I was folding Rick’s underwear when I realized I hadn’t been fucked properly in three years.

It was 9:30 PM on a Tuesday. The house was quiet. Just the hum of the dryer and the low murmur of the television from the living room where Rick was falling asleep to ESPN. Again.

I smoothed out the white cotton briefs. They were sensible. Practical. Just like Rick. We had been married for twenty-two years and honestly we had a good life. We had a nice house in the suburbs and paid our bills on time and never fought about anything important. But holding those briefs I felt a wave of crushing boredom that almost made me scream.

I finished the basket and carried it upstairs. I passed the living room on the way. Rick was slumped in his recliner with his mouth slightly open. He was a good man. He was 46 and worked hard in insurance but physically he had given up. He was soft around the middle and always tired.

I walked past him and went into our bathroom. I needed a shower. I needed to wash the smell of laundry detergent and suburbia off my skin.

I locked the door. That was a habit I couldn’t break even though privacy wasn’t really an issue anymore. It wasn’t like Rick was going to burst in and ravage me.

I stripped off my sweats and my t-shirt. I unhooked my beige bra and let it drop to the floor. I stepped out of my panties and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

I was 44 years old. I stood 5’5” and weighed 138 pounds. I had curves. My hips were wide and my waist was still defined. My tits were a full 36D and natural. They weren’t as perky as they were when I was young but they were heavy and soft and sensitive. I had long dark brunette hair that fell past my shoulders which I usually kept tied back in a messy bun.

My eyes traveled down. I didn’t look like the other women at the yoga studio. I didn’t wax. I didn’t shave. Between my legs I had a thick, full bush of dark hair. It covered my mons and grew down between my lips. It was primal. It was musky. I kept it clean but I refused to tame it.

Rick hated it. He never said so directly but he made comments about how “clean” the women in magazines looked. He liked things sterile. He liked things orderly.

I ran my hand over the coarse hair. I liked the texture. It made me feel like an animal.

That was my secret. My dirty, shameful secret that I had never told a soul.

I turned on the shower and made it hot. As the steam filled the room I let my mind wander where it always did when I was alone.

I didn’t fantasize about the mailman or Brad Pitt. I fantasized about nature documentaries.

I remembered a show I watched last week about wolves. I remembered the alpha male. The way he dominated the female. The way he bit her neck and mounted her. It wasn’t gentle. It was aggressive and necessary. I remembered watching the way his hips snapped forward and wondering what it felt like to have something that raw inside you.

I stepped under the spray. I grabbed the bar of soap and lathered my breasts. My nipples got hard instantly. I closed my eyes and pictured a dark forest. I pictured something large and heavy pinning me to the earth. I pictured claws digging into my hips.

My hand slid down my stomach and into the wet heat of my hair. I found my clit through the bush. I started to rub.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

I imagined it wasn’t a hand. I imagined it was a rough tongue. A tongue the size of a steak lapping my pussy.

I rubbed faster. It didn’t take much these days. I was so starved for touch. I came with a stifled moan, my legs shaking against the porcelain tub.

I rinsed off quickly. I felt the shame wash over me as the water cooled. What was wrong with me? I was a mother. I was a wife. I shouldn’t be thinking about beasts and knots while my husband slept downstairs.

I dried off and put on a silk nightgown. It was dusty rose colored and fairly conservative but it felt nice against my skin. I brushed out my hair and left it down.

I walked into the hallway. The light was on in Jacob’s room.

My heart skipped a beat. Jacob was home.

My son was 20. He had taken a semester off college to “find himself” and save money. He worked construction during the day and usually vanished at night. He had been acting strange lately. Moody. Aggressive. He ate everything in the fridge and he was growing so fast it was unnatural.

I peeked through his open door. He wasn’t there.

I went downstairs. Rick had finally moved from the chair to the bed. He was snoring softly.

The kitchen light was on. I walked in and saw the back door was wide open. The screen door was unlatched. A cool breeze was blowing in from the backyard carrying the scent of pine and damp earth.

“Jacob?” I called out softly.

No answer.

I walked to the door to close it. Then I heard a noise from the patio. It sounded like a whine. Or maybe a growl.

