Originally posted at SHAPESHIFTER SEDUCTION.
Mid-November Howls and Yowls, ShapeShifter Lovers.
So,
today I heard it was International Men's Day. Unlike the wimpified,
pussified so-called soy-boy males being celebrated... well, oh hell
yeah! Only real men are allowed in Wolf Peak Territory. As merely one
example of real men, here's the first chapter of a recent WIP, very
unedited. Of course, I'd hoped to finish and publish another
ShapeShifter Seduction erotic romance, but nope, life isn't cooperating
at all.
Wolf Peak Territory, Montana
The
small town of Moonrise Lake, Montana ... home to shapeshifters of all
types and stripes... and to supernaturals of every imaginable and
unimaginable kind.
Interspecies Pleasure Club, where fantasy and
reality meet and mate during the ferocious heat of passion, during
erotic pleasures—and during the inferno of love, of lust.
Introducing Razor ~ Zratliff Durston III, the third ~ Freedom Rider ~ Razorback Boar Shapeshifter
His
family are an Arkansas dynastic family who own most of Hot Springs,
Arkansas, but behind the scenes. Given they are tougher, they keep the
mafia in check. Razor loves his family, but has gone outlaw, or on his
own, letting his brothers and sisters take over the operations.
Chinese Year Of The Brown Earth Pig
February 5, 2019~February 24, 2020
Chapter One
"Yeehawwwww!"
Razor bellowed against the icy-cold wind. "You'll never catch me,
little pig cops!" The strength of his voice matched the thunderous roar
of the giant bad-ass Harley he rode.
Growling
above the scream of several sirens behind him, Razor leaned forward,
and kicked up his speed. He shot like a bullet onto the twisty highway
that would take him most of the way to the Last Bite Lodge. The
backwoods biker bar was in shapeshifter country.
"Gotta
love it," Razor grunted to himself. Slowing, then zooming up the
highway's steady incline, he taunted the officers trying to chase him
down.
Tech-modified
beyond anything James Bondian, the black and chrome chopper eclipsed
any capability of local law enforcement. Including the chase drones.
And, including if they used satellites to track him.
"Time
to get the squealing, black and white piglets off my ass." With a press
of his thumb, both he and the Harley were enveloped inside an
invisibility shield.
The plasma-magnetic field also cut off the
wind. Warmth surrounded Razor immediately. Not that he cared so much,
given his body's metabolism adjusted to frigid temperatures.
Once
the wailing sirens ceased, the patrol cars breaking off the chase,
Razor slowed to cruising speed. He scanned his instrument panel, given
his enemies were legendary. So far, though, nothing else to battle.
As
Razor negotiated the forest road in the fading light of twilight, he
allowed himself to think of her. Khryssa. The woman had Sophia Loren
curves, the exotic face of her half elfin heritage, and piles of coppery
auburn hair he longed to run his fingers through as he made hedonistic
love to her.
Khryssa
also possessed plenty of spirit and spunk. Her firebrand defiance of
his mating courtship of her drove Razor lusting wild.
The big bad truth, the woman just plain made him stud crazy.
Khryssa
kept claiming she wanted nothing to do with him. Yet snort, her female
scent beckoned him to like one of those singing Sirens.
These
days the more-than-gorgeous woman plagued him during his mission-ops
for Dante, the alpha wolf leader of their enormous shifter community.
Hell's mud, his body hardened already. His cock was like a damn flagpole.
Once
Razor entered the dome-shaped, electronic web that protected the Last
Bite Lodge, he switched off the chopper's invisible-making tech. Even
being deep in winter, several rows of top-dollar and custom-ride
motorcycles sat side by side in the parking area, along with various
heavy-duty pickups, many expensive four wheelers, and a few snow-worthy
cars.
'Course
the winter snows hadn't buried them yet, and Dante made certain the
crew kept the logging road clear enough for travel. Well off the beaten
track, the structure above ground looked like a typical biker bar, only
larger than most.
As he passed by, Razor saluted the bar. Yeah good-time hell, he was home again.
Astride
his beast Harley, roaming the country from sea to shining sea was his
thing. But there was nothing like coming home to Wolf Peak Territory,
Montana. Yep, it was like a boar rolling in springtime's green grassy
heaven--in clover as the saying went.
At
his slow-rolling approach, the door slid open, and Razor coasted
inside his private garage. The huge, ten foot high boulder had been
hollowed out. His bike tools, parts, and equipment were shelved on
either side. Neatly, of course.
Whisper-silent,
the door shut, and lighting flooded the compact area. Dismounting,
Razor threw his leg over the back of his trusty Hawg Heaven—as he'd
affectionately named the bike. He removed his super-spy helmet placing
it next to what he called the scanner. Instantly, an array of tiny,
variously colored lights flashed on.
On
auto, the scanner would do a complete diagnostic of his helmet and the
Harley. In the morning he'd check what needed to be fixed, tuned, or
repaired. Likely there would be more spy-gadget upgrades.
Razor
shed his leathers and boots in record time. Given he'd showered not
that long ago, he grabbed his dressier jeans, pulling them on. Next he
slung on his *good ole boy* shirt, buttoning it up fast. After changing
his weather-proof socks for a silkier pair, he slid on his fanciest
black biker boots.
With
a grunt, he appraised his large face in the small mirror. Yeah, some
stubble, but some women liked that look. He didn't know if Khryssa did
or not. Razor swiped a comb through his shoulder-length hair until the
fair-colored, red-tinted strands behaved well enough.
