Beware The Wolf - Pt7 - Bikers are Reckless

Brutus the wolf decides to go out for a restless night ride, that turns reckless as he picks up an unexpected human passenger.

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“I wanna go downstairs.”

Steven, who had just walked past Brutus’ still-unfilled doorway, backed up with a black-fingernailed hand on the frame. “No.”

“I don’t fucking care. I wanna go downstairs. I wanna find some drunk asshole and scare the piss out of him. Or scare the cum out of him. You think someone’d cum from seeing a real wolf guy? Or is it all fake internet shit?” Brutus spoke while inspecting the bullet-hole damage to his leather jacket from the night before. Considering the jacket’s punk-and-metal modifications, it wasn’t out of place.

Then something wet splashed him on the face. “What the hell?”

Steven held a spray bottle and squirted him again. “NO.”

Brutus sniffed and snarled at the terrible ammonia scent. “What the fucking hell is this!?” He squinted at his friend, who held a bottle of blue liquid. “Is that fucking glass cleaner? What the hell do you have that for?”

Steven gave him a deadpan narrowed look. “To clean glass.” Brutus returned it and Steven rolled his eyes. “You, I don’t know what you did, but you splattered the mirror in the bathroom with something nasty.”

“I think it was blood. I coughed it up after having a hot shower. Had to get it out of my system after I got shot. I guess my lung is in front of my heart or something?”

Steven’s brow broke into a sweat and he winced, then turned away again. “Anyway, you should not go down to the bar while it’s open, that seems like a bad idea, exposing yourself to people seems like a bad idea. I don’t care if you seemingly can’t die. Do you want to be picked up by a secret government agency and experimented upon? They’re not going to just milk your dick or something. They’re going to vivisect you. Or clone you into army wolves, or something unpleasantly military-industrial.”

“You don’t know what anyone’d do if they picked me up. I don’t know, either. But whatever, I won’t go down there. I don’t want to scare away any more patrons than a surprisingly boring gay bar already does.”

“Hmf,” was all Steven had to say, before he retreated to the corner space that he was transforming into a goth jeweler’s art loft.

—

Brutus couldn’t resist the urge to do something aside from hide in his hovel of a bedroom, and patiently waited for Brad to officially close the bar with his three airhorn blasts. The wolf put on his mostly cleaned-up gear and started to head downstairs.

“Are you being a bad wolfy?” Steven said.

“I’m going out to fucking ride around. You got a problem with me doing that?”

“I have a problem with you getting too much attention.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll go fast enough that no one’ll think twice.”

“Do you ever amuse yourself in a harmless way, or is it always something fantastically stupid or immediately hazardous to your health?”

Brutus gave him two middle fingers as he headed down the stairs and straight out the back door. He disarmed his bike alarm and was just about to straddle on when someone popped out from behind the dumpster.

“Aha! Got you!”

While he startled hard inside and his heart flopped around, Brutus externally just tipped his ears and lifted his hackles under his jacket and slowly turned. “I don’t know what you think you’ve got, but you’re really fucking mistaken.”

A young man who couldn’t be a hair over twenty years old stood shamelessly triumphant in PVC black pants, tall goth-friendly tanker boots, a mesh shirt, and a slim black leather biker jacket with riding gloves. He looked like a much more gay-bar-aggressive and much less half-Korean honyol version of Steven. “I don’t think so. I heard a rumor that there was some sort of weirdo living here.”

Brutus squinted. “What do you mean, weirdo? You think I’m a weirdo?” He left his bike alone and started to stalk towards the interloper.

The man backed up and clanged against the dumpster. “Hhr, I, well, I mean the rumor was that it was some weirdo that dresses like a wolf, and while that could be boring or hipster, this is a gay leather bar and so that means…” He had a fade haircut with bangs that kept falling across one side of his face like a hardcore emo fan.

“That means?” Brutus stepped right up to him and grabbed him by the jacket. The man squeaked and immediately grabbed back at Brutus’s hand, tilted his eyes down, went wide, and let go. Brutus gruffed in his face.

