'll do what I can."

Molly held still and received a fair washing, not as thorough as what she had given but much appreciated, and much needed, especially on her blood-crusted hind end. No seductive moves were made but when Garth was done her fur-char was gone, the loose parts of it, and other pungent reminders of that terrible night.

"Best I can do for now," Garth panted, clearly weary and in pain. "We'll try again tomorrow, perhaps."

"Yes tomorrow," Molly agreed. "After a good night's sleep. But first... Garth do you fancy another wee bite of steak tartare, before bedtime?"

"More meat? Really Molly I don't--" Garth paused, cocked his head sideways, looked thoughtful. "I... you know... perhaps I would at that!"

Chapter 5

Muted snarl-growls woke them, long before dawn, as squabbling true wolves disputed the disposition of their quick-dwindling bull carcass. Garth and Molly chased them off but they came right back and there was no point making a fuss about it. The wolves would linger as long as needed, waiting, knowing they would feed well on what was left behind. Sleep was hopeless with their constant patter-trotting and yip-barking and furtive teasing incursion attempts, so Garth and Molly gorged themselves one last time and left the carcass behind. The wolf pack sensed their decision instantly, nigh before it was made, and dove gleefully down upon the feast before they were hardly clear.

True dawn found them leagues away and much lower, near the floor of a golden-dry grassy valley with juniper scrub and sometimes tumbled house-ruins in the sheltered spots and a cottonwood-dotted river course twisting casually through the center of it. On the flatlands wild cattle grazed, and elk, while across the valley from them rocky cliffs rose up to wooded highlands much higher than the ones they had left, and to either side the valley floor stretched on endless, unbroken, till it merged at last with a cloudless dusty pale-blue-sky horizon. Long Valley Garth called it, and the highlands across from them Black Rock Hills. From close by the smell of juniper smoke and simmering pea soup tickled the nose, and Molly knew the bandit camp was not far off.

They found a brushy thicket and squeezed their way into it, massive streamlined bodies slipping easily into scratchy-twiggy-tight places no human could easily go. Inside they curled up together and yawned, stretched, and settled down for a proper serious nap. The bandits would wake them with their camp-breaking, most likely, and if not they would catch up to them in due time. No sense revealing themselves in any case. With luck the bandits would consider themselves free from pursuit and safe now, in their homeland. As safe as that wretched hive of scum and villainy could ever be.

Distant shouting woke them, and the crashing clang of steel on steel. A single battle it was--fair duel or blatant aggression who could say?--and soon over. Another bandit corpse met them when they explored the camp some time later. It was hack-mutilated and stripped naked, with mouth stuffed full of copper coins and a 'T' cut in the forehead between staring dirt-fouled eyes.

"Morale is low," Garth murmured as he sniffed over the still-warm body. "I like that. Do you suppose the 'T' means he's a been marked a traitor to the band?"

"Makes sense," Molly snorted. "And he is, you know. He's dead, and that means he's on our side now. When all the rest are dead we can go home. Do you suppose there's anything else here worth looking at?" She sniffed over the corpse and yelped "Wait! I recognize this man's scent! He's the one who led the bandits to our house. Do you suppose those coins in his mouth are the ones my master gave him?" From close by a magpie crooned and Molly shuddered, imagining the horror of her friends turning on her like that. She should be dancing in glee to have the blackguard dead like this but all she felt now was pity, and disgust. Did he have a wife, lover, children? What story would they be told of his final days? She turned away. "Let's leave this place," she growled, and they did.

Garth and Molly put the dismal bandit camp behind them but the land was too open to follow by day so they hid themselves and rested, instead. Slept peacefully this time, for a wonder, and at dusk they hit the road thirsty but with true enthusiasm to be on their way. Molly's thigh wound hardly pained her at all now, and Garth's healing had progressed nearly as well. They scented well water by the tumbled wall stones of a burned-out herder's home but had no bucket to haul it out with, and the same was true of the other roadside ruins they passed. Only at the river itself did they find water, and a long dry walk it was to get them there.

