Pack Mistress #3 (Quick 'n' Dirty Erotic Paranormal Romance)

Pack Mistress #3 (Quick 'n' Dirty Erotic
Paranormal Romance). Copyright © 2012 Evelyn Lafont. All rights
reserved worldwide. Text cannot be distributed without prior
written permission of the author, with the exception of brief,
attributed quotations on web and print media. For questions or
permission of usage, please email [email protected].

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance
herein to real people or places is purely coincidental.

Smashwords edition: February 2012

About the Books

All werewolf packs need a sexual outlet. For
south Florida’s Red Wolf pack, the sexy, liberated and infertile
werewolf Lorena is it.

Not your average Were, Lorena satisfies the
males like no other wolf can. But as much as she enjoys her role as
pack mistress, she longs for something she’s never had. A mate she
can call her own…

***

The Pack Mistress series is a collection of
Quick 'n' Dirty Erotic Paranormal Romance serial shorts that follow
the story of Pack Mistress Lorena. One story will be released every
other month during 2012.

Join The Hussy List To Get Free Books!

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EvelynLafont.com!

***

Having had a group hunt the night before, I
expected Saturday to be relatively quiet. Most Weres spent time
with their kids on Saturdays anyway, but the physical fatigue
brought on by a shift also tended to keep them home.

Since I’d been working outside the pack, I’d
come to really appreciate having weekends off and some time to
myself. I had my brushes out and was about to soak them, then set
up a new canvas to recreate the painting that was ruined by last
night’s intruder, when I heard a faint knocking on my front door.
Hoping it wasn’t a disgruntled wife like yesterday morning, I
bolstered my confidence, wiped my wet hands on my white eyelet
skirt, and pushed my long brown hair behind my ears.

When I opened the front door, fake smile
plastered to my face, I saw a very attractive woman standing on the
stoop. I hadn’t seen her before, and she was striking in a simple
way. She wasn’t overly sexy, but had very plain, clean features,
pale skin, and shoulder-length brown hair. I estimated her as about
five two, much shorter than my own five seven frame.

But what struck me most about her was that
she was
smiling
at me. And not one of those potentially
vicious fake Were smiles that’s really more snarl that smile—an
eye-crinkling, honest grin accompanied by a mischievous
twinkle.

“Hi, you must be Lorena.” As she said it, she
extended her hand as if to shake mine. I was caught off guard, not
used to friendly women at my door. I reached out to touch her and
ended up clasping the top of her outstretched hand. I could feel
her soft, smooth palm and fingertips, cool and dry and
comforting.

“I am. And you are?”

“I’m Becky. My husband Rick and our four boys
just joined the pack. We’re so excited to be part of the South
Florida Pack.”

“It’s nice to have you. Come on back to my
studio and have a seat.” I returned her infectious smile with a
real one and led her back through my bedroom and into my sunny
studio. We sat in the same rattan set that Susan and I had occupied
yesterday.

She looked around briefly and said, “Oh,
you’re an artist too? Wow, so multitalented! When Rick and I were
looking at packs to join, we saw your information in the
promotional material and knew this was the right place for us.”

“The promotional material?”

My new, effervescent friend looked confused.
“Yes—the brochures for your pack? Have you not seen them?”

“Um, no. I didn’t even know we had brochures
…”

“All the packs do now. It’s all the rage—like
a summer camp flyer.”

Yeah, if summer camp were for blood-thirsty
humans able to shift into savage wolves and the camp came complete
with an on-site sex worker. “And I’m in these brochures?”

“You are one of the bullet point features to
entice new pack mates.”

I shifted in my seat, trying to cure my inner
discomfort with a new position in my chair. “What are some of the
other … features?”

“Your swampland, of course, as well as your
proximity to Miami and the beaches. Your private location so close
to both the city and the beach is very attractive. Although, not as
attractive as you.” Becky said, leaning forward.

I was beginning to feel very much like an
overpromoted amusement park ride, so I decided to change the
subject. “Why did you and your family decide to change packs?”

“Rick got his big Miami promotion so we had
no choice. Of course, there are several others down this way—the
Everglades Pack, Key West Pack, and so forth. But yours has
recently begun opening itself to new families and while your land
isn’t as substantial as some of the northern packs, you have the
biggest plot of those in South Florida. But then, the land wasn’t
exactly the major attraction for us.” As she said it, her eyebrow
went up and a sexy smirk crossed her face as her hand reached over
and stroked my knee.

She wasn’t wrong that it had been a long time
since we had new families move in. In fact, in the nineteen years
I’d been mistress, I could only think of a few new additions;
Walter and his wife a few years ago and then there was
Rage—although Rage had never enjoyed my company so for me, he
didn’t even count. I had grown accustomed to the needs of my
current pack members and wasn’t used to accommodating new styles
and fetishes—not that this meant I was adverse to it. But none of
the women in my current pack had any interest in me either
personally or sexually, so I had no clue what to do with Becky’s
warm, creeping hand.

My initial reaction when Becky touched my leg
was to tense up. But I forced my body to relax. I started with my
legs—I didn’t want Becky to get offended just because I wasn’t used
to this sort of thing. I created a mental tally of all my muscles
and took a few deep breaths while relaxing each one. I closed my
eyes and let myself feel Becky’s small, delicate hand as it slowly
moved along the length of my thigh. I felt my muscles beginning to
melt into the chair and that familiar heavy tingle of aroused
anticipation rose in my thighs, pussy, stomach, and tits.

Becky must have noticed my nipples hardening
and taken that as a sign of acquiescence because she gently moved
out of her chair and positioned herself on her knees on the floor
in front of me. She slid her hands up my calves, grabbing and
massaging, pushing the blood toward my heart. When her hands
reached the backs of my knees, she massaged them, then brought her
hands to the front of my legs and slowly eased them apart so that I
was spread before her.