“Oh god, what the hell!” He stared Brutus in the face while holding his hands in perfect t-rex defense position.

Brutus responded by snarling hard, harder, and then lolled his tongue out with a slop of drool that hung off the end of it. “I like how humans taste,” he said, making sure to drool while talking. While it worked, it made more of a mess than he anticipated and he instinctively licked his chops.

“You you you what? I just, I just figured, you know, the whole fourteen werewolves behind a Denny’s thing,” the young man stammered. He stank of fear, amaretto sour, and cock sweat.

“Well, there’s only one of me and this ain’t a fucking Denny’s.” Brutus pulled him an inch away from the dumpster and thumped him back. “You better be glad my buddy’s not here.”

“B-buddy?”

“Yeah, he’s a real fucking bitch,” Brutus huffed, then let go. “Seriously, are you just hanging around here? That’s stupid. You don’t want to mess with me. See this?” He fingered at the bullet holes in his jacket lapel. “Someone shot me a couple times last night.” He opened the leather and moved a harness strap aside, and tried to pry his dark fur apart to show off a scar. While there was a slight scar, it had shrunk even more from the previous vicious encounter. He growled and got his phone out of a pocket, turned the flashlight on, and even that didn’t really help. “Well, I’m standing here despite getting shot in the heart, so something’s wrong with me. And you can’t even see the scar, so that means it must not have been a silver bullet. Right?”

The human didn’t seem particularly interested in the macho showoff session, and was more just squinting and ogling around Brutus’ un-hooded head. “Wait. Wait a minute. You’re not wearing a costume.” His eyes went wide like moments before, but his face twisted into a manic grin. “Oh holy fuck! You’re a real-”

Brutus grabbed him and covered his mouth. “Shut up, I’m not supposed to attract fucking attention to myself, or Steven’ll come out here and squirt me with more fucking window spray.” The human made a sound like a scared moan and then a hrrh? “Steven’s the bitch. I mean, he’s not a female dog or something, he’s just a fucking prissy nerd skinbag like you probably are.” Brutus paused, then wrestled his hand against the human’s mouth. “Are you fucking licking me?” He let go and slapped him.

“Oww! Jerk! Look, I’m not going to pass up the chance to get railed by some ‘wolf guy’,” he air quoted with his black-leathered fingers, “whether he’s wearing movie makeup shit or… or…”  Brutus lifted his hand again. “Don’t hit me again! I’ll really make a fuss!”

Brutus growled and stomped in a circle. “Jesus fucking christ, I can’t even go out on my bike without something stupid happening! And a fucking horny nerd? One dollar-store Brandon Lee cuntboy’s enough.”

“Bike?” The human looked over at the black Yamaha. “That’s your bike? You have a fucking muscle bike?”

Brutus narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. What of it? You think I’m gonna ride a mo-ped or something? Maybe one of those fat-tire e-bikes that bearded hipster faggots whir around on?” Brutus pointed a gauntleted finger at his face. “I’m a wolf.”

The man dug his own phone out. “If you don’t take me with you, I’ll call the police.”

Brutus laughed. “And say what, that a werewolf was gonna eat you? It’s not like I’m gonna stick around.”

“I’ll… I’ll livestream you.”

The wolf muzzle-lunged at the human, which instantly made him shrink back with his phone dangling, and then backhanded the device out of his grip. “No you fucking won’t.” It clattered to the alley floor. “Don’t litter. Go pick it up.”

The human now just looked confused, looked between Brutus, the V-Max, and his phone which now lay in a dirty puddle. Then he turned and bent over to pick it up.

Brutus stood back and hooked one hand off his jacket lapel as he watched the cautious act. As soon as he’d seen the phone go down, he had the immediate thought to make the human do something humiliating, and showing off his ass in his polished, black pants had a surprising effect. While the whole situation was annoying, Brutus couldn’t resist the tug of doing something flagrantly crass; yet seeing one fine upturned ass stopped him from lifting his boot and following through. Instead, he just stood with his foot up.