I should have been scared. We lived near the woods and we got coyotes sometimes. But I didn’t feel fear. I felt a pull. A magnetic tug in my belly.

I stepped out onto the patio. The moon was huge tonight. It was full and bright white and it cast long shadows across the lawn.

“Jacob?” I whispered.

Then I saw him.

He was standing by the edge of the woods. He had his back to me. He was wearing jeans but no shirt.

I froze. My god he was big.

I gazed at his back. The muscles stood out in sharp relief under the moonlight. His shoulders were incredibly broad. His skin glistened with sweat. He looked powerful. He looked dangerous.

He was 6’3” and must have weighed 220 pounds of solid muscle. He was my son but looking at him right then I didn’t see the boy I raised. I saw a man. A dominant, physical male.

He groaned. It was a low, guttural sound that filled the air.

He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans.

I gasped quietly. I should have turned around. I should have walked back inside and locked the door. But I couldn’t. My feet were rooted to the concrete.

He shoved his jeans down. He wasn’t wearing underwear. He kicked the denim away and stood completely naked in the moonlight.

I stared. I couldn’t help it. His ass was tight and muscular. His thighs were thick like tree trunks. He was covered in hair. Dark, thick hair ran down his spine and chased down his legs.

Then he fell to his hands and knees.

It happened fast. But to me it seemed like slow motion.

His body convulsed. I heard a sound like dry wood snapping. His spine arched and twisted. His skin seemed to ripple.

I watched in horror and fascination as dark fur sprouted from his skin. It happened in waves. His hands elongated. His fingers turned into massive paws with black claws that clicked against the patio stones.

His face pushed out. His jaw cracked and extended into a muzzle. His ears slid up his head and pointed.

I put a hand over my mouth to stop a scream. But it wasn’t a scream of terror. It was shock.

In seconds the man was gone. In his place stood a wolf.

But it wasn’t a normal wolf. It was massive. At least eight feet tall. Its fur was midnight black and thick. Its muscles bunched and rolled under the pelt.

The beast shook itself. A spray of sweat and musk hit the air. I could smell it from where I stood. It was a heavy, intoxicating scent. It smelled like wet dog and testosterone and copper.

I breathed it in. My nipples hardened against the silk of my nightgown.

The wolf turned its head.

It looked right at me.

Its eyes were bright yellow. Intelligent. Piercing.

I knew it was Jacob. I knew that in my mind. But my body didn’t care. My body saw a predator.

We locked eyes. I stood there in my thin nightgown with the wind blowing my hair around my face. He stood there naked and wild.

He took a step toward me.

I didn’t run. I took a half step back and bumped into the door frame but I didn’t retreat.

He chuffed. A puff of breath steamed in the cool air. He lowered his head and sniffed.

He walked toward me. His movement was fluid and predatory. He didn’t walk like a dog. He prowled.

He came up the patio steps. He was huge. His head was level with my chest.

He stopped two feet away from me.

I could feel the heat radiating off him. It was intense. Like standing next to a furnace.

“Jacob?” I whispered. My voice trembled.

He growled low in his throat. It wasn’t threatening. It sounded possessive.

He stepped closer. He buried his massive muzzle into my stomach. He sniffed deeply. He inhaled the scent of my skin.

Then he moved lower.

He pressed his wet nose into my crotch. Right through the silk of my gown.

I stopped breathing. I felt his hot breath panting against my pussy. He nudged his nose between my legs.

I should have pushed him away. I should have slapped him. This was my son. This was a monster.

But I was already wet. I was soaking wet. The musk was overwhelming my senses.

I widened my stance just a fraction of an inch.

He snorted against my thighs. He dragged his rough tongue once up the silk fabric over my slit. It felt like sandpaper. It was electric.

Then he pulled back. He looked up at me with those knowing yellow eyes. He let out a sharp bark.

Then he turned and bolted. He ran across the lawn and vanished into the woods in three powerful strides.

I was left standing alone on the patio. My knees were weak. My heart raced. My nightgown was wet where his nose had touched me.

I touched my hand to the spot. It was warm.

I looked out at the dark woods. I knew I should be horrified. I knew perfectly well that what I had just seen was impossible. My son was a werewolf.

