Valjean followed the child into the woods, and on any other day, nothing would have happened. Any other night would not have been the full moon, and he would have spoken to her, and carried her bucket. Alas, it was true that the town of Montfermeil housed werewolves and not only a rumour perpetuated by the common folk. The werewolves weren’t interested in a small little girl, foul beasts that they were, since the satisfaction of dominating such a tiny creature was almost negligible. The big, burly Jean Valjean, though, strongest man in the Bagne who had not lost any of his strength in the lapsing years, well, he was delicious catnip to the wolves. Had anyone thought to warn him, then maybe he might have had a chance to escape. Had he noticed the shadow gaining ground, perhaps he might have had a chance in running. Valjean was focused on the girl in front of him, however, and when the large monstrous creature fell onto his back, he went to the ground without much of a fight.
The unexpected attack from behind froze him entirely, the large creature pinning him to the soft forest ground without difficulties. Through his clothes, he could feel the coarse hair and rough body, felt it knock the breath out of his lungs. He had felt this vulnerable before, chained to the Bagne and under the complete mercy of the guards, but this was a step further than that, even. The beast enveloped him entirely, left him no space for leveraging himself out of its stranglehold.
The large beast was crouched over him, and he could see the animalistic features, the sharp teeth, the fur and the wild eyes. He tried bucking the monster off, but even with his large muscular frame, he could barely move it an inch, let alone get it of himself entirely. The werewolf — because surely, what else could it be but a werewolf, walking on two vaguely human legs and entirely grotesque arms and claws — snarled, an animalistic and guttural noise, and set his teeth against Valjean’s in a very clear warning. Head tilted back, he could feel the breath and the slime of saliva on his exposed throat. It was warm and felt dangerously real.
He swallowed, stilled, and sagged against the floor of the forest—the ground had a bit of give from the layers and layers of needles, and that was what made this experience terrifying real. He had been beset by a creature of myth, and it was only too real. The large teeth were against his throat, pinning him, and yet not piercing him, and the beast was watching with a terrifying intelligence behind his eyes.
The warmth of the creature seeped through every inch of his body, and he could only struggle weakly against the grip it had on him. The claws were sharp against his forearm, sharp enough that they were leaving claw marks. The werewolf took a deep sniff of his throat, then let go suddenly, and focused on his lower half. Panicking wasn’t going to help Valjean, but that was his first reaction, the terrifying beast so close to his privates. With one sweep of his claws, the werwolf managed to rip his clothes in two. Valjean could feel the cold air of the forest on his exposed cock and balls, his coat open to the elements.
Then, the werewolf nosed forward, snapping his teeth close right next to his balls, and Valjean tried scrambling away but the beast was pulling at the cloth covering his arse already. With two swipes, his round globes were uncovered, and bared to the eyes of the werewolf.
It was very apparent what it wanted, nosing his arse, but all the more terrifying because of it, almost strategic in its implementation. The werewolf took a deep sniff, and then, with a lick of his tongue, swiped a big strip from his arse to his perineum. It was warm and wet, and against all of the knowledge of himself, Valjean grew hard. The wide tongue continued lapping over his hole, and it was unexpectedly exciting — certainly nothing Valjean ever thought to do himself, even as he might have had others talk about it.
The tongue pressed against his arse, further in, deeper than Valjean thought possible, and he wanted to swear, wanted to take God’s name in vain, so he bit down on his fist to muffle the sound of his voice. He felt removed from his body, felt like this violation was done to someone else, only he was feeling it, too, could feel every exquisite lick of that tongue over his balls and cock, and he could see the monstrous face panting over him.
What he could also see, was the red sheath coming out from underneath the fur — the erect cock of the werewolf, dripping with a viscous fluid. If possible, he grew even harder, his nipples pebbling underneath his shirt. His desire was shameful, he knew that, he felt like it wasn’t possible for a human being of any standing to become hard by way of an abomination like this, and yet here he was, enjoying the ministration of this beast.
And yet the main act hadn’t begun— when the werewolf stopped licking, and enveloped his entire body to drive his strange looking cock straight into Valjean’s hole, he didn’t resist at all. Instead, he hung limply in the werewolf’s grip, let himself be dragged over the floor like a eager slut. The drag of the cock against his arsehole was exciting, even as it hurt, the hot sticky slime on his cock probably the only thing keeping it from tearing.
The drag of the fur on his bare skin, little as laid bare, made him more sensitive. Tears of humiliation welled up in his eyes. Who knew a werewolf could bring him so low, even when the Bagne couldn’t? The monster kept at its brutal pace, pistoning in and out with a steady rhythm. A choked cry was all he could manage as the beast proceeded to fuck Valjean without mercy. The cock in his arse was too big; it hurt. It was scorching hot, too, feeling like a warm rod continuously ramming inside.
The werewolf was using him; slamming him against the ground again and again with the power of his cock, fucking him into the ground as if that was the only reason it existed, as if there was no other purpose as to destroy Valjean in all the ways that mattered.
Valjean could feel his own dick, could feel his cock dripping, and it made the humiliation complete — what deviant was he, getting off from being punded by a beast?
It was a whole new level of degradation. Then, the cock inside of him started to swell.
The base of the cock pounding into him was steadily growing. Valjean had to wince as his hole started to stretch too far. The paw on his shoulder was pinning him tightly still and Valjean couldn’t get away when the werewolf started slamming itself intently, short jabs that were going deeper and deeper into him. The thick cock was pressing and forcing its way deeper into him and Valjean could not muffle a cry in time. He hoped that the child would not hear him, and come to check on him.
Valjean could feel the cock stretching his insides, inflating within him until there was no room left to move. The werewolf pulled back on more time to thrust and Valjean cried out, struggled to shove back within him when it burned painfully. He shoved his fist deeper into his mouth, trying to muffle his cries, bit down on his coat sleeve so that less sound would escape. There was no more room for friction, they were locked together.
He could feel the pressure building up, something in his guts twisting as Valjean clawed at the dirt. The werewolf was panting over him, stilling as its cock twitched in Valjean’s hole, pumping into him. The warmth was burning, and the werewolf was looming over him, claiming and dominating him as it emptied its load in his arse.
It felt too long until the monster pulled off. His body hurt, his abdomen felt fire, overfilled and near bursting with the warmth of the werewolf’s substance.
Valjean let out a muffled cry, when with a sudden yank, the cock inside of him was pulled out after a second of painful resistance. His hole stretching too wide to let the massive thing out of him. Valjean could feel a gush of seed pour out, the pressure inside him letting up as the excess was pushed out. It was the final thing to make him spill over himself, the final push over the edge, and Valjean was hating himself for giving in. Ropes of his own seed hit the dirt and himself.
The werewolf, his deed done, vanished in quite the same way it had come, back into the darkness.
Tears of mortification were all that was left; Valjean dragged himself upward, and staggered towards the well. He felt like years had gone by, as if the world had changed entirely, but the young child had not noticed his plight, and was steadily heaving up the bucket of water inch by inch. His coat was dirty from the ground now, but still long enough to cover the slit were his privates were dangling in the air. Ashamed, he made his way towards the Thenardier’s inn, and hoped nobody would notice the semen dripping down his legs.