The young man turned after picking his phone up, and startled. “What the hell?”

“I could fucking kick you face first into that mess, but you know what? That’d leave you covered in all kinds of crap that’ll get all over my back. And I just cleaned all the blood off this stuff from last night.” Brutus put his foot down and gestured to himself. The human looked confused and aghast in equal measures. “... You’re gonna get it all over me because you’re gonna ride bitch. You wanna go? Let’s go.” Brutus then stepped over to his bike, straddled onto it, and started it up.

The human stepped over, then stopped. “Wait, where are we going? And I’ve, I mean, what do I?”

“You fucking sit there,” Brutus pointed at the pillion seat, “And you put your feet on those things,” he pointed to the passenger pegs, “And there’s some little handles there but really, just hold onto me. Really tight. There’s a little lap belt thing that comes out from under the seat, but don’t bother. And lemme back it out and turn around first.” Brutus then shooed him aside and backed the bike out and t-turned, then slapped the seat.

The human climbed on, uneasily hooked his boots on the pegs, and reached haltingly around Brutus to hold around his jacketed abdomen. “Wow, you kinda stink,”

“And I’m in control of a hundred-horsepower motorcycle, so say that again and see what fucking happens,” Brutus said, and pulled out of the alley. As soon as he turned onto the street, he leaned forward and punched it, prompting his rider to yelp and hold on even tighter. He roared up to redline and then straightened up as he braked hard to make another turn, before punching it again while roaring under a parking garage deck overpass.

“Sorry, I mean, it’s kind of a good stink, you just, wow,” he said, yelling up towards Brutus’ ear. “Also I’ve never done this and it’s terrifying!”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, but you gotta wait. You wanna tell me your name?” Brutus yelled back, looking side to side as he zig-zagged through town and then down past the lake park formed by swelling the dammed river that ran through Treetown.

“Uhh, uhh, uh, oh my name, uh, Damon” the man said, still holding tight and without any hint of eros. Every time Brutus twisted the throttle, he squeezed, sometimes painfully hard if Brutus happened to be lane-splitting callously. They tore through a residential neighborhood, and then passed a sign announcing the impending highway on-ramp, an infamous one with a stop sign that immediately went uphill.

“Alright, skinbag, you’re really gonna want to hold on.” Brutus then punched it again, this time allowing the front wheel to come up for fifty yards before dropping down and upshifting flat-out. They blew past the speed limit uphill, weaved around the few semi-trucks that were hauling in the wee hours of the morning, and took the first available ramp onto another segment of highway, then as fast as that had come up, took an exit off onto a rural road. “See? This is what I’m all about,” Brutus yelled back, barely slowing as they tore onto and down a scenic riverview road. “Letting my fucking tongue flap outta my mouth.” He did just that and wolf drool glittered off into the air, narrowly missing Damon’s face.

“You’re nuts, you’re completely nuts,” the human laughed, still holding on for dear life but now in the giggle phase of baby’s first motorcycle ride. “Where are we going?”

Brutus turned off onto a side road, and had to drop his speed massively as it was a dirt road, the access for a county metropark. They were about to cross over the river on a bridge when Brutus slowed further and took the bike down a small road to an area right next to the bridge. He cut the engine, and the sound of water rushing down a weir replaced the V-4’s howl and growl. “Here.” He then put down the kickstand and climbed off the bike, but had to pry Damon’s arms off first.

Damon stood up and his knees knocked together, and he huffed a few times as he tried to regain his composure. He looked around. “Where are we?” He then squinted in the dark at a sign. “Ivy Stand Portage… wait, this is for kayakers.”

“Yeah, it’s real natural and stuff,” Brutus said, and walked away, towards the bridge and its underpass. There was plenty of grass and plant life around, though in the dark it all looked dark and indistinct, while the concrete of the underpass looked ghostly white by comparison. As soon as Brutus stepped onto it, his boot heel clomps echoed under the metal roadbed and against the graffiti’d surfaces.

