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When the world finally came back into focus, Dughall knew he was in for it. At first, he thought there might have been some strong drink involved in his trip to the floor, but this was not the ceiling of a jail cell or any other place where rough men might sleep off a wild night. The thatch was well-tended and there were decorations of a softer variety.

Where am I? It’s warm … I’m on something soft … the room smells like … like … herbs?

Something distinctly feminine lingered in the air and Dughall began to remember some of the details of the previous day. Through the standard haze generally brought about by a night of continuous drinking, there formed the body of a pretty girl. The memory of that bosom and the insolence in her stance caused a reaction that should have caused his pants to tighten … but it suddenly occurred to him that he was not wearing any.

Bloodshot eyes flared open and Dughall looked wildly around him. Around him hung the trappings of a humble cottage. Logs and straw made the structure stand but there were also frilly woman things covering the walls and making all of the furniture more … girly. The smells that had been lingering at the edge of his senses were now telling him that a woman lived here.

Oh, balls … did I get married?

A brief struggle caused the cold metal to bite sharply into his wrists and ankles. Looking down at himself, he realized he was wearing a nightshirt and bonnet like one might see on an old woman.

“What the buggering hell?”

The metal shackles did not look all that tough but when he flexed and strained against them, Dughall felt so weak that he could barely draw breath.

“Heh … hey! What’s going on here?” What was meant to be a shout came out as a wheeze, but it caused something to stir.

There was a polite knock at the door and a girl’s pretty voice called out. “It’s me, Granny, Little Red Riding Hood! Can I come in?”

The words sounded like a person rehearsing lines in a play but they poured into Dughall’s brain like cream over cake. Strange ideas soaked into his thoughts and he heard himself call out in an obviously fake voice no one could mistake for a real elderly woman.

“It’s open! Please come in!”

The latch was released and a cool breeze fluttered in behind a vision of innocence and beauty. The young woman wore a rich red cloak and her delicate chocolate locks peeked shyly around the edges of the cowl. Freckles speckled her cheeks in a pleasing pattern and her lips looked soft and inviting. The girl was sending too many different messages to Dughall’s brain for any one of them to get the attention it needed. The dress said she was a little too young and plenty innocent. The stance said she was trying to look meek but was too far away from it to pull it off.

When her sharp dark eyes focused on him, the carnal hunger from before boiled Dughall’s blood and he strained against the shackles once more. The girl pushed the door shut and locked it. The smile she gave him was both brilliant and cold. Fear danced around the edges of his hunger and then the girl continued their fake script.

“I’ve brought you some sweets to make you feel better,” she said in an unconvincing tone of syrup and arsenic.

“Put the food on the table, dear, and come get into bed with me.” Dughall heard himself respond as if someone else were controlling him. For some reason, the girl obeyed the strange words but Dughall soon found it difficult to chase those thoughts. Buttons unfastened and lace was tugged free. Youth shone on velvety skin and goosebumps raised to greet the cool air. For some reason, she kept the cape and cowl but the rest of her was smooth and free to the eye.

The girl climbed onto the bed and wiggled under the covers. Nubile skin was like silk through the nightshirt and her heat seemed to seep into Dughall’s body. A desperate need to press himself against her surged up and he tried to move once more. Cold hardened her nipples and she snuggled against him as if he were a teddy bear.

“Oh, Granny,” the girl said in a tone of false concern. “Your voice sounds so odd. Is something the matter?”

“Oh, I just have a tiny cold, dear,” Dughall squeaked, adding an obviously fake cough at the end to prove the point. Carefully, the girl touched him and a shiver went through his body that was not natural in its intensity.

“Why Granny, what big arms you have.”

“The better to hug you with, my dear.”

The response was automatic and Dughall’s eyes bulged as he tried to figure out what was going on. His arms began to burn and the shackles cut into his wrists until they bled. The girl made a sound of approval and a wicked little giggle filled her voice. Feminine hands felt his arms and trailed along his ribs until they rubbed the long muscles of his legs.

“Why Granny, what big legs you have.”

“All the better to run with, my dear.” The automatic words caused his legs to cramp into knots. Dughall opened his mouth to shout obscenities but nothing happened and he could only hiss his obstinate rage. When the pain subsided, he felt the way he did after a vigorous workout. When he dared to look he realized his limbs were much bigger than he remembered them being. “Bloody hell … what the-”

“And, Granny!” The girl’s voice spoke with the tone of authority, cutting him off and continuing the story. “What big ears you have!”

“All the better to hear with, my dear.”

A wave of dizziness swirled his senses and a ferocious itching tickled both ears. A sound like rustling fabric filled his world and when they settled he could hear the rushing heartbeat of the girl, the excitement of her breathing, and the wind of the storm outside. Something else was in the air but he could not make it out.

“And Granny,” the girl said, her voice returning to something akin to a whisper, “what big eyes you have.”

“The better to see you with, my dear.”

