Full Moon Rising

by December Seas  •  September 18, 2020

m/f, mixed race couple (chinese/mexican), werewolf and human couple, monsterfucking, monster acceptance, wolf mind, non-human/transhuman POV, can be read as plural!Constance if you’d like, metamorphosing during sex. 3,500 words.

Constance was not looking forward to Chinese New Year.

Really, she should be using the more inclusive term “Lunar New Year.” But she didn’t want to wish her experience of the new year on anyone else. After all, she usually spent it locked away indoors. She was currently doing the math on her vacation days and sick days to see if she could cobble together a week off, like she’d had to do every year since she’d started working.

She hated asking for time off. The part of her that could deliver an anti-capitalist rant at any moment was not in communication with the part of her that craved external validation. Taking time off was still frowned upon. She loathed having the conversation and seeing her boss’s disappointment, especially since she couldn’t exactly tell him why she was taking the time off. Even saying “medical reasons” felt like divulging too much information.

She was nervous about going home, too. She and Ramiro had moved in together shortly before he’d quit the New Angeles Police Department.

“I kept thinking that I could make a difference from within,” he’d said over dinner the night he’d quit, as Constance sipped on her hot tea. Although he’d kept his tone level, Ramiro’s brow had been furrowed with frustration. “And I was seeing some of that change. But—”

He’d stabbed a slice of steak, startling Constance, who met his apologetic gaze.

“Sorry,” he’d said, sighing. “You’d think with Ocasio-Cortez as president and half of SoCal now under the Tongva Nation’s laws that things would’ve changed by now. But start blowing whistles and you see where the fraternity’s loyalties still lie.”

Her own distrust of the NAPD had grown, too. She’d shared Ramiro’s idealism at first, but then she’d begun to see more and more of the frontlines as a reporter for the New Angeles Times. She had been aware of the conversation about police abolition before, but in a theoretical sense, and she’d believed the promises of reform coming from the force. She was embarrassed to admit that it had taken witnessing events firsthand to radicalize her.

Better late than never.

Ramiro was currently juggling volunteer positions with various community organizations while planning out a new career. They were renting a one-bedroom in Whittier. Constance imagined getting home and opening the door to Ramiro cooking. He was getting better at it every day. The domesticity gave her the illusion that the world was, for a moment, stable, even though her job showed her otherwise.

Her mind went blank when she got to the part where she was supposed to tell him why she’d be spending a week at home.

Well, she thought, training her gaze on her boss’s office, no use procrastinating. She’d have to have both conversations sooner or later. At least she got to start with the easy one.

She was already beginning to feel the metamorphosis by the time she got home. The sun set around 5 pm at the beginning of the year, leaving more time for the moon to be out. Of course her cycle would sync up to the longest nights of the year. She envied werewolves whose cycles aligned with the peak of summer, when the nights didn’t start until 9 pm.

Ramiro wasn’t cooking as she’d expected. Instead, there were several small ziploc baggies of tiny plastic parts spread out on the kitchen table alongside an intricate set of instructions, with Ramiro at the center of the neatly arranged chaos building a gundam. It was the one thing he allowed himself to indulge in. He’d buy only the most economical of household supplies and the most basic of clothing, but he’d happily drop $200 on what she saw as an elaborate jigsaw puzzle (a descriptor that Ramiro did not appreciate).

“I’m home,” Constance said nervously as she toed off her shoes at the door. Ramiro finished clipping a plastic piece and was careful to put it in the proper ziploc bag before he stood to greet Constance with a hug and kiss.

“I missed you,” he said as he pulled away.

Constance hesitated, then decided to bite the silver bullet.

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me,” she said, then finished in a single burst, “I’m staying at home this week.”

“Oh? You’re working from home?”

“No, I…” She sighed. “I won’t be working because… um…”

She blushed. Ramiro looked at her quizzically, which wasn’t helping her embarrassment. His gaze always flustered her when it was focused so entirely on her. She clenched her fists, took a deep breath, and let the words spill out.

“So—you know how dogs and wolves go into heat—well, werewolves do too,” she said, looking away as understanding began to dawn in Ramiro’s eyes. “It’s not like the other times I transform. I totally wolf out for a week and can’t do anything about it. All I can do is stock up on food beforehand, lock myself indoors, and, um, ride it out.”