But as I turned to go back inside into my boring house with my sleeping husband I realized something terrifying.

I wasn’t scared for him.

I was jealous.

I went back inside and locked the door. I turned off the kitchen light. I walked upstairs past our bedroom and went into the bathroom again.

I looked in the mirror. My face was flushed. My pupils were dilated. I looked wild.

I lifted my nightgown. My pussy was dripping. Clear, sticky juice was running down my thigh from the thick hair of my bush.

I looked at the mess I had made just from a sniff.

“You are a sick slut, Hannah,” I whispered to my reflection.

But I didn’t wipe it off. I went to bed wet. I rubbed myself to a quiet orgasm and fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt of fur and claws and knots.

The next day was a blur of caffeine and nervous energy. Every time I looked at the kitchen table I remembered the black claws clicking on the patio stones. Every time I smelled the coffee brewing I caught a phantom whiff of heavy musk and wet fur.

Rick was oblivious. He sat at the breakfast table eating his bran flakes and reading news on his iPad. He complained about the humidity. He complained about a client in Phoenix who wouldn’t sign a policy document. He complained that the coffee was too bitter.

I looked at him. I looked at his soft hands and his receding hairline. I loved him. I really did. But looking at him that morning made me feel like I was suffocating in beige velvet. He was safe. He was predictable. He was completely devoid of animal magnetism.

“Are you listening Hannah?” he asked.

“Yes. The client in Phoenix,” I said reaching for the butter.

“He’s a moron,” Rick muttered.

Jacob didn’t come down for breakfast. He didn’t come down for lunch either.

He finally emerged around 4:00 PM. I was chopping vegetables for dinner. I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs.

He walked into the kitchen. He was wearing gray sweatpants and nothing else.

I stopped chopping. I gripped the knife handle tight.

He looked tired but wired. His hair was messy. There were dark circles under his eyes but his body looked even bigger than yesterday. His chest muscles seemed to strain against his skin. His biceps were thick and corded with veins.

He walked to the fridge and opened it. He drank milk straight from the carton. Rick would have thrown a fit. I just watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed.

“Hungry?” I asked. My voice sounded thin to my own ears.

He lowered the carton. He looked at me. His eyes were dark brown again but for a second I saw a flash of amber.

“Starving,” he said. His voice was deeper. Rougher. It sounded like gravel tumbling in a dryer.

He looked at the raw meat sitting on the cutting board. It was a three pound chuck roast. I saw his nostrils flare. He inhaled the scent of the raw bloody meat.

“Can I have that?” he asked.

“It is for dinner Jacob. I have to cook it,” I said.

He reached out. His hand was huge. He tore off a chunk of raw, bloody meat, popped it into his mouth and chewed.

I watched a drop of blood run down his chin. I felt a throb between my legs so hard I almost dropped the knife.

“Jacob,” I whispered.

He licked the blood off his lip. He looked at me. He didn’t say anything. He just held my gaze for a long uncomfortable second. Then he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

I had to lean against the counter. I was soaking wet again. I was rapidly losing my mind.

Dinner was excruciating. Rick talked about lawn care. Jacob sat there silently tearing into his meat. I could barely eat. I just watched my son’s hands. I watched the way he ripped the bread rolls apart. I was terrified and I was undeniably aroused.

Rick went to bed at 10:00 PM like clockwork. He kissed my cheek and told me not to stay up too late.

“I am just going to read for a bit,” I lied.

I waited until I heard his snoring start. It was a rhythmic wheeze that used to comfort me but now just sounded pathetic.

I got up. I went to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I stripped off my clothes.

My nipples were hard and dark against my pale skin. My stomach had a little softness to it but my hips were wide and inviting. I looked at the dark triangle of hair between my legs. It was damp. I had been leaking all day.

I wanted to be accessible. I put on a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a tight white tank top. I didn’t put on panties. The rough fabric of the sweats rubbing against my bare pussy felt good. It felt naughty.

I went downstairs. The house was dark.

I didn’t go outside this time. I wasn’t brave enough for that yet. I went to the sunroom at the back of the house. It had floor to ceiling windows looking out over the backyard and the edge of the woods.