Reflex squeezed his eyes shut but when they opened, the world looked different. The details of the room appeared to be a little sharper and a faint light was suddenly noticeable. Dughall flexed in his shackles and turned just enough to see rings drawn around the bed which were now glowing with a pinkish-purple light. Runes that had been drawn around the outer ring began to fill in and glow with each verse of the story.

“Magic,” Dughall hissed. “You little witch … you’re-”

“And Granny,” the witch effortlessly cut him off, “what thick fur you have.”

“The better to keep you warm … my dear.”

The next series of magical rings flared to life, as she spoke, and a trail of glowing runes seemed to etch themselves into the wood when Dughall replied. The whole of his body began to itch as thick fur sprouted from every part of his skin.

“You’re … turning me … into a wolf,” Dughall managed to say as he struggled against the restraints holding him in place.

“And Granny,” the witch continued with an almost feral gleam in her eye, “what a strong and sexy body you have.”

“The better to please you with, my dear.”

The bulging of muscles and the snapping of bones wracked Dughall’s body with a mixture of pleasure and pain. The nightshirt strained briefly before bursting from his increased bulk. The bed groaned under his size and made pitiful crunching noises as it settled onto the floor.

The witch recovered quickly and straddled Dughall before he realized his arms had come free. In his right mind, he would have lunged forward and grabbed at her, but the red cloak flared open and the young woman’s nakedness drew him in like a moth to an open flame.

The magnificent shelf of tavern-wench bosom was now dangling before his eyes and the usual weakness of his lust caused him to hesitate. Alluring nipples stood erect with excitement and cold. Soft skin glistened with sweat. The hair around her sex had been shaved smooth and the skin was tattooed with something arcane. A moment of perfect clarity caused the details to burn into the primal male mind and he realized her beauty had been mostly glamour. All of this was fake but he still wanted her more than he had wanted anything else in his simple life.

Dughall’s right mind suddenly woke up and a now-free hand seized the vulnerable maiden and pulled her to him. The other hand firmly gripped the mass of curly brown hair and he pressed her lips against his. The witch let out a moan of protest, as he violated her mouth with his tongue, then he pulled her head back in a painful arch.

“You wanted a big bad wolf?” Dughall snarled, baring canine teeth and squeezing the fistful of hair until the girl’s dark eyes grew wide with fear. He began to grind the flat of his erection against the slickness of her dripping sex and began a chant of his own. “Pretty little piggy-girl let me in, or I’m gonna huff and puff and-”

“Drop!” the witch shouted.

Dughall’s body responded without his permission and he let go. Fear was replaced by anger as the witch bared her teeth and grabbed a fist full of his chest fur. Her touch caused blood to rush into his groin and it felt as if someone had strapped a muzzle over that part of him. Dughall grunted in lust and pain but then he tried to grab her again.

“No! Bad dog!” The words were like a slap, stopping his hand and causing the rest of him to go rigid with shock. The wicked grin she gave him caused a bucket of cold fear to wash away Dughall’s rage and he stared up at her with wide eyes. “Stay to the story,” the witch ordered and her voice caused his body to resonate like a bard stroking a cord on his lute. “Now where were we? Oh yes.” The Little Red Witch shifted from her perch, reached back, and cupped her hand over his most delicate parts. “Why Granny, what a mighty fine sack and slammer you have.”

“The … better to … to … breed you with … my dear.”

Sigils etched themselves together and light poured in as the story came to life. The agony from before redoubled until a sudden release let the flesh break free. The erection that emerged was like the ones he remembered from puberty. Long, hard, and painful … they would wake him at night and grant him no relief. A primal snarl rose up from Dughall and he began to struggle up from his prone position but the witch leaned forward and spoke.

“Why Granny, what a big nose you have.”

“The better to smell you with, my dear.”

The world went blurry with tears as Dughall learned that a wolf’s strongest sense is their sense of smell. Every aspect of his environment flooded into his nose and there was little he could do but wait for his brain to catch up with the deluge of new information.

“Oh … Mister Wolf,” the witch cooed, still in the feigned innocence of a little girl, “When you said I should stop and smell the flowers, you didn’t stop to smell them yourself! Here, I brought these for you.” Reaching into her satchel, the young woman drew forth a bundle of herbs, took a pinch, and sprinkled it over Dughall’s now wolfish snout. He tried not to inhale but her voice was hypnotic. She was his narrator and he could not disobey the bard.

Snuffling like a hound on a scent, the near-wolf breathed in the tiny particles of flower and herb. A witch’s brew of mind-altering powder filled his new canine senses and poured directly into his brain.

“So many flowers to smell,” Little Red Witch purred as she crawled forward. Though he could not see, the wolf knew the scent of a woman. Once she straddled his snout the rhythm of her story continued. “Smell this most delicate flower,” she ordered. “Breathe deep the scent of your master. Remember me, accept my offer, and rejoice in my love.”

Pheromones and herbs thickened the fog in his mind. The power of the ritual crackled around them and Dughall could not resist the spell. Muscles that could uproot trees refused to move against the witch. The trap had been perfect and he could not throw her off. She was going to tame him … and he would be grateful for it in the end.

