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From the Wild

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How he became a werewolf...

A 1000 word story.

The party was in full swing and was likely to go on till the early hours. Christmas on the plantation was a holiday for the slaves and a chance to catch up with members of their family who were working on neighbouring cane fields.

It was a rare day, one of only a few when the slaves did not labour in the fields for their Dutch masters. These special days all coincided with holy days like Christmas and Easter. Each had a veritable feast, plenty of the local hooch, distilled from the cane sugar and a large open-pit fire.

They made music. Mostly with a West African basis, but some Caribbean influences made subtle differences to the cadence and rhythms. They danced frenetically and then, when exhausted by the effects of rum and dance, they made love with a wild abandon, knowing that their hangovers would pass during the next day of rest, but the fruits of their couplings might just mean new children, born to the Master, in slavery.

Jan’s eyes twinkled in the reflected light of the huge fire that blazed in the pit. He had perhaps, a little more of the potent rum than he should have. Not quite drunk, but near enough for his coordination to be affected. He sat down heavily on a tree trunk, hoping that his head would clear sufficiently for him to make it back to the colonial style house.

As the eldest son of the Plantation owners, he was treated with a deference and respect above his young age. At twenty-one, he had seen and experienced rather more than the average young man in the 1760’s. To his credit, around half a dozen children could be blamed on him directly. Possibly twice that number might be carrying his genes, but these were unproven.

Gradually, his head cleared as the strong alcohol wore off. He noticed the young girl, standing apart from the rowdy dance crowd. She stood under a palm and seemed to be staring straight at him. She was dressed in the usual cotton dress, undyed and frayed in places. The straps were hanging off of her shoulders, around the tops of her arms and the frayed hem was tucked into her knickers at her left hip, allowing for a glimpse of olive coloured thigh, just enough to be enticing, but not too much to be lewd.

Jan liked his lips, suddenly dry in the mouth and needing water. He dragged his gaze away from her, hoping to see a pitcher he could drink from, but without any luck.

He looked over his shoulder, back to where she had been standing, only to see an empty space under the tree. He shrugged and thought no more about it.

His head turned to face the front to observe the party’s revelry. She stood directly in front of him, perhaps three feet away, blocking out all behind her. She held her hand out towards him, an invitation to dance. Jan rose from the log, took the proffered hand and joined in the dance with her, stomping his feet in time with the rhythm while still holding her hand.

They spun and twisted, jumped and cavorted while the music entered their beings and demanded the moves of them. Jan laughed in pure joy, as he became part of the dance and, as a couple, they became the dance. He had no idea how long they performed, only that at some point in time, they had become the centre of everyone’s attention. A ring of slaves stomped and clapped in time and in encouragement for the young couple as they spun faster and faster, in time with the increase in tempo.

Eventually, Jan’s legs gave up the unequal struggle against centrifugal force. He collapsed in a laughing heap, gasping for air. The girl dropped down beside him, seemingly unaffected by the frenetic dance. She propped her head on one hand and looked at Jan with a steady gaze.

It was as if he were looking down a tunnel, peripheral sight was lost, just those mesmeric green eyes, boring into his mind, was all he could see.

She smiled then, seeming to have made a decision. Wordlessly, she held her left hand out to his prone body, an unspoken gesture of invitation.

Jon grasped her proffered hand. Surprised at the strength she had, for one so slight in stature. Easily, she pulled him to his feet and then, still holding hands, led him from the dance area and into the night.

She pulled him to the ground, once they were beyond the light of the fire. Jon felt her hands grabbing at the tie of his breeches, which she deftly untied. Jan was content to lay submissive while this dusky goddess took the lead.

She soon had his cock out and gripped in the strong embrace of her hand. Slowly, she massaged him, rubbing up and down, bringing him to hardness. She lowered her head and began to suckle him while still pumping. Jan grunted at her brazenness, his cock sliding in and out of her hot mouth while the partygoers danced only twenty yards away, oblivious of the scene.

Pleasurable as it was, he wanted to feel her body surround him and so, he gently pried her face from his cock. He kissed her and pulled her dress over her breasts and then, with her cooperation, completely off of her body.

Even in the dim light, he could see that her mulatto skin was flawless, her body perfect.

She straddled him, sinking on his raging hardness. Jan quickly reached his orgasm, spilling his seed deep inside her body, as she bit him, tearing his throat, but she didn’t kill him. Instead, she turned him into a lycanthrope, the same as her. He never saw her again.

That was two hundred and fifty-three years ago. Jan lives still, in the suburbs of London, preying on young Caribbean girls, as a wild revenge.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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