Wolf At The Door

Samantha raced to light the final candle before the matchstick burned her fingers. She made it – a good omen – and set the thick black candle back on the last cardinal point on the chalk circle surrounding her, watching the tiny yellow bud struggle to blossom like the others.

Her hands fidgeted with her blouse and jeans, and she considered again performing the invocation skyclad – naked – as prescribed in the Arcanna. But modesty prevailed, even alone in her own living room at midnight, with the curtains drawn. Besides, since she began studying the magicks, she'd concluded that many of the rules were unnecessary.

She rechecked the required items she'd ‘borrowed' from the coven: silver dagger and cup, incense bowl burning acrid white wisps of mandrake into the air, the Arcanna, open to the appropriate page…

And of course the effigy, hand-sized, crudely-shaped but its lupine features still recognisable, the object soaked in blood, bound with wolf hair and collared with a paper scroll inscribed with the proper runes. It stood on the floor, haunches raised as if ready to pounce on some unsuspecting prey.

Samantha raised the dagger over it as if ready to pounce first, and began the spell, hearing in her mind her translation of the Rhaeto-Romanic words into English. "O Powerful Fenris, son of Loki and Angrboda, bound to the rock of Gioll, I conjure thee on this night and at this hour here, to order firmed affairs with thee. Thee cannot resist the strength of my dreadful summons…"

Her heart triphammered in her chest, driven by more than the fearsome power she already felt coalescing around her. If the coven knew what she was doing, they would immediately expel her, for practice of proscribed, dangerous rites. But if it worked, then she would no longer need those timid little things anymore.

She smiled inwardly as she continued to recite the spell. Six months ago, Samantha Brennan had been a timid little thing herself, a mousey, middle-aged librarian, without family or friend or lover, who got her kicks from crossword competitions and Thursday night bingo at the village hall.

Then Kate had approached her, and eventually revealed herself as the priestess of a coven of witches – actual witches! – who gathered from the surrounding villages. Kate had sensed great potential in Samantha to be another member, and offered to instruct her in the ways of Wicca. And Samantha, in a rare break from her staid nature, eventually accepted.

And Kate had been right: Samantha was powerful, easily mastering charms and protective wards and cures for minor ailments. But she wanted to do more, knew she could do more, and remained discontent by the coven's overcautious attitude to the more potent magicks available to them.

Like the spells in the Arcanna. Samantha remained astounded that those women could be content with easing cramps and making flowers bloom early, when they could be raising elemental forces… "O Fenris, obey my words, or thee will be cursed in the most terrible manner! With thy appearance and the taking of thee, thou will be bound to serve my whims and wills and none others', as I see fit, day or night, forever!"

Of the spirits and forces described in the Arcanna, Fenris, the wolf devourer of Norse myth and representative of untamed power and ferocity, had intrigued her the most. It was more than just her general love of wolves and dogs; if she could harness him, control him, have him at her beck and call, it would be suitable payment for enduring thirty-odd years of mediocrity and impotence against the world. "Come, Fenris! I release thee to appear and serve my will! Appear! APPEAR!"

For a moment, she lost hope.

Then books began sliding off shelves, and the furniture and Persian rug she'd pushed aside to make room for her circle began to tremble, and then shudder as if in a fit. Figurines leapt from the mantelpiece like lemmings, and a wind suddenly whipped up in the enclosed room, extinguishing the candles and making Samantha's chestnut-brown hair rise and shimmy over her head. It should have been pitch black now, but an eldritch bone-white glow bathed the room.

Samantha laughed giddily. Such power! At her command! It was exhilarating!

Sitting before her kneeling form, the effigy began smouldering, but it was another, more heady odour that reached her nostrils, an odour of musk and sweat and fur. And then the wind and light vanished, leaving her in a dishevelled living room, the only light a pale beacon from the full moon outside, visible with the curtains pulled aside from the wind. She held her breath.

And then it padded into view, as if having been hiding behind the settee all along.

It stood before her, a size closer to a bear than a wolf, with a huge head mounted on a thickly-muscled neck, its fur thick and ash with black waves. Its slavering jaw curled in what appeared to a smiling snarl of greeting, its pointed fangs gleaming in the moonlight, and it stared at Samantha with blood-red eyes, the pupils black and slitted. The claws on its massive paws scratched the hardwood floor.

Scratched? It shouldn't have been able to do that. This should just have been an apparition.

