He takes a stroll and reflects.

Hunter walked back to the bar, picking up his half finished drink and taking a sip. He gave a sigh of satisfaction, savouring the memory of plundering Millie and Carlotta's cunts, his smile widening as he thought back to ravishing Sally and Toni in the office. His stamina and libido seemed to be boundless, and he raised a glass in a toast to his lupine side.

He saw Millie come out of the washroom, her skin still flushed although she had cleaned herself up and straightened her clothes. She saw him at the bar and her flush deepened as she bit her lower lip for a moment then made her way towards him. She took a breath as she reached him and put a slip of paper beside his drink, her eyes wide as she looked at him.

"That's my number. Just call me...let me know...I'll be ready to...give you what you want...any time. Any time at all..." she murmurs, her voice throaty and ragged.

"If I'm in the mood for you," he smiled at her as he picked up the note and slipped it into his shirt pocket, and left a bill on the bar to cover his tab as he stood up.

"Thank you," she purred, biting her lip. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. And don't...don't hesitate to call."

Hunter sauntered out of the bar, strolling aimlessly, enjoying the taste of the soft night air. He had no particular destination in mind, or anything that he wanted to do, although he felt a springlike tension in his legs that urged him to run. That was the wolf inside him, he thought, suppressing the urge with a smile.

His mind mulled over the changes that had occurred. His pheromones seemed to utterly overpower some women, while others were mildly interested and most apparently immune. His recuperative powers were incredible, and he felt sure that he would be able fuck without rest for hours if need and want and opportunity offered.

He felt a small tinge of guilt that he might have abused his power, but he suppressed that thought as well. He had taken no woman against her will and he was not responsible for the effect his pheromones had on some of them. Part of his mind told him that he was paying only lip service to the truth, but he shook his head and focussed on the memories of fucking, the sweet cries of orgasm, the **** squirming of wanton female bodies. He felt himself hardening, and he glanced around, wondering if he should find a willing vessel to slake his lust in.