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Werewolf Hunters

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

The imposing grandfather clock lurking in the corner of the reception room continues its endless song while you wait to be allowed entry to Master Swift's office. His receptionist always gave you the creeps, a short, twiggy young man, about your age, by the unbearably generic name of Mr. Johnson; and he's currently staring emptily at the wall directly across from his computer.

Had it not been for the calendar depicting numerous hunters within the organization posing with the recently killed carcasses of lycanthropes, you might be prepared to think this a rather ordinary office. In truth, it is quite more ordinary than you had anticipated, when you were first recruited, you expected a little more action and a lot less paperwork, but that was the reality of the matter. You were all professionals trying to solve a menace that the government and the media didn't dare speak of and this necessitates some...no, a lot of bureaucracy.

You had not made a single kill when Master Swift called you to his office. You had grown a little tired of shuffling papers and were looking forward to putting your field training into action; none of the Masters had ever called you for a personal meeting until now.

“You may enter," Mr. Johnson suddenly announces and very slowly presses a button, buzzing you into the door behind his desk. “Master Swift awaits."

Nodding at the automaton, you step past him and slip open the door.

The smell of Master Swift's office assaults your nose as you enter. You had been warned about it by the other Initiates, the Master was a tad eccentric and had a veritable garden growing in his office but he had seen fit to only grow violets of all things. The rumor was that he ordered up a batch of wolfsbane and had gotten violets instead, which grew into a strange sort of manic obsession. Consequently, if one was not inclined towards the smell of violets, one could get a rather nasty headache.

Indeed, right now the Master is pruning a violet in a terracotta pot on the far end of the room, bathing under a growing lamp.

“Oh, it's you," Master Swift mutters, his long nose twitching as he smelt one of his precious flowers. Without even looking at you, he motions towards a chair in front of his desk. “Be seated."

The Masters of the Jager Order tend to be an eccentric bunch, including the Grandmaster himself, so you play along and comply, sitting down without any objection.

You remain silent while the Master gently prunes his plants for a good five minutes before he takes his seat across the desk from you. Sighing, he leans his chin on his hands and stares at you with intense green eyes.

“We're sending you out on a patrol to Clover Park."

“I won't let you down!" you bow. Membership in the Jager Order required absolute loyalty and loyalty was rewarded with eternal comradeship. “What abominations have been spotted there? Werewolves? Werefoxes? Werejaguars?"

“So eager to kill, hm?" Swift rolls his eyes and slaps a photo on the desk. It shows a blurry picture of a humanoid figure walking in the shadows, it looking more like a picture of a man in a sasquatch suit than a werewolf. “Some tourist claims to have taken a picture of a werewolf, we're sending you and a bunch of rookies to patrol. All of our intel says there's nothing to worry about, just secure the area, enjoy the night air, and report back with your findings."

You place your palm on the hilt of your silver sword and bow gracefully, “We shall prevail, Master!"

“Right, right..." Master Swift yawns, “...just don't get too excited, it's going to be a boring mission, okay?"

The air is crisp and cool as you breathe it in. Crickets chirp off into the woods incessantly, a relaxing little theme song to your calming patrol. Occasionally, an owl hoots. All the lovely noises of the night…

“This fucking sucks!"

Christopher launches a fierce kick against one of the park benches with his steel-toed boot, denting the legs of it slightly. Just like the rest of you, he's wearing a black cloak over boiled leather armor that's covered in silver studs. A silver chain is hanging from his neck from which a medallion that depicts a wolf's headwith a sword spiked through its skull.

“I signed up so I could kill werewolves, get paid, and get laid!" Christopher continues his immature tirade. “Not take a stroll down a national park at 2 in the fucking morning!"

“The Order of the Jager demands great sacrifice, Christopher," you say coolly, “not all jobs can be exciting."

“I would kill for something, anything, really!" Christopher pouts. “When was the last time the Order actually killed a lycan, huh? I've seen that company calendar, all those photos were from fucking a decade ago! They reprint them every year!"