Damon followed, though he paused at the edge of the actual underpass tunnel. “Uh. Well, this looks more like some stupid teens come here to tag stuff.”

“I used to come here all the time when I’d go out on a ride, I’d go out late and no one’d be around and I’d stop here and jack off. It’s hard not to get aroused when you have a hot, purring motorcycle between your legs.” Brutus leaned on part of the concrete, where the footings formed a ledge.

“What?”

“That was before all this happened,” Brutus gestured to himself. “Back when I was just a regular dumbass with too much debt. Now, I’m a monster. And you just rode out of town with your dick grinding my back through your raver goth pants. I saw your ass back there when you were picking up your stupid smartphone outta the shit in the alley. So what if you’re a twerp? I bet you take dick like a champ.” Damon stared, agape. “Hey, you’re the one who showed up at the back door of The Underworld waiting for ‘some weirdo’ to come out and knock your hips against the fucking dumpster. I was just going out to patrol my territory, you know?”

“Do you seriously… I mean…”

“Yeah, right here,” Brutus slapped another, lower part of the concrete feature. “Is that too rough for you? We could do it in the grass right there.” He pointed behind Damon, who looked.

“Uhh, maybe, yeah, the grass might be better…” the human mumbled, every ounce of his bravado from earlier drained away.

“Wouldn’t wanna scratch up all your gay bar leathers, huh,” Brutus said and walked back, then stood next to the small sloped bit of grass. “Go on. Drop ‘em. Don’t take your boots off. Just let your plastic pants hang up around your ankles. You can pretend you’re tied up. I’ll hold your wrists.”

Damon moved to start undoing his pants, paused, then loosened his belt and drew the fly down. He scooted the black material down to his knees, paused again, then went further way down around the tops of his tall boots. He straightened back for a moment, and his cock swayed between his legs, uncut and quickly throbbing up towards a decent erection. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” he said, and riffled around in his jacket pockets.

“Says who, your brain or your dick?” Brutus pawed at his codpiece pouch, unsnapping it from its press snaps and letting his own cock spring out, black leathery balls dropping down as they were no longer jammed into the package.

The human stared. “Wow. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but uh, that’s a hell of a dick.”

Brutus rolled his eyes and waggled about nine inches of ink black, uncut cock from the root with his half-gloved hand. “You think I’m gonna have a gorilla dick or something?” He snorted, and licked his lips. “You know, they have small dicks. You got lube? I don’t have lube except for spit, and you don’t seem like that messed-up of a desperate weirdo.”

Damon withdrew his hand from a pocket and held two small packets out. One lubricated condom, one packet of silicone lube, both probably from the safe sex bowl at The Underworld judging from the eponymous off-center promo-shop printjob. He handed them over.

Brutus palmed both, then pointed at the ground. “Kneel and suck. I wanna see my dick drooling like my own fucking mouth,” he said, then pushed his tongue between his lower fangs and out over the front of his chin, and glistening drool hung from the wet pink flesh.

Damon moved to kneel and thudded down uneasily due to his bundled-up pants, then reached out for Brutus’ cock. He felt along the flesh, black glove leather the same shade as the skin, and rolled the foreskin back. While overall human, the glans was more sloped and pointed than most people’s, still with a prominent crown at the base. “God, you stink,” the young man groaned, then stuck his tongue out and cradled the underside of the wolf’s frenulum as he kissed over the head.

“All I do during the day is lie around and jack off and plot what kinda nasty werewolf things I’m gonna do when the sun goes down,” Brutus said, and put a hand on Damon’s head, then grabbed through his hair. He pushed Damon’s face back, then eased up, then pushed it back again, forcing the human to emphasize that he was the one pushing forward to suck more. “Hey, at least you can suck dick. You even make a racket.”

