"Bite My Scruff": Dr C's Long-Awaited Take on the Harry Lupus Saga

Readers, it's Wednesday, which means we take a break from our usual local culture commentary to bring you the continuing adventures of America's favorite boy werewolf, composed by a rotating series of authors (his original creator, Richard, has pretty much moved on to other work).

Today's installment is brought to you by our old friend Dr. C, a man whose Corona bottle diorama of a G-spot at Quinton's has helped Chip and Richard please so many sorostitutes in recent years. We're honored that a winner of the "Writer of the Future" award, a man who has shaken the hand of David Carradine, takes time out from his own work at www.statelypleasuredomes.blogspot.com/ to participate in our shenanigans. As expected, his piece is the sexiest ("Now mount me"), most violent, and longest yet! Put the kids to bed early tonight, readers, pop yourself a boner, and enjoy the hijinks:


Harry Lupus let go of the jeep and coasted up to the curb. He jumped up to the sidewalk, pumped once and rode until he was close to the school steps. He hopped off his board, then kicked it up to his hand.

Just outside the door, K!p was waiting for him. He had a round, plain face with nervous but friendly eyes. Those who were inclined to be generous described him as a cuddly teddy bear of a man. Those less so inclined [i.e. Dr. X] used words like doughy, pudgy, flabby, and the like.

"We're gonna be late," K!p said.

"Why didn't you go in without me?" Harry asked.

K!p looked confused. The possibility had not occurred to him.

Going in, Harry glanced over at the cluster of disconsolately lolling Emo kids, hoping to catch a glance of Wilhelmina. Unlike most Emo chicks, she was hot, in a mousy kind of way, of course. Even in the shapeless rags of Emowear. She had breasts that bulged in her t-shirts, and ass no jeans were baggy enough to hide, and a compact, curvaceous body all around.

But she wasn't there. It was just Ben and the rest of the Emo kids who were as pale as their hair & clothes were black. Lanky frames, narrow faces with long noses, they all looked like someone had killed their puppies just that morning.

K!p tapped Harry's shoulder, "Look out, it's Mr. Strickland."

Harry looked up and saw the bald, angry little vice principal heading his way. The bell rang and crowds dispersed into classrooms. Mr. Strickland knew he was between Harry and his first hour classroom and rushed forward for the kill. K!p said, "Uh, gotta go. Excuse me," and he ducked into the men's room.

Mr. Strickland was a small man who carried himself with big anger. He jabbed Harry with his finger, "You'd better get to class, Lupus. I've got my eye on you. You're a slacker, just like your old man."

At that moment, Coach Finstock appeared. Mr. Strickland suddenly melted. "Mr. Finstock," he said.

"Jack." Coach nodded nonchalantly."Listen, can I borrow Harry for a minute."

"Why, sure."

Coach led Harry away. "Harry Lupus, I'm glad you're almost one of us."

"What do you mean?" Harry remembered seeing a lupine coach (still bald, of course) on Goodman's Meadow. "I thought that was all a dream."

"You might have thought so, the way you handled those tryouts."

"So it wasn't all a dream. But if I made the team, what do you mean, 'almost' one of you?"

"You know what I mean." Coach pushed open the door to the gym. "Until you've spilled the blood of our enemies, you're not one of us." The words echoed in the big, empty space and when they died away, Harry heared the muffled sounds of struggle. Coach led Harry to the locker room.

Inside, Wilhelmina struggled against the two big Varsity boys that held her. As she lunged against their powerful grip, her breasts heaved, barely constrained by her Dashboard Confessional t-shirt. Her eyes were terrified but fierce, and sweat was beginning to glisten on her skin despite the thick, careful makeup.

Harry felt his boner spring suddenly to life, the prickling of fur pushing its way through his skin.

"You want her, don't you?"

"No," Harry said. He clenched his hands and felt the claws growing, digging into his flesh. He unclenched his hands and looked down at the blood diffusing through his hairy palms.

"Don't deny it," Coach said, showing his fangs and long, wide tongue. "Let it take you, and then take her." He nodded at the Varsity boys. They held her with one hand each and used the other one to grab her shirt and tear it open. Her huge breasts leapt into view, their pale pink nipples taut with chill fear. They were growing covered by thin, short, white fur, as her face grew thinner and longer and was itself growing a fine grey coat.

Harry felt his body grow painfully. His ribs strained and tore. His arms lengthened, too, reaching involuntarily toward Wilhelmina, his own tongue lolling out of his panting mouth. But his carnal thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the toilet stalls.

Coach laughed. "Sorry to jerk you around, Harry, but she's just bait. For you and for them."

"The East Side Werewolves?"

Coach shook his head, "We have enemies closer than that. Spill their blood and join us."

The toilet stalls opened and out came Ben, his body transformed into a half-rat humanoid. His black, greasy fur dripped with toilet water. Now the other stalls opened and out came more wererats. Behind Ben and in the other stalls, still more Emo-rats were pulling their skinny, flexible bodies out of the toilets.

"How many of those Emo motherfuckers are there?" Coach asked. "Let's get 'em, Harry." He rushed at them, his seatshirt hanging loose on his now long and muscular body.

The two varsity boys holding her tossed Wilhelmina roughly to the ground. Her head cracked hard on the concrete floor and she grunted as the wind came out of her. Harry wanted to help her, but looking at her half-naked body made him think only one thing. His boner was practically ripping its way out of his heans, and his clawed hands looked no good for rendering aid.

