Hunted Under Fireworks

Tags: femdom, dub-con, reverse harem, chase, hunt, oral sex, werewolves, dark fantasy

You know what night it is tonight, sisters? Fireworks night. Blaze-in-the-darkness night. Bangs-that-split-your-ears night. The night where everything outside is so loud and wild that it rattles in your body. When noise is pain and light is blindness and time can’t keep up with the shot-shot-shot, the rapid-fire rockets that rend the night and leave it in ecstatic rags.

Tonight will echo in their bodies and they won’t be able to control the shift.

Tonight they are confused and frightened and frustrated.

Perfect for the chase.

Perfect for the snare.

Tonight’s the night, sisters. Wolf-hunting season.

Get ready.

*

He’s running. It’s a run he isn’t used to. Predators run straight, predators run like arrows. They are pointed. They are aimed. They go teeth first, their feet are almost inconsequential. Their hunger propels them and it makes them fly. It’s not like this. This is prey running, rabbit running, panicked, skittish. His feet feel too big. They skid in the dirt and little grey-brown clouds burst over his black sneakers and ruin them. He feels gangly, his arms wheel and his legs flail. He keeps changing direction, batted about by the force from the explosions in the night. 

Red.

Pink.

Violet.

The colours fizz and flash in his wolf eyes, a brief glimpse of stunning shattered gemstone before it gets too bright, too harsh, and his vision is pure white and he’s stumbling. He staggers against a tree. Its gnarled branches clatter in a rush of wind, stark against glaring elixir green, then engulfed in smoke that prickles his wolf nose. He sneezes. He howls. The howl turns into a retching cough and he’s a man and he’s cold and his pulse is hammering fit to break his bones.

He keeps running.

The noise is inside him. Every explosion in the distance happening in the pit of his stomach. He feels like a valley containing a minefield, each detonated bomb setting off the next and the next in a domino that threatens to knock him off his feet and fling him into the sky. His wolf ears are ringing so loud, it’s as if his skull is the clapper of a great bell. The autumn air on his human skin is cold like a river.

The woodland around him is a spinning zoetrope; black shapes flitting and stuttering and whirling in the sudden rainbow flares. Second by second, the trees stretch forever, illuminated into an endless interlace of silhouettes, then extinguish and leave him in an oblivion of darkness, the bloodstains of bright lights on his retinas. His wolf eyes flicker yellow and he stares desperately into monochrome details that only tangle as his human eyes blink blue. The air is thick and acrid. His human nose smells burned paper and gunpowder. His wolf tongue tastes sweat. His wolf heart is beating too hard for his human chest. 

A speedy stream of bangs in an erratic rhythm. They drum up his back and bounce on the hard ground, like hailstones. He yelps, jumping like the roots are vipers biting his toes. He pelts.

He can hear laughter.

At first he thinks it’s just the echo of the rockets. But as the shots fade from his humming ears, the laughter rises clearer, cutting through the air and creeping over his neck. A chorus of gleeful cackling, like matches being struck, like champagne corks popping, like silver bullets clicking into cylinders. He stops running. He stops mid-shift, wolf claws bloodying human hands, wolf fangs curling human lips. He catches his jagged breath, mist gusting from his mouth, blurring with the lingering, silver smoke. He strains to listen, but his ears are human. His strains to see, but a shower of electric blue douses his wolf’s vision.

Another bang restarts his heart, like a lightning strike.

“This way, sisters!” A voice like a blade gliding along a whetstone. It slithers up his core.

He runs again, and as he runs he hears them closing in. Boots and bikes. Revving engines and singing steel. Heavy boots snapping dry twigs and rough wheels ripping the earth. And laughing. Laughing like no wolf can. That effervescent, caution-to-the-wind, Bacchanal laughter that only humans have, and only on nights like this. It wars with the echo of the fireworks in his body, bubbling up in his blood. It skips under his heels and throws him forward. He runs faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Faster.

A blinding flash.

He howls and spins and runs again.

Scattergun popping and a surge of smoke.

He snarls and spins and runs again.

A spray of colour. A spray of soil from the wheel of a bike. The revving is so close it grates his skin. He leaps away from it. Branches crack. Boots stomp. 

He cries and spins and runs again.

“Now!”

He hurtles headlong into a net. It bursts wide and the weights at its rim plummet past him, like cannon balls. He hits the web like he’s hitting a wall. The ropes cut into his muscle and scratch his face. He roars. His ankles hook and he tumbles to the ground, pain shocking his side as another explosion overhead shocks his skull.

Amber headlights flood the clearing, the grass around him turning to fire. He struggles and writhes and claws at the ropes, his half-claws fraying them and tugging at his cuticles. He looks frantically about for an escape for when he’s torn free, but all around him is a wall of light, bleaching the rainbow sparks across the blackness. 