“It is only through the Order's actions that the lycanthrope population has grown so meek. The price for security is eternal vigilance."

“Well, great, guess we'll be eternally vigilant for homeless, vagrants, and people making out; because that's all we're gonna find here, at best!"

“Hey..." Peter suddenly speaks up, breaking his silence. The man happened to be quite nervous and more than a little awkward in social events, this tended to make him say quite inappropriate things at the worst possible time, “...would any of you guys fuck a lycanthrope?"

For once, you and Christopher share solidarity, a brief moment of disgust at Peter's statement.

“Did you not pay attention to the classes?" you ask Peter with a look of incredulousness. “Lycanthropes tend to be more prone to rape than letting you have intercourse with them."

“Uh, yeah, I know, but let's say you could lay back and the nearest lycanthrope would have their way with you and they wouldn't so much as harm you otherwise, no bites, no infection. They'd pin you down and give you a fuck, then move on; would you do it?"

“That's not how it fucking works!" Christopher snaps. “Werewolves play for keeps, they either rip your throat out or they turn you into one of them!"

“And werefoxes are vain, decadent creatures who use their glamour to enthrall their victims into serving them for life," you add, blushing a bit when a particularly exciting image flashes in your head: of you being tied down, helpless before a dashing werefox with long, flowing fur who cups you by the chin and slowly drags your mouth closer to his. His eyes flash with malevolent magic and you know the moment those tiny black lips of his kiss yours, you're his, your mind eternally stapled to his will.

The classes at the Order tended to generate some differing reactions in its students when they talked about more salacious stories.

You try to remember your training and push those impure thoughts away.

“As for the rest, they're all pretty damn uniform in either treating humans as prey, whether that's by eating them or raping them! So no, Peter, I'm not interested in being raped by a werewolf!"

“I dunno, it might be interesting! Did you see the package on the cadaver that Master Stein brought in? Looked pretty interesting!"

“Hoooooly shit, son," Christopher groans, “I'm not listening to this for a minute longer. You need to get your shit together, you're a goddamn hunter! Show some fucking self-respect!"

“Alright, that's enough!" you shout and slap your hand atop the pommel of your sword, desperately trying to maintain some order. “I'm sure we've all thought about scratching a cute wolfy behind the ear, but that's not reality. The reality is that these things are bloodthirsty killing machines and they won't stop until mankind is nothing more than their livestock. “

Christopher begins thumping his boot on the pavement to the tune of the Jager's Oath.

“But as long as we draw breath, the wretched creatures of the night will trouble humanity no longer! Look at how they hide, fearful of our patrol!" you join in the stomp of Christopher's boot. “Jagers do not fear the night! Jagers do not fear the dark! Jag-"

You're suddenly thrown to the ground, hit by what feels like a battering ram. You grope around blindly for your sword, growls filling the air around you. You feel the leather strips wrapped around the hilt of your blade but before you can pull it out, a heavy weight slams down hard atop your wrist.

“Don't even think about it, human."

Turning up from the pavement, you catch a glimmer of flashing amber eyes burning in the reflection of a park lamp and glistening white fangs jutting out from a muzzle covered in black fur.

All of your training: the combat lessons, the psychological hardening, the tales of victims of lycanthrope predation and of those who gave up...all of that went out the window. Your left hand quivers as you look at the meaty paw holding your hand down, you imagine ripping your blade out of its scabbard and running the creature down, but all it takes is one hard look from the flaming eyes of the wolf and all thoughts of resistance fade. You let the sword go.

You lay there, looking up at the hunched over, hulking wolf-man and wait. Howls echo through the park as the rest of his pack step forward, getting between you and your fellow initiates.

“L-l-let him go!" Christopher bellows, all his swagger having left him. His sword is drawn, shaking as his eyes dart from wolf to wolf.

Peter meanwhile, simply stares aghast at the scene.

