[pre-story]Hey there, Squish here, and man, I am productive as HELL this month. So, this isn't really a story, it's a profile, the new $25 tier patron has a lot of ideas for his new series, and the MC is a complicated individual, so I decided it would be wise to gather all his information up in one place so I can reference it later. Also, I figure this is better than an infodump first chapter like I did with Rhuno, especially since Ara doesn't talk about or even know a lot of the stuff in here.
I'm still debating about a good name for his lounge, since it's going to be the primary setting for a LOT of the story, and it deserves the best name. So, if you have suggestions, I'll take 'em into consideration and add 'em to the list I'm brainstorming.
As always, if you like what you read, [redacted][/pre-story]
Name: Aratheion “Ara” Bloodwolf
Showing posts with label Werewolf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Werewolf. Show all posts
Sunday, February 18, 2018
Friday, September 1, 2017
[Musing] Lien's Adventures Part 2: Hungry
[pre-story] [redacted][/pre-story]
Lien's Adventures Part 2: Hungry
“Well, well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” Rolf grinned, wolfishly, as he stepped out from the treeline at the edge of the slowly-flowing river. The looming worgen’s silver fur looked shaggy and unkempt, matching the ragged trousers he wore and the jagged parallel scars that ran across his wolfish snout. His golden eyes were fixed on the water’s edge, where a lone pandaren woman lounged, half-submerged in the nude, her full, pale-furred breasts floating slightly, their dark nipples standing hard from the river’s chill. He’d only been planning to rob whatever poor sap he found, but the sight of her body was already inspiring a very different sort of plan.
The pandaren woman opened her eyes, slowly twisted around to look at the source of the voice, then smiled, a placid, relaxed smirk, her eyes half-lidded. “It seems I’ve been spotted. Who might you be, stranger?”
Rolf had seen a lot of reactions to getting jumped. Some folks panicked, some folks froze, some folks got mad… But he’d never seen ‘em smirk before. This was… new. Vaguely unsettling. But he couldn’t let it shake him. “Name’s Rolf, lady. You mighta’ ‘eard of me. Wanted posters call me ‘Rolf the Ruthless’. Wanted for robbery, assault… and murder. And you best cooperate if ya don’t want to find out first-hand how ruthless I can get.” He half-growled, flexing his claws illustratively in front of him. Truth was, the ‘murder’ charge was fake, probably just some feral that got mistaken for him, but it helped his reputation, and anyways he couldn’t exactly go marching into the guard station to get it corrected.
Lien's Adventures Part 2: Hungry
“Well, well, well, what do we ‘ave ‘ere?” Rolf grinned, wolfishly, as he stepped out from the treeline at the edge of the slowly-flowing river. The looming worgen’s silver fur looked shaggy and unkempt, matching the ragged trousers he wore and the jagged parallel scars that ran across his wolfish snout. His golden eyes were fixed on the water’s edge, where a lone pandaren woman lounged, half-submerged in the nude, her full, pale-furred breasts floating slightly, their dark nipples standing hard from the river’s chill. He’d only been planning to rob whatever poor sap he found, but the sight of her body was already inspiring a very different sort of plan.
The pandaren woman opened her eyes, slowly twisted around to look at the source of the voice, then smiled, a placid, relaxed smirk, her eyes half-lidded. “It seems I’ve been spotted. Who might you be, stranger?”
Rolf had seen a lot of reactions to getting jumped. Some folks panicked, some folks froze, some folks got mad… But he’d never seen ‘em smirk before. This was… new. Vaguely unsettling. But he couldn’t let it shake him. “Name’s Rolf, lady. You mighta’ ‘eard of me. Wanted posters call me ‘Rolf the Ruthless’. Wanted for robbery, assault… and murder. And you best cooperate if ya don’t want to find out first-hand how ruthless I can get.” He half-growled, flexing his claws illustratively in front of him. Truth was, the ‘murder’ charge was fake, probably just some feral that got mistaken for him, but it helped his reputation, and anyways he couldn’t exactly go marching into the guard station to get it corrected.
Thursday, June 1, 2017
Musing: Wild Nights
[pre-story]I had a fit of inspiration, and this just kinda happened. [redacted] Anyways, enjoy![/pre-story]
My husband is a kind, sweet, and gentle man. When we first started dating, my mother was worried about what would happen if he got violent. After all, I’m a ‘delicate little lotus flower’, a tiny, slender Japanese girl barely five foot and almost a hundred pounds, and he’s a 6’3” of blond German muscle, a full hundred pounds heavier. But I knew from the moment we met I didn’t have to worry. He was soft-spoken, emotional, and almost painfully shy, a giant teddy bear of a man. He was aven afraid of my family’s lapdog when he came to visit. I had to be the one to ask him out, to ask him to marry me, and I still have to make the first move when it comes to sex. Not that the sex is bad, mind you, John is big where it counts, too, and he practically worships me in bed. He’s passionate, attentive, and eager to please. Sometime he’ll just spend hours making me cum over and over with his fingers and tongue… But while I am absolutely not complaining about that part, I have to admit, the one thing that bothers me is that he’s so damn precious with me. He touches me like he’s afraid I’ll break, and he feels super-guilty the moment he does something even remotely approaching ‘rough‘.