The engines growl and spit, like circling hyenas. 

They silence.

“Well done, sweethearts! Let’s see what we’ve caught.” That voice again, metallic and musical, the last breath of it lost in a bombshell whistle. He freezes in fear and curls on his side, knowing the noise will come any second. When it does, it rocks his senses. The dark, heady scent of leather steals through the grass. He holds himself ready to spring, trying not to notice that the net is keeping him down. Heavy boots tramp along the sideways ground and stop at his face. Pink spirals in the sky reflect in the steel buckles. A thick pair of legs bend and a gloved hand moves. A blade flashes, sparks mirrored in its surface. The net snaps apart, along with his t-shirt; a thread-fine, stinging line down his torso from the tip of the knife. He bows backwards and gasps. The cold air washes his chest. His nipples prick. His pupils swell in the darkness. 

The boot kicks his shoulder, like a battering ram. He rolls onto his back. The boot crushes his chest, aggravating the knife scratch. 

A sharp pop pummels his ears. Scarlet fire sparkles behind the branches and rains down on the figure towering over him. She looks as tall as the trees, her thighs strong boughs and her fists blunt rocks, a red sheen on the leather jacket she wears over her broad frame. Her black hair is short and slicked back like jackdaw feathers. Her eyes shine lilac. 

She leans heavily on his chest, compressing his pounding heart. “You were a tricky one, Pup. Almost gave us the slip. Got our blood pumping, coming after you.”

He tries to speak. He has a wolf’s tongue. He snarls, his lips peeling back over sharp teeth. Her teeth are sharper. She smiles wide and cold, like the moon. He feels a sudden tidal pull. He snaps his jaws and jerks his body. He lifts his paw to swipe at her leg. Another boot kicks his wrist and grinds his hand into the dirt. It hurts. His eyes dart above him. Another face is sneering down at him, a lip ring glinting. He wants to suck it and taste blood. He wrenches his hand uselessly. The lilac-eyed woman presses the air from his torso, the etched soles of her boots denting his skin. She tuts and wags her finger. “Ah-ah-ah. Naughty pup. You’re not the Big Bad Wolf tonight.”

He growls. He wriggles, straining where they’ve pinned him. A shooting shriek and an eddy of whisking gold erupts in the sky and startles him still. His lungs are pumping like bellows. He’s trembling. She grinds her boot on his chest and smushes him into the earth. More faces melt out of the glare in his yellow eyes. Smiles, so many smiles. Fang smiles. Hungry smiles. The ground rumbles with their circling steps. The vibrations go through him and tickle him in his abdomen and the insides of his thighs. He tenses. A wave of anticipation ripples up his body. He shivers.

They descend on him.

He struggles wildly. It’s no use. The weight on him is iron. It feels as if the roots are creeping from the undergrowth and binding his body. He scrambles in the grime. He huffs steam around his face. An amethyst storm turns his vision checkerboard. Noise rams into him. It thuds in his groin. He arches his back and pushes into the boot. He whines. 

He’s a wolf and he’s cornered.

He’s a man and he’s hard.

He gulps and breaks into a sweat, the new sensation jarring against his terror and making him feel disjointed. 

More laughter. Jackal laughter. Cat laughter. Hurricane laughter.

Lilac-Eyes looks like carved sinew in another ray of scarlet. Her mean grin is the last thing he sees before he’s kicked again. He slams onto his front as an explosion slams in his ears. There’s dirt in his mouth. The cantering fear of the fireworks skids into the flowing fear of the hunters. The chase trickles out of his muscles and leaves them weak and quivering. There is an inevitability to this. Rockets shoot and flare and leap, dozens upon dozens of shocks building into a wasp’s nest in his brain. This is different. This is slow. It’s worse because it stops him running. It drains his adrenaline, his numbing agent. Whatever happens next, he’ll feel it.

Feel it.

Hard hands wrench his clothes away with screams of delight. He plunges into cold. He chokes and heaves and stares wide-eyed up at the crowding hands and faces, hewn jade in another whirl of sparks. 

“Oh!”

“Pretty!”

“Tasty!”

Layering, high-pitched voices needle him, stares needle him. His skin is so alive, the next whistle and flash skims along his pores.

A ruffling sound tells him his clothes have been cast away. Grass tickles his cock. He bucks and bites his lip. His teeth are sharp, it stings. One of them catches his hips and pulls him with a yelp onto all fours. His wolf feet dig into the earth. The cold wreathes his cock.

“He’s hard!”

“Tut tut, dirty Pup.”