The river was warm and shallow and easily crossed, but they did not cross right away. They bathed and drank their fill, then bathed and drank again and splash-chased yelp-yipping after the school of big sucker fish they found lurking in a deeper pool. Failed to catch one but they weren't that hungry anyway, and reminded each other that sucker fish are rank-tasting and full of small sharp bones.

Mosquitos swarmed thick over the tepid water and bats chased crazy-spinning after them voicing those thin clicking squeaks she never heard with her human ears... but there were more mosquitos than bats so Garth and Molly left the river and hit the trail in ernest then, loping tirelessly cross-valley then upslope while scents shifted from dew-damp grass and junipers to dew-damp grass and pines and nettles and autumn-turning vine willows, and sometimes whiffs of the acrid stench-smoke that oozes out from charcoal burners' pits. In the distance they heard dogs barking, from time to time, but no inhabited farm nor unburnt inn nor any functional human dwelling did they encounter near the road, while the road itself was hardly in better shape. Once it had been wide and well built but no wheeled vehicle could possibly navigate it now.

Before dawn they reached the bandits' camp and prowled around it, red-ember eyes pinched near-shut in hopes of muting their eldritch glow. Not one but four watchmen peered outward into the moonless darkness, alert and aware, stationed far from the fires and with backs turned to keep their eyes--

"That one sees us!" Molly hissed.

"Sard it!" Garth growled. "I knew the squinting trick would fail to serve."

The watchman was staring transfixed, clearly terrified. He made to cross himself then stopped, changed his mind, and offered up an ancient pagan mercy-begging gesture instead. Garth and Molly let their eyes flash wide and the watchman folded his arms across his chest, bowed his head, and turned away. He did not cry the alarm.

They skulked off and rested then, napping the time away until dawn, and when the bandits broke camp they sniffed it over as they had before. No corpse this time but where the watchman had sat they smelled blood, and buried beneath the dirt they found a blood-anointed small pile of coins, copper silver and gold, and gold jewelry too.

When Molly's paw first touched the metal she felt a shock, like a static spark, and the fur of her neck rose tingling up on end. "What was that?" she yipped. "I felt--"

Magic. It was magic she had felt; magic she still felt, coursing inside her now.

Blood magic.

Money and blood and soul's deep fire: plea-offerings due a fetch-spirit.

Offerings offered to... her.

Molly sneeze-snarled and kicked dirt back over the tiny hoard. Like it or not the gift-magic was a part of her now, raw force harmless to her but very much unwanted. She buried it deep and growled "Come along, Garth. The blood's a start but this man's metal leaves my heart cold. Perhaps he has more blood to give us."

Pine trees hid them and the road was crooked so they set off without waiting this time, trailing the bandit troop by daylight now. Molly marveled at the tireless strength of her new body as the gullied track rose sharply then plunged down, wasting hard-won elevation only to rise up again, sharper than ever but to heights scarcely higher than they had achieved before. On the steep slopes she had to breath deeply and she grew hot, fast-panting-hot, but even her injured leg seemed immune to weariness and many times they had to stop and idle time away to avoid treading the bandit troop's heels.

The day was hot for a hellwolf but otherwise gloriously fine, and the steady exercise did wonders for Molly's foul mood. Just past mid-day a mountain stream cut by the road and both wolves straightaway plunged in, cooling themselves, biting the chilly water and drinking deeply then tag-splashing tail-wag-quick over the slippery stones and dashing onward, invigorated, while the autumn-gold wooded slopes above them grew less steep and the road beneath them better kept, until all at once it topped out upon a broad upland plateau with tumbled house-ruin stones and tumbled fence-ruin stones and open meadows that had once been well-tilled fields. Humans dwelt around them now, scattered and far off but making scents and sounds no wolf could miss, and yet the road remained deserted until--

"Garth what's that? Up there on the ridge top? Looks like--"

--they sighted the bandits' home.

They saw a stronghold, far ahead of them, crag-perched and stone-solid and gleaming bravely in the setting sun's golden rays.

"Molly quick! Get under cover! They'll have a telescope trained this way sure as taxes."