It growled, and the sound chilled her marrow.

Rallying her remaining wits, she blindly reached down and lifted up the effigy, clutching it before her. Her voice trembled. "Thee are bound to me, Fenris! Bound to do what my will commands-"

With a terrible speed Fenris lunged forward and snapped the effigy from her hand, swallowing it.

Samantha pulled back her arm, catching a glimpse of the broken skin, but ignored the pain as she rose to her feet and raced for the only exit from the room, the front door. Her cottage was just outside the village, her nearest neighbours half a mile and a field or two away; her car sat nearby, the keys back in the living room. Ignoring the protests of her bare feet on the gravel-strewn path, she raced up towards the main road.

But Fenris had pursued her, silent and straight and swift as a torpedo, hitting her square in the shoulder blades and sending her hurtling through the tightly-packed hedges separating her path from the adjacent fields. The breath rushed from her body, and the hedges had torn her blouse and scratched her skin, but at least she'd had the sense to cover her face with her hands.

The field was wet from an early evening rain, the grazing grass rough and thick, strong with scent. She glanced about blindly, unable to see the lights from her neighbours' houses, or the main road-

Fenris charged through the hedges like a rhino, leaping down upon her. She stared up at his eyes, and opened her mouth to scream, but barely managed a moment's shriek before his huge wet mouth clamped about her neck and right shoulder. She froze, feeling the heat of its breath, its musk, and the fangs on her skin. She lost control of her bladder, feeling her jeans stain at her crotch and inner thighs. But she remained silent, as he so obviously desired.

Seemingly satisfied, he released his deadly grip on her, and then stood over her, regarding her, his pointed ears swept back, saliva dripping from his jaw to touch her face and the high, tight collar of her now-shredded blouse. She had been confident in her ability to control this elemental creature, and now she would pay the price for her hubris.

But surprisingly, he didn't kill her. Instead he sniffed her, sniffed her hair and neck, under her arms and along her small, round, unfettered breasts, nudging them, licking the sweat from them. She tensed, failing to keep from shaking in place as he ran his tongue across her fleshy stomach, before descending between her legs, pushing them further apart with his head to sniff at her crotch.

Samantha felt herself blush, felt the furnace-hot breath through her piss-soaked denim, as it seemed to reach in and touch her sex, making it respond.

He glanced up now, and seemed to grin, reminding her that this was no mere animal.

Then it dropped and grasped the front of her jeans at the brass tab, lifting her up and shaking her between his forepaws like a chew toy, making her gasp but make no noise otherwise, too terrified of his response. Then he set her down again, reached for her right hand and set it on her jeans as well.

Oh God… it became obvious what he wanted from her, just as it was obvious that she couldn't defy his wishes.

Never taking her eyes off his, Samantha undid the tab and buttons of her jeans, shifting her hips slightly to ease them down past her hips and buttocks to her knees, revealing baby blue knickers now dark and sodden, and pulled up tight in her crotch until she could see the groove between her pussy lips.

She felt her heart leap up into her throat as Fenris returned his nose to her crotch, sniffing boldly, pressing his nose into her pussy. She gasped, bit her lip, terrified that it would want more.

Her terror proved right; he snapped the waistband of her knickers with the tip of his jaw, tugging down and growling. Oh Lord, he was determined to have her lower half stripped. Sobs catching in her throat, she lowered her knickers to join her jeans, and despite the sepulchre moonlight, she was certain her skin had turned as beetroot as it felt with the utter humiliation.

Once more Fenris sniffed at her pussy, nudging his nose into the bristly hairs of her bush, then further down, pressing hard, and boldly taking in her scent. Then licking her.

She moaned aloud, her body a traitoress. She was a virgin, the product of a strict Catholic upbringing and consequent insular lifestyle; Kate had theorised that this was a big factor in explaining the strength of Samantha's power. But Samantha did masturbate, frequently, and more than once her fantasies had involved huge dogs, taking her, giving her no recourse but to give in to their desires, and her own.

Suddenly Fenris reached down with his jaw and grasped the jeans and knickers, tugging them down savagely to her feet. When they caught there, she wriggled her legs, freeing herself and hoping the clothes would distract him long enough for her to make an escape. She watched him tear at the jeans petulantly, but when she twisted to crawl up and away, he growled at her. And she froze, on all fours, facing away from him.

Just as he wanted.