Fingers curl on his shaft. A throb of horrified want goes through him. A boom shakes the trees. It shakes his skeleton. A mouth-watering musk fogs the air. They’re all on him, all so close. The heat of their bodies singes his frost-laced flesh. The hand moves, brutal pleasure pours down his legs and snakes on his spine. He lets out a hollow moan and arches violently, his vertebrae stark under his skin. Something cracks that isn’t a firework, a crossbow thwip and a soaring swish. A lash licks his ass and fires a spray of stings across his flesh. They’re drowned by another pulse of pleasure from the assaultive pumping on his cock. Another hand slaps his thighs spread. Another grabs his balls and twists and kneads. His knees shake. He whines. It’s half wolf, half man. He’s lashed again. He tosses his head and leather fingers clamp his jaw. Lilac-Eyes is face to face with him, licking her teeth.

She kisses him.

He groans into her mouth. The burn of fireworks behind his eyes. The burn of the whip on his ass. The burn of her lips. She grips his jaw so hard it aches. Her tongue wrestles with his. He bites her lip. She bites him back. She grabs his throat. He winces and kisses her harder. It’s needy and clumsy. His teeth are too big. He can’t breath. He wheezes. He writhes in the fist tight on his cock. She kisses him with no love. It’s a subduing kiss. It’s a fight. He struggles within it, but every scoop and slide of her tongue softens him another touch. He’s mumbling and melting. 

Vibrant orange rips the sky, a soaring dome of fire that engulfs the web of branches. The boom and hiss of the rocket jolts him. He whips back, pulse galloping.

“I felt that in his cock – scared, little thing.” A brewing voice behind him. He’s being pumped harder. His throat clogs with a moan. He undulates like a silk ribbon in the wind and looks pleadingly at the ring-leader of his captors, still crouched before him with her glinting teeth on display. She sweeps a hand through her short hair. She slaps his face. Tears spring to his eyes. They whip his ass. They whip his back. She cackles as he flinches and yaps and pants. She rises onto her knees and unzips her jeans. He swallows. She peels away thick denim. A pink flare illuminates her pussy, rich folds like orchid petals, thick hair that clings to scent. 

His wolf vision turns red. He growls low in his chest. 

A gunshot bang.

He doesn’t notice.

Droplets of saliva scatter on the grass. Laughter geysers around him.

“He’s drooling!”

“Good dog.”

They grasp his hair, fizzing in his scalp, and thrust him forward. He is plunged into her pussy, drowned in a vat of wine. Her sweet smoke gushes through him. For a split second, he seals his mouth shut, trying to push against them. His cock pumps. Her animal scent permeates him. He can hardly swallow, his mouth is so wet. His wolf senses crave devouring. His human senses crave touch. He twists in the grasp on his cock. His tongue pushes through his lips unbidden. The first taste of her consumes him. He cannot hear. He cannot see. The explosions and the lash and the laughter dissolve and there is only perfume and flesh. 

He parts his lips with a weak mewl. 

She fills his mouth. 

She leans back with her legs spread and pushes into him, rolling her bowl hips so her drenched flesh shoves deeper and deeper into his gorging. His nose pushes at her hood and her fragrance purges his body. Human mouth and wolf nose, he can smell every note of her arousal and taste her like a banquet. He closes his eyes and laps like he’s drinking from a river, kisses like a devotee, sucks like an infant. He’s still drooling. It dribbles from the corners of his mouth and sticks on his cheeks. Her thighs fold around his head and the boom of rockets is replaced by the boom of blood in his ears as her fat and muscle smother him. The hand in his hair holds him fast, driving him into her, preventing him from coming up for air. He’s slathered in her juices and his spit. The hands keep grabbing at him; his cock, his thighs, his nipples, his shoulder blades. Nails spike and palms rub, fingers work into the furrows of his body and take him apart. It’s hard and invasive and wonderful. It makes him dizzy. It makes him hungry. The wolf surges and recedes in cycles of wanting to pounce and being instantly tamed by the taste flooding his senses. He can feel her pulse fluttering in her clit on his tongue. 

A rocket screams. Smoke itches on his skin. He whimpers into the sumptuous flesh.

A boot to his ribs.

He’s on his back. They all leer down at him, the underworld blue light turning them to ghouls. His heart thumps, he feels it everywhere. He cowers. He can still smell her, now mingled with the undergrowth and gunpowder. His cock is hard as stone, heavy and straining. 

Lilac-Eyes stands and her grin is the moon. “Have at him, sisters.”

