Work-in-Progress - Vignette: Wolf and Bull.

An innocuous cartoon of a gloved and werewolf produced by the deliciously talented @GlovedDoodler. You can find more of his horny artwork on his BlueSky here.

Hey y'all. Things have been busy here in My neck of the woods. But, as always, My fiction churns deep below, a horny undercurrent that ripples the surface of my diurnal life.

In the past, I would wait until I had completely finished a draft prior to posting it. This time around, I decided to do things a bit differently, and post this piece as a work in progress. Each time I make changes, I will highlight the new text, that way y'all can watch the story as it grows.

Unlike My other fiction, I'm not going to paywall this story. So the moneyshot and the horny muscle transformation will be all yours to enjoy.

---

Bull

Tracing a finger along the edge of his tie, Jim glared up at the television screen. He had not seen it since his childhood, this commercial. Some atrocious product masquerading as a kids' cereal, more sugar and preservative than grain. The kind that would turn the milk an unsavory grayish purple. The commercial itself was even more unserious: a furry orange puppet in a weirdly fitting tuxedo.

Jim smirked down at his beer. He never told anyone about that commercial, why he begged his mum for that cereal as a kid—how the commercial featured a boy in a school uniform who hulked out into this furry beast.

Jim snorted, rolling his eyes. The commercial was already gone. Relaxing on the bar stool, he spread his legs, his thighs beefy in his charcoal suit trousers. The suit was a sober and sensible color, but a keen observer would notice the details: the working surgeon cuffs of the jacket, the French cuffs and fine cufflinks, the cutaway collar framing an impeccably knotted double Windsor, his tie a shade of garnet with a rich grenadine, braces and gleaming double monkstraps, socks a shade of sheer. Each in their own subtle way, the lapels and cut of the suit announced that this financier wore his suits with more than a sense of duty. Far from the lackluster sacks that his straight colleagues begrudgingly flung over their shoulders, Jim's suitings rose on his chest, draped across his shoulders, and carried him with a sense of pride. This was a man who intended to be noticed.

Wolf

Tom could taste this man's lust in the air, even amidst the tipsy melange of scents across the pub. Tailored wool, fine silk–a bullish musk, even a hint of precum—oh yes. This handsome peacock across the bar knew how to dress, and he was more than just a cut above all these lazy corporate casual straight boys. Ideal prey.

He seemed curiously piqued with that commercial on the television above the bar, this man. Some strange kids' commercial that had no business being aired during a football game. But Tom could catch a whiff of that pheromone, that subtle spike of libido. Something within this dapper man stirred, and longed to be awakened.

Tom knew the well-dressed man noticed him. A flick of his handsome brown eyes, a twitch of his sexy mustache, as he brushed his stubbled jaw with his knuckle. A hint of a beautiful sleeve tattoo peered out from beneath the man's French cuff.

Patience, Tom told himself, as he hovered over his whiskey. You can't lick your chops here, not in front of the humans. Even if the full moon is still a week off, sometimes the Beast rustles awake. Especially when confronted with such a rare and delicious specimen.

It wasn't just the man's sharply tailored charcoal suit that drew Tom's attention, nor the man's exquisite grenadine tie. Oh no. There was something else underneath, something that marked this man as marked. Something that distinguished this man beyond just his clothing. Could it be? Another Beast? Waiting to be awakened?

Patience, Tom told himself. The veil is thin tonight, between humans and monsters. We shall stalk him, but from a respectable distance. Even willing humans are finicky targets.

Bull

Jim cast a strategic glance in the bar mirror. Still there, that man. The only other man dressed in a suit and tie at this hour. Even the other bankers and executives had ditched their ties, but not this curious fellow.

Jim had been sizing him up all evening, this man in his navy suit. A subtle windowpane. A purposefully mismatched waistcoat: a trim little waistcoat in a taupe gabardine, intended to pick up on the windowpane of the exterior suit perfectly. A gutsy combination, one that suggested panache. Ballsy panache. Balls. 

Mmm, yes. Jim spread his legs a little further, making room for his own hefty package. Jim catalogued the dandy’s details: a paisley blue tie blossoming out of his lapels, lustrous silk traced with embroidered swirls of jade. A glittering pocket watch. Cufflinks. Laceups polished to a glow. A fashionable fellow, a flaneur. Yet strangely not flamboyant, at least not in his demeanor. The elegantly attired man perched on his bar stool, filling out a pocket planner with a fine pen. One of many affectations, Jim speculated.

