The Werewolf - Sex Stories

The Werewolf

Jess-Belle opened the door, something she'd never dared do on a night like this. It was easier than she expected, but a knot of fear still drew tight in her stomach. The little clock on the mantle chimed midnight. Moonlight filtered through the stirring pines. It a nice night, but no one in their right mind would be out. No one but Jess-Belle, and even she hesitated before stepping over the threshold. The door shut behind her very quietly. A dirt path led from the little cottage to the main trail and from there, eventually, to the paved road into town, but she didn't take that. Instead she went the back way, into the woods, following a path so faint it was almost invisible. The tall trees with their old branches blocked out the sky but they couldn't hide the silver-blue moon. Jess-Belle liked the way the moonlight gilded the tips of the pine needles and her long, filed nails. All the familiar rocks and streams and coils of underbrush along the path looked strange and new, as if the forest had taken off a mask for just one night. She was, of course, worried. Not about being out, but that Billy-Ben might not meet her after all. He too had never snuck out on Full Moon Night (even at her age Jess-Belle couldn't help but think of the expedition as "sneaking out," as if she were still a schoolgirl fearing her parents' remonstrations), and he might lose his nerve. It wasn't the idea of waiting all night that bothered her so much as the long walk back to a lonely bed and another ...

... month of anxious nights. She was too old for this feeling, but it was there anyway. She realized she was stepping softly. There was no reason to, of course. No one was around to-- A dark shape appeared on the path. Jess-Belle clapped a hand over her mouth to stop her scream and hunched down in the hollow of a tree, waiting for the flare of panic in her chest to burn out. The shape was just a few feet away, crossing the path and leaving a rustle of pine needles in its wake. It was a strange thing, hunched and misshapen. Was it coming closer or going away? She couldn't tell without peeking. Mouthing a prayer, Jess-Belle leaned around the corner... She almost laughed. It was Granny Mim, the fisherwoman from the other side of the hollow. Her strange silhouette was due to the shawl over her head and the pack on her back. Whatever she was lugging it was big and cumbersome and it bent her double. Jess-Belle watched the fisherwoman amble off and counted two hundreds breaths from the last time she heard the old woman's steps, and when she was certain the coast was clear she came out again. She cocked her head after Granny Mim. What was that old coot doing sneaking around on Full Moon Night, hauling God-knows-what through a neck of the woods half a mile from her creek? It was none of Jess-Belle's business, of course. But what if... No time to wonder now; the scare had made her late. Assuming Billy-Ben was really coming, of course. She followed the trail through the oldest part of the ...