Moonlit Pact: Tristabelle and the Werewolf – A Splendificent Short Story

Dacy here! The good man, the god king, Antony Ceasar wrote this tale of debauchery, horniness, and comedy! Hope you enjoy it!

This short story contains explicit adult content intended for readers 18+

A razor-sharp claw slices through the misty fog deep within the cesspool of sin that is the Corrupt Forest of Golden Land, sending arterial spray across the starlight and celebratory howls up in the air from attendees attired in hooded lavender robes huddled around the maimed remains of a cloaked figure affixed to a tree stump. Several long moments later the individual miraculously revives, its head bursting forward to reveal the snarl of a werewolf to the crowd’s jubilation.

Breaking free from its shackles, the newly turned beast is greeted by clawed hairy hands raised high to form a devil horn type gesture, a non-verbal welcome sign that is returned in kind with the gentle tap of index and pinky fingers by the group. All the dark pomp and circumstance are a part of a grisly ritual performed by rabid wolf packs to trigger the werewolf gene in their offspring called the Feast of Life and Death.

“Cool,” voiced a red pompadour mane teenage werewolf.

“Yeah! Like a scene from a horror movie. Except, you know, we’re in the movie,” the other teen werewolf beside him with a blond dye job replied.

“The only movie I wanna be in is with your mom,” teased his buddy.

“Hey, shut up! Heh. She is hot though. Look at me.”

“You’re hot all right. A hot mess. Huh-huh-huh.”

The next honoree was brought forth, also cloaked and noticeably reluctant, to the crowd’s morbid excitement. But they’d have to wait for the Cruel Hand of Fate, as the rustling of leaves interrupted the proceedings. The cause of the pause was a buxom blonde in a small hooded red cloak, short skirt, white stockings and turquoise floral hair clip who merrily skipped along carrying a picnic basket. Coming to a sudden stop, the young woman flicked her violet almond-shaped eyes in astonishment. Travellers ventured into the Corrupt Forest at their own peril, even more so in light of the recent massacre of prominent Golden Landers during a supernatural safari.

“You lost, little girl?” growled the hooded executioner.

“Grandma?” she retorted.

The werewolf snarled, unamused.

“Grandma! I’d recognize those great big teeth anywhere! Look, I brought your favorite cookies. Headless chocolate werewolf!”

Reaching into her picnic basket, which disintegrated into a kaleidoscope of color, a glowing sword manifested in the hot blonde’s hand. Only one in Golden Land wielded such magnificence… Princess Tristabelle Elvrina.

WIth a swift high swipe the hairy beast’s head rolled cleaned off its shoulders.

The crowd murmured.

“All bark, no bite,” Tristabelle quipped, flipping her red hood back to coif her long locks using Mistlewoe’s blade as a mirror.

“Whoa! What a babe!” declared the pompadour mane werewolf, eyes cartoonishly bugged.

“You think they have a porta-potty at one of these things?” his friend asked. “I gotta, you know, take care of some business. Heh.”

“We’re in the forest, dumbass. Just go behind a tree and twist your knob.”

“Not with all the guys around. Kinda awk, you know,” the teen fretted, clearly desensitized to gruesome acts of violence.

In the meantime, Tristabelle continued to play the role of heroine, rushing to free the fidgety individual that remained tied. All that broke the silence of the night was the chattering of teeth coming from under the hood. Such histrionics reminded Tristabelle of her sister Maggie’s first orgasm.

“Shush, you!” she instructed, unmasking the figure to the terrifying sight of skeletal remains.

“BOO… bs!” uttered the ghoulish voice of a Skeledread, a creature that haunts the very grounds their mortal selves unceremoniously perished. Yet even the undead yearn for pleasures of the flesh, as our bony interloper eagerly reached for the princess’s mammoth mammaries.

“Marvelous, aren’t they?” Tristabelle responded, nips poking through her top. “Well, take a good look because they’re the last things you’ll ever see!”

Clasping both hands overhead, Tristabelle prepared to pound the Skeledread into dust when she felt about two dozen eyes on her. Being gawked at was nothing unusual for the princess, but a wolf pack that doesn’t scatter following their alpha’s defeat certainly is. Unless…

“Looking for me, Princess?” boomed the pack’s true alpha leader in the distance, a big sexy werewolf over seven feet tall with a shampoo endorsement worthy mane.

