Twisted Slough You've never seen a bastard orphan [m]ore in need of a break

@Tryphon

As she wandered through the twisting, winding stones, she wondered if it was commonplace for unmated females to do such a thing. Wandering about in search of males that is. Was bringing children into the world worth the risk? Men were unpredictable when controlled by lust. She gritted her teeth, wondering what her mother would say about such a thing. For the moment she was alone, a rare moment for her in the past day or so. Her mind began to wander, though she kept on the alert; her scent was powerful and could bring more than just a lustful male.

Note to self, this is before he reaches NWF.

This place was.. Strange. In trying to deviate away from the encroaching scent of the sea, Tryphon had gone a bit further inland than he intended. The slough was... Well, not a nice place. Sloughs were very rarely nice, not that he'd have known better. This one had some nice trees which blocked out the majority of the light, but they were very sad looking. He noticed how miserable they appeared — or perhaps he was projecting his own internalized misery upon them — as he tried to pass between their trunks.

At times, such passage was impossible. The ivy was too thick, netting around the willows as they weeped, and Tryphon felt his heart ache for them. But this was just another obstacle for him to overcome, and he would do so readily. The soil was loose and moist through most of the area and that posed a problem, but the thick and seemingly endless root structures were enough to keep him afloat through much of the murk. By the time Tryphon had reached a state of weariness that demanded he take a break, he was soiled by the mud up to his shoulders and hips, but had managed to keep his face clean.

He was panting hard, and didn't notice the scent of the slough — a thick, dark, most odious thing that was practically punching him in the throat with every breath — and when he did notice, he had to pause and gag beneath the hanging head of a black willow. 

It was at this point that another aroma wafted to him, and Tryphon's first thought was of Saghani. 

He slurped his tongue back into his head, closed his mouth, and took a dangerously deep breath of the noxious air. The smell was getting heavier, the wind tousling the willows had dragged it along too, and Tryphon felt a sense of elation that was more than primal. Thinking he had once again found his shadow, he hastily chose to abandon his resting spot and plunged into the murk again. It took him some time to track down the scent once more, but when he did he bayed through the trees — a joyous sound that few had ever heard from him — and he lunged from behind a copse of willows like a gleeful child.

The last time he had caught this scent had been the last time he'd seen Saghani — !

He came, but so suddenly and loudly that it frightened the young woman. With a half-surprised, half-playful yelp, she jumped out of his way, moving around him. He had, perhaps unwittingly? instigated a game between the two, a game that would end with both of them winning. Her tail wagged, her body dropping in a play bow for a moment, wondering if he would accept her offer, or get quickly into business.

phone post!

He expected to see the shadow with her bright eyes, but instead was met with ano ash-white stranger who ducked and keeled over within moments. Her tail batted, fanning the strange scent, and while Tryphon would have naturally recoiled upon realizing this was a stranger, the aroma had him hooked. A primal urge made him linger. When he watched the stranger bow and invite him to play, his yellow eyes trailed from her rump down to her shoulders.

He slipped closer, lowering himself in kind, and chuffed at her as if to accept the invitation.

She lunged forward, nipping the air in front of his nose, then dashing to his flank. She wanted this dance to be quick, standing close to him, making sure that she was touchable yet far. She smiled, inviting him to make his move. Would he take charge or would he humor her with her game?

There was no memory within this man of the last time he'd been privy to a game. The closest had been when he'd encountered his shadow the first time; they had run together, tussled, but it had been harsh and wild. This was something altogether different — she was dashing around him, nipping but without catching the skin, staying just out of reach but begging him with the curve of her body to get close and touch.

There was a black void in Tryphon's mind when he tried to think back beyond Saghani. But the actions came to him easily enough; an instinctive dance. He dove in to try and grab at the pale girl, but following her lead, he snapped too soon, or let the thin tendrils of her fur slip through his teeth without damage. His path circumnavigated her own, and they moved in tandem for a time, or in reverse, always drawing close and pulling apart.

Something about the way she moved tempted him, and Tryphon did not understand. Her perfume dominated the air. He was intoxicated and getting closer.

He came close to wounding her, if only by a little. She gasped in delighted shock, countering with her own playful hits with her paws. She hadn't played like this since she was a small child, but back then there was no end goal: only fun. 

He was growing closer; she sensed it. And as she did, her movements went from childish to sensual. Her nips became licks and kisses, her movements slowed down so she could deliberately press herself against him when she could. The game changed into a dance, a tango.

Gradually they wove themselves together; he, playful, she, something else. Tryphon did not notice as the bites and near-misses became kisses and holds. She pressed herself up against him on every pass, igniting his skin in a way that confused him. From time to time he'd pull back, but be urged forward by her playful antics, until all his flesh hummed with an unknowable energy. He wanted her closer — and just like that, a switch seemed to flip in his brain. Tryphon was hungry for this pale woman in a way he did not understand, in a way that transcended all that he knew of himself, and on her next pass he grappled at her. Fumbling first with one leg over her shoulder, as she slipped out from his grasp he managed to pivot her hips towards himself, and with some scrambling he had her pinned. Why he felt compelled to do this? He'd never know. Tryphon was not well versed in how things worked, and he was giving in to the more primitive side of his brain. They were not aligned yet — not properly — but it was clear the game was turning into something else.

