Alexandra Vance. the Beast’s Attraction.
Copyright© 2026 by Virael de la Fer
Chapter 8. Ritual of Submission
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 8. Ritual of Submission - She just wanted a drive to clear her head. Instead, she hit a wolf on a lonely forest road — and made the mistake of getting out of the car. He wasn't an ordinary wolf. And nothing in her life was ever ordinary again. A sensual paranormal romance about desire, danger, and falling for something wild.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Fairy Tale Mystery Paranormal Were animal Sharing Humiliation Rough Gang Bang Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Double Penetration Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism AI Generated
I obeyed. Not because I was frightened — because I wanted to. I knelt, braced on my arms, arse in the air. Wet, parted thighs, everything open to him. I felt the air slide over my skin — cool, night air — and the contrast with my burning body made me shiver. Felt him looking at me — appraising, greedy, pleased. I knew what he could see: wet folds glistening in the torchlight. Swollen, reddened by his tongue. Ready. My knees pressed into the blanket, my arms shook, but I held. I held because I wanted this. Because I wanted him.
Doggy style, I thought. Though for a wolf I suppose it’s wolven-style. Or werewolfen-style. God, what a slut I am. Worse than Jess.
I’m submitting. Like a slut. Like a bitch before the alpha. And, when you think about it, that’s exactly what I am. And I like it.
But my body was past shame. It wanted. Wanted more than fondling. I wanted to sink onto his cock. Wanted to feel that pressure inside, feel him filling me, moving, fucking me. Wanted to come — properly, deeply, so hard I’d scream, forget who I was and where I was.
Dan didn’t sit — he stood behind me, teasing. His cock nudged my entrance, slid along my wet lips, withdrawing and returning. Every time the tip grazed my clit I shuddered all over, and when he pulled it away I rocked back, chasing the lost touch. I felt his heat — hot, pulsing, alive. Felt my inner muscles clenching around nothing, seeking him, demanding him.
“I told you not to move.” His voice was hard as steel. “But you don’t seem to be listening.”
I bit my lip, trying to hold back a moan. He was so close ... unbearably close. I felt his heat, his hardness, his promise. And I wanted it. Wanted him inside me, filling me, stretching me, driving me out of my mind.
“Please...” It broke out of me. My voice shook. I surprised myself saying it. “Please, Dan...”
He smirked — victorious, mocking.
“All that?” A light mockery in his voice now. “You’re sure you want this?”
“Yes!” I cried it without thinking. “I want it! I can’t bear it—”
“I can’t very well refuse you.” And I felt his hands slide up my back, caressing it, then grip my hips hard. “Up on your knees. Like a little cat. Stick that arse out. I’ll have a proper look at you, and then maybe I’ll fuck you — depends how hard you try.”
He was still speaking and I was already down on all fours — fast, barely thinking. Braced on my arms, arse as high as it would go. Wet, parted thighs, offering everything I had. I felt the air scorching my skin, his gaze sliding up my spine, appraising, savouring. My elbows pressed into the blanket, my shoulder-blades tight with strain, but I didn’t move. I waited.
“Grim—” His voice sounded pleased, almost happy. “I’m delighted. I think she’ll live longer than she ought to. Sweet girl.”
I flushed with shame. Grey was watching. Grey could see it all: me on all fours in front of this man, legs spread, wriggling my arse, begging him to fuck me. Grey heard every word, every yes, every more, every moan. I could hear him breathing behind me — heavy, hoarse, whistling. He wasn’t speaking. He couldn’t. But I heard him breathe. And that was worse than any words.
I tried to shift, to cover myself, even a little, and got a smack straight across my arse — ringing, scalding. The blow echoed through my body, making me jolt. Pain flared bright — then melted at once into warmth spreading through my thighs, my lower belly, my inner muscles. I felt the wetness rise again. As if the blow had turned on some tap.
“Alexandra. Legs wider, and stop fidgeting.” Calm, but firm.