“That explains the packs of chicken thighs and the steaks in the fridge,” Ramiro said, pondering. “And by ‘ride it out,’ you mean…”

She buried her face in her hands. She had walked straight into that one, but, well, they were living together now. There was no way he wouldn’t pick up on what was happening.

“Yes,” she said, sighing as she spoke to the ground, “I get hopelessly horny when I’m in heat, and it happens once a year, always around Chinese New Year, and it sucks, because I can’t go to any of the parties, and this all started when I got my period when I was nine, which was the worst because, one, puberty, and two, I missed out on all the hongbao. So. Just so you know.”

A couple moments of silence passed between them. Constance chanced a glance at Ramiro through her fingers. He seemed lost in thought. Cautiously, Constance lowered her hands and allowed herself to look up at him.

“I kept this from you,” she said, her anxiousness extending to fill the silence, “because it’s just—it’s something we don’t talk about, I guess. I was afraid you might, I don’t know, think of me as more of a wild animal, knowing that I go through this.” She hesitated, then added, “Because I do feel like a wild animal when it happens.”

“Hmm.” As if reaching a conclusion, Ramiro turned back to look at her, his expression unreadable. “Is that a bad thing?”

“What?” Constance said, thrown off by the question.

“Is it bad to be a wild animal?”

“I—” Constance began, then realized that she didn’t have a retort properly formed, just the impulse to be contrary. She took a breath, paused to gather her thoughts, then said, “I guess not.”

“You know I’ve told you before that I love you in every form,” Ramiro said, eyes beginning to shine with desire. “I won’t intrude on your privacy. But don’t hide yourself out of fear that I won’t accept you.”

She fell quiet. He had indeed brought up the idea of having sex while she was fully in her wolf form before. The closest she’d ever let him get to that was when she was on the brink of metamorphosis, when she embodied more the energy of a wolf than a true physical transformation. It wasn’t so much that she feared him seeing her as a werewolf—he’d caught glimpses before, and she’d only ever sensed curiosity and awe when he’d witnessed her, never fear or disdain—but being in heat was something that she had conflicted feelings about. It simply felt like something she was supposed to shoulder alone, yet, when she combed through her thoughts, she found no real justification for doing so.

No, what she really feared was letting him in to her wolf mind. The one that operated on a completely different logic than her human mind. Not because she feared hurting him—she had enough awareness when she was in her wolf form to restrain herself—but because it was such a different mode of being that to let him into it felt like letting him in on a secret. And to combine sex with her wolf mind was something she’d never dared to imagine.

Because the possibility of it being good, of it bonding her even more intimately to him, terrified her. She knew she had attachment problems, that she feared being abandoned more than anything else; she had already opened herself up beyond what she’d ever expected with him. If he imprinted on her wolf mind as strongly as he had on her human mind, she might never recover from it if she lost him.

But, another part of her told herself, fear was no reason to hold herself back. And this wasn’t so much fear as it was anticipation. Excitement. The hope that someone would want her werewolf self as it was: untamed.

“Getting myself off never works when I’m in heat,” she confessed. “It just makes me more aware that I’m not actually mating.”

The way she used words changed depending on whether she was in her wolf mind or her human mind, too. She’d never use the term “mating” to describe having sex as a human, but, the way her wolf mind saw the world, there wasn’t a concept of “sex,” only mating. She’d had people laugh before or chastise her for terminology when she’d tried to share her experiences before, but Ramiro did neither.

“So you could use some help,” he said, letting a wicked smile unfurl over his face.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And, since you’re going to be all wolfed out, I’m guessing you won’t be speaking human language,” Ramiro said.

“No,” Constance said. Her wolf mind overlapped with the way she went nonverbal in subspace, but it was also completely different. It wasn’t that she was unable to express herself with words as a wolf—more that words no longer became an applicable avenue to express herself, when there were so many other ways that let her say more than words ever could: scents, body language, calls, howls; touch, taste, pheremones; a shared connectedness of instinct and reflex that all animals understood. 

Looking pensive, Ramiro gathered the gundam pieces and put the kit away in a plastic box. With the kitchen table now clear, he set out two mugs, then put a kettle of water on the stove. 

“Then we have to come up with a new safeword system, don’t we?” he said.

It took a moment for his words to reach Constance. When they finally did, she gave him a relieved smile.

“Yes,” she said, sliding into her seat as Ramiro finished making tea for them. “We do.”