Yet Jim could tell this man had been watching him. He was the whole reason Jim had lingered over this one beer, waiting. In situations like this, Jim usually was the one to make the first move. But something about this curiously dressed man suggested to Jim that something was afoot.

Jim adjusted his cufflink, pretending nonchalance, deflecting his gaze to the architecture. Yet this man lingered just in his periphery.

Wolf

This man was not a wolf. Tom could already tell. A beast, perhaps, but not a wolf. Tom was expert at sniffing out his own kind, more readily than any other. But there are many changers in the world. It's only a question of whether they have been shown the way through the veil.

The full moon was a convenient time for wolves, of course. And in a week the change would seize Tom at that moment that the pale disc rose. Tom knew the sensation well, the terror and the thrill, the pain and the spiral of pleasure, the spurt of muscle and release. He used to try to bind himself on those nights, trying to keep himself from roaming, from causing harm. But his surges of strength would ravel the ropes, or bend the chains. And, over time, Tom knew to anticipate that phase. And learned, too, how to guide himself through, to induce the change even when the moon didn't beckon him. But that subtle art required many months of patience.

Patience.

Tom's ears twitched. He could feel that dapper man's eyes on him. Difficult to remain camouflaged when you're dressed in a custom suit after hours. But, there again, perhaps this dapper man wished to be noticed. His scent certainly betrayed an interest.

Handsome fucker. It helped that this man's human form had that naughty tilt of an eyebrow, that naughty gleam in his deep brown eyes.

Yes, Tom concluded. No matter what kind of beast this man was—or was not—Tom would have fun with this one.

Bull

The dandy extracted a pocket watch from his waistcoat. All about accessories, this afficionado. Yet Jim studied the man's posture, noticing a sudden shift. The man nodded to the bartender, and the bartender delivered his check.

About to go, eh? Jim began to swig a little faster. Some liquid courage. Or, rather, just a little lubricant for the libido. Jim was already full of swagger and confidence. But, even so, there was a hint that this dandyish fellow had a card yet to be revealed, some trick to be played.

The dandy pocketed his notebook. The watch remained on the bar as the dandy signed his name to the ticket, then stowed away the pen. Accessories, accessories. The man produced a pair of elegant driving gloves in blue calfskin. So many accessories, this one. Jim stroked his stubbled chin, then pinched his tie. Jim's check arrived.

Just as the man clicked the pocket watch shut, Jim noticed a fine blue dial on the chronograph that displayed the phases of the moon.

Wolf

It was not practical for a changer to carry this many little accessories. Even on the full moon nights, Tom would reduce the number of layers as much as he could, editing his outfit in a way that was decidedly not to his maximalist tastes. More is more, even if the moon has other plans.

Tonight was not intended to be one of those nights, of course. But it appears that, even when not to the full, the moon has other plans.

Other plans, thought Tom, as he plumped out the arch of his tie and strode out of the noisy bar. Create a distraction, a reason for the handsome financier to follow. And, as the thick air of the bar gave way to the subtle crisp of the evening, Tom could catch a whiff of that man, his subtly horny musk. He could hear his double monkstraps clicking the pavement in pursuit.

Predator turned prey, Tom thought. He'd let the man have his way, for now. But, if the man truly was a Beast like him, the tables would indeed turn.

Bull

Ordinarily, when some drunk creep followed Jim down the sidewalk, he would pick up his pace with alarm and irritation. But not so tonight. Tonight, something felt different.

Where was that elegant man? Jim couldn't spot him anywhere. Yet he had the distinct, unshakeable feeling that he was being watched. Jim turned a corner, proceeding down another street. Rows of glossy shops greeted him: designer handbag, handsome Italian shoes, boutiques of chic dresses, an atelier draped with pinstripes.

"Good evening."

Jim paused. Out of nowhere, he spotted the reflection of the dandy in the dark glass, with the bolts of pinstripe fabric draped inside the display, and the transparent reflection of the dandy just over the reflection of Jim's shoulder.

"Good evening," replied Jim as he turned. The dandy stood a few inches shorter than Jim's tall, svelt stature. Jim liked knowing he had the upper hand. With a slight breath, Jim composed himself and smirked down at the dandy. "Still suited up at this hour, eh?"