Damon slurped and kissed and even pushed forward far enough to gag himself with a loud lurching sound. He pulled off. “Please don’t hurt me,” he said, and then engulfed Brutus’ cockhead once more.

The wolf sniffed. “This is gonna be a problem, isn’t it? The fucking internet breeds people who wanna get railed by anything that’s scary and ugly and monstrous. I’m a monster, I’m ugly, and scary?” He pulled his cock back and slapped Damon across the cheek and jaw, fingers curled just enough that his clawnails raked the human’s pale Germanic skin.

Damon recoiled and clutched at his face. “Oww! Fuck, I said don’t hurt me!”

Brutus stepped around behind him and pushed him. “Your dick’s still hard. Get on the ground.” He picked his boot up and shoved between the young man’s jacketed shoulderblades, and Damon barely had time to put up his forearms before being dropped onto them. “There we go. Don’t try to roll over. I’m a wolf, you think I wanna look at your stupid face while I fuck you?”  The wolf put the condom package in between his teeth for a moment, held the lube in one palm, and punched it with the other one. It exploded and splurted its contents over the leather under-glove covering his palm, which he quickly smeared all over his cock.

“Are you, are you getting ready?” Damon nearly squeaked his words out. Brutus responded by roughly fingering at his hole, rubbing it with his bare finger-pad, then teasing his claw against it. “Aaaah, no, don’t do that! That’s a claw! I can tell!”

“Stop being a fucking brat about everything. You wanted this, you fucking jumped out behind the fucking trash at me about it,” Brutus huffed, still holding the condom in his teeth, and withdrew his slippery finger. He replaced it with the tip of his cock, but didn’t push in. Instead, he got an idea: he took the condom package out, and tossed it on the ground a foot or two from Damon’s face.

“Wha, what are you doing, you have to put that on, that’s why I gave it to you-”

“Why?” Brutus Damon by one wrist and pulled him into an arm-lock. Damon reached out with the other; Brutus grabbed it too, leaving the human ass-up and chest ground into the grass and dirt. “You want a little keepsake? You could fucking frame it. Tell everyone who comes over to pound your hole into a sour cream donut that a real werewolf fucked you and gave you his nut.”

“Don’t be an asshole! Don’t be a fucking stealthing freak! Don’t be a, a, a criminal! It’s illegal! I voted for Prop 4 last year!” Damon no longer squeaked and sounded actually serious and upset. He struggled; Brutus just held tighter and hot-dogged between his sweaty ass cheeks.

“Good for you. I turned myself into a werewolf because I was sick of being a loser,” Brutus said, grabbed just one hand around both of Damon’s wrists, snatched the condom back up in the other, and flicked it off to the side with a little twist like a skipping stone. It frisbee’d through the air and landed in the river. “Now I get to kidnap horny dumbasses and raw them in fucking county parks. Your tax dollars at work.” He squeezed his own cheeks and pushed forward, and his cock speared into Damon’s hole.

“Ahhh! Jesus christ!” The human clenched his teeth with an audible click and cramped up on Brutus’ cockhead. Then his hole quivered and pressed outwards, loosening and letting the entire glans shove in. He huffed and twisted his arms behind his back, clenching and relaxing, as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to resist or actually make it feel good - or at least not injurious. “You’re so fucking big, I fucking can’t believe it!”

Brutus growled and grabbed each wrist independently, then ground them into Damon’s lower back, leather gloves squeaking against jacket leather. “Are you gonna talk like a porn star the whole time?” He pulled back to see how close he could come to sliding out, then pushed in again. Twice, then three times, before he tugged and levered forward, boot toe sole scraping at the ground as he pushed deeper.

Damon turned his head to the side, cheek ground against the dirt, bangs mussed up above his head. He squinted hard enough that his eyes teared up, mouth wrinkling and opening into his own human snarl as Brutus started to plow. Every time the wolf really angled and shoved, he scrunched up harder.