Then he looked at Coach, who was tearing a hunk of flesh off a wererat. The scent of blood filled Harry's nostrils. He wanted to dive into the frenzy and feel flesh between his teeth, let the blood run down his throat and gobble the meat in great chunks.

Instead, he turned and loped off on all fours, looking for a place to hide.

The teahers' lounge light was off. Of course, they were all supposed to be in class. He ducked inside.

"Huh? What? Who's there?" asked a sleepy, feminine voice.

The light in the lounge was dim, filtering in through the thickly frosted windows from a narrow, concrete courtyard. He knew that if he opened the door he would be seen in the light of the hallway, but he hoped that if he remained still and quiet he might go unnoticed.

But her eyes focused right on him, shiny like cats' eyes in the dark. "I see you there. Are you going to speak up or am I going to have to take you to Mr. Strickland's office?"

Harry recognized her voice now. Miss Quist, and immediately an image of her plump round ass, pushed up by her high heels as she stretched to write on the board, leapt to his mind. He barely had the presence to say, "No, Ma'am, please don't."

"Why, Harry," she said, suddenly friendly, "you sound terrified. I hope I didn't scare you."

"No, ma'am," he said, though in truth he was afraid of her. Not just her commanding voice or the way her face could change instantly from casual and laid back to angry and demanding. He was afraid of her because she was so sexy and so in command of her sexuality. The way she stalked around the classroom with feline grace, aware that every eye was on her movements. Everyone, not just the boys, but the girls too would bend over backward (probably literally, if she asked) to earn her throaty, purring words of praise. So as she rose from the couch and began walking slowly towards him, Harry felt his knees begin to tremble.

She used the same walk as in the classroom, only with a languid, luxurious unhaste. Shoulders, breasts, waist, hips, and legs all joined together to create a single sinuous sensual movement. Her skin--face, neck, breasts, and arms--seemed to glow in the dim light.

With every step, a faint tremble passed through her breasts. The luster of her skin made the depths of her cleavage seem even darker. I could be lost in there, he thought, and it didn't seem unpleasant.

Now she was so close to him that he could feel her breath. He wondered how "wolfed out" he was. She must be able to see it, yet she still stood this close, fearlessly. She reached for his hand, and he drew it back.

"My, you are scared. Don't be afraid of me." As she said these words in a strong, soothing tone, he noticed her long canines. He looked in her eyes. They were yellow with vertical pupils.

She reached for his hand again, and he let her take it. "You're becoming a man, Harry Lupus, my kind of man, but you've got a lot to learn. Let me teach you.

"First, calm down. Feel my heart."

As she lifted his hairy paw to her chest, he closed his eyes and thought, "There's no way I can feel her heartbeat through those breasts." But he felt it throbbing slowly, and after a moment it was as if her heart was driving blood through both their bodies. His own blood was flowing slower, stronger, deeper than ever before.

The he felt something else: fur. He opened his eyes and looked into Miss Quist's feline face, covered with a fawn-colored fur, her pointed ears tipped in black. Her expression was ferocious. "Now mount me."

With a single motion, she shed her clothes, revealing her long slender tail with its soft black tuft. When Harry fumbled with his jeans, she growled, "Let me help with that," and slashed them with her claws. Jeans and underwear fell to the floor, freeing Harry's big beast.

Miss Quist's pussy wasn't tight, even on his huge lycanthropic dick, but it was wet, and it could clamp down. The resulting tightness and suction drove Harry right to the edge, but she could read him and would release him to relax and enjoy the ride.

"Bite my scruff," she growled. Then when he did, she said, "Harder. It's no good if it doesn't hurt and your cock isn't barbed." So he bit harder.

He tasted her blood and she hissed and yowled in pleasure.

"Shit," Harry said, "somebody'll hear."

"Let them. I'll take care of them, too--you're just about done."

And he was. He could no longer contain himself. He exploded inside her, then fell backwards, exhausted.

Quist was not satisfied, though. She spun around and went to work on him with her rough tongue.

Then a grate burst off one of the air conditioning vents and in poured Ben and the other wererats, obviously the worse for their run-in with the werewolves. Ben said, "You coward, Lupus, we'll make you pay for what your kind did to us. And you, Quist, you'll pay for that 'D' on my review of Fall Out Boy."

Quist leapt gracefully to the back of the couch. She walked along it with her tail in the air. "I'm sure this can be resolved without anger. Although if you feel violence is necessary, I suppose you can all take your satisfaction."

Ben was stunned a moment, then said, "We'll figure out what to do with you, later. But, Lupus, you're in for it now."

Harry barely had enough strength to crawl backward. He couldn't seem to summon his wolfly alter ego. The rats closed in around him, their greasy fur reaking of sewers. He knew he was in for it.

Then the door burst open with a roar. A huge bearlike form stood silhouetted in the hall light. "Don't you dare touch him," K!p boomed.

The wererats scattered in all directions, with most of them getting clear, but a few taking swipes from K!p's great paws.

The wererats gone, the door closed, the lights on, Harry tried to hold up his slashed pants. K!p had regained his clothes from the hall. Quist was dressed again and leaning against the couch with her legs crossed. She looked piercingly at K!p.

"I notice your pants aren't torn. They must have been at least unbuttoned before you began transforming. How long were you outside that door before you burst in?"

"Uh . . ." K!p said, and trailed into an uncomfortable silence.