Only later did they confirm it to be the bandits' lair. The structure was curtain-walled and crenelated--a full castle in its strength--and gray smoke poured hot from two chimneys in the keep. Garth and Molly left the road to wait for dusk and skulked in secret then, ears pricked high and noses keen for danger, past an anxious home-bound horse-handler with his skittish pack train and a tense-kept well-built guardhouse-stable and a ramshackle crossroads hovel-town beset with nervous sharp-barking dogs. The bandits' rank trail was brainless-easy to follow, even skirting the road, and by early evening they had traced it direct to the castle's front door.

Almost direct. Moon was up again and the castle's walls were well manned and at first darkness well lit, so that close approach was impossible without detection. The wall guards were unsettled, like the guardhouse watchmen had been, and from the keep behind them came not the faintest sound of homecoming revelry.

Molly stretched and murmured "Well... we're here. Chased the nasty bandits home to their foul den. Should we storm the walls straightaway, or hunt ourselves a bite to eat first?"

Garth stretched too, and yawned, scratching at his neck wound with a guilty hind leg until Molly shoulder-bumped him to make him stop. He was pain-free now and nigh healed, both wounds covered over in healthy pink flesh, but he claimed they itched. Molly claimed he was being a brat and he should suck it up.

Garth caught his balance and bumped her back and, "Let's eat first," he replied. "At the academy they taught us it's bad manners to send our men to battle on an empty stomach."

"I'm not a man," Molly growled. "I'm a fluffy four hundred pound defective experiment who needs a mortal lot of meat and has not had a bite of it in two days. What are you going to feed me?"

"Well... by the stench of it they cast their refuse in that ravine to our left. If we climb down we may find ourselves some pig or bullock entrails not too putrified to choke down. Entrails are very nourishing, you know. Wolves love them. What do you say?"

"I say you can feed yourself on shit-smeared bandit offal but I'm holding out for a horse. A live horse. Or a donkey would do. Or we can go back to the valley and try our luck with the wild cattle there."

"How about the farms we passed? Surely they have something we can--"

"They're not bandits!" Molly snapped. "If we take from them we're no better than those we hunt."

"Molly now hush, sweets, don't be wroth, I was but teasing ye 'bout the offal, and the farms."

Molly snorted but she wasn't really angry, and Garth could sense that. He snuffled her ear and whispered "Robin Hood."

"Eh, what?"

"Ach ye ken me, Molly; don't pretend ye don't. We can be bandits too, ye know. Like Robin Hood we'll take from the strong and give to the poor, and what's more wretched-poor than a new-orphaned son and his bereaved companion with not so much as a single stitch o' clothing to cover their hapless backs?"

"I have a silk pouch!"

"With a worthless pebble inside."

"And the unquenchable fire of vengeance in my heart."

"Which at market will buy ye scowls and a quick ejection but not a single grain of rye."

Molly nodded grimly then sly-smiled wide, pulling back crinkled black lips from a tangled forest of jagged size-plus teeth. "Yer words ring true and they intrigue me, kind sir. Prithee tell me more about how one steals from bandits."

"Aye now yer talking, Molly! I knew a mite o'considered thought and the earnest counsel of yer belly would bring ye 'round. But 'tis straightforward simple, in sooth. This castle will be receiving supplies every day when it's not under siege, so we have but to find ourselves a good ambush spot, bed down there for the night, then rise at dawn well rested to bid the first morning provisioners a cheerful toothy hello."

"And spoil the secret of our presence here?"

"Well aye, there's that, but it had to happen some time. We've found the bandits' true home so there's no longer a chance of them luring us to a false one, and yet that home is far more secure than I was expecting. These walls are in adequate repair and far too tall for a wolf to leap, and I fail to detect that slackness of defense which creates an opportunity for entry by stealth. Gorepaw's counsel was sound, I fear, and the life of a gadfly our sole choice, but we'll be helping our homeland in the process and who knows? Perhaps a chance will come for us to recover that which I lost."

"You didn't lose the mage stone, Garth. It was cut from you by a sword!"

"Well yes, I tell myself that, but the words ring hollow. Perhaps by luck and courage we'll get it back again." He nodded to the impregnable fortress squatting before them. "At least we know where it is!"

