Erotic Stories from Wylde in Bed - 32: A very dark werewolf, BDSM erotic story - Part one

Episode Date: November 22, 2020

A Dark Werewolf BDSM Erotic Story - Part OneYour Satisfaction Lays Within His Sadistic Desires.You can pre-order your copy of the dark BDSM Paranormal Erotic Story Lamb To the Slaughter download the next chapter for free from https://wyldedesires.com/Dominic Douleur has learned to control the beast within himself by dark sexual gratification. Twenty-five years have passed since the accident left him scarred, fighting for his life, and a werewolf. Twenty-five years since he was abused by the very people who should have protected him. Twenty-five years since the vicious murder of his parents took place right in front of his eyes. Now, there’s been a death of an innocent, vulnerable, young boy in his care, which has brought his inner wolf to the surface. It is time for the world to hear Dominic Douleur howl once again and to feel his wrath.

Please remember this is an adult's only podcast and does contain some very sensual themes. So please only listen to this podcast if you are happy to explore your deepest sensual fantasies with me and are of a suitable age. Hi is Devlin and welcome to another episode of Wild in Bed. Your Sunday night destination for salacious stories. finger-licking good fantasies and sensual satisfaction now as you enjoy tonight's little story you can know you can go ahead and enjoy even more intense pleasure and unending satisfaction by coming to see me at wild desires.com so you can download your own free full length erotic audio story just for coming now if you've been listening over the last few weeks

and paying attention you'll know that I've written a book a dark erotic brutal story appropriately called lamb to the slaughter now I was thinking to myself I could do you another excerpt, but that's so last week. So instead, week by week, I'm going to let you hear the audiobook as I record it. So for the next few weeks, I'm going to be telling you this dark story, section by section, week by week, right up until the last section of the book. And if you want to know what happens at the end. Well, you'll just have to go ahead and buy the book from wild desires.com. I know a little mean, but to make it even more fun, I've put it on wild desires for pre-order. Now obviously, if you do order it this week, you will get it at a

super low price. If you order it after next week's show, then it will cost a little more. Now, you can know this podcast is best enjoyed laying on your bed. Just put your earbuds in, close your eyes, and surrender to the pleasure of my voice, moving over and inside you. Now, when you're ready, just take a nice deep breath

and hold it for a moment. and then release it with a sigh, letting go of any tension, any stress, for the next 30 minutes or so. It's just you and my voice. This is your time. Your time to relax. Your time for sensuous satisfaction.

Your time to release that in a woman. But you know it's just aching to come out as you enjoy tonight's episode of Lamb to the Slaughter, Part 1, Lamb to the Slaughter, written by Devlin Wild, narrated by Devlin Wild. Prologue, Jamie shifted, narrowing his eyes and gritting his teeth with grim determination.

In that manner, universally adopted by seven-year-olds, when they needed to focus on something earth-shatteringly important. His tongue poking from the corner of its mouth was a sure sign of his cast-iron resolve. With sinews tightening throughout his arms, he knew he was the strongest one here, by a mile. But this was going to take something else, not just physical strength.

It was going to take his undivided attention like no time before. Well, unless you counted learning fractions. Squeezing his fingers on the handle of his bomber ball, the warm moisture of his palm pressed along the rubber. Tension spread up his arms in anticipation of his next moments. This was it. His young life had led up to this moment. He was seconds away from discovering if he had it.

His arm spun behind him. The tension cascading through it as all his energy shifted into the globe that was making a lethal arc over his head. One chance, this was do or die. Given the importance of the moment, the release came surprisingly easy. His fingers drifted from the rubber handle

and the final trajectory began. There was nothing more he could do now, apart from hold his breath. and hope and pray to whatever deity might be listening. Jamie wasn't particularly religious or spiritual, but at moments like this, he needed all the help he could get. His missile was flying through the air perfectly, and he was pretty sure there was even a flash of sunlight crossing it.

That, he decided, was divine intervention. There was absolutely no way this could fail now. He just knew it. Elation exploded as his bull hit the target, a bull's eye, the bull leaving its muddy fingerprint, marking the spot. Aasterly painted white mark that adorn the old brewery wall was now nothing more but a smear of brown and black. Jamie danced in a circle, ignoring the rubble on the ground,

while the crackle of broken bottles under its feet celebrated his victory. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd. But there were no cheers. There was no one celebrating his victory. Just an eerie, ominous silence. He looked around, noticing that none of the other boys were even looking in his direction. They were all staring over the back of the wall they were sat on. What's happened?