A firework the colour of her eyes erupts and makes the world glow as if she is the light source. The bang shocks him. He cries out. His cries are drowned in cackling. They swarm him like piranhas. He moans to the sky. Mouths cover him. Hands cover him. He’s being touched, touched, touched, and the light is so fierce it feels like it’s touching him too, and the air is full of echoes with dancing tongues, and it’s all over him. They’re all over him. His wolf nose is deluged with scents; brick dust, leather, steel, cinnamon, rum, apples, toffee, salt, musk. They pull his hair. They yank his tail. They pinch his nipples, sending prancing pleasure and pain across his chest. They rob kisses from his lolling mouth, tug at his balls, kiss each other around the head of his cock. The pleasure makes his mind somersault. They scratch him and slap him. They laugh at the way he contorts and snarls and snaps and whines and whimpers. He twists on his back, the grass tangles around him and stains his skin. One grabs his wrist and his hand is forced into soft, wet flesh. He moans and circles his fingertips. Another draws his fingers to her seam and he eases them in and out of smooth, convulsing walls, massaging the juices out of her as her ass crests into a flash of citrine. 

The woman with the lip ring spits in his mouth. He growls. She slaps him. He groans. She licks his neck. He shudders. Everything makes him shudder. Their mouths slip and suck and nip, puckering his flesh pink, the trails of saliva icing in the cold air. Overhead, the fireworks explode.

Red.

Pink.

Violet.

The gunpowder booms roll away like thunder. The tremors in his body are all from the hunters now. His vision wheels between colour and monochrome and infrared, the heat around him pulsing peach. His mouth waters. His cock pounds. He squints. He can’t see. He can’t tell what of him is man and what is wolf. They bite him. He moans. He arches his back. Weight sinks onto his pelvis and a tight, springy embrace wraps his cock and rushes him dizzy. The shape of a woman riding him and flinging her hair and snapping her fingers over her head like a rodeo performer blurs in and out of his vision. The others are clapping her on. The rhythm gets under him, thudding in the earth. He thrusts with it, his hips bouncing up and down, his abs crunching. They clap faster. He thrusts faster. His want surges so hard, it’s almost sickness. They’re laughing at him. The woodland is laughing at him with its rattling branches. The sky is laughing at him with its tongues of fire. He laughs. He pants. He roars.

More weight. Slick smears his chest and a round, glimmering ass overwhelms his vision. She descends on him and smothers his face in her fat. He takes a deep, huffing breath. The world goes headlong. He licks. He nibbles. He buries himself alive. Laughter sloshes away in the muffling and re-emerges, harsh as silver. He is hammered into the soil as they ride him. No part of him is not being teased, not being used. His hands are passed between them until his fingers ache. His cock is punishingly hard, worked to breaking point by the hungry clasp of his rider. He’s drooling again, the smooth, plump ass on his face padding to him and stuffing his senses with sweetness. He’s breathless. He doesn’t remember breathing. He starts to twitch. He’s all fur. He’s all skin. He’s clawing at thighs and pricking nipples. He’s caressing bellies and running a gentle thumb over wet lips. He is dragged to the edge of release and slapped and pinched away from it. He tumbles through sensation and shifts. He’s a wolf and he’s afraid of fireworks. He’s a man and he’s full of dynamite.

The smothering weight on his face lifts, just as another rocket lights up the thick smoke shrouding the sky in eerie green. Whistles and pops shock his ears back to sharpness, his trembling making his rider squeal. Shock stops a surge to the edge again. He feels like every sinew in his body has been tied in knots. He keeps thrusting. His eyes adjust as the eerie green spectres away. Through the crush of jostling bodies, he can just glimpse Lilac-Eyes.

Her grin is the moon.

He howls.

He howls to her.

The pitiful, tuneful, imploring call resounds in the woodland. The smoke forms into a pack of wolves across the sky. 

He’s running.

He’s running in the sky.

He’s running to her smile.

Her smile is the moon.

She prints the sole of her boot on his cheek and presses his face into the dirt.

He comes.

His body spasms. His bones crack and warp and reform, wolf, man, wolf, man, wolf, man. His senses go wild. He can smell everything. He can taste everything. Everything is touching him. His pulse races in his throat until it strangles him. Fireworks explode volcanically in his pupils.

Red.

Pink.

Violet.

The colour is inside him. It possesses him. Everything is colour and noise. 

Red.

Pink.

Violet.

Lilac eyes and a grin like the moon.

The final convulsions throb through him and leave him ragged and disassembled in the trampled grass. A man with fur. A wolf with bare skin. The bodies recede and leave him cold and curled tight in a ball, his tail wrapping around him and cock thrumming. 

He smells leather.

A hand strokes sleek through his hair. “Good dog.”

He shuffles his head into a broad lap. The fireworks are still bursting overhead. They sprinkle pretty sparks like petals. The booms and bangs lull him, distant thunder, coming rain. It will cleanse the sky of smoke. Somewhere under the sounds, he can still hear laughter. But it’s softening to triumphant chuckles and satisfied smirks.

Someone is talking. Someone with a grin like the moon.

“Let’s keep him.”

He nuzzles into her lap and falls asleep.

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