Erotic short. A young mage has to outrun rutting werewolves to earn his university scholarship.
4k, rated E, trans M/gangbanged by werewolf cocks. A magical university runs a scholarship lottery where entrants have to flee the werewolves in rut hunting them down. Charlie enters.
Featuring the chase, oral, anal, and vaginal knotting, no birth control, rough sex, significant come inflation, implications of impregnation, wet and messy sex, gaping, and at the end some chaser-flavoured objectification of the trans man by one of the human senior staff.
Charlie’s feet pound hard as he runs through the mud, feeling it spatter up his bare calves and the backs of his knees. He takes a sharp turn to head down one of the maze tunnels, skidding in the wet earth as he goes. He hears the metal clatter of the gates rising, and then he can hear the wolves growling and baying to one another as they’re let loose.
Someone must have gotten unlucky, because less than a minute later he hears a sharp whine and a “Wait, no, no — !” followed by a shrieking moan that splits the air — it’s Carlos Avers, he thinks, although it’s hard to be certain just by ear. Serves him right, the prick — just before they’d started running, he’d poured something down Charlie’s back, and he can feel it wet on the back of his neck, under his shirt.
He’d looked at the maze maps over the past few years and he’d managed to work out a few regular patterns in them — as he runs through the maze, he’s aware of the turns before they’re visible, and it’s giving him the head start he needs to work his way further inwards, the better to work outward again and dodge the wolves as best he can.
As he runs, his heart pounding in his chest, sweat on his skin under the t-shirt and short shorts he’s wearing — a lot of the guys go shirtless, but he didn’t want his tits flopping about as he ran, didn’t want to wear a sports bra either, so his t-shirt is barely looser than a binder would be. It’s not the most support in the world, but it’s enough.
He hears another guy go down off to his right, at least thirty or forty feet off, hears him yelp and then groan; a ways behind him, he hears another student yelp and cry out, begging desperately to be let go as if it’ll make a fucking difference.
There are five hundred students in this year’s class, and the list of volunteers for this year’s scholarship are eighty-strong — less than last year, after that boy got his arm broken.
The werewolves are technically on the university staff, or at least, they get a stipend from the university — there are maybe two or three hundred lycanthropes in the city, and the university pays them well for samples of their fur, for donations of their blood to the central magical hospital, for their teeth and claws when they grow new ones.
The blood itself is sent to the central blood bank — a little of it goes to vampires with particular tastes, but most of it is just for other werewolves, because giving a lycanthrope a transfusion of uninfected blood can cause medical complications — with a small portion of it, and the rest, going to the university for research. Medical advancements, potioneering and alchemical experiments, the university apothecaries.
The Royal City is a popular place for lycanthropes, especially lycanthrope families, to move to — the stipend they get in exchange for their blood donations is pretty generous, Charlie’s heard, there’s more werewolf-led businesses and school groups, some of them get scholarships… Obviously, there’s the benefit of healers that are used to werewolves and know exactly how to heal them.
And then, there’s the matter of their ruts.
Werewolves transform a few days every month, with the full moon — every year, in the spring time, their hormones spike, and they undergo ruts and heats, become utterly feverish with the need to fuck, to breed.
The student lottery at the Mages’ School started as a joke forty-six years ago, funded by some posh cunt with an interest in sorcery, and it’s not a joke anymore.
The first time, five students from the school had been entered into a lottery — they’d been set loose not in a maze like this one, set up on the university lawns so that an audience can watch from the hall windows and from the towers, but in a fenced in area in the Grey Wood a few miles away.
Five students let loose, four werewolves in rut — Charlie Triste had been the first beneficiary of the lottery scholarship, dodging the four rutting beasts and being the only one of the students not to get knotted and pumped full of come, and now look at him! He’d been able to finish out his degree and his master’s, hadn’t had to do any other work at the same time, and now he’s a Chancellor!
As the years have gone by, the pool of students competing in the scholarship lottery has gotten bigger and bigger — it’s still an all-male scholarship even though it’s no longer an all-male university, just because they don’t want anyone having a risk of getting pregnant.
Charlie had transitioned before he started university, and when he’d gone to the health check to see he was fit to run, they’d checked his heart rate, his breathing, hadn’t asked if he was trans, so he hadn’t told them — in any case, he wasn’t worried about it. He didn’t have any intention of getting caught, and his hormone treatment should make it hard if not impossible to get pregnant — and just in case, he’ll take the right medicine afterwards.
The werewolves that don’t join the lottery rut with each other or they go to one of the brothels with hardier sex workers, but Charlie knows it’s popular, knows that they always have to draw lots for what werewolves get to join the lottery each year.
He drops to the floor and scrambles through a gap in one of the hedges, in just the place they’ve put gaps in the past, and then he takes a diagonal path closer to the centre. He can smell it on the air now, smell the sex, hear the sound of flesh slapping on flesh, hear moans and grunts and whines all around him.
He’s soaked with sweat and mud and whatever Carlos had put down his shirt earlier, his skin feeling slick, and he tries to ignore it, tries to focus on making it closer to the centre of the maze, where he’ll be able to climb up high and keep an eye out for where the wolves are, make a strategy on where he’s going next.
He skids to a stop as he gets to a T-junction in the maze, and then he splits and runs to the left, skidding in the mud.
Charlie jumps through a gap in the hedge and scrambles backwards immediately, because one of the werewolves, a big, hulking fucker with thick, grey fur all over his body, is right fucking there. It sees him, his amber eyes seeming to darken as its pupils dilate, and Charlie sees its nostrils flare and its body lean forward before it lunges after him.
Charlie scrambles back to the gap in the hedge, throws himself through the gap again and just manages to whip his legs out of the way of one of the werewolf’s grabbing paws, and then he launches himself back down the diagonal pathway, his trainers pounding in the mud and sending it splattering everywhere as he takes a rapid left, a left, a right, runs straight, turns right, turns left, throws himself through another gap.
He nearly runs right into Iago Bunk, the two of them just managing to dodge each other, and Charlie can see he’s already has a close run-in — his shirt has been torn off, only one of the sleeves left hanging around his shoulder, and there’s a visible scram down his back where one of the wolves tried to grab him.
“This way,” Charlie tells him, and Iago follows him as they run in two Z-formations through the mazeway and closer to the middle — they run into two wolves at once, and Charlie curses as they both launch themselves.
Charlie is thrown on his back in the mud — Iago had managed to turn himself to try to scramble away, but before he can keep fleeing, his wolf puts a heavy hand on the centre of his back and pins him down on his belly.
They don’t look like normal wolves — they mostly run on two legs, only scrambling on four so much in the maze because it’s such a muddy, slippy space, and they have broad shoulders, muscular arms. Their feet are more paw-like than their hands, pads developing on their soles, their toes spreading outward with claws — their hands develop a thinner pad, their nails elongating and sharpening without curving or thickening like the claws on their feet do.
The one pinning Charlie down, one hand on his shoulder, rips through his shirt and his shorts at once, and Charlie shudders as he stares up at it — this one has amber eyes too, but its fur is a flinty brown, and it has a loop through one of its ears. Charlie thinks he knows the man this wolf had come from, recognises him vaguely from the city armoury.
It stares down at Charlie’s cock, at his wet cunt — he’d prepped his ass just in case, but from the smell of sex in the air and the run and the sheer excitement of it, his cock is a bit hard, wetness slick on his thighs.
The wolf grabs him by his hips, hauling him off the flat of the dirt, and Charlie whines as the tip of its cock becomes visible, sliding bright pink and shiny out of its sheath. It’s fucking huge, as thick as his arm and with a visible bulb at its shaft that’s even thicker. Charlie thanks fuck for the tapered tip of its prick as it lines itself up and sinks home.