Jamie shouted impatiently. Irritation flying through his chest at the distraction from his world champion level win. It's Dominic. The ball bounced and hit him in the face. Knocked him into the bottle pit. Rob called back. Distressed strangling his voice. Jamie had to concede that this might be slightly more important than his latest triumph.

The brewery had been decimated by fire five years ago. When no one had shown an interest in it, The group of boys, along with one girl, acclaimed it as their own. It had become their headquarters, and they made it exactly as they wanted, including creating the bottle pit, which was every broken bottle they could find thrown into the open storage fat, creating a moat of broken glass, just in case any vampires came. According to Rob, and his older brother had a book about it. vampires, so he would definitely know. The bloodsuckers were unable to travel across broken glass.

On the afternoon they'd created the bottle moat. The sun had been warm, an interest in the project had waned very quickly. So the bottle moat was only two feet deep, but being at the foot of a 25-foot wall, they figured it was safe enough from all but the most determined of vampires. Unfortunately, the bottle pit was also where Dominic D'Leur was now laying. Face down. Emotionless. Chapter 1, 5 years later, Diane. The playground is a dangerous place on a Monday morning.

From my vantage point, I can watch the children enact their favourite television shows from the weekend. Stormtroopers abound, and more than one Princess Lear had been confined. into a store cupboard. There were more loose skywalkers and hand solos walking around than were physically feasible. Of course Craig had decided to be Chubaca. He was always the one that decided to be different. Around the swings various sizes of killer sharks are stalking Millie, who always ends up as a victim with a swift kick to my faithful steed. We begin

riding across the grass. I find myself singing what I a member of Deadwood's stage, only to softly hum the words that have drifted from memory, which seemed to have increased since last time, while watching Millie about to fall victim to the rather merciless milk shark that is Martin Downer, infamous for smelling your bottle of warm milk from 250 yards. I kick horse into a gallop to reach her before all is lost. The film must have given horse a name, but horse seems to be a horse like as good a name as any Hollywood hat could imagine. Leaping between Martin and his prey,

I threaten him with the lethal accuracy of my Sycamore Sixth Shooter. Leave her alone, Martin, or I will haul your sorry ass into jail. You know I will. But you don't even like milk, he pleads. You gave me yours five minutes ago. And you've had all the milk you deserve. Now get away from Millie before I lay you out. A red miss fells my normally blue eyes,

a threat of what is to come if this particular shark doesn't carry on and find other prey. As always, tears begin to stream down Martin's eyes as he runs off toward the schoolhouse. His siren voice echoes across the playground. Miss, Diane's threatening me again. I sigh, fully aware that. this will only lead to trouble, then shrug my shoulders. Justice comes at a price. This I know, and this I exalt, as long as the likes of Martin Downer can't bully anyone. Unpleased as

punched to pay that small price. Diane Hightower, to my office, this instance. The familiar curt tone of Miss Favisham's voice shatters my dream for a moment, patting horse gently. I decide it's probably best to leave him here, bringing some 500 or more pounds of the equine species into the headmistress's office, imaginary or not, probably has a special form of punishment that I am just not ready for yet. Chapter 2, Dominic, 25 years later, the mist hangs heavy in the air this morning. At moments like these, I can feel myself drawn into the magic of the forests. The spirits that still dwell here seem to be carried on the morning breeze. Closing my eyes for a moment, immersing myself in the whispers that echo in my mind. The secrets they tell me.

The words that are just for me. This is my home. It is where I am. belong. A sharp tug in my sleeve drags me back into the here and now. Mr. Deleur, Nick has run off into the trees. Should I follow him? Aidan, what do your instincts say? Learn to trust them. They are usually right. A nod to smile and Aidan disappears into the pine forest. Within a minute or two his yellow fluorescent jacket vanishes into the shadows. Yet the scent of his excitement lingers long after he has gone.

