A fragment of old Trevor surfaces

Pan's Underground Chamber, Pandora's Box Costume Shop, at 11:47 PM on a full moon night, approximately 3 years after October 31st, 2024

Something surfaces.

It's tiny — a flicker, a spark — buried beneath three years of cum and breeding and the soft, purring haze that has replaced whatever I used to call my mind. But it's there, suddenly, violently there: a name. Trevor. A face in a mirror that was narrower, flatter, male. A party invitation. A costume shop on Birch Street.

My body moves before my thoughts catch up. I scramble backward on the cushions, my claws digging into silk, my tail bristling, my ears flattening against my skull. A pathetic, instinctive lurch — away from the heat, away from the musk, away from that monstrous knotted cock hovering inches from my soaked cunt.

"No —" The word comes out thin and reedy, barely a whisper. "No, I don't — I'm not —"

Fenris doesn't move. He stays exactly where he is — crouched between my spread thighs, his massive clawed hands still gripping my legs — and a slow, terrible grin splits his muzzle. His amber eyes blaze with something that makes my pussy clench involuntarily even as my fragmented mind screams at me to run.

"Oh," he rumbles, his voice a seismic growl that vibrates through my bones. "Oh, that's good."

His grip tightens. His claws dimple the soft flesh of my inner thighs — not cutting, just holding, reminding me exactly how powerless I am. His cock twitches, a thick bead of pre-cum rolling down its veiny length.

"She's got some fight left in her," Fenris says over his shoulder to Pan. His nostrils flare, drinking in my scent. "Smells even wetter now. Nothing gets a breeding bitch hotter than pretending she doesn't want it."

From her cushioned chair, Pan laughs — a low, musical sound that makes my ears twitch. She's stroking her own cock lazily, her amber eyes bright with amusement. "Oh, kitten. Every few months, that little spark flickers. It's adorable. It always ends the same way."

I try to pull my legs free. My muscles strain against his grip — muscles toned from years of being fucked, built for endurance, for taking cock — but useless against seven feet of supernatural wolf. Fenris doesn't budge. He simply drags me back toward him across the cushions, my claws leaving furrows in the silk, my tail thrashing uselessly.

"Shhh," he croons, leaning down until his hot breath blasts across my exposed pussy. His tongue — broad, rough, impossibly long — drags a single wet stripe from my taint to my clit. I squeal, my hips bucking involuntarily, my traitorous body gushing slick onto his muzzle. "There she is. There's my breeding bitch."

The fragment — Trevor — screams inside my skull. But it's so small now. So quiet. And Fenris's tongue is so warm, and his breath is so thick with musk, and my pussy is aching — has been aching for hours — empty and desperate and knowing exactly what's about to fill it.

"Please," I whimper, and I don't even know anymore if I'm begging him to stop or begging him to continue. "Please, I — I can't —"

"Can't what?" Fenris growls, his tongue lapping at my clit in slow, devastating circles. His cock bobs between his legs, that swollen knot pulsing with his heartbeat. "Can't take it? You've been taking Mistress's cock for three years, little thing. You were built for this."

He rears up, positioning himself. The blunt head of his cock — thick as my fist, slick with pre-cum — presses against my entrance. The heat is staggering. My pussy opens for him, lips spreading, slick pouring out, my body betraying every thought that pathetic fragment of Trevor can produce.

"Watch her eyes," Pan instructs from her chair, her voice husky with arousal. "The moment that little spark dies. It's always my favorite part."