"Indeed," replied the dandy man. "You and I seem to hold that sartorial standard."

The dandy's voice was silky, articulate. Jim certainly overpowered the man's smaller physique, but Jim appreciated the man's posture and bearing. Jim extended a hand, cufflink glittering in the streetlight. "Name's Jim."

"Tom." He returned the handshake.

Wolf.

My my. Jim's hand had such a firm grip. This human worked out. Tom could tell. Such exquisite beef, exquisitely dressed. Tom quite liked how Jim towered over him a bit, the way Jim kept his well-shod feet planted almost shoulder-width apart, an executive power pose. There was something strong and sturdy about this handsome fellow. He was not physically heavy, but his physique carried weight.

But patience, purred the Beast within. Patience, Tom thought to the Beast in return.

Tom gestured to the window of the atelier. "I see you have good taste in suits. Have you been to this tailor before?"

"I have not." Jim cast a glance at the window. "I have a tailor closer to home."

"And where is home?" Tom took half a step forward, letting his sharp black lace-up catch the street light.

"Oh, about twenty minutes' walk from here?"

Tom's nostrils tasted the air. Jim was still confident, his guard slowly easing. But, admittedly, Tom would also be suspicious of a curiously dressed stranger on the streets at this hour. "Mind if I walk with you? I believe we might have a few things in common."

Bull.

Walk with you, eh? thought Jim. This guy's not as subtle as he thinks. But, there again, you had to admire his pluck. Perhaps there could be at least a bit of fun back at Jim's flat? He could see this guy's lips around his girthy cock before the night was out, trousers unzipped and shafts plopping in each of their palms. Mulling it over, Jim nodded. "I see no harm in that."

And so they walked together, the two suited men, Jim in his gleaming monkstraps and Tom in his gleaming lace-ups, Jim in his ensemble of charcoal and red and Tom in his ensemble of navy and tan. As sidewalk let to sidewalk, the two carried on.

"The double Windsor knot is a bold move," remarked Jim. "Most guys wear just a boxy little four-in-hand."

"Most guys can't be bothered with a tie at all."

"Heh." Jim nodded. "Also true. We're a cut above, you and I."

"I like to think so, yes."

Wolf.

Tom could smell that undercurrent of lust wafting off Jim's sturdy frame. He knew he'd be awakening this one. Oh yes. Before the night was out.

With his gloved hand, Tom pointed to Jim's shoes. "Crockett and Jones?"

"Why yes. A favorite brand of mine."

"Mine as well," replied Tom.

"And yours? I like the aggressive shape of those lace-ups."

"Gravati." Tom cast a glance up to the moon, just in her waxing gibbous phase. "And Italian brand."

"Hah. A little flashy for a business environment."

"One might say the same of you," Tom parried. "And your sheer silk socks."

Bull.

The socks? Jim paused, letting Tom make a few paces ahead of him before Tom paused, too.

"You noticed the socks, eh?" Jim smirked. "Nobody ever does."

"Indeed," said Tom, lifting his trouser cuffs to reveal ultrasheer socks of his own. "Most people don't pay attention."

"Most people don't know they exist." Jim's cock twitched in his trousers, heavy balls shifting against the velvety-soft pinstripes. "And certainly none of the straight boys wear them."

"The straight boys don't have the balls," replied Tom with a smirk. "But you certainly do."

Oh? A cheeky dandy-man, this one. Jim settled his feet a bit further apart, widening his usual power stance. And, sure enough, Jim watched as Tom's gaze honed in on the gap between his thighs, just as Jim had calculated. "A bulge-watcher, too? Naughty naughty."

"In the end, we are all animals," observed Tom, unfastening his jacket. There was a flash of mint-green satin paisley lining as Tom drew the rich navy windowpane apart, revealing the outline of his own cock tenting in his trousers.

"Animals? Not gentlemen?" Jim coyly followed suit, unfastening his double-breasted pinstripe jacket to reveal his own ample bulge, hefty balls impossible for the pinstripes to conceal.

"Lustful animals." Tom groped his own crotch with a gloved hand, giving himself a squeeze. "Libidinous."

Bull

"You . . . you are one cheeky fucker, aren't you?" Tracing a knuckle along his stubbled chin, Jim advanced, closing the distance between him and his elegant interlocutor.

Tom shrugged, relaxing his shoulders in his fine tailoring. "We've spent enough time circling around our prey. One of us will take the first bite."

