“More bubbles,” a voice from across the fire spoke. “What to trade to get more bubbles?” It was one of the ferals. Though his English was broken, I understood him perfectly.
Roscoe grabbed a few more bottles from the box, holding them by the necks in front of the salivating werewolves, some still gnawing on the sweet cakes.
“Perhaps this will persuade you to take us to your alpha?”
“Damn, dude. When’d you learn to talk so good?” I asked, my brain seemingly sinking more into a mire of numb stupidity.
“I’ve always talkedgood,” Roscoe replied, patting me hard on the back before turning his attention to the ferals who were quietly discussing amongst themselves.
“No,” one of them said. They were harder to tell apart now, despite earlier having different fur colors and patterns. “Have other things for trading.” He pulled out a few glimmering opals. “Shiny rocks for bubbles? Keep dangerous witches away.”
“Y’all got witches out here?” This accent seemed to get thicker and even more ridiculous the longer I spoke.
“Many witches. Alpha say to stay away. Some of us not come back after they find us.” He eyed the bottles, licking his chops. “Bubbles for rocks?”
Roscoe sighed.
“I suppose it’s a start.” He handed the bottles to the wild werewolf in exchange for the entire bag. “One of you gave my friend here a shiny rock a little while ago. Can any of you tell me who that was?”
The ferals slurped down the beer, each one belching loudly in different pitches while chuckling amongst themselves.
“They ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” I said, watching in awe as a few neon butterflies flitted by my face. “Jeez that’s purdy. How long’s this last?”
“Ooooh, boy. You’re in for one hell of a night.”
“Roscoe…” I tried to get angry, but uncontrollable laughter was all I could manage. Anger made me laugh, and Roscoe sounded intelligent, while I could barely form a coherent sentence. The flames of the fire were now purple and bugs around us sparkled in brilliant colors. This wasn’t just some weed—it was as though my entire perception of reality shifted. Was this the way the ferals saw the world all the time?
“You know, sex is phenomenal while on this stuff,” Roscoe said, reaching into my pants. “Every sense is heightened, and the orgasms don’t stop.”
I looked over. The feral werewolves stopped talking, each one staring eagerly.
“Naw, man. We ain’t doin’ this in front of them.”
“Trade licks for more sweet things,” one of them said, inching closer to me. “You smell like thick smoke.”
“What’s he talkin’ about?”
“He wants to suck your dick,” Roscoe said with a grin. “I told you. They’ll do anything you want for sweets.”
“No need for trade,” the feral said, his nose buried in my crotch. “Do this for no trade.”
“Well, hot damn! We might be able to convince them to take us to their pack after all. Good thing you’re so delicious.”
“Roscoe—”
“Just let it happen,” he cut in, licking my neck. “They aren’t going to bring us anywhere near their pack unless they gain our trust. This is a shortcut to that.”
“This seems kinda wrong.” My cock disappeared into the feral’s mouth, his rough tongue lapping at everything while his lips sealed around me. It felt like every pleasure sensor in my body went straight into overdrive. “Holy…”
As the werewolf went to work on me, Roscoe gently prodded my head downward until my face was against his crotch. He smelled different. Everything smelled and felt alien, like I wasn’t even in my own body anymore.
The heat of the moment made me forget about the other werewolves who were watching us while pleasuring themselves around the fire. It didn’t matter if they were feral or like us; they were still perverts. I wondered if they were ever human like us once, or if they had been born werewolves. Was that even possible?
While jerking Roscoe off, I stared at his midsection, and I noticed a slight bump on each side of his bellybutton.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked, trying to maneuver my body carefully as the werewolf below continued pleasuring me. “What the hell are these?”
“You know what nipples are.”