A howl harsher than the chill in the air cut through the night, as from out of the shadows appeared more werewolves among which included a savage hippie, Latino gangbanger, muscle man of mesomorphic magnificence and Cuban cigar enthusiast who oozes machismo.

The group marched past the roaring audience full of swagger and appetite for mass destruction, slapping claws and returning the pack’s signature hand sign.

“Sorry, guys. Mother asked me to fall for someone tall, dark and handsome — not hairy.”

Ignoring Tristabelle’s verbal jab to invade her personal space, the bad boys of the Corrupt Forest poked and prodded Tristabelle’s direction, treating her like their personal play toy. A signal from the alpha silenced the crowd, then he huffed and puffed and blew Tristabelle’s cloak completely off to a thunderous ovation. Being stripped to her bra and panties didn’t faze Tristabelle. She looks great and feels even better with minimal clothing. It’s what comes next that raised concern; not sexually – the more, the merrier in her view – but in terms of violence. The numbers didn’t lie and they spelled doomed for the princess.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I’m up for a little Korean!” the alpha wolf remarked. “No, that was last week,” he corrected. “Tonight, KFC’s on me! All the breasts, legs and thighs you can eat!”

“Gracious! I enjoy being eaten, just not like this! Tristabelle thought. Her only recourse was to take down as many foes before going to meet her maker. For likely the final time she summoned Mistlewoe and braced for battle when a cacophony of thuds and flesh tearing drew attention to the dark shadows.

A blueish-black blur streaked through the crowd, leaving a trail of slain bodies along its path. Fuming mad, the big alpha ordered his henchmen to investigate as Tristabelle raced into the darkness, having constructed a makeshift skirt from the shredded leftovers of a pack member’s cloak. But to her dismay the leader abandoned the gang to give chase, driven by rage and fury.

I’ve grown accustomed to being pursued, Tristabelle silently pondered, but this suitor desires more than my heart!

Although blonde, Tristabelle wasn’t stupid – most of the time. She understood trying to outrun a werewolf would be foolhardy at best, suicidal at worst. She merely sought higher ground for the inevitable confrontation, a tall task given the gloomy terrain.

Panting like a bitch in heat, Tristabelle periodically looked over her shoulder zigzagging between spindly trees, dodging low-hanging branches and leaping over fallen logs. Feats especially impressive considering she did all that in high heels. But on the third glance back she crashed into the two teen werewolves who had retreated to enjoy the Devil’s Lettuce.

“Did we just get laid?” the pompadour mane teen thought aloud, shaking off the cobwebs.

“Say, um, how long have we been here smoking?” his buddy asked, rubbing both eyes after catching a backside view of the princess bringing herself to her feet “Because it got pretty bright all of a sudden.”

“Whoa. Check it out, Remus. It’s that Viking Barbie chick that 86’d Dave.”

“And just 69’d us. Heh.”

“In your dreams,” Tristabelle countered, wiping the mud and grass off her turquoise bra and lavender skirt. Although in the company of werewolves Tristabelle could tell these two were relatively harmless and allowed them to keep their limbs… for now.

“Hey, baby. My name’s Conan. Because I am a sexual barbarian.”

“Behind the computer screen. Heh. Anyway, I’m Remus. The cool one.”

“You screamed like a girl at your feast,” Conan responded with a chuckle.

“My mom told me I was being taken for ice cream! She was kinda right, I guess. I screamed. Heh.”

Tristabelle interrupted. “Post your bios on your socials. I want to know what you two are doing here instead of helping your leader track me down?”

“Eh, it’s not our thing really,” Remus told her. “The Feast stuff, I mean. Kinda mandatory though. We only go for the grub. Pizza, burgers, lasagne and fries! We stay away from the junk, like people. No offense. I’m sure you taste great.”

“I’ve been told,” said Tristabelle, sweeping her hair proudfully.

“Big Wolfie D is a major foodie and an even bigger douche,” Conan put in, using his claw to style his pompadour, adding “What kinda werewolf wears sunglasses at night?”

howl A howl of rage cut the trio’s conversation short as the Big Wolfie D gained ground.