She sighed when she glimpsed my unclothed
pussy up my now-spread skirt and I could feel her breath on my
inner thighs. I knew that I was moist and glistening and I had a
mad urge to start touching myself. I moved my hand from the arms of
the chair, about to position it over the trimmed hair of my mound,
when Becky stopped me. Without words she grabbed my wrist and
pulled me forward, working my hand inside her blouse onto her
breast. Her tits were smaller and firmer than mine, with a longer
nipple. I moved clumsily around for a minute until Becky said,
“Touch them like they’re yours. What do you like on your own
breasts?”

I answered her, my voice coming out with a
new, heavy richness and an unused quality, “I like it wet … on the
nipple.”

“Mmmm, I bet you do. That silky, wet heat
followed by the cold of the room when the nipple is mercilessly
abandoned.” She said, drawing out the words slowly. She pulled my
hand away from her breast and up, then I felt one finger going into
her hot, smooth mouth. She licked and nibbled my finger, then put
my hand back down her blouse. I used my wet digit to tease her
nipple, first gliding over it gently, then rolling it slowly
between my finger and thumb.

Becky moaned and then eased forward again. I
could feel her silky hair against my thigh as she began to lick the
inside of my long, smooth leg, working her way toward my pussy.
When her tongue began to stroke the crease between my thigh and my
mound, I could feel her smooth, soft face rubbing up and down. It
was sweet and had a heartbreakingly intimate quality that I wasn’t
used to. It was as though being loved by someone of my own gender
was somehow more whole—more emotionally complete—than when I got
fucked by a man.

By this time, I’d stopped reciprocating and
no longer touched Becky’s breast, my hands now back on the chair,
gripping the arms tightly. I was too caught up in these new
sensations to even consider returning the favor. Becky brought her
hands to my thighs and pushed them further apart, then used her
tongue to explore my folds. Her small nose and delicate chin
occasionally bumped or rubbed the perfect spot and I found myself
trying to delay my orgasm so that these sensations could go on even
longer. Eventually, her tongue stopped teasing and got down to the
business of exploring my clit and its surrounding area, and she
moved one of her smooth fingers into me. She focused her finger on
my G-spot and her tongue on my clit and I lost any ability to think
or try and delay the inevitable, and I came, squeezing my thighs
closed around her head and shaking from the force.

When I was done and too sensitive for any
more touching, she gently withdrew her finger and moved away from
me, leaving a trail of sweet kisses down my thigh.

I straightened my back, moved my skirt back
down to regain my modesty, and opened my eyes slightly, daring to
look at her. Becky was still on her knees in front of me, smiling
like the cat that ate the pack mistress. I smiled back, my feelings
of shyness and discomfort returning as the edges of my orgasm
faded.

Becky reached forward and stroked my face.
She started to rise and leaned toward my ear and whispered, “Next
time, you’ll keep your eyes open.” Then she kissed me, and I tasted
the tang of my own juice on her smooth, plump lips.

***

Afterward, I felt awkward and could barely
make eye contact with Becky. It’s not that I was ashamed of what
we’d done, but in a way it was like being a virgin who’d had sex
for the first time and didn’t know what to do when it was all
over.

“I want to reciprocate, I’m just—I’m not
prepared. I mean, I’m not sure I know what to do.”

Becky smiled and patted my knee. “Don’t
worry. This gives you something to think about, and I loved fucking
you with my mouth so I got what I came for. Besides, I know what I
like, so I’ll help you when it’s my turn.”

I nodded and folded my hands in my lap, then
watched my fingers twisting around each other. Becky rose and said
she should leave, and after a brief but comforting hug, she did.
Afterward, I showered and changed into jeans and a T-shirt. I tried
to paint but I couldn’t call my inspiration to the forefront and
ended up fondling brushes and staring at the canvas.

At around one I left to get my mail and stop
at our little Quick-and-Go mart for milk and eggs. I entered the
large, echo-ey post office and as I was walking to my box, I heard
whispers coming from a row of boxes behind mine.

I tried not to listen. In our small
community, everyone can usually pick up on everyone else’s problems
pretty easily without the unnecessary rudeness of eavesdropping,
but I was drawn in by the rushed, frantic quality of the
conversation, as though it were a revolving drain and I was a speck
of dust caught in it. I crept forward as quietly as possible, using
my toes to grip my sandals and control their flip-flopping. I
stopped moving as soon as I could clearly hear the hushed
conversation.

“Well, that didn’t work, either. She hasn’t
even said anything about it! If she were scared, she would have
reported it.”

“Maybe she isn’t scared because she knows who
it was—ever consider that? She’s not an idiot, you know—she
can
smell.”

“She’s barely a real Were. She can’t smell
anything. We’re going to have to ramp this up a notch. This bitch
is so stupid, she probably needs a gun in her face before she
realizes she’s not welcome anymore.”

Somehow, outside of the sound of my heart
throbbing in my ears, I heard the swish of the automatic door
behind me, followed by a rattle of keys as another pack member
entered the post office.

The female voice from before whispered,
“Someone’s here. Go out the back, we’ll meet later.”

I decided to get out my own keys and walk
toward my box again so that I didn’t look suspicious. My hands were
shaking and I dropped my keys. I bent down to pick them up and
glanced right toward the main hallway where Jack’s wife Susan was
coming out from her secretive alcove and heading toward the front
door. I wrestled with myself. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to
confront her. I wanted to jump on her and scratch her eyeballs out
of her head and use them for Ping-Pong. But it would not help my
case with Jack if I attacked her. I needed to go to him on Monday
and talk about what was going on.