“This one is ours!" a brown wolf, smaller than the one holding you down, exclaims with thick droplets of drool dripping from his fangs. “We have claimed him!"

The wolf tightens his grip on your wrist and drags you back slowly until you feel warm fur brush up against the back of your neck. Black claws wrap around your throat, prodding just hard enough to hurt as you're held against a solid wall of fur and muscle.

A warm, wet tongue gently laps against your cheek and the wolf holding you down whines slightly. His breath smells of blood and to your surprise, there's something exhilarating about it. This predator could kill you at a moment's notice and yet he chooses to simply hold you there, even if merely as a hostage.

“Unless you wish to join him?" the wolf suddenly speaks before giving you another slow lick across the face. You sob slightly, fear and uncertainty once again making a home in your heart. “The pack hungers for more meat."

Two of the werewolves begin pacing around Christopher and Peter. Before you can warn them, the two initiates step back, swords pointed at the wolves attempting to flank them. Just as their training said.

Of course, their training also taught them to never leave a comrade behind.

“I-I'm sorry!" Christopher sobs as he steps back, keeping his sword ready in case the wolves make chase. “Fuck, I'm sorry man!"

“Lie down and play dead!" Peter exclaims as he joins his only remaining comrade in retreat. “Maybe they'll just rape you!"

Your initiates retreat, leaving you alone with no one but the wolves for company.

Shivering, you reach for the silver chain that hangs from your neck. If your friends can't do it, you must, that is the way of the Jager.

Screaming, you wrap the chain around the wolf's wrist. Merely a touch of silver is enough to make a werewolf's skin and bone disintegrate, that is what you were taught.

In reality, the werewolf merely looks down at your attempt to murder him with an amusing snort. Lowering his snout, he presses his wet, black nose up against the chain and you feel his hot breath brush up against your skin while he smells it.

“Sterling silver," he laughs, giving the chain a lick for emphasis, “your order has grown quite frugal, haven't they? Surely they know that even the smallest impurity renders silver harmless?"

Feeling suddenly very defenseless, you try and break free but the wolf digs his claws into your throat tighter, cutting off your airway and you instantly freeze. That cold nose of his presses up against your cheek, nuzzling gently at your flesh as he takes in your scent.

“You're excited, human," he chuckles.

Suddenly, you feel something sharp and hard brush up against your skin. You recoil just before those white fangs of his click together, missing you by a mere inch. A drop of spittle, infected with the foul creature's curse, splatters up against your face harmlessly.

“What are you afraid of, human?" his pink tongue licks at his ebony lips. “Your pack has abandoned you, left you here at our mercy. Our kind would never do such a thing, even the weakest of our pack is to be protected."

“Now..." the wolf's paw suddenly ventures its way down your trousers. Finding your cock to be slightly hard, the wolf chuckles with pleasure, “...doesn't that sound nice?"

“N-no," you reply with a shake in your voice. The pads of his paw were soft and pliable, like putty, and there was an undeniable sense of pleasure jolting up your shaft.

Still, you deny. It was part of your training.

The Weres were not all mere snarling beasts, many had silver tongues dripping with venom. They would offer you things, such pleasant things, but it was all a trick to fool you into surrendering, becoming a mere slave to their whims.

“Why? What do you fear?" his pads press up firmly against your shaft and you gasp. “Never being able to return home to your order? It sounds like you don't have a home there anymore."

Once again, those sharp fangs brush up against your neck, jolting your hairs upright. His harsh whisper echoes through your ears, “All you need to do is accept my offer..."

“Your kind kills humans. You hunt them down for sport!"

“We greatly prefer the taste of beef or pork to humans," the werewolf's tongue laps at your neck, spreading his cursed saliva across your skin, “and you Jagers take quite a bit of pleasure in hunting us down. When was the last time your order confirmed a werewolf they hunted was a man-hunter?"

“I..."