He reached his breaking point; he caught her. Potema yipped softly, but she went with the motion as they fumbled from the awkward pause in their dance. Their hips were aligned, though the rest of their body wasn't. Potema pushed backwards, her rear against him, tail curling to make way for his presence. The shift from game to dance to coupling was quick, but she wouldn't have it any other way.

Mature Content Warning

This thread has been marked as mature. By reading and/or participating in this thread, you acknowledge that you are of age or have permission from your parents to do so.

The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: Awkward accidental??? sexy times, fading to black for most of it since Tryphon is having a disassociative episode.

As it had been with Saghani, it would be with this ghost. Though their playfulness was much different from the rough manner in which Tryphon and the shadow had coupled, as soon as she moved her hips against him and he felt heat well up in his belly and groin, Tryphon nearly tripped himself up in trying to escape; however, part of him wanted this, whether he understood what was happening or not. The man descended in to beastmode, fully, and stared wide-eyed and wild at the back of the woman's head, imagining it to be a snowcapped mountain rather than a living, breathing, warm body. He spaced out almost entirely while his forelimbs pulled her close, again and again, until the heat of his groin became a knot that tied them both together, and even after! Tryphon's disassociation was overwhelming, but complete. The only awareness he experienced came after a great convusion pulled ecstacy from his soul — and in feeling that flee his body, filling the pale stranger, he gasped in the manner of a death-rattle, and groggily slouched across her quaking hindquarters.

Poor Tryphon

Had she been able to see the empty expression on the wolf's face, she might have been frightened and disturbed, but she purely lived in the moment of his hips. She panted, gasping with each connection of their hips, until he spilled inside her, and Potema arched. Her paws shifted, tapping out an rhythm on the grass.

While she seemed to be enjoying the escapade, Tryphon was unaware it was even occurring. He knew that he felt warm, that there was a body next to him that smelled distinctly female and held the alluring scent he'd first noticed on Saghani, but that was all. He became aware, gradually, of the intense beating of his heart and his own ragged breathing; next came the intimate understanding that he was connected to her and no matter how much he struggled to move away, pull back, or push against her with his broad paws, it only hurt. They'd both be stuck together like this for some time following the coupling — and Tryphon began to panic from the lack of mobility. He was more forceful as he pushed at the ghost woman, the claws on his hind feet making staccato beats as he adjusted his weight over and over, trying not to fall or to twist, but wanting to be far from this situation. 

When finally he could remove himself, he did so as inelegantly as one might expect; the boy (for he was hardly a man in this moment, having reverted back into a childish, frightened shell) disconnected from Potema and pulled away from her, landing on all fours and stumbling back like a zombie. The same wide-eyed expression from before dominated Tryphon's features, and he stared with his mouth hanging ajar at the stranger before him. Had he been coherent enough he might have accused her of something — witchcraft maybe? A spell? Had he been a spiritual being, perhaps he would've blamed the sea itself, for the stranger resembled the white of seafoam, and it was the only power that he knew of. But instead he just.. Stared, feeling adrenaline and anxiety coursing through his skin.

She murmured half coherent words of content as the tie between them swelled and locked them together. Potema's paws gently battered the ground, similar to the male's. His nervous tugging annoyed her, but she tolerated them, knowing that it was fruitless to try pulling them apart. She waited, the silence not as awkward as with her first time.

After a few moments, they parted, and Potema sat, licking at her groin for a few moments before turning to the staring wolf. Is something wrong? She asked curiously, a bit unnerved by his blank expression.

Exit Tryphon!

He sank back on the ground behind her and, with his eyes still kind of glazed over, stared out at nothing. She was a white blot on his vision; the trees around them swayed as amorphous shadows. He knew something wasn't entirely proper in this moment. That he had been affected somehow, by something. But a part of Tryphon was content to let the adrenaline, anxiety, and mixed up hormones from the sexcapade siphon through him and away. Maybe content was the wrong word? He felt nothingness. A stew of everything all at once had overwhelmed his system, as it had during his last meeting with Saghani. He heard the stranger speak and held firm to those words with his mind; or rather, as firmly as he could, and gave a small soundless shake of his head. The motion repeated a couple of times - he became more aware of his snout, his teeth, his tongue, and gradually returned to his body.

N-no, the man managed, feeling his eyes growing sore from the lack of blinking, the sensation of fluid falling from the corners (not from emotion, just from their need to remain damp, as eyes often do). He lurched to his feet and with some odd motions, began to take himself away from the ghost who had done this to him. N-nno, I'm... I'm... fine he tried to say, but the more he tried to talk the stranger he felt, and eventually he was drifting off again — physically, mentally, entirely.

Thanks so much for the thread!!

Potema had never seen a man respond like that, to anything really. It worried her. She had heard of deformities of the brain carried by blood. Did he have one, or was this something else at play? Whatever it was, it worried the witch. If his seed took, she would have to raise an imperfect child; how would she respond to that?

But he was a perfect stranger, and she wanted him to remain that. She watched him walk away deeper into the slough before turning to head up the coast.