Remus broke the silence. “Um… I know this is gonna sound weird, but, uh– AHH!”

The teen wolf fell to his knees from a well-placed kick to the groin. Conan then slumped against a tree after the most painful titty-twister ever given.

No. Not weird at all, Tristabelle told herself. Big Wolfie D – teehee – is following my scent, so trying to cover for me wouldn’t do the guys any good. This gives them cover as to my escape.

Big Wolfie D didn’t even bother to question the teens once he arrived. He merely shook his head disappointedly at the sight of them doubled over pained, then continued his pursuit. The teens’ plan had worked.

“Damnmit, Remus, you popped your top everywhere,” Conan disgustingly said, wiping his gooey hand on Remus’ fur.

“Heh. Sorry about that. Told you I had some business to take care of earlier.”

Painfully and embarrassingly worked.

***

Tristabelle wondered how much longer she could avoid the big bad wolf when a hand reached out from a murky watering hole to pull her in. Arriving a short time later at the location, Big Wolfie D stewed over losing her scent unaware his little piggy had emerged down below at the entrance of a cave semi-naked and partly afraid in parts unknown.

Have I been captured by an obsessed crazy ex who spent years building a secret underground hideout to execute their diabolical crime of passion?! Tristabelle mused.

Following a series of torchlights scattered across the rocky floor, the princess encountered a man beyond six feet tall seemingly built of the chiseled stalactites that hovered above their heads devouring a carcass on a spit, his face shrouded by dark rockstar hair. A crude spiked collar adorned with wolf fangs pointed outward wrapped around the neck of the battle scarred Adonis with a mysterious blue tinge to his pale skin. Years of background noise from American television medical dramas gave Tristabelle license to – incorrectly – diagnose the discoloration as a severe case of epididymal hypertension.

“Goodness gracious!” Tristabelle exclaimed. It wasn’t uncommon for her nights to include a hunk of meat lodged between her chest, but not the kind given to her to dine on at the moment. The beef she craved dangled between her counterpart’s tree trunk legs loosely covered by a glorified loincloth. Singed by the heat of her carnal desire, twisted steel met sex appeal amid a soundtrack of crackling fire and tongues whirling with precision worthy of Olympic gold in synchronized swimming.

“You animal,” Tristabelle playfully cooed after being hurled to the ground. She hiked the hem to her makeshift skirt, all but plastering a flashing neon sign that read ‘Now Open’ across her bottom. At her establishment anyone is always welcomed inside. No shirt? No shoes? No problem.

The man arched back and roared, then buried himself face-first in Tristabelle’s derriere, savoring her scent as his whiskers grazed her baby-smooth bottom. She giggled childishly before going behind to rub Charmin-soft hands up and down his muscular frame, grabbing this bull not by the horns but its balls, gently stroking its long uncut member and then jerking it backward to flick her tongue serpent-like along the tip of his meatus which caused him to twitch and moan.

Switching control the man slobbered running his tongue along Tristabelle’s glistening clit, sending her eyes rolling back in sexual nirvana. Bringing her rescue ranger to eye level, the two lipped locked once more, giving the princess a full taste of herself.

“Now to alleviate what ails you,” she informed the hunk, flipping him over to wrap her supple mouth around his cock. Pulling back on his foreskin, Tristabelle again teased her lover with more tongue flicks to his mushroom cock head, giggling as he spasmed like a fish out of water. She had boiled his excitement and now he was ready to release the steam from his kettle.

Aggressively turning Tristabelle onto her stomach, he plunged into her rectum with the forcefulness of a child shoving a square peg into a round hole. Powerful grunts echoed throughout the cavernous atmosphere as the man gripped Tristabelle in a sleeper hold, each hard thrust emitting a light gasp from the princess. It was the type of rough sex typically exhibited from someone fresh out of prison, which one could view brooding in a cave hidden in the heart of the Corrupt Forest similarly.

Tristabelle received great pleasure from the relentless pounding, as the smile that flashed across her face indicated. Once again she had unleashed the beast within a man. Both wet with more than just perspiration, Tristabelle knew the best was yet to come as his swelling and throbbing intensified. She felt a surge, a hefty release and…

ARROOOO!

Unleashed the beast she did.

FIN.