“Join us and you will just be hunting a different kind of prey," the alpha continues to lick at your neck, “once your order is dealt with, we'll have no quarrel with humanity."

“E-even so!" you stutter out. There is a strange tingling sensation left on your skin where the wolf licks you, perhaps it is just psychosomatic, but part of your brain is imagining it to be the Lycanthropy virus trying to penetrate your skin. Most disconcertingly, it feels a little good, almost like how some sex lubricants are designed to tingle when applied. “I know what you do to human you turn! They're the weakest pack bitches and you rape them as a show of dominance!"

“Our pack gives every human a choice. When you're turned, you are weak and we certainly like to have a little fun," the wolf shifts slightly and you can feel a thick bulge right around where his crotch is, “but they all chose this lifestyle, every last one of them. One can become more than the pack bitch but if they don't, is there anything wrong with that?"

That cold nose of his brushes up against your ear and you shiver.

“Even the weakest can help the strongest of us," his hot breath sifts through your ear, “all wolves are loved, no matter what their place is. You will never be alone again."

A tear rolls down your cheek, much to your surprise. Your friends are all gone, the Jager Order so very far away, and all you can remember are the worst parts of your training.

Those sleepless nights, the early morning drills conducted by mean-spirited Masters, the lousy food, the small cell that you slept in each night.

All of this was supposed to be part of a greater mission. Suffer now and reap the rewards later, all for the glory of mankind.

But what rewards were there really? Your reward was to be used as bait and equipped with substandard weapons that stand no chance against your hated foe.

Am I just bait? Sacrifice an initiate to gauge werewolf activity?

It might not have been the truth, but that's all your mind can think of now.

And here you are, pinned to the muscular, furry body of one of the most hated kinds of Weres around and they were offering you a choice. A chance to throw all of those bad memories behind and start anew. He could tear you from limb to limb in an instant, but he was not.

Perhaps the wolf is lying, but what do you have to lose?

“Turn me..." you whisper quickly. Your heart skips a beat and your brain jolts, not even your body was expecting this decision.

“Are you sure?" the wolf whispers.

“Do it," you lean up against the wolf's muscular torso. For the first time that night, you feel safe, “I don't care if I'm the weakest, I just want..."

You can't find the words.

Hot breath brushes up against your cheek and you feel the fur of the wolf's muzzle tickle your skin as his snout reaches your throat.

“This will hurt," he whispers, taking a gentle nip at your skin, “but I will be here with you."

“Do it!"

You don't even feel his razor-sharp fangs sink into your flesh, there is no pain, not until they slip out and blood begins to pour out.

You're about to scream from pain when your Alpha (Your Alpha...you repeat those words in your head.) frantically begins lapping at the wound and the pain dulls as his cursed saliva enters your body. That very same tingling sensation now runs along your veins and arteries, spreading to the furthest reaches of your body.

Your entire body feels good, in a very strange sort of way, but also very limp and weak. Thanks to your Alpha, you do not collapse.

The entire pack soon join in, taking turns licking at your wound and joining the furry embrace. Soon your entire world is nothing more than a mass of fur blanketing you but it doesn't feel stifling at all.

You feel...loved…

Eventually, your entire body tingles. The infection is overtaking you, there is no way to reverse the curse now, not even if you drink a vial of wolfsbane extract. You remember now that you have one within reach but you do not consider using it for a moment, nor do you feel any regret for not remembering it.

Bones suddenly twist in your wrists and feet, morphing your limbs into the paw-like hybrids that the werewolves have. As you scream out in pain, the pack starts to howl and you feel their chests rumble while they hold you down, helping ease you away from the pain and to remember what you're getting out of this when it is all over.

Your legs then begin to suddenly bend backwards, turning them into a digitgrade form. This is even more painful than before, especially for a split-second where your femur snaps before morphing into its new form. The pack continues howling, trying to get you to stop focusing on the pain.

You can feel yourself growing larger; your clothes begin to tear as your mass increases, until there's nothing left of them but scraps.