Like all of my pack, Aiden came to me with an uncertain future, very troubled, and a boy with demons screaming at him from within. Yet after only two weeks, his flair for creativity and his enthusiasm and supportive nature. have already begun to silence those demons. Aiden is one cup I know full well, will eventually fill me with pride.

When I hear the crack of a distant rifle, I'm quickly reminded of the hunters out today. Although they appear to be on the far side of the river, there are still crossing points, still places they can get closer to the forest than I would like. Some people need no other reason to kill than the mountain. mere fact that they are moving. With a deference silence, I passed between the earth and mounds that marked the past Caddo tribesmen.

Long moved on from these lands many, many years ago to leave the clearing and head toward the river. Stopping for a moment at the forest border, I give a brief thought of thanks, then leave the spirits and the voices behind me, as I will. walk briskly down the forest path. The morning dew is a shiny silk over the earth, glistening like a beautiful new gift to another new day, as I fill my lungs with a long breath of fresh air. Every scent and sound in the forest comes to life. The fresh fragrance of the pine needles, the warm muskiness at the ferns, birds singing, insects chirping. It all brings a warm calmness over my body.

They say home is where your heart is, and my heart is firmly planted within this forest. Although I was born thousands of miles away from these trees, somehow, deep within, they've always cried out to me. Of course, when I was a child, I hadn't even known the forest existed, nor had I heard of the Cadoo tribe.

Yet they both seemed to know about, about me. Slowly, the smell of the flowing river becomes an undertone to the fragrance of the forest. Already I can hear her waters as the night's rain has raised her level and passion higher than normal. Although this would make some of the crossing points inaccessible, there are still those that the most persistent hunters may use to cross onto my lands. And with a young pack out, I cannot risk an accident There are too many people that would willingly use that in my constant matter

To keep this way of life This escape route Alive Moving away from the edge of the forest The scent of the river is a torrent inside me Yet there is another scent One of anger One of hatred

And the unique fragrance of the human desire to kill Another crack of a rifle tells me they're much closer now. The bastards are crossing the river. I growl, low and predatory. The need to protect rising within me and electrifying all my senses. My pace quickens, my instincts push me further,

faster. As I reached the edge of the crossing, it's right there, just a few feet ahead. The rifle is already leveled and named. There's no time. to discuss or negotiate. My hand already tightly around the barrel as the hunter holds his breath

and squeezes the trigger. Twisting the gun back in his hand, I grin as his finger snaps, the sound of ripping ligaments and breaking bone, drowning out the gunshot which erupts harmlessly into the morning sky and causes no more damage

than a trace of disruption to a few tree-bound birds. Fuck you! The hunter's his complexion turns ashen, while his face closes in a grimace. Where the fuck did you come from? The question is, where did you come from, Judge Halland? I reply, keeping my voice level to annoy him even more.

I was always here. Perhaps you didn't notice me in your obsession with shooting at children and innocent animals. The judge glances nervously at his injured hand. I was shooting the wolf. It was attacking the child, you fucking idiot. You in this circus put that vulnerable child at risk. I was only saving him. Then you may have wanted to aim some 15 yards to the left.

And if you'll notice, Aidan is chasing the wolf, not the wolf him. Level calm. I can feel the rage boiling through him. I can smell it. It's hotter than a dragon's flame. A child shot accidentally on Sienly land while fighting off a wolf. Just has closing down stamped all over it. Kill them, Dominic.

We haven't fed in so long. We're hungry. It's shaking my head to disrupt the voices. This isn't the time for a battle. Children are still in the forest. Some could be unnerved by the ringing gunshot. For the wolves it would have been worse as some have very bad memories of men with rifles.

Ancient memories. Dark memories. Now is a time to diffuse a situation and calm everything down. Judge Halland, your finger needs attention. Thank you for your concern, but the children are perfectly safe. May I suggest that you and your party, return to the other side of the river, away from my land, and seek the medical attention you need. While holding its gaze for a moment, I swallowed my retort toward this asshole for now.

Yet I know as surely as I know the sky is blue, that the battle will come. It will be ugly and most likely bloody. But the time isn't now. Not yet. After passing his rifle to another in his group, he nurses his hand and turns to leave, then takes a quick moment to look back my direction. With an expression exuding animosity like raging hot acid, he draws in a deep breath. Dominic Deleur! He says through a hiss, This will not be forgotten.