She glanced behind her, her breath quickening again, then more so as she saw the shadow of a long, thick staff extend from between his hind legs. "N-No," she murmured, her mouth drying. Her body began shaking, and despite herself she started crawling away again.

Then Fenris was upon her, his huge, hairy body on her lower half, his furry underbelly rubbing against her lower back and ass, his hind legs securing hers, his forelegs pressing against the sides of her ribcage. She felt the musky breath on her right shoulder, felt the thick, wet shaft poking around her labia, its urgency to violate he as overpowering as his scent and strength.

He leaned his weight further upon her, until she was forced to drop to her elbows and raise her buttocks further. Tears streamed down her face, acutely shamed as finding herself in this position before an animal, even a supernatural one. Oh God, she was about to lose her virginity to him…

Its wet, pointed cock prodded roughly at her, but then found entry, sliding in easily and fully to the hilt, until she felt his huge, hairy balls pressing into her mound. Samantha cried out, silencing herself to a sharp grunt when he growled menacingly at her. The penetration seemed to be keeping much of the air out of her lungs; oh God, please don't let this be happening.

And then he fucked her vigorously, giving her short, rapid, jackhammer thrusts, his balls slapping against her, his low, steady growl one of triumph rather than warning, triumph over the subjugation of this woman.

Samantha lowered her tear-stained face into her crossed arms, though that raised her bottom even higher – oh God, her clitoris was being rubbed now, and her body was responding. She couldn't- wouldn't- it was so wrong. Samantha fought against the need that was quickly drowning her…

Her breasts rubbed harshly against the grass beneath them, and she was helpless to prevent Fenris from continuing to pound into her hard, and she could feel her cunt clutching and twitching around him. She tried to shift again, ease her discomfort and stop further stimulation, but Fenris growled, his forelegs gripping her more tightly. He had her exactly where he wanted her, and there was no escaping.

And so she surrendered, surrendered to her submissive state, no longer willing to try and distract her mind and body from her ordeal, no longer tried to ignore the big wet cock sliding in and out of her pussy. And with this total loss of freedom came the sweet release of total indulgence, and the warm waves built and spread up through the rest of her body. She could and would no longer help herself, could not stop squeezing her slit tightly around the invading cock as he hammered into his prisoner, driving to obtain the deepest possible penetration.

"That's it," she found herself saying hoarsely. "Take me! Take your fucking bitch!"

The wolf howled in her ear and launched a furious assault on her cunt, hips moving faster than ever. The fear and bizarreness of her deflowering brought her climax closer than ever, and when she came, she shook spasmodically, overcome with bliss. She arced her head up and back until the side of her face rubbed against his snout, and she cried out in exhilaration. The wolf held her in place, not finished with her, driving and sustaining her orgasm, sending her crashing into another when she felt his cock swelling into a knot at its root.

And then he stopped, and she felt his cock quiver inside her briefly, before he gushed forth into her. Feeling the thick, hot spurts inside her, Samantha came for a third time, collapsing into her arms again and sobbing incoherently.

As she collapsed, Fenris dismounted from her with a sucking sound before his knot grew too large to easily disengage himself from her; Samantha weakly, absently spread her legs as wide as possible to accommodate him, feeling the copious come seep from her pussy but reluctant to touch herself down there for fear of setting herself off again. She then lay there in a foetal ball, waiting for her mind to return to a semblance of lucidity. When it did, she peered up from under her tangled, sweat-soaked hair to see him standing there, waiting.

Then it occurred to her: what if nothing had actually gone wrong tonight, that this was all meant to happen? What if her subjugation had been the price she had to pay, and now that it was paid, he was hers to command at last?

Suddenly his eyes narrowed, and images and sounds appeared unbidden in Samantha's mind: she saw herself, translating the spell in the Arcanna to bring Fenris forth, saw the words, and how she had read them.

And with a drop in her stomach like a suicide leap off a cliff, she saw what they had really meant: ‘With thy appearance and the taking of me, I will be bound to serve thy whims and wills and none others', as ye see fit, day or night, forever!' And she realised with a quickly growing dread that the spell had now bound her to Fenris, not the other way around. And that Fenris was now free to return at any time, and take her again.

The wolf approached, as if having waited for the penny to drop for her all along, dipped his head and took the scraps of her blouse still connected to her collar in his jaw, and tugged upwards, until she was back on her hands and knees. Then he tugged her further, towards the opening in the hedge, until she was crawling beside him.

And he led her back to the house, like the good master that he was.