He'd
never lacked the company of a woman, whenever he wanted. Many went gaga
and gooey-eyed over his large, tall muscular build, superior to most
men. But they weren't Khryssa.
Razor
strode through the short hidden tunnel, hungry for a hearty meal and
thirsty for a giant mug of lager beer. But mostly he was stud-desperate
to find Khryssa. Tonight she'd be at the bar, working her shift.
After
palming the security eye, as it was known, Razor shoved open a large
steel door, and moved inside the tunnel-like storage room that was next
to the bar's busy kitchen. Sounds familiar to him, the clanging of pots
and pans, the endless sizzle of the grill...yeah, home.
"Razor,
good to see you back, big bro." The guard on duty, one of Dante's many
relatives, grabbed Razor's hand briefly pumping it.
"Darthuz, how's it hanging?"
"Long and hard. The ladies can't resist."
Razor shot his huge fist toward the top of Darthuz's head, roughly rubbing the twenty year old's hair.
"Hey,
stop that brutish behavior." Darthuz imitated the wussy voice of those
called soy boys in current American slang. He grabbed hold of Razor's
forearm, tussling like a wimp.
"Where's Dante? Tell me and I'll let go."
"Boss wolf will be here in about an hour. He told me he needs an immediate meeting with you, freedom Hawg rider."
"Got
it. I'll be around, wolf boy." Razor strode past Darthuz. The hearty
food aromas caused his stomach to growl. It'd been awhile.
"Pile the chow up high, Hal," Razor hollered to the night's head cook.
"Slinging
hash is my game my only game." Hal laughed at what he believed to be
his cleverness. The diner cook had settled in Wolf Peak several years
ago. Being human he'd adapted to the shifter-supernatural community
surprisingly well. 'Course, Daisy had a whole lot to do with it. The
half-breed Pomeranian dog shapeshifter doted on him.
A
man on a mission of love and lust, Razor shouldered his way through the
rowdy patrons in the main bar, only pausing to bump fists, and slap
biker friends on the back.
"Lager?" Charisse, one of the wench servers, yelled over the jukebox's blaring, thumping-metal music.
"The usual, Charisse. Thanks. Headed back to Pirate's Cove."
The
Last Bite Lodge had many party rooms now, having greatly expanded since
Dante first built the original biker bar. That was some nine years ago.
Razor caught a whiff of her delicious womanly scent. Khryssa. Bristling with the wild need of his shapeshifter boar side, Razor charged inside the Pirate's Cove. There she was, the woman of his every fantasy.
He
stopped in his tracks, silently snorting, staring like a besotted fool.
Because hell-bellowing yeah, he was absolutely besotted. Razor shoved
his hands in the pockets of his cowboy denims.
He couldn't go cave man-boar. Capture her, throw her over his shoulder. Carry her off. That wouldn't win Khryssa's heart.
Before
she became aware of his presence, Razor soundlessly slid into the
nearest open booth. He was darn good at it, despite his size. Spycraft
did that.
Watching Khryssa like a voyeur, he ogled her beautiful bountiful breasts, on display above the tight black corset. Down, buddy, he told his impatient cock. Gotta woo her first.
Khryssa
served up tall tankards of ale to the patrons, a dang throng of them.
She wore an adorable wench's outfit that had his tongue almost hanging
out, especially whenever the woman bent over showin' her cleavage.
Hell yeah. Warning! Dangerous Curves Ahead.
She
wasn't top heavy, though. Razor had no humpin', ridin' appetite for
those women. No, he wanted his hands surroundin' that small waist of
hers. He wanted to plunder her round gorgeous hips, her sexy generous
ass with his stroking hands.
A man could feel her ass. Yeah, fill my hands, babe.
Khryssa bent over, and Razor had a perfect view of her shapely derriere, as the Frenchies said. And those full luscious thighs of hers...
"There
you are, Razor." Charisse cheerily spoke as she placed his favorite
Lager before him. "I should have known." She winked. "Dinner will be
here soon, handsome. How was your trip? Everything okay on the freedom
circuit?"
"Gettin'
larger everyday. Lots of freedom lovers out there. We're pullin'
together more and more. Humans and the rest of us." Razor told her what
he could.
"Good to hear, Razor. I pray everyday."
"Me too, honey."
Charisse gave him a sweet smile and departed.
The
Pirate's Cove had become a favorite hangout for many in Wolf Peak
Territory. And those outsiders who knew about the deep-woods,
party-like-a-pirate tavern. But then, the biker bar itself remained
popular as ever with the renegade types, the highway warriors, and those
who craved the freedom of riding on the open road. America was grand
that way, in Razor's opinion.
He
lifted the mug, larger than his ham-sized fist. Downing a big ole
swallow, Razor fully tasted the cold brew. Soon enough though, he'd
quaffed half the specialty beer.
Damn, it had been a long, hard day. And a difficult mission.
Razor
had to grin as he slowly scanned the crammed-in crowd. Outrageous
pirate gear, and beyond-flamboyant costumes. There were several colorful
parrots, actually shapeshifters—they'd perched themselves atop of many a
brawny shoulder.
A few of the parrots wore a pirate's Tricorne hat. Yep, Piedros had donned his eyepatch, too. Razor grunted a laugh.
"Boss wolf," he boomed. Dante joined him, a tankard filled to the brim in one hand.
"Boss
Hawg," Dante wolf-affectionately growled. "We got some serious jawin'
to do." He gave a nod toward Khryssa. "That is, before you go chasin'
after that lovely wench."
Run on the Wild Side of Romance
Kisses,
Savanna Kougar
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