I spread them — wider than needed, wider than ever. Felt the air on my skin, his hands squeezing my arse — hard enough to bruise, white marks blooming. Then a smack. Another. And another. Every blow went through me in a wave of heat, making me arch into his hand, meet it. My arse burned — skin blazing, and I knew the red marks would stay. I felt the blood rushing there, warmth sliding down towards my perineum, my clit. I wanted to grind, to squeeze my thighs, anything to release the pressure, but I couldn’t. He forbade it. And that only made it worse.
I should have hated him. Should have pushed him off, run, curled up in a corner, shut my eyes and never opened them — even if these were the last moments of my life. Even if wolf fangs closed round my throat and tore it open.
Should have been thinking of Grey — of his pain, his suffering, of how he was watching me now, hearing every moan, seeing every movement.
But my body wasn’t listening.
My body burned under his hands. Melted at his touch. Arched into every blow, every smack. Wetness ran down my thighs and I couldn’t stop it. Inner muscles clenched, demanding to be filled, pulsing in time with his movements. I felt sweat covering my back, running down my spine, pooling in the small of it, dripping onto the blanket. Felt hair stuck to my forehead, strands falling into my face that I couldn’t move — my hands were busy holding me up.
This isn’t me, I tried to tell myself. It’s pheromones. Chemistry. His smell, his closeness, his power. It’s not my fault. My body is just responding to a stimulus.
But somewhere deep, at the very bottom of my mind, another thought stirred — shameful, frightening, one I was afraid to say even to myself:
I like it.
It was horrible. It was wrong. It was betrayal — of Grey, of myself, of everything I’d believed was right.
But it was the truth.
Because Dan — this cold, cruel pack leader who humiliated me, who used me like a thing, who made the man I loved watch all of it — was a better lover than Grey.
I didn’t want to admit it. I couldn’t admit it. But my body remembered every touch, every thrust, every second with him. Remembered his fingers finding the right spots, his tongue circling places I hadn’t known could be circled. Remembered how he stopped at exactly the moment I was about to break, and started again when I begged.
Grey was gentle. Tender. Attentive. With him it was good. Warm. Safe. He kissed my shoulders, stroked my hair, whispered sweet things in my ear. Always asked if I liked it, always waited until I asked for more. He was perfect. He was right.
But Dan didn’t ask. Dan didn’t wait. Dan took. And it turned everything inside me over. The body that floated in warm water with Grey burned in fire with Dan. The body that purred with Grey convulsed with Dan. The body that whispered with Grey screamed with Dan.
Grey was gentle. Dan was hard. Grey stroked. Dan grabbed. Grey kissed. Dan bit. Grey gave. Dan took. And my body — the body I’d thought mine for twenty years — betrayed me. It wanted to be taken. Wanted to be grabbed. Wanted it hard. And that was worst of all. Worse than the pain. Worse than the shame. Worse than anything still to come.
I braced for the next smack — and instead got pain inside. Sweet. Sharp. Filling.
The werewolf growled and drove his cock into me — deep, to the hilt, in one thrust.
“Ah!” I screamed — not from pain, not from surprise, but because the scream was the only way to let out everything that had been building inside me.
The pain was sharp, bright, almost unbearable. But pleasure was spreading through me — pure, animal, uncontrollable. His cock stretched me, filled me, crushed me, and I felt every vein, every millimetre of him. Felt my walls clench around him, cling to him, try to hold him. Felt the head against my core — firm, insistent, almost painful. And from that pain inside, everything burned brighter.
He grabbed my arms, folded them behind my back, pinning them above the elbows. I hung above the ground, and he began to fuck me — hard, deep, without pause. Blood rushed to my head, my face, my temples. I felt my pulse pounding in my ears, air barely reaching my lungs. My arms had gone numb, my fingers tingling. I hung from his grip like a doll, and he hammered into me — again and again, again and again.
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