Charlie howls like he’s a wolf himself.
He’s not as open as he could be, but he’s at least somewhat aroused and the wolf’s cock is wet with its own slick, the taper to its cock meaning that there’s no escape from it as the wolf sinks all the way into him. It feels fucking sublime, and even as Charlie lets out a sharp sob and grabs and scrambles in the dirt, knowing that he’s lost his chance at this year’s scholarship, the pleasure-painful stretch of the cock shoving inside him is wiping his mind clean.
How can he fucking worry about scholarships at a time like this?
The wolf braces its hands in the dirt either side of his head, and Charlie wails as it begins to piston its hips and thrust into him. Charlie feels dizzy with the sudden shift of things, now spread out on his back instead of on his feet and running, and as the wolf’s cock fucks inside him it sinks that last bit deeper, so his cunt is stretched wide by its prick where it’s at its widest.
Charlie sees its sheath pull back the rest of the way as its knot swells too big to be held inside it, already the size of his fist and covered in bulging veins — it’s a darker red, more like a plummy purple, than its slick cock. His head feels like it’s spinning, a rush under his skin, and he moans at the throbbing pleasure that radiates out from his stuffed-full cunt as the wolf keeps thrusting into him.
He looks over at Iago and jolts when he finds that the wolf atop him isn’t looking at Iago at all, but is standing thoughtlessly on top of him as it leans instead over Charlie, sniffing at him. Charlie whines as its face comes right against his, so close he can feel the hot wetness of its breath on his neck and the underside of his jaw, feel the twitching of its nose as it sniffs and snorts at his neck, at his jaw, at the underside of his ear, which makes him moan and writhe at the pleasure it sends down his spine.
“What the fuck,” he moans as the second wolf, this one with a more gold sheen to its brown fur, steps right off of Iago and comes closer. The first wolf snaps at him, growls low in its throat, but the golden wolf is undeterred as it shoves its nose right up against Charlie’s neck, licking and doing little nibbles at the skin and making him whine and squirm.
Iago, still in his shorts, stumbles away, getting slowly to his feet, his hands spread wide.
Charlie looks between the grey-brown wolf and the gold-brown one, trying to figure out why the fuck the second one is on him, why its sniffing at him so eagerly even as the first one is fucking into him.
There’s a reason they just put in one werewolf fewer than however many students are running in the lottery — once these things knot you, you’re knotted for over an hour if not multiple hours, and inevitably, once a werewolf has found a mate and started rutting with them, that “mate” will be done with, finished.
The thought occurs that this thing has somehow clocked him as trans, that it knows he’s got a front hole and a back hole, but then it climbs over him, and he stares right at the thing’s cock.
“Wait, wait,” he hisses, yells as he feels the first harder nudge of the flint brown wolf’s knot against the opening of his cunt — it’s moved its paws to be in line with Charlie’s hips, to give the other wolf space to manoeuvre, and what the fuck, what the fuck, they’re not meant to try to share.
They’re not meant to try to put their obscenely huge cocks in your fucking mouth.
“Iago!” Charlie groans, “get him off me, get help — ”
Iago is already running, shouting a hurried “Sorry!” behind him, and before Charlie can shout obscenities after him, the second wolf is sliding its cock into his mouth, into his throat, sitting down on his fucking face, and every noise he wants to make is muffled by how full his fucking mouth is. It’s salty and absurdly slick, precome just dripping all over the thing and mixing with his own copious saliva, smearing it over his face, dripping down his cheeks and his chin. His teeth must not bother the thing at all, so maddened as it is with the rut, because it just starts to thrust into his mouth, fucking his throat and stopping him from turning his head away.
His head is fucking spinning, trying as best he can to breathe through his nose around the huge length of tapered cock that keeps invading his throat, keeps making him choke and splutter in between the deep thrusts of it — its knot is getting bigger, shoving against his mouth like a punch in the lip, and its huge, heavy balls keep knocking him in the chin.
