Wolf Prints in the Snow. Category: Long and satisfying. Contains themes of straight and lesbian sex, group sex, oral sex, PIV sex, blood and werewolves.
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Scary stories at Christmas are a British tradition, and one that I love. With that in mind, here is my spooky festive offering.
I thought about setting this in New York as NYC is like a modern fairytale kingdom – with the good as well as the wicked.
London though – when you think of werewolves, you think of Britain and, specifically London, am I right?
***
The world is going completely mad. Like, seriously. Bat-shit crazy. I know this hardly qualifies as any sort of revelation, but things seem to have just gone up a notch or two in the last couple of weeks, especially where I live.
London.
Why, particularly? Well, in addition to all of the insane shit that’s going on in the world – you know, lunatics in charge of the asylum stuff – London seems to have lost its collective mind. That’s what the press has been saying. And the net. And the good-looking barista who makes my morning flat-white. Ah, now you know what I’m talking about! Uh-huh…
Werewolves.
I mean, come on. There has to be an innocent… well, OK, maybe not innocent, explanation. Rational. That’s a better word. A rational explanation. Again, that’s what the press are saying, but we like a scary story, don’t we? Some psychopath may be loose, killing people and half-eating the corpse; isn’t that scary enough? But the rumours won’t die down. It’s the paw prints in the dirt around the bodies—the bloody prints on cream-coloured carpets.
Teeth marks.
The attacks started a few months ago. The victims share the unifying feature of being attractive and young-ish—a roughly equal number of men and women. Werewolf hunters have begun patrolling the streets—paranormal vigilantes.
They’d piss themselves if they came face-to-face with a real werewolf.
***
Anyway, in the run-up to Christmas, the authorities have been issuing lots of warnings. Usual kind of stuff; don’t go out alone after dark, and if you have to, make sure someone knows where you’re going. Don’t walk across Hampstead Heath at midnight, especially in a t-shirt which says, ‘Please Eat Me’. You know, common sense stuff. Most of all, don’t panic.
‘Londoners will not be cowed by whoever is committing these atrocities.’ Blah Blah.
It’s my work Christmas party tonight, and, to lighten the mood, we’ve been advised that it’s optional fancy dress. Because I have a black sense of humour – so I’m told – I’ve gone dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. The slut version, mind: red latex mini-dress (easily wipe-clean if things get messy), white hold-ups, black heels, and a little red cape I got from Amazon for about ten quid. It was cheap and available, which is exactly how I want to look.
I badly need to get fucked tonight.
Unfortunately, several of my colleagues have had a similar idea, diluting the effect of my hilariously witty outfit. There are a couple of other Red Riding Hoods – nothing as overtly slutty as me, though – a couple of ‘wolves’ in itchy-looking all-in-one outfits, a huntsman or two, a granny, and a few who look like they might be cosplaying characters from ‘Twilight’. Or they may just have come in scruffy casuals, I couldn’t really tell. The majority have decided to go with more traditional Christmas party attire: glittery dresses and velvet blazers are ten-a-penny.
As I arrive, the tune playing on the sound system is ‘Werewolves of London’. Of course.
***
As with most Christmas parties these days, it’s a pretty dull affair. Holding it in the office is always such a cheap move, really, but economies have had to be made, we’re told. One advantage is the view, since we’re at Canary Wharf on the 15th floor of a skyscraper, so the views across the city at night are incredible.
Conscious that this is a work function and that I would still like to have a job in the New Year, I’m careful not to be outrageously badly-behaved in the presence of anyone who wields actual authority. Still, I have been misbehaving wherever possible; deliberately dropping a cocktail sausage, then bending provocatively in front of the younger of our two receptionists, for example. I’ve fantasised about her sitting on my face a few times.
I’ve brushed my hand against bottoms as I’ve squeezed past and made kissy faces at a few of the older men when their wives have been looking the other way. Despite my beam-trawler approach to fishing, I’ve not had a solid bite yet. Everyone is being too well-behaved. The intern that I’ve had my eye on – far too young for me, but so what – seems to have annoyingly brought a very pretty girlfriend. She’s laughing too much, though, and I discern that she might be a bit drunk. There may yet be hope that I can separate him from the herd.
A little later, and having necked a few glasses of prosecco, I make for the nearest toilets on the floor. Predictably, there are no stalls free, so rather than wait, I head off down the corridor for the other toilets.
***
These are much quieter. Deserted, in fact. People can’t be bothered to walk 30 metres – they’d rather wait. Maybe it’s FOMO, I ponder as I pull my knickers down and sit on the seat. I’m not sure what anyone thinks will happen at this party which is so amazing. Finishing up, I stand to flush and hear a heavily suppressed sneeze followed by a snigger coming from the next stall. What the fuck? Is some pervert spying on me?
I carefully haul myself up onto the toilet seat and peer over the partition. In the stall next door, the intern and the pretty, squiffy girlfriend are frozen like statues, clearly trying – and failing miserably – not to make any noise. Her sparkly dress is around her waist, and her tits have been hoiked out of her black bra. The little pink nipples are very hard. The intern’s flies are open, and the girl’s hand is inside. There’s a promising bulge.
I clear my throat.
*Ahem*
They both look up immediately – guiltily – wide eyes catching my narrowing ones.
‘What the fuck are you two doing? Spying on me? Or maybe just using the office premises for a sordid little fuck? How does this align with the company’s value statement, eh? I’ll tell you – I feel that it’s my duty to report this. It would be wrong to turn a blind eye. I’m sure you understand?’ I should say that I’m really not a girly grass at all. ‘Stick it to the man,’ I say. Still, my furtive brain had already cooked up a tasty little plan and was, instinctively, already putting it into effect.
***
‘Oh, come on! Please don’t! I really want to see this internship out with a good reference. This would fuck that up completely.’
‘Well, maybe you should have thought of that before you bundled her into the toilