Although Blue had already suspected there were more creatures out there like Lofgren, a part of him had forced himself to hope that maybe the sounds he had heard, the calls echoing Lofgren's predatory howls, had just been wolves. Normal wolves. Not more inconceivable wolf-human hybrids like the one currently stuck inside him. The word "werewolf" came to mind, but it seemed so tragically comic as Blue hung there, wishing for whatever Lofgren had shoved inside of him to be removed. Werewolves didn't exist. They were fairy tales, rumors made up to scare children and explain phenomena that humans of old didn't understand. They were beasts of legend, like vampires, ghouls, or Big Foot. They weren't supposed to be real, breathing, bleeding, fucking creatures. However, Lofgren's comment had cemented Blue's worry. There were more of them, out there, lurking in the shadows, behind trees and in bushes where Blue couldn't see them. Were they watching now? Had they seen everything Lofgren had done to him? Were they just waiting for their chance to do the same?<br/><br/>It seemed Blue's wiggling hadn't pleased Lofgren. Movement behind and then suddenly powerful fingers were wrapped around his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Blue's gentle fussing now turned into full on writhing beneath Lofgren as he struggled to pull Lofgren's hand off his throat to no avail. The larger man's body was still pressing down on him with all his weight and most of Blue's strength had been sapped from him during their coupling. Desperate fingers attempting to pry but it was as if Blue were fighting with stone. Terrifying though it was, there was a strange, unexpected, and loathed sense of pleasure that began to flow through Blue's body as Lofgren continued to hold him. Fear clung to Blue's mind, drowning it in thoughts of immediate death, but his body, tired and confused, responded in a way that made Blue ache for darkness.<br/><br/>Blue had been fourteen years old the first time he had allowed another person to wrap their fingers around his neck. Seeing countless pornography clips where powerful men had taken hold of their partner's throat and held on as they thrust viciously into them had instilled in him a deep hunger to have the same. The first time had been painful, his plaything a boy only two years older with no knowledge of how to choke someone properly. He pressed down too hard on the windpipe, causing Blue to cough violently in response. It wasn't pleasurable in the slightest, and for months afterward Blue had wanted nothing to do with the idea of choking. But then, as time trudged forward, the desire crept back into his head and clung to his thoughts with sharp, ravenous teeth. Something must have gone wrong, he had thought. Those women in the pornos, they seemed to enjoy it when they were choked. On some level, Blue had understood that porn stars were just acting to a degree, but there had to be something to it. So the young boy had done research on the best way of choking someone erotically. He had learned that it wasn't truly about limiting oxygen to the lungs, but<i>oxygen to the brain</i>. Putting pressure on the windpipe just caused that terrible coughing Blue had experienced, but putting pressure on the carotid artery would bring him to a height of pleasure previously unknown. Those seconds right before unconsciousness were where the ultimate orgasm hid. So Blue had waited, found a boy who could do it right, and since then he had been unable to tame his erection when masculine fingers danced along his throat.<br/><br/>As Lofgren held, Blue's body reacted in a way that made him sick. His brain screamed for oxygen while his cock began to stiffen against his will. He wanted to tell his body no, this was wrong, this wasn't erotic or right. This wasn't the moment. Terrible, awful, horrifying things were happening. The sex had been too painful for Blue to derive any unintentional pleasure from it, but Lofgren, whether he meant to or not, held his hand<i>just right, </i>and his cock pulsed and trembled in ecstasy.<br/><br/>Just as Blue was reaching the peak, those three seconds of bliss before unconsciousness, Lofgren released him, sending the boy crashing to the ground for what felt like the hundredth time. Blue lay there, letting his vision come back into focus, his senses slowly return. The strange lump lodged in Blue's rectum had eased, and Lofgren pulled out, leaving Blue feeling surprisingly empty. He sniffled as he curled up on the ground, finally free from Lofgren's hold. The man said nothing as he walked away, his footsteps growing faint. Blue focused on them obsessively, not moving from his spot in the grass until he was completely sure that Lofgren was a reasonable distance away. Not that it would matter much. If Lofgren wanted to find him, he would.<br/><br/>Shakily, Blue stood, and immediately upon rendering his body vertical he felt something begin to leak down the crevasse of his ass. He took a few steps, feeling the slimy substance smear in between his cheeks and continue down his inner thigh. A grimace took hold of Blue's face as a morbid curiosity took hold of him, forcing him to reach down and wipe up some of the dripping liquid with his fingers. In the darkness he couldn't see, but he could feel. And smell. Lofgren's semen was thick, and from the way it seemed to fall down Blue's thighs, it was endless. How could one man ejaculate<i>so much</i>? But the distinctive scent of semen wasn't the only thing Blue could sense on his fingertips. A deeper, coppery smell was mixed in, and as Blue rubbed the substance in between his digits he knew what it was. Blood. His own blood had mixed with Lofgren's seed to create a sticky, morbid lubricant. Blue gagged at the thought and leaned down to wipe his hands on the grass.<br/><br/><i>Enough of this</i>, Blue thought bitterly. He had only the vaguest idea of which direction to start walking in. He had turned around when he had seen the wolf, but had since lost all sense of which direction east was. He wouldn't have a good idea until sunrise, but staying in one spot didn't seem like a good idea. Especially with<i>others</i>so close, smelling what was left of him and Lofgren in the dirt.<br/><br/>So Blue walked. Bloody, torn, aching, and filled with traces of Lofgren. He couldn't run. Even if he had wanted to, his body refused to move at anything more than a slow meandering pace. He was so hungry, so tired, and so homesick for his sisters, his parents. He didn't care about their disapproval of his sexuality, the stupid fight, the childish pettiness. He wanted to cry in his mother's arms and let her know that he loved her. He wanted to pull his little sisters into his arms and never let them go. And he wanted to hug his dad, and say nothing. Just linger in the calm.<br/><br/>"I may never see them again," he whispered, before bursting into tears.<br/><br/>The blubbering had masked the sounds of rustling behind him, but when curious footsteps came too close, Blue froze, a sob catching in his throat. They were here. They had smelled him. Running would serve no purpose now. "You can't have me!" the poor boy cried, wrapping his arms around himself as he stepped slowly forward, his ears holding on to every sound, blood rushing through his body. His heart pounded so furiously, he wished it would just be quiet. He wanted it to stop. His heart, the sounds, the pain. Everything.<br/><br/>"Lofgren already used me! Smell it! SMELL WHAT HE DID, YOU FUCKERS!" Blue was screaming fiercely into the night, his voice high pitched and ringing. "Is that what you fucking scavengers want? Sloppy seconds? Is that all you monsters are, pathetic little bitches just waiting to pick at bare bones?" Tears, snot, blood, semen. Blue was covered with it all. He was a filthy, disgusting mess. They wanted him? Still?<br/><br/>"Fuck you," Blue growled, his body trembling violently. "Fuck all of you."