...
"Fuck that noise!" she said rising from her chair taking swift hold of the table causing it and most of it's contents to fly across the room and come crashing down hard upon the floor.
Most of it's contents.
I of course saved my glass of wine. As fortunes would have it, the degree of force caused it to fly in a proper trajectory into the air along with the rest of the shit I couldn't care any less about. The wine was vintage. Something I procured from a Frenchman that owed me a favor around the 1900's. Unfortunately; for him, his hand was rather attached to it at the time. It's in a box packed in rock salt somewhere... probably one of the rooms on the third floor below ground as that's where most of such things seem to end up.
The wine itself ended up as my choice beverage for the night and I found it rather important for me as the procuring of it was my last shift beyond my control. Nevertheless I still have moments and I get the impression the woman before me is hip to the fact... pressing me more and more against the door to a room very few have come back to me after I've opened it for them.
Sometimes it's a great parlor trick for one-night-stands in a town of a life I know I'll never comeback to again. But pushing me in my own home? That merits a special kind of action... one that I've come to master since the Frenchman.
I think this as I take a sip of my wine and revel in my heightened awareness... or rather
beautiful awareness. One where my time slows and everything becomes clear, sharp, and well within reach should I wish to do so.
She's yet to finish speaking her intention to fuck noise. A knife is suspended in mid-air and I see the reflection of a candle I lit earlier in the eveing extinguish itself during it's loft. A perfect stream of poppy-red molten wax begins to coagulate into partially separated droplets in midair; still hot enough to splatter across the floor, fusing to it and making it near difficult to fully scrape off. With any luck it will spare the oriental rug. But I'm not holding any hope for it.
The thing about those fortunate enough to have been spared the fate of what I feel; and those like me, is their rabid desire to witness, to experience an existence in the raw. A swift accurate action; the marriage dance of raw emotion and movement based on instinct rather than logic. To look into the eyes of a man and see the last gasp of absolute fear give way to all the sorrow for what's been done and no less will continue to be done given the correct conditions and lapse of control. All of it happening with an awareness and presence of mind. Bound like a ghost in the machine; cowering deep in the darkness of my scull, forced to look out the eyeholes of a mask to observe grabbing throats of the broken bloodied torn up faces of the yet-to-be dead... hearing the echoing screams of hells horror, the sound of blouses, and bodices being torn off bodies over-wrought in fear until some physical force outside of perception stops you. A farmers scythe slicing through rib and lung, a superstitious fool's silver bullet into your gut... now those were the days. Painful as it was, it was a good way to get some quick scratch when finances were a bit tight.
But no, never no mind to any of that... I am done.
Werewolf/dog/whatever. There is no longer any
were. I am now pure. I have mastered perfect Therianthropy and live comfortably in both forms. Shifting as I see fit.
Yes... the room to nightmares is still very much there. But now, a door. A door this black haired, red lipped entity of elegance has me pressed up against, inside the frame of a heightened sense that has slowed down her movements making her all the more... sensual.
The fury in her eyes is honest but the passionate fuck-lust desire of her heart is as obvious to me as the increasing heat between her legs. Her brain; the fleshy tissue inside her head, bathes in budding bouquet of chemistry too complex to note in cognition but will come to full attention the very moment I have her by the throat and up against the wall, looking into her eyes and feeling the pulse of her neck in a panic before I have it sync with my own.
The moment will be in a flash. And right now... this wine... I have time to study her. I have time to take note of the scent of her hair and muse at the silky sense it has dancing with the air of her commotion. Her breasts of which my lips will meet already anticipate the onslaught. The beauty of her face; smart, strong, very strong in wit and in academia... with a biting tongue behind those flush lips of hers... all making it difficult to control the chemistry percolating about within my own skull.
Such a dark
dark want...
but her's...
one more second...
let the table fall upon it's surface.
And the moment everything stops...
I start.
My fingers care not about the glass of wine my memory once savored. It slips slowly downward and out of safety as the hand of my mind turns the key.
There is no creaking of hinges.
No turning of doorknobs
The door simply evaporates into the darkness behind it... and behind me.
There is zero.
No sound
No sensation
No man
No animal.
For a second
I am free.
The calm...
pupils dilate
and I get hot
but no sweat
just the push of blood though my body
circulating
making every vein visible
up my neck
down my arms
backs of my fingers
...along the shaft of my cock.
and like clock work my hand finds the soft flesh of her throat.
two of my steps and she off the ground and up against the wall.
the flicker of fury in her eyes becomes aware that's all it was and all it will ever be as it's sucked into the light swallowing blackness of mine.
I feel her windpipe give under my grasp and her pulse race against the spanning junction between my thumb and forefinger. I send it a message. A counter pulse to inform her I am exactly what I am and to reassure her I
am human... I
am inside. And with it comes a quieted pulse of her understanding my knowledge of her base desires and intentions to fill them... which her awareness acknowledged and made itself known to me in the form of spit upon my face.
Her action was felt beyond what I've experienced before. Elegant, respectful, sexual, sensual, and full of fight. There would be no submitting from her. No point of "Okay... this is fun but I seriously want your cock in me so I'm going to let up now..." But I wondered... would curiosity change her disposition if at some point during the ripping off of her clothes I were to shift?
Carry on! 