Although she was going to let Ramiro see her wolf form in its entirety tonight, she still wasn’t going to let him watch the transformation itself. That was the one place where she allowed the wolf mind to dictate her decision. Her human side understood fellow humans’ curiosity, but her wolf side was fervently private and kept its distance from humans. When she metamorphosized, she was at her most vulnerable, after all. She was less concerned about the grotesqueness of the transformation than with her safety. There was no telling how humans would react to her transformation and what they’d do if they panicked.

She took a deep breath, takes off her clothes, and lets the moonlight bathe her limbs in silver. The bones change slowest. Thigh bones shorten, spine and skull lengthen. Feet and hands contract. Fat bubbles and moves; skin crawls as it tightens around newly knit muscles. Fur sprouts all over, leaves her shrouded in warmth. Jaw hangs heavy with sharp teeth. It is the pain of holding a stretch just beyond her limit, at first sharp before changing into its own pleasure: settling into a body that fits her mind.

The last part to change is the throat. Up until then, she can still speak, even if her voice becomes gruff. But as her throat moves into its final position, she loses the ability to speak as humans do.

She paws at her neck as it shifts. Her nails hit something hard: ting! She knows: gift from mate. Leaves it alone.

Door opens. Mate enters, scent of him already wet on his cock. Eyes dark as he looks up at her. Memories of mate are from human’s point of view. Strange to see the top of mate’s head. The whorl of hair. She presses her muzzle to it, sniffs the richness of his oil, savors how it leaves his scent on her snout. 


The meanings of the sounds are still within her, even if it takes time for them to float up. Mate reaches out. Touches the side of her muzzle, presses against the shapes of her teeth. Not fear in his eyes. Something her wolf mind doesn’t quite know.

“You’re beautiful.”

Has no meaning to her as a wolf, but the human inside glows warm. Mate’s hand, big against her human hands, are small compared to the breadth of the wolf’s muzzle.

The wolf asks: How can you submit to a creature so powerless?

The human responds: Power comes in many forms.

Human imagines mate in control: tells wolf, Growl to slow down, bark to stop

Wolf knows enough about human emotions to be amused. 

And what will he say? the wolf asks.

Human has no reply.

Wolf is filled now with heat. Pulses through her paws, pulses from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail. Makes her cunt throb with the strength of it. Wild wolves may know nothing of want, but the werewolf does: knows more than just need. Extends one sharp nail and tears away mate’s shirt. Holds back enough so she touches not even skin as the cloth falls away. Mate’s fur, black like hers, furls together along his middle.

Mate steps out of pants. Wolf drops down into crouch. Pushes mate’s legs apart, presses snout to mate’s cock and ass, takes in his smell.

Mate yelps.

“Guess I should have expected that.”

Human minds and tongues are so limited when it comes to scents. Mate can’t even smell her estrus. She pulls back. Mate’s musk tells her so much in one moment. Mood, memory, diet, vitality. Wolf picks up the faintest, lightest scent of illness, too. Human, wolf says, he will not grow unwell if you act soon.

At least being a werewolf has its benefits, human replies.

But human is thankful.

Wolf needs no ritual the way human wants it. Laps at mate’s cock only to taste his nectar. Wolf has no need to wait—anchors paws against footboard of bed and lifts her tail. Mate takes in a breath. Wolf looks back: mate presses the whole of his palm against her slick cunt, follows the plane of it, as if to memorize it. Dips in one finger, then another, as if to test her. Drips nectar, heady with the scent of him, the salt of him still on her tongue. Mate withdraws and touches a finger to her clit. Wolf growls, urges him on; human whines for him to linger.

Wolf wins. Mate fills her tender and wet cunt with his cock. Wolf has never bred before, even if human has; the feeling of it is new to wolf. Pleasurable. Like scratching an itch deep inside her gut. Like filling a den perfectly. And it sates her like nothing else has in heat. Toys only drive her closer to the brink, but mate’s cock will push her over the edge. 

She pants, tongue lolling past her sharp canines, as he quickens his pace. Mate plants one palm on her hip. Threads her tail through his fingers. She growls a warning, but mate tugs her back by her tail, driving her harder onto him, crashing pleasure over her. Human would’ve told mate not to do that, but wolf has no such qualms. Everything is in service to the heat in wolf, bright like a star, pounding against the boundaries of her, asking to be released. The primal force of him against her has no room for delicacy. 

“Holy fuck. Fuck.”