I shall shut down this masquerade of a rehab centre. So help me, God I shall. Hot burning anger that seeks to take precedence, to harm, stirs in my gut. No one, no one ever, mars one on my pack, not without retribution, not without a deserving fate. With my hand adjusting the leather mask covering my face, while watching Judge Halland leave, his body screams a rage so brutal it deafens my senses. As a noise of his rage quietens, there is another sound, somewhere in the distance,

like the first trembles of thunder. When I first came to see a knee, when I was first saved, I was told fate had decided I would wage a war. It would not be the end of the suffering of my people. But it would be the beginning of the end. It was not a war I would survive as custodian of C&E. Those words echo loudly through the quiet of my mind.

My fate has begun, and I must face it. Yet still, even for a man like me, fate's cold fingers dragging through the remains of my soul, sends a shiver from head to toe. Chapter 3. Diane. While pulling up to the gates at James Halland's estate, I hesitate for a moment. This is good for my career. As a new girl in the prosecutor's office, this relationship with James is imperative in helping me move up the ladder.

Yet every time I come here, I can't ignore the feeling of being cheap, being dirty. being a cool girl and trading sexual favours for career progression. It's only for a short time. I take a breath, then another, and roll down my window. I reach over to the intercomment press the faded brass button. James' voice immediately crackles back at me. His tone even more emotionless than normal. Come, the low rumble of his voice.

His voice sends ice through my veins and makes my stomach clench with nausea. As the electric gate swing open and welcome me to another evening of empty sex, I shudder with another shiver of disgust. The gravel on the road cracks under my wheels and spray his gritton stones from behind me as I drive towards his estate. Slowly, I ease beside his shiny Silver Bentley with my pulse, racing in my ears, resisting the urge to park close enough to nick the exceptional and flawless paintwork on his beloved six-figure automobile as I opened my door. I take another breath

as my car engine silences. He's not a bad man. I utter under my breath. He's just not very passionate. I remind myself, justifying the void of emotion for a moment. that I will be home soon enough. My career opportunities improved. Then I can enjoy some time pleasuring myself. Although out of sight, my leather cowgirl boots mock me. Early on in our relationship I had mentioned, for no other reason than it seemed a bit of fun at the time,

that I had earned the nickname Calamity Jane Wall at the prosecutor's office. because of my propensity to defend children and those too weak to defend themselves. Thus the nickname stuck, something I seriously regret telling him now. The phrase, ye-ha, fills me with so much dread. Yet here I am, another Thursday evening lost in my ambition. What happened to the girl that was full of passion and hope with a strict moral code? Like every other visit. There will be no foreplay, no arousal, no satisfaction.

Just cold, unfulfilling penetration. The folds of my skirt lift easily as my hands slides between my thighs, and the tips of my fingers flick my clit urgently, determinedly, as I begin teasing my passion out, with my eyes sliding shut. I begin to picture a fantasy. Any fantasy, a beat, a beautiful Swiss chalet, a mysterious, strong and dominant stranger. Sensual words being whispered into my neck, long, thick fingertips, touching all my

hotspots. Warm drops of my frustrated desire trickled down my thighs while I take myself to the edge in the vain hope that I may actually orgasm tonight. I whimper and pull my hand away, the nick away the dampness. am ready. I slide out of my car and brush my skirt down, while trying to look at least as if I hadn't just picked it up off the floor and thrown it on, pushing at the main door, since it's never locked when I arrive. The same scent of fresh flowers mixed with stale smoke hits my nostrils as the emptiness of his house opens before me. Being that Thursday nights are his staff's night off, I find myself wondering as I look at the large vase of dark red roses

If he would rather have me enter by the tradesman entrance Falk that As I do every Thursday I follow the same routine Locking the door behind me and walking straight towards his office Strangely he isn't here Yet but my mouth waters at the chilled bottle of my favourite cherry vodka and bowl of tiny cubed ice I love,

sitting on the glass top of an elegant round table with a beautiful base of texture daged bronze just as I finish my second vodka over ice. He appears draped in the all too familiar red silk kimono. That, knowing him, he probably thinks makes him look dynamic and risky. And with a hint of a smile, He settles on his seat.