Tiny hairs begin to prick through your skin like needles. You feel itchy as they grow until they cover your entire body in course fur, much like the other member's of the pack. You feel hotter, almost like you're wearing a parka in the middle of summer.

Finally, your face begins to morph and all the pain before is nothing compared to this. The front of your face twists and bends until a long snout is forced out from its prison of flesh and bone. Your skull flattens and your round ears start to move upward and twist until they're short, furry triangles.

Suddenly, the pain stops, as does the pack's howling. You still cannot see beyond the wall of fur but you don't need to anymore. Your nose twitches and you realize it's now large, wet, and leathery like the rest of the werewolves; all kinds of scents invade your nose, many you don't even have words for. You feel like a blind man who can suddenly see one day.

The pack breaks away slowly. Finally, you can see your body in all its glory.

Your fur is gray, with white running along your belly, covering up new layers of muscles that you never had before. You feel like you could take on any Jager in a one-on-one fight, but you can't help but notice that you're smaller than the other werewolves, enough to make you feel weak, much like your Alpha had warned you about.

But what catches your attention the most is a red, veiny cock sticking out of a white sheathe between your thighs. The pain is gone now but that tingly sensation in your body remains and you can feel it traveling down to the most sensitive of areas.

You feel amazing and you want to reward the pack for their kindness.

Whining, you get on all fours and lift your rear, swishing your tail back and forth.

“Looks like our new bitch is eager to prove himself," the Alpha chuckles as he grabs you by the hips.

That word, bitch, did not feel like an insult as it would have before you were turned. It feels like a statement of fact now, you are the pack bitch and there's nothing wrong with that.

Every member of the pack contributes in their own way. Some contribute by serving the strong.

You yelp as a cold nose presses up against your butt. Turning around, you see the Alpha sniffing it quite intently and you crane your neck back, sniffing in his direction to get his scent as well.

It was already very earthy before but now it's something else entirely. You can actually smell dominance on him, something that does not translate well to the human tongue, but just catching a whiff of it is enough to make your arms weaken.

“Mark me up," you whisper, wanting that intoxicating scent on you, both inside and out, “Alpha, please!"

“Bitches can be so needy," the alpha says jokingly right before he licks your butt with that long tongue of his. Your own tongue starts to roll out of your muzzle happily. “But I like that."

Your Alpha runs his tongue once more across your butt before standing up and pressing his thighs up against your rear. His cock, thicker and longer than your own, brushes up against your balls and sheathe as he grinds.

“Please..." you moan, pawing desperately at the red cock, “...take me...I want to be shown my place in the pack..."

Suddenly, you feel a weight press up against your rear and before you can process it, the Alpha's tapered cock begins to slowly slide inside.

“Oh..." you moan as his organ begins to probe the rim of your ass, “...Alpha..."

With each thrust, the Alpha goes in deeper. This feels so right, for the first time in your life, you're where you want to be: a lusty servant of a powerful werewolf Alpha.

You feel the end of his shaft slip past your defenses and a sudden explosion of pleasure wracks your body. Your arms and legs go limp, you're held in place only thanks to the strong arms of your Alpha still clutching at your hips.

Panting, you whine as your Alpha begins to pound you. Growling lowly, he bites at the back of your neck, not far from where your original bite-wound is. Electricity shoots down your spine as he clenches his fangs, you cannot resist even if you want to.

“Tight fucking bitch..." your Alpha grunts as drool trickles between his teeth and down your neck.

His thrusts intensify and you feel a weight growing at the bottom of his shaft.

The memories of your lessons were growing more distant after your transformation but you remember one thing from anatomy class.

The knot.

It seemed terrifying back when the Jagers were talking about it. Imagining a werewolf pinning you down, aggressively raping you, and you're literally stuck together and cannot escape. It was once your greatest fear.

But now it feels like something to wish for.

The perfect symbol of being bound to a pack for life, getting tied to your Alpha.

“Knot me, please!"