“Yeesss,” the witch hissed. “That’s it. Draw in the scent of your master. Remember the sound of my voice. Lust for the fruit of my body. I am your alpha. I am your mate. I am your queen. My joy is your joy. My pain is your pain. Draw in your breath and remember.”

The scent of her filled him and he began to writhe in ecstatic agony. He loved her … he hated her … he wanted her … he despised her. Love and hate smashed together, swirled through his mind, and reduced him down to his lesser self.

For a moment, the witch pulled away, but then she returned. When the wolf’s eyes cleared he could see her backside and the rest of her sprawled along his body. The wicked girl cupped his orbs with one hand and gently massaged his length with the other. Red flesh swelled with a need so painful and pure.

“Here we are,” his mate whispered and she blew lightly on the glistening length. The man tried to struggle but the wolf was obedient and held him firmly as she teased sensitive flesh. The warmth of her lips was his reward. Slowly, she drew him into her mouth; her sly tongue tasting his body and slithering over his surface. When she dipped forward, she took him up to his knot. Skilled hands played over the bulbous portion, stroking him as her head bobbed up and down. There was no chance he could resist and soon, his old seed surged out of him.

Thick ropes of sticky heat filled her mouth and were noisily swallowed. The gulping sound filled the wolf-man’s ears with pleasure, as only a loyal mate would do such a thing. His pleasure was her pleasure and this was wondrous for the both of them.

“You are my mate and my shield,” spoke the alpha female. “Rendall, Wolf Shield, attend me.”

The man who was Dughall slipped beneath the waves and Rendall Wolf Shield bobbed to the surface. Rendall placed his large hands on either side of his mate’s hips and began licking what she had presented to him. The sounds she made pleased him but her voice did more than simply gasp with lust.

“Ah … Granny,” she managed to say as she panted, “what … a big tongue … you have.”

“The better to taste you with, my dear.”

Rendall’s words caused his face to stretch out a little more and his tongue lolled out to a proper length. Soon he was slurping her backside more thoroughly and the sounds of her pleasure grew with intensity. His mate’s nails scratched his belly, her fingers clutched at his fur, and then the muscles in her thighs clenched and spasmed. Scent and sound filled the air as she cried out and it was some time before she collapsed onto his chest.

Both of them lay still and panting, for a time. Then his mate stood and all of his restraints were released. Rendall turned sideways and rolled out of the wreckage of the old bed. His Little Red Alpha was so much smaller than he was but protecting his mate was important and so he prowled around the small cottage to make certain it was safe. There was only one thing left in their courtship and he could see the knowledge in her eyes.

“Ooohhh … my Big Bad Wolf,” she purred, “what big teeth you have.”

“The better to EAT you with, my dear!”

The last component of the ritual snapped into place and Rendall rose to the occasion. Blood filled his length as his mate let her cape fall to the floor and got onto her hands and knees. His attentions had already caused her to drip with similar needs to his own and so there was very little resistance to his intrusion.

The canine tip spread her with ease and she welcomed the rest of him inside. He thrust forward with a snarl of primal lust and pressed the base of his knot against her entrance. Though she needed him inside of her, he knew her gasp of delight would turn into a scream and then tears if he knotted her too soon. Carefully, he drew back and faithfully he returned. Slowly, cautiously, he moved forward and back in time with her breathing.

“Oh! Oh yes! Oh, gods yes!”

Rendall’s Little Red Alpha praised him and his tongue lolled out in a canine grin. Muscles clenched and released around his wolfhood. She gripped him hard as she shivered with peek, making the kind of noises he now lived for. Rendall knew to stop and let his shuddering mate come down off of her peak. Warm liquid began to run down his length when she relaxed and soon there was a small river dripping onto the floor. Through their link, he could feel her pleasure and he knew when she wished him to move once more.

This time his thrusting was a little more exuberant and he spread her a little wider each time he pressed in. Lusty cries told the Big Bad Wolf how to please Little Red and he began thrusting harder. Again her words praised him and this spurred him on with greater vigor. The pace was set by the alpha and soon she was crying out for him to take her … to bite her … to breed her. Soft flesh yielded under his teeth but he was careful not to tear or rend. The impact of his knot spread her even wider and each time it passed he thought he would burst.

“Breed me you big bad wolf! Do it now! Fill me with your seed!”

Rendall slammed forward and the knot caught. Muscles tightened around him and his new lupine potency flooded into fertile soil. Their peak shook the world as they howled with the bliss found only in stories. The passions of wolves for their mates linked them together and Rendall knew he would love her all the days of his life.

Slowly they returned to the present and he collapsed over her. Carefully, he maneuvered his elbows and knees so that he would not harm her. Lupine seed distended her belly but his knot would let none leak. He could feel her heart beating through their connection and the sound of her breathing slowed into something deep and satisfied. They stayed tied together for a long time and the alpha reached up and patted him on the head.

“Who’s a good boy?” she cooed.

“I’m a good boy,” Rendall told her, and for the rest of his life … it was so.