Jim reached down to Tom's jawline—square, firm, assertive, just a stroke of the knuckle there,—before Jim caressed the silken arch of Tom's tie knot, then, closing his fingers, tugged the shorter man up to meet his lips. A silken leash.

Tom parted his mouth to let Jim in, but the lavish motion of his tongue was anything but passive. In and out, they took turns testing one another, their suited bodies swaying together, cutting a sharp silhouette in the moody street lights. Jim cupped a hand behind Tom's head—gentle at first, then pushing Tom in.

Wolf.

He liked to be in control, this human. Went with the territory, such sharp executive tailoring. Every angle of Jim's suit bespoke power and authority, rigidity and heft. Such heft. Tom let a gloved paw glide into the satin-lined folds of Jim's double-breasted jacket, clasping the edges of the larger man's torso. His lats were a firm, plump stretch of muscle answered by the damp aroma of his pits—deodorant, yes, but soon wilting into the late evening to reveal the musk, subtle and animal, of a horny beast lying beneath.

Jim shoved Tom into his mouth, a full skullfuck, and Tom let him. Languid and subtle, the lines of Tom's body swayed in concert with Jim's more rigid form. Tom would play the submissive, for now. But he knew the tables soon would turn.

Bull.

Jim parted off the kiss, licking his lips. "Fuck."

Tom smirked up at him, groping Jim's crotch. "You felt that, eh?"

"Damn." Jim could feel Tom's gloved fingers caressing his bullish cock, encased in fine pinstripe gabardine, like a fucking condom made of velvet. Such a thin layer remained between him and the outside world, and, even if Tom kept the zipper up, Tom found out Jim's ample meat and massaged it. Ripples of pleasure rose through Jim's body, and the stresses of the day—petty bureaucratic annoyances of the financial world—all of those slipped away.

Jim let his head toss back as Tom groped him, but he set both of his meaty hands on Tom's shoulders. Had to keep this one on a tight leash, after all. This dandyman had some tricks in store, Jim could tell.

But what were they? And, as Jim gazed down at his handsome shorter trick of the evening, Jim could have sworn that Tom was fully shaven. Where did all that rough stubble come from, grating against the fine cutaway collar of Tom's shirt?

Wolf.

A stroke of lust, each one with a cost. Two scores weighed against one another: one human, one beast. And that little interaction cost the human, and gained the beast. The light side of the moon ebbing, no longer a full circle, while the shadow steadily encroached.

Lulling with lust, Tom groped Jim's ass. Tom could feel the seams of his suit jacket grip his shoulders, the starched collar of his shirt encircling like a ring of iron, and, like a ring, the birthmark at the base of his neck that seared as though with flame, the way it always did at that phase of the moon each month.

Tom knew the sensation, the tidal pull deep within. He had started it, the change. It would be inevitable now. Tom had parted the veil within him, and given the Beast permission to stalk out. He would be claiming another tonight.

"My flat isn't much further," remarked Jim. "And I think we're both ready for a nightcap, eh?"

Tom smirked. His gloves grew tight on his hands as he stroked Jim's rich grenadine tie. "I prefer outdoors."

"Hoo, outdoors, eh? You're a naughty little exhibitionist, I see."

"You could call it that." Tom returned his paw to Jim's crotch, where he felt that massive meat bloating with excitement.

Bull.

Jim's rational thoughts protested. We can't get arrested. Outdoors? Absurd. Dangerous. "Let's wait and get back to my place," Jim insisted. "I have a balcony, if that helps."

"A balcony?" Tom's eyes had a strange gleam. "I suppose that will do."

"'That will do.'" Jim scoffed and laughed, feeling up the icy slick satin lining of Tom's waistcoat. "You're a snobby little cocksucker, aren't you?"

"We'll have to take turns," replied Tom with a wink. "I ordinarily top, but I'll switch with the right fellow."

"Am I the right fellow, then?" Jim thumbed Tom's rich paisley tie, tracing the mounds of pectoral muscle that stretched beneath the layers of Tom's waistcoat and custom shirt. "You seemed easy to dominate just now."

"Cede the battle, but win the war." Tom patted Jim on the ass. "Lead on."

---

       Hungry for more? Purchase full .pdf versions of My fiction here.

If you live in a region where access to adult materials is restricted, please email me at DoYouWearLowShoes@gmail.com for alternate instructions on how to pay for access.