“I make the decisions here, bitch!" he growls playfully and tightens his fangs.

With relief, you feel the swelling shaft of his force its way inside and then he keeps it there. You can feel the knot swelling as it stretches your anus, sealing up any hope of escape, not that you have any.

There is some pain but it is nothing compared to the sheer joy of being tied to your Alpha.

Your Alpha does not last much longer. He whines sharply and you feel his hot ejaculate shoot into you. You are now well and truly his bitch and there is no greater honor for you.

Your canine cock is still hard when the Alpha pulls you back onto the ground with him, holding you tight to his chest as he snuggles you.

Suddenly, his eyes dart down to your cock, noticing it is still aroused.

Whistling, he calls out to the rest of the pack, “Someone finish him off!"

The brown wolf from before crawls towards you, thick tongue lolling out as he eyes your cock.

“I would do it myself but..." the Alpha grinds his tied-up crotch, “...everyone gets pleasured in the pack, bitch. Make sure you return the favor."

That thick tongue belonging to the brown wolf slaps against the tip of your cock and he slowly slides it into his maw, careful not to let it scrape up against his fangs. His tongue is warm and the sides of it folded up, wrapping around your shaft.

Eyeing the wolf's own red cock, you wrap your paws around it and start stroking. It is already swollen, no doubt aching with seed ready to burst.

Your own knot starts to swell up and the wolf is careful to avoid letting it get caught in his jaws while he continues giving you a tongue-job.

“He's the former bitch, before you joined us," the Alpha whispers, “he's an expert at this and soon you will be too."

Yelping, your cock suddenly shudders and seed shoots out into the wolf's maw. He closes his mouth slightly, trying to catch all the semen, but a bit begins to drip out of the corner of his black lips.

His own cock suddenly bursts as well and you feel another wave of hot wolf semen slap against you, this time in the fur around your crotch. Even now, so shortly after the act is over, you can tell your scent has changed. Any wolf who smells you can tell that you're a member of this pack now, you belong to them.

You've never felt this happy before.

The entire pack runs up and begins licking at your face and giving you gentle bites around your new muzzle. They're kissing you, in their own way, and welcoming their newest member.

Everyone's snouts lift up to the air and a chorus of victorious howls ring out, that you join along with.

Your humanity is cast aside and you embrace the wolf inside you.

And you feel no regrets.

Master Swift sighs as he trims a dead bloom off of one of the many violets littering his office.

Such troublesome things! Necessary, I suppose.

Looking at the clock, a small smile grows on his face.

Right about now, I figure. Another new member of the pack.

“Johnson!" Swift calls out towards the door. “Get in here and kneel!"

The door opens up and Swift's thrall enters without making so much as a noise, closing the door behind him and getting on his knees. He looks up at the Master with the only expression he could muster: desire.

“You are so lucky, you know that?" he whispers, brushing a gloved hand along the thrall's smooth facial skin. “In another time, you could have been a bitch to those wolves, just as he will be..."

“Yes, Master..."

“It's so...exciting, watching a human kneel towards his betters, don't you think?"

“I live to serve, Master..."

“Those wolves, I swear..." Swift suddenly takes off his robes and lets them slip to the ground, “...their obsession with turning everyone and their mother into kin is unhealthy, but they're useful allies."

Johnson can only stare blankly as his Master relaxes, letting the glamour slip and a more comfortable form reveal itself.

Crimson red fur with a white tip atop a bushy tail. A slender muzzle ending with a black nose. Gold eyes filled with cunning…

Johnson had seen all of these a hundred times before. Only the first time, did he feel anything but servility and desire; when the Master had pinned him up against the wall and corrected his behavior. A mere kiss and staring into those beautiful eyes of the werefox was enough to change him into the Johnson he is now.

“Solidarity among weres," Swift's black lips curl up in a grin as he cupped the human by the chin, digging into his cheeks with black claws, “bet your kind will never see it coming, hm?"