His eyes are streaked with tears and he knows he’s sweaty, too, and he wonders if this is how he’s gonna fucking die, with werewolves spitroasting him and a cock shoved down his throat, heavy on his tongue.
The first wolf grips at his thigh and pops its knot inside him with one final thrust, and Charlie howls loudly around the prick he’s choking on, the sound muffled but still loud in his own ears. He tries to cough, tries to force it out of him, tries to struggle, even, but the knot is swelling as large as a fucking melon where it’s forced into his cunt and tying them together, and he can feel it pulsing, feel the hot spray of wolf semen pumping into him from its balls.
He closes his eyes tightly, tries to concentrate on breathing through his nose and gasping in little breaths around the prick in his face, hearing the grunts of the werewolf as its hips piston into his face —
It’s so quick it’s inescapable, so much so he wonders if he’s already dead for a moment. This wolf is smaller than the first one, thank fuck, but the knot is still so big it’s like there’s a fist shoved into his mouth, and he moans around it as it spreads wide enough he’s scared his jaw is going to break, the tapered end of the cock right down his throat and pumping into him, spraying.
All he can do is swallow and swallow and swallow, dizzy as he fucking chugs werewolf semen from both ends. His cunt feels so stuffed full it might well fucking pop, and he can’t see it, can’t look at himself, but when he reaches with a trembling hand, he can feel the paunch of his own belly as his womb and his stomach are pumped full of come at the same time.
He passes out for a second, or maybe more — maybe he doesn’t pass out, but is just dizzy, confused, so that he doesn’t know what’s happening, so that he’s just insensible for a while.
When he comes to, come is pumping into him but much, much slower, and he’s moaning helplessly as he’s pulled between the two werewolves like he’s strung between them, one knot popped into his jaw and the other popped into his cunt as he’s rolled over, twisted. Weakly, he tries to shove and struggle free, letting out noises of pain at the pull on his jaw and his sore, abused cunt, and then all at once he’s falling forward onto the thick, fat, furry weight of the wolf that has its cock stuffed into his cunt, and the other werewolf is sitting beside its head to keep Charlie’s mouth around its cock.
There are other wolves, he realises. A mouth is licking and sniffing at the back of his neck, slurping at him in a way that should feel disgusting, that is disgusting, but with how fucking horny he is right now, his cunt stuffed and his cock rubbing into the soft surface of the other wolf’s belly, it’s just overstimulating, just makes him crave more.
More is what he gets, because the wolf shoves into his asshole in one sudden thrust, forcing the muscle to let it in with a hot stinging stretch, and he screams in pain and need and sheer, overwhelming terror, because what the fuck is happening?
He wonders which one of those emotions it is that makes him come, the orgasm crashing over him with all the force of a tsunami, his whole body shuddering and shaking with all the wolfcock stuffed into his every hole, his stuffed-full belly feeling like it’s being squeezed between him and the body of the wolf he’s laid on top of.
The overstim is so much he’s certain he’s going to go crazy, grabbing helplessly at the wolf he’s sprawled on, at the dirt, tapping his palm against the ground as if tapping out is something the werewolves understand when they’re in the grip of their transformations.
He feels like a fucking fuckrag shoved back and forth between them, even before the third knot pops its way past his ring, and even more come starts getting pumped into his fucking guts. He wants to throw up, he’s so full of it, but his mouth is corked closed, so he just has to swallow it all down.
He faints again, or maybe it’s not a faint — maybe he’s just so insane with cock that his mind breaks for a fucking second.
The end result is the same: the world goes white, and all he knows is waves of pleasure, unable to register anything else.
* * *
A few hours pass in a kind of haze — the three wolves licking and nuzzling at him, his belly so full he feels like he’s going to pop, people coming over and then retreating when the wolves snap and growl at them, the knots finally fucking going down.