Garth turned away and bade her "Come; let me show you some likely ambush spots I noted on the way up here. Best to look them over and choose one now, while the road is empty and we can take our time about it."

Chapter 6

Night sounds rustled and Molly jerked awake, then slowly relaxed. The creature making those sounds was nearby but much too small to be a threat. A creeping fox, perhaps, or--she sniffed deep and a distinctive musky scent came clearly to her nose--a fox. Garth was spoon-cuddled close and stirred behind her, awake or half-awake, and through the fire-thinned fur of her lower back she felt the firm long bulge of his well-endowed male-wolf-part. She wiggled back against him and he hip-humped her once in response--only once--then nuzzled her ear and clasped her tight with both forelegs but did nothing more with those other parts of him so conveniently close at hand. Molly held herself motionless and Garth did too, until at last his breathing slowed, the gentle grip of his forelegs grew lax, and he drifted back to sleep.

Molly's stomach growled and she softly snort-snuffled, half-angry with the wolf behind her and still wide awake. Such a gentleman was Garth! Upper class through and through; not like her at all. Or--the subtle fox-scent reminded her--maybe not so different at that. Garth had mated a vixen-fox, he said--as a child no less!--and had lured the very Crown Prince of Valinoin to join him in the deed. Molly giggled at the scandalous thought and pressed back again, calling upon her own small power and that which the bandit watchman had given her to weave for Garth a playful lust magic. It was a petty witch spell Momma Skivens in furtive jest had shared with her, ancient and primitive, harmless and easy to ignore except--

Harsh raw mage-power surged through her and Molly whimper-gasped in sudden shock, reeling from the burning impact of it. In confusion she thrust the torrent outward, into the fabric of her half-done lust spell and the fragile thing unraveled, or began to unravel until by panicked instinct she somehow warped it into something new, something similar at root but vastly stronger. Without knowing how she did it she was guiding the power now, transforming it, sending it roiling through her new spell structure and bone-deep through the both of them, and it was working! Garth jerked awake and scrabbled to his feet shouting "Molly wake up! We're under attack! It's--" He looked wildly around him, at the deadwood-snarled vine willow thicket that kept them safe, at the wolf-friendly midnight darkness overall, and at his trusted companion Molly huddled panting and frazzled on the ground below.

"It's just me, Garth!" she yelped and the force-flow stopped, its residue quickly fading as it was sucked up and converted by the structure of her new-made spell. Converted to... what... she wondered, searching within herself for clues and finding nothing obvious at first impression.

Garth dropped down beside her to nuzzle frantically and whimper "Molly? Are you hurt? What can I do to--"

"Garth I'm fine! Really, I'm fine. Just surprised and shaken. Please forgive me for--"

"No Molly it's me! I did this to you! There's a defense spell my father wrought in me, meant to lash out at any who tries to enchant me in my sleep. Somehow it triggered by accident and struck you instead! I can't imagine why it--are you certain you're not hurt? That spell is meant to cause serious harm!"

"Garth I did enchant you! Or tried to. It was a silly little lust spell, no ill intended and--"

"You?" Garth was staring at her shocked, jaws stupidly agape as the meaning of her statement sank in.

"Well, yes. It was but for dalliance, though. Your father assured me I can't get pregnant until next spring and I'm sure that would be true as well for... others like me."

"You did it? You hexed me without my consent? Molly how could you? I'm... I... I don't know what to say." Garth jerked away from her and began to squeeze his way out through the twig-tangled leafy walls that protected them. "I need to walk," he growled. "And think. And calm myself down before I bite you or--" Garth suddenly stopped, and backed out from the tangle-wall. He haunch-sat gingerly and regarded Molly with a hurt hot-forge-fire eye. "Molly tell me true now--did you... complete that lust spell before the backlash hit you?"