I noticed for the first time his bandaged finger. What happened to your finger? I asked, wondering what on earth James could have done that would require a splint, possibly closed it in a filing cabinet. Indignance and anger instantly flickers in his gaze and rage seems to radiate from his skin. That fucking freak, Dominic DeLure, happened. He grits out, his words clipped. His damned wolves were chasing some unfortunate boy,

and of course I went to shoot the wolf to save the boy, and this was the outcome. I tell you that man brainwashes those children, and uses them as fodder for his pack of wolves. Judge Halland moves the folds of his kimono to one side, exposing his bare and disappointing erection to the evening air. I suck in a breath and easily closed my eyes. my fingers around the girth and massage slowly, in hopes of making it a little firmer.

As coyly as I can possibly manage, I whisper, let me take your mind off him and that hand, and whatever doubt of things he has going on at that place. I release him and lift my skirt, and knees a leg over his lap. Its cock easily slides into my pussy that's still wet, still warm, still aching. I ease my eyes closed and drift back to the beach into the sounds of the crashing waves, the warm, salty air around me. The relaxing beautiful sound of clear blue water, I start gyrating, pushing my hips up and down slowly, carefully.

so is not to let his erection fall out of me. The prosecutor's office should really break ties with that son of a bitch. He's nothing but a fucking menace. His monotone words break my spell, irritating me, frustrating me even more. Desperate to find my clit, to find satisfaction just once. I slide a hand underneath the hem of my skirt. But he pulls my hand away abruptly, stern. and emphasising his movement.

No, Jane, you know you don't need that. With my hand falling limply to my side, I continue riding him, focusing on pushing my clit against what I can feel of his hard cock, but failing miserably. Dutifully, I moaned gently. You're right, I just need your hard cock inside of me. I force my pussy to cut.

clutch at his wanting cock. That's good calamity, real good. I can feel how wet you are already for me. He closes his eyes for a moment, just as his thighs begin to tense. When he opens him again, he stares at his desk. I'd like you to have a word with Bob. See what can be done. A quiet moan escapes his lips as his body tenses, clearly aware of what he expects. I do the same as I always do when he starts to come and moan a breathy, yeha! Just as I feel the first spurts of his ejaculate dribbling into me. Thank you, he says with his voice formal and abroad. Furthering this theatre, I force myself to pant a little as I move from him

while watching him close his kimono. Talk to Bob and let me know. I've got a lot to be getting on with, so I'm sorry but you can't stay longer. Every week the same routine. Every week the same desperate need to clean myself afterwards, to wash it all away, to forget, to shut out the guilt, the nausea, and to erase the sick feeling stirring inside me like a cancer, and simply remind myself, it's for my job. It's only for a little while longer. Chapter 4, Dominic. wandering through my basement, my sanctuary. I'm thankful that the maddening sound of bleating sheep

never reaches down here. This is my space, a place where I can be alone with my thoughts, my memories, my scars. I can talk to the dark here and it will answer every time. The dark and I always understand each other. My fingertips trace the cold stone surfaces with a passion, a sensuality. One like others may touch a lover. I know these stones so intimately. Every vein, every mark, every chink. I caress the cold surfaces, teasing them, taunting them. So much pain, so much heartbreak. So much pleasure. After a long moment spent pondering how most people miss the key to true satisfaction, I ultimately shed the thought and give my head a firm shake.

They simply accept the pedestrian and the superficial pleasures of life, just as many of the sheep do. The words, all sheep, drop from my lips spontaneously. I'm bidden, docile, easily influenced, or pathetic sheep. A short line of broken bottles. My medals adorn a raised, topped shelf. They're a dark reminder of what made me. A bittersweet memory of the pain and suffering they caused me.

I love every single one of them with all that I am. For the freedom they've given me. For the opportunity, the privilege, and for the simple device that removed my sheep's clothing before it was too late. I'd brush off a fine layer of dust, while taking a long moment to survey a large jar. When I had bought it, the supplier thought I might be a botanist, collecting rare and exquisite samples of life, and, in a way, I suppose he was right. floating motionless in a sea of brine has been darkened by the brown glass is a five-inch long piece of muscle. The torn ends as if severed by a savage dog and bring memories flooding back.