My husband is a kind, sweet, and gentle man. When we first started dating, my mother was worried about what would happen if he got violent. After all, I’m a ‘delicate little lotus flower’, a tiny, slender Japanese girl barely five foot and almost a hundred pounds, and he’s a 6’3” of blond German muscle, a full hundred pounds heavier. But I knew from the moment we met I didn’t have to worry. He was soft-spoken, emotional, and almost painfully shy, a giant teddy bear of a man. He was aven afraid of my family’s lapdog when he came to visit. I had to be the one to ask him out, to ask him to marry me, and I still have to make the first move when it comes to sex. Not that the sex is bad, mind you, John is big where it counts, too, and he practically worships me in bed. He’s passionate, attentive, and eager to please. Sometime he’ll just spend hours making me cum over and over with his fingers and tongue… But while I am absolutely not complaining about that part, I have to admit, the one thing that bothers me is that he’s so damn precious with me. He touches me like he’s afraid I’ll break, and he feels super-guilty the moment he does something even remotely approaching ‘rough‘.
Monday, December 7, 2015
By the Horns: Ch. 2
[pre-story] Hey there, squish here, with the continuation of Rhuno's adventures across Azeroth! The story, and the chapter, chosen by you guys, my faithful patrons! This installment takes our hero to a remote corner of The Blasted Lands. This one's takes off a little slow, I really wanted to get some character development in there, and it ended up taking more space than I thought it would. Hopefully, it was worth it in the end! Let me know what you think! And as always, if you like my work, [redacted]
Content Warnings: Huge cocks, excessive cum, impregnation, cumflation, and furries.[/pre-story]
Chapter 2: A Hero's Reward
Tonight, like every night in recent memory, a tense quiet hung over the Howling Drunk Inn. The few patrons, a selection of the town’s old, infirm, and cowardly, sat in humbled silence, nursing mugs of porter as the night dragged on interminably. Donna Berrymore, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar, mechanically re-washing the unused mugs. She was a mature woman, with warm tan skin, raven-black hair, and a glare that could send even the most ornery drunk cringing out the door. The young barmaid, Becca, was the only one moving, pacing around the room, clearing away empty mugs, impatiently seeking something, anything to do to keep herself busy.
Monday, November 30, 2015
By The Horns: Ch. 2 [Preview]
[pre-story] Hey there, squish here, with the continuation of Rhuno's adventures across Azeroth! [redacted] This installment takes our hero to a remote corner of The Blasted Lands. [redacted][/pre-story]
Chapter 2: A Hero's Reward
Tonight, like every night in recent memory, a tense quiet hung over the Howling Drunk Inn. The few patrons, a selection of the town’s old, infirm, and cowardly, sat in humbled silence, nursing mugs of porter as the night dragged on interminably. Donna Berrymore, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar, mechanically re-washing the unused mugs. She was a mature woman, with warm tan skin, raven-black hair, and a glare that could send even the most ornery drunk cringing out the door. The young barmaid, Becca, was the only one moving, pacing around the room, clearing away empty mugs, impatiently seeking something, anything to do to keep herself busy.
Becca was a petite, slender thing, just barely more than five feet tall. She had a cute, mousy sort of look to her, with soft features dotted with a handful of freckles, a cute little button nose, and large, chestnut-brown eyes. Jaw-length brown hair was tucked hurriedly out of the way behind her ears, a few stray locks curling forward to brush against her cheeks. Her uniform was typical of her job, an ankle-length brown dress that hung loosely off her admittedly average hips, a laced leather bodice that cinched her already slim waist even tighter, and a frilly top with a neckline that bared her shoulders and the modest cleavage of her firm, orange-sized breasts. She was practically the ideal barmaid, attractive in that girl-next-door way, but not distractingly eye-catching. She almost seemed to blend into the background when you weren’t looking.
Chapter 2: A Hero's Reward
Tonight, like every night in recent memory, a tense quiet hung over the Howling Drunk Inn. The few patrons, a selection of the town’s old, infirm, and cowardly, sat in humbled silence, nursing mugs of porter as the night dragged on interminably. Donna Berrymore, the innkeeper, stood behind the bar, mechanically re-washing the unused mugs. She was a mature woman, with warm tan skin, raven-black hair, and a glare that could send even the most ornery drunk cringing out the door. The young barmaid, Becca, was the only one moving, pacing around the room, clearing away empty mugs, impatiently seeking something, anything to do to keep herself busy.
Becca was a petite, slender thing, just barely more than five feet tall. She had a cute, mousy sort of look to her, with soft features dotted with a handful of freckles, a cute little button nose, and large, chestnut-brown eyes. Jaw-length brown hair was tucked hurriedly out of the way behind her ears, a few stray locks curling forward to brush against her cheeks. Her uniform was typical of her job, an ankle-length brown dress that hung loosely off her admittedly average hips, a laced leather bodice that cinched her already slim waist even tighter, and a frilly top with a neckline that bared her shoulders and the modest cleavage of her firm, orange-sized breasts. She was practically the ideal barmaid, attractive in that girl-next-door way, but not distractingly eye-catching. She almost seemed to blend into the background when you weren’t looking.
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