"Garth I don't know! Things got crazy and I kind of... er... changed it a little. I don't know if the new spell did anything at all. But I feel nothing, so far; can't imagine what--" Molly fell silent, sensing all at once a subtle tingle sweeping through her spine and a rising sort of--something--from further down. And her nipples, they were tingling too. All ten of them. She drooped her ears in embarrassment and murmured "No. I do feel different. I guess the wretched spell spat back all its power into me. Serves me right, of course. You can bite me now, if you like, or leave me be and take that walk until you feel--"

Garth rumble-growled and rose to his feet, looming over her.

"Garth?"

He seized her scruff in his teeth and threw her down onto the summer-dry leaf litter, still growling. "Fromiss you wone do it again!" he demanded, voice muffled by her fur but clear enough nonetheless. Molly whimpered yes and held herself motionless for him, tail tug-twitching and heart aflutter, but not from fear. Garth's rough treatment had only strengthened the fire within her and "Garth?" she softly murmured, tail pulling itself eagerly to one side now, simply would not stay in place! "Garth? I don't think this is--"

Garth ignored her words and gripped her tighter, held her longer; held her until his throat-rumble became more purr than growl. At last he loosed his bite-grip and whispered "Cinderfluff."

"Eh?"

"Cinderfluff. My fragile flammable avenging angel. How can I stay angry with you? Your fur tastes like my father's death, and without your valiant rescue I would be dead too." He licked her ear and added "I've wronged you, Molly. You braved hellfire for me and I've returned the favor with a tantrum over nothing. Can you forgive me for it?"

"Garth of course I can!" Garth was still looming over her and Molly wiggled eagerly up against him, cheek-stroking the ragged line of his new-healed wound and burying her muzzle in the musky-fragrant fur ruff beside it. His neck pressed back against her, returning the caress, and beside her ear a whisper-whistling whine escaped his throat. Molly's lust-tingling burned stronger now, much stronger, and her throat was whine-whispering too. She rose tail-kinked to her feet and Garth kept his neck draped over hers, gently resting it there. He nuzzled her shoulder fur then snorted deeply and began to snuffle his way tail-ward murmuring "Molly? Are you sure you're not in heat?"

"Of course not!" Molly laughed then hesitated, sniffing thoughtfully at the air, at Garth's conveniently close-by underbelly, and at herself. "I smell the scent too," she at last admitted, "but it's in no way real," she hastened to add. "It can't be real! I'm naught but a lowly hedge-witch, Garth, and possess neither the power nor the jealous-guarded mage lore to work such a deep change. What we smell is a phantom scent brought on by my miscast lust spell, nothing more."

"Molly don't belittle yourself!" Garth growled. "Lowly or not, you've far more magical training than I've managed to acquire." He paused then, marshaling his thoughts, and sang:

In sooth you've fooled me fair, my winsome witch

Fer m'twitchin' nose can't nohow ken th' switch!

"Ach really now!" Molly rumbled, heart thumping hard beyond reason and ears pressed flat to her head in pleased embarrassment. "Such artful flattery to be comin' from a toothy monster's maw, it is." Silly bitch-heat thoughts bubbled through her and she began to hum a bawdy song melody then softly howl "Wiiii-ld wooooolf he woooood a wooooo-in' go..."

"... beyo-ooond the wooo-ooo-ds so grrreen..." warbled the equally heat-silly wolf-thing by her side. Or maybe it was rut-silly. Kind of hard to tell the difference, in a way, but no matter. The silly words suited their silly mood, and together they both sang:

...Wild Wolf he would a wooin' go

Through lands he'd never seen.

Oh, a dipsydoodle dodoo dow... uhm... do... er...doe...

Molly's voice faltered, and fell silent. "I don't remember all that part," she admitted.

"I do!" yipped her musky-sexy-heavy-necked companion. Heavy-necked and light-footed. The crafty cur had at last abandoned his gentleman-role and slipped a furtive foreleg across her shoulders, testing her. "Gorepaw taught me the words on our long hard row up to Puddleford," he said. "They're all about depraved unnatural witch-cursed wolfy lovemaking. A good hot oar-stroking song but there are plenty of others. For some reason this one seemed quite important to him."

Molly leaned helpfully forward and sideways, so that Garth was shifted off balance and his weight thrown partly onto her back. "Sir! What are you doing?" she teased.