The psychologists, the state care homes, the endless litany of which drifted in and out of my life. That eventual excitement of being placed in a foster home, A forever home, and the cold realisation. I was there for one reason, and one reason alone, to provide sexual gratification to a man who could not accept his own perversion. Many nights have been spent crying myself to sleep, the agonising pain burning like white hot fire in my ass. Yet again, my body had been tortued.

and changed during those long cold nights. Mr. Wood had initially seemed like a nice guy, coming across as if he was there to help the kids. But he'd never had the decency to look me in the face, not even once as he lay me down, forcing me to wear a leather mask as he filled my mouth. In due course, I'd eventually become thankful for the mask which hid my tears,

covered my emotions, and concealed the cold, panic, lace sweat covering my face. Even as a kid I'd been adamant about one thing. I'd refused to give that man the pleasure of knowing just how profoundly I suffered on those agonising nights, the disgust, the rage, the emotional scars, never to be erased.

Then, one final night, loud voices pounded in my head, demanding that now was the time to turn the pain around, insisting that I stopped this, to put an end to this torture and maltreatment once and for all, and become the man I needed to be, the man I was meant to be. I squeezed my stinging eyelids shut while remit. remembering every passing moment,

every hard sinew that I bit through, the taste, the smell, the thick cords of muscle, the drew nauseating bile at my throat, and brought burning tears to my eyes. Giving the jar a little jostle, and watching the remains of Mr. Wood's lust, soak peacefully in the brine. My lips bend into a sinister grin,

as I wonder if those few unimpressive inches will always remain nice and erect. Of course, the incident had led to an investigation. The screams of pain that night had attracted enough attention to promise that. Eventually there had been an apology from the state, and money had flowed into the bank account, as silently as the news covering the incident had vanished. with all the neighbours standing outside that night, transfixed by the events.

Not one of them had stood up and said anything. Sheep, all of them. Fucking frail, delicate, inadequate, useless sheep. They deserved every single thing that happened to them. No doubt. Some of them never made the link between that night. And the pain that was to before them, but still just knowing the discomfort they suffered, the knowledge that their little flock wasn't as safe as they thought, was and is still gratifying.

Maybe some of them had learned about the release that pain can bring. True, intense pleasure can only be enjoyed one way. Through the release of pain, words that I repeat often. slip like butter from my lips as I toy with another jar, the sound of my tone as I recite the simple philosophy of pleasure, always echoing so much better in my sanctuary, standing, waiting, anticipating a reply from the darkness. I licked my lips for a moment and closed my eyes so I may hear it better. A sound menial sheep could never hear The simple sounds that echo in this room In my mind

And rip with desire Holding promises of pleasure And prompting a deep rumble in my chest A loud roar emerges from my throat As the return of power rises inside my body They have no imagination None of them All the straps and your feet

and cages in the world, can't inflict the imprisonment that I can. There are no steel blades or metal implements of contrived pain that can cause as much harm as I can. I am a wolf, not a sheep, strong, fearless, never influenced, never swayed. Pain will release them. My sheep's clothing is long shed, just as my release from the produce. pedestrian fantasy of pleasure. Thirty years have passed since I learned the meaning of true gratification,

since I've learned a miracle of complete satisfaction. And now I will continue to educate my disciples. They too will become wolves. My wolves. My pack. They will learn pain, learn pleasure beyond anything they could possibly imagine. and they will educate their own disciples, their own pack. Yet my pack will grow.

Only one final thing is needed. A capable alpha female. So next week, just to give you a sneak preview, there's going to be a masquerade party. You know things are going to get hot when there's a masquerade involved. I don't know about you, but I do love a good masquerade party.

all those beautifully sensuous outfits and all the mystery of never quite knowing who you're talking to but you know if you can't wait for next week and you want to get to know more about the mysterious scarred man behind the mask or the prosecutor with the negotiable set of morals, then you can go ahead and download the next chapter for free just by coming to see me at wilddesires.com so until next time and always with your pleasure in mind this is Devlin Wilde, wishing you salacious dreams

Now, as you have enjoyed this show this evening, you can go ahead and subscribe to my podcast so you don't miss another salacious episode. And you know you can go ahead and visit me at wilddesires.com and grab your own free experiential erotic story just for coming.