He drags against her, keeps her on the edge of igniting. She leans more, arches her back, opens herself to him, has him burying his cock deeper in her. The human isn’t captive in wolf’s mind, either; the human is imprinted as much on the wolf as the wolf’s skeleton grows from the human’s. When mate wraps his arms around her waist, thrusts into her, her human mind is also awash in the sensation. Her voice is tamped down, but her body still feels its analogues alight.

“I’m yours.”

Mate chuckles. Grabs her by the collar around her neck, marked not by his scent but by his soul. Tugs her just hard enough to get her to growl before he leans over, presses all his weight against her, murmurs right up against the delicate hairs of her wolf ears.

“And you’re mine.”

Yanks her up by the collar, tight against her neck. As human smirks inside her, the aura of mate’s dominance washes over wolf, stilling her. Mate bites her neck, sinks his teeth into muscle the way he knows her human self could never handle. Withdraws his cock from her as his teeth still dig into her flesh, then enters her again, the root of his cock nudging against her differently. Despite herself, wolf whines with the submission of it, of giving him permission to bite such a vulnerable part of her, knowing both of them hang in a balance like the moon suspended in the sky, each able to tear apart the other, but choosing not to.

“Fuck. I’m gonna come.”

He bursts like a spark, setting the heat in her to a blazing fire that blooms all at once. Mate thrusts one last shuddering time into her, stretching her cunt as he knots in her, keeps his hips pressed tight against her. Wolf ignores human’s surprise and luxuriates in the sensation of having mate knotting in her, his semen sealed inside her. For the first time, the howling heat inside her begins to subside. To both wolf and human’s surprise, the indomitable pull of the moon abates. Even as the light continues to shine silver, the wolf’s fur begins to recede. The wolf only has time to let out a warning bark before the untransforming begins. It’s neater than the transforming, but still not something Constance expected Ramiro to witness, especially not while his cock was in her.

Untransforming is like a hiccup, if a hiccup had the power to turn your body inside out. It was over in a second, but Constance was aching with more than the stretch in her cunt. Now that the fur had withdrawn, her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, and her muscles were sore with the sudden transitions between tense and slack. She slumped over, resting her head against her forearms on the footboard as she took several deep breaths, her ribs tingling now that the bones had withdrawn to their human proportions.

“Okay,” Constance said as soon as she managed to catch her breath again, “how are you knotting?”

“A magician never tells his secrets,” Ramiro said solemnly. He peppered her back with kisses. She’d turn back to give him a look if having him rain kisses all over her weren’t so pleasurable. As if sensing her impatience, Ramiro added, “Cock sleeves exist, you know.”

“Right,” Constance said. Then, as her brain finally snapped back into place, processing the last couple minutes, Constance groaned. “Oh my God. I didn’t know I was going to transform back. No one told me you could end heat by fucking. Jesus Christ.”

“It was hot.”

Despite her annoyance at only now discovering that she could prematurely end her heat cycle, Constance found herself lingering on his words, daring to allow a deeper kind of fondness and attachment grow in her heart in the wake of the wildfire that had been her orgasm.


“Yeah.” He nuzzled her back. Her human pussy, unused to holding on to a knot, was already squeezing him out. Pity, Constance thought.

They stayed there breathing for several moments before Ramiro’s softened cock finally slipped out of her completely and his cum began to trickle down her thigh. Reluctant to concede that she had to return to the regular swing of life, Constance groaned before hauling herself to the bathroom to clean off.

“So what do you want to do during the rest of your time off?” Ramiro said, following her into the bathroom so he could use the sink. “Now that you have some for once?”

“I don’t know,” Constance said, realizing along with Ramiro that she now had six days off that she could actually enjoy as a human. As she rinsed away Ramiro’s cum under the bathtub tap, her sensitive vulva flushed; a mere graze of her fingernail against her still-hard clit elicited a gasp from her. Before she could stop herself, she had a finger inside herself and was groaning.


She cursed as her eyes flew open and she returned to the present. She withdrew her slick finger and looked exasperatedly at Ramiro.

“Fucking fixes the werewolf part,” she said slowly, “but not the hopelessly horny part.”

“The werewolf part needs no fixing,” Ramiro said, grinning. “But I can certainly help with the rest.”

Constance smiled. For once, she was going to have a happy new year.

© 2020 by December Seas

December Seas

About the Author

December Seas writes erotica that usually devolves into social criticism with a side of sex and feelings. Find out more at december-seas.com or on Twitter at @DecemberSeas.

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