“I didn’t think so,” Brutus growled, as drool fell from his muzzle and landed on the bare back of Damon’s neck with a splat. The sound mixed in with the other wet noises of a hard long-stroke fucking.

“Stop tr-trying to go in all the way, it’s too big,” Damon abruptly said, and tried to hunch forward. He managed to pull his knee up and twist, but that left him with his knees tugged up to a fetal curl to the side underneath him. Brutus dropped down and kept thrusting. “Oh shit! Oh fucking shit! I’m gonna cum already!”

“I told you, stop with the porn bullshit! I can’t stand that fuck fuck fuck me crap!” Brutus spoke through his teeth, and humped harder. The position was both awkward and even more arousing; Damon felt like he was trying to escape, which just enraged Brutus on multiple levels, and the change in angle had an unintended effect on the human.

“I’m not joking!” Damon said, his voice rising up in pitch, and the next sound he uttered was a surprised, orgasmic cry. His hole bucked and squeezed, the unmistakable rhythm of pelvic floor pumping.

Brutus reached around and grabbed for his cock, which bucked and squirted into his half-gloved hand, the sound audible and wet as spunk hit spunk. “Too bad for you, ‘cuz I’m not ready yet. I gotta really rail my bitches before I nut,” he said, the words flowing out of his mouth with no filter on whether they were stupid or even made sense in the context of gay male park sex.

“Please, please pull out before you cum, you can shoot it all over me, you can cum on my chest, I’ll rub it in,” Damon pleaded, his voice twitching as he continued his orgasm halfway through the sentence.

“Nope,” Brutus said, “That does it, begging really hits the spot,” Brutus’s own voice clenched up but rose little, and he gritted his teeth with a feral clack as he hammered the last four or five thrusts before he let go as well, cock buried deep as he pumped his ten shots in. “Nnrh. Mmm. You’re a real desperate fuck, you know that?” As callously as he’d pushed in the very first time, the wolf pulled straight back and out all at once.

He let go of Damon and the human writhed about, reaching back to clutch at one rump cheek, then fingering around his hole. Damon slid his finger inside and gasped at the easy intrusion, then added another, then pulled both out and looked at them. “Fuck, oh fuck, you fucking came in me,” he groaned, and rolled onto his back for a moment, still-hard cock flopping against his jacket and leaving its own wet final smear of seed. Then he rolled up and got to his feet, only to stumble and fall back, before he hurriedly yanked his pants up.

Brutus got up and stretched, then shook his cock off. He immediately walked back over to his bike and straddled back on. Damon lingered behind, then turned and rushed over.

“Hey, hey, what’re you doing?”

“Well, I’m done fucking you, so I’m gonna go ride around some more.” Brutus turned the key and the bike engine turned over and came to life.

“You came in me, you asshole! You fucking shitbag jerk asshole!”

Brutus shrugged. “So what? Do I look human? You think you’re gonna get AIDS or something from some wolf monster?”

Damon tried to climb onto the bike and Brutus punched him in the sternum, sending him rushing backwards. He would have backwalked fast into the river if he hadn’t tripped on a rock and crashed onto his back, air knocked out with a whoop. He gasped and rolled around. “What the hell? You drove me out here!”

“Correction, you rode bitch out here on my bike. I was gonna come out here and jack off anyway,” Brutus said, though only he knew that he had no intention of doing that until Damon presented himself in the back alley behind The Underworld. “You’ve got a phone and a few bars of signal. You can get a rideshare or whatever. You’ll have something fun to talk about instead of just political conspiracies or whatever the guy driving’s looking at on his phone instead of the road.” He twisted the throttle to rev the engine, then let the clutch out and pulled away before Damon could make another run for the bike.

Leaving someone he’d met just half an hour before, literally in the dust, pants around his knees, dripping with cum, gave Brutus a delicious thrill. He also got one from his bare cock and balls flopped over the gas tank of the bike, as he’d forgotten to grab his entirely-unsnapped codpiece before climbing on. Fuck it, and fuck him.