Wolfrosa

Rosa could smell him, even through the cabin door– that thick, familiar burning that always rushed deep to the void inside her, alerting her. Her mother had alerted her as well, warnings well forgotten. Her mother’s warning of the forest, the path, the cabin, the Wolf. One beast alone that howls in the night? All well forgotten. Those myths faded with each new memory, but inevitably the Wolf would arrive.

For forty nights, he had called for her. Long, deep, needful calls that haunted the forest each of those nights; shaking creatures that crawled along the soil to burrow a little deeper; shifting ravens in their branches; shivering the souls of unfortunate men. In her cabin at the Glen, Rosa lay in bed every night and whimpered with every roar, wishing with dark breaths that he would come to her.

And that night, the roars had finally stopped. That was how Rosa knew to expect him. She bit her lip as she drew back her blanket, untying her hood to reveal a soft, fertile bosom. The Wolf pounded his mandibles against the thin, aged cedar: a phalanx. The barrier would surely burst, and Rosa swelled for him. She floated, just for him, neither sacrifice nor serving.

So when he finally burst through, undelayed by locks unnoticed, Rosa was entirely unprotected.

And he burst upon her.

Rosa spread her legs for the Wolf and gripped his thick, grey mane, pulling him even deeper inside. Every gasp was laboured, and last.

On instinct, he sank his fangs into her shoulder, raptured by the pureness of her blood, and he entered her– rough, blunt instrument of nature; splitting apart the lush, trembling bloom; fastening to her with sharp, brutish efficiency. Rosa sobbed, wrapped her legs around the Wolf’s trunk, and gave herself to him.

She wanted to be claimed by the Wolf. She always had.

With heavy stokes he hammered her in wild abandon, growling in her ear with that same steady rhythm. His form battered and clawed and slashed at its prey, tearing at the flesh and grinding deep, so deep.

With a final fury the Wolf seized up, slicing into Rosa’s throat. Her blood exploded upon him, and their eyes met as she died– the fierce yellow animus and the pale sky.

The Wolf emptied his essence into her limp, spasming flesh, fulfilling the abject impulse that drove the blood through his veins, that defined his desires, that caused him to be. He gave it to her, but it was not a gift that she could ever enjoy.

Spent, the Wolf dragged Rosa’s corpse from her crimson mattress to the soil of the Glen, a morose, solemn instinct he could never understand. Absent his nature, his offering to the forest was a homecoming, a return.

And thus consumed, the seed of the Wolf would spread across the pungent, fertile soil of the Forest floor, feeding fauna and flowering flora forever and ever. Before long, the Wolf and the forest would be one.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8588ca/wolfrosa