When Charlie comes to fully, his whole body aches and he’s laid on his side in an infirmary bed, his belly bulged out with all the come in him, and he can feel it oozing out of his gaping cunt and asshole. There are bruises on him, he knows, bruises and scratches, and the stench of sweat and werewolf are clinging to his skin.
“Good Gods, he looks like an overripe plum,” says one of the senior wizards, a hairy hulking man, Doctor Loven Bear with thick, bushy eyebrows and thick, bushy hair. “Look at those stretch marks on him, I’m surprised he didn’t burst!”
He slaps a palm against Charlie’s bare belly, drumskin-taut and making a sound, and Charlie moans at the sensation of it, come sloshing in him and his cock twitching, more of it dripping out of him.
“Whoops,” says Bear sheepishly. “Perhaps oughtn’t have done that. How are you, Hinds?”
Charlie stares up at him, aching jaw agape. He can still taste werewolf come on his tongue.
“The other boys owned up to it,” Bear tells him. Charlie can’t fully concentrate on him, because he’s idly stroking Charlie’s stuffed, swollen belly with one of his huge, muscular palms, and all Charlie can think about is how it will feel if Bear starts to play with his cock like that, if he hooks a few fingers into one of his holes, rubs at him, pulls at him. “One of them said he dropped a potion down your neck, did you notice the spray? Pheromones, you see, something to draw them in toward you. They didn’t realise a bunch of the bastards would fuck you at once — lucky you had holes to choose from, eh? Elsewise, two of them might have tried to force your backdoors in rather than going in from both sides!”
Charlie’s cunt gives such a powerful throb at the thought that he actually feels dizzy, and he still doesn’t talk, isn’t sure he can move his mouth enough to do so, but he does hear himself moan faintly.
“Three winners for the scholarship!” Bear pronounces, blustering through as if Charlie’s barely there, as if he’s barely even a person. Charlie isn’t sure if he’s even talking to Charlie himself, or to the listening healers. “Two of them were in on the little scheme, though, the one who sprayed you — Avers? — ratted them out. So, I’ve talked with Sir Muster, and he’s decided he’ll give two scholarships out this year — one to Iago Bunk, who won fair and square, and to you. After the fucking you’ve just been on the receiving end of, no need to be fucked by the fees office too, eh?”
Charlie stares up at him as Bear leans in closer, his hand sliding lower, and Charlie moans as he tugs Charlie’s swollen cock between his thumb and two of his fingers, tugging and pulling on it, jerking it.
“No need to think about litigation, hm?” he asks in warm, rumbling tones, and Charlie blinks a few times, his face hot all over, his hips wanting to tip up and into the touch, but his belly so heavy with the come stuffed in it that he can barely stand to move. “No need to get any solicitors involved or anything like that, especially given that you didn’t tell us about your, ahem, gender status — you’ll be well-compensated for this ordeal. You’ve been compensated quite enough already, of course…” He pushes down on Charlie’s swollen gut as he speeds up the hand on his prick, making him keen, and when he comes this time it’s weaker than the one he had before but his body shudders, his ruined holes clenching around the air. He’s lying in the wet patch of the fucking century, the come oozing out of him pooling under his ass.
Bear laughs softly. “That’s a lad,” he says, wiping his hand off on a dry bit of bedsheet. “Let’s see how many pups those wolves pumped into that boycunt of yours, too. Those are nice little tits on you, a good mouthful, each of them. They’d be lovely with a bit of cream on top, eh?”
Charlie’s cock throbs, twitches, another whimper eking out of his throat.
Doctor Bear gives one of his tits a demonstrative squeeze in farewell, and leaves him be.
“I got the scholarship,” he tells the healer who comes to make him drink some water, but owing to the fact that until recently his jaw and throat were spread wide with werewolf cock, it comes out more like, “A’ go’ zh’ sk’shhh’i — .”
“You got a lot more than that,” says the healer dryly, and nudges him to drink.
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In the mood for more werewolf knotting a trans man after this one? You might enjoy The Prince’s Pleasure and Return to the Daily Grind.
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