"Er... nothing, Ma'am," he replied, walking his hind legs around and behind then catching up her haunches in a proper lupine mating embrace. "Nothing remotely unbefitting, 'tis sure, but sakes how ye're shakin' now! 'Tis like ye've caught a chill, m'dear, what with that terrible thin-burned fur along yer back. I'm but covering ye... er... sharing with ye the heated embrace o'my body so's to make ye feel more..."

Molly felt a questing tickle-touch between her hind legs, fur-brush-faint at first and far too low but soon finding its way upward, and backward, and--

"... comfortable."

--she gasped whimpering and her hips bucked quiver-quick as Garth's back-dragging cock tip chanced upon her heated spade-folds and hastily reversed itself, sensing the slick wetness and in that same swift instant slipping itself throat-catch-shudder-thrust inside.

How quickly he had found his way! For a heartbeat Garth froze still--they both froze still, astonished--then he plunged deep and began to rut her madly, squeak-panting in his eagerness while her own body clenched itself tight around him in pleasure-mad reflex response. She rammed herself back against him, twitching and bucking and whimpering small yips of her own as that part inside her swelled larger, knot-locking them while Garth humped unabated, hammering up against and within her with short hard thrusts strong enough to lift her hind paws from the ground.

No man had ever taken her like this! The rapid movements struck her deep, overwhelming her with their power, raw pleasure coursing through all parts of her, not just her backside; through thighs and spine and shock-parted jaws; through nipples and belly and... that thing stuck on beneath it. That was the strongest link of all! That strange new part of her was locked rock-hard within its sheath, untouched, yet each hot sarding-stroke Garth gave her brought forth from it a tingling erotic phantom-touch as heart-stopping as the real one.

And something else was tugging at her consciousness. Beneath the quicktime thrust-pleasure a building tension, a clenching-down, deep within her belly--

Molly howled in bliss-shock as the release caught her suddenly, stronger and sooner than she had thought; her legs locked shuddering, stomach fluttering, her own male member twitching strangely and pelvic muscles wildly spasm-clenching Garth's cock which right away froze still, then drove up hard against her cervix and began to pulse-twitch with clenching spasms of its own.

They stayed tight-locked like that for a time, not so very long, while Molly's proper senses came back to her and she smelled wolf seed on the leaf-mold beneath her nose; heard it softly squirt-dripping there. Wolf seed spurting out from her! Garth's frenzied hook-grip on her haunches relaxed, at last, but the lovely twitching within her went on--and her own strange two-fold-twitching response--as pulse by slow sweet pulse he gave his own fertile offering to the true-heat-fertile womb she thought was not.

For a long time neither spoke but then Garth began to fidget and "I have to turn now," he told her.

"Turn?" she teased, "Turn into what? Have you so quickly tired of your current form?"

"I need to turn myself around," he growled. "At this angle it's not comfortable to keep all my weight balanced on two legs."

"Weight? I don't feel any weight."

Garth leaned forward to drop his not-quite-quarter ton of wolf flesh across her back and settle himself at ease there, muzzle tip nestled coyly between her ears. He nuzzled them and pretended to fall asleep, feigned a long gurgling snore then roused himself and said "Unless you'd prefer for me to stay like this until my knot softens. I don't mind, really. Kind of comfy this way. Your choice!"

Garth's weight on her back was considerable, but no more than she could handle. He really did feel kind of nice up there. "You can stay that way," she told him, lowering herself carefully belly-down to the ground. "I've heard the hellhounds sometimes mate this way. They call it a snuggle-stack."

"Damn hellhounds have thought of everything," Garth muttered, hip-bumping her backside and gently nibble-licking a fever-flushed ear. Deep within her he still twitched and beneath him Molly shivered, still twitch-squeezing him in helpless raptured response. She pushed growl-purring back against him at the same time rubbing herself sensually through the musky and slightly soggy leaf-loam beneath her. He felt so wonderful, on top and inside her like that, and the pressure of her swollen nipples and twitching cock on the soft loam felt wonderful too, but at last their movements slowed, the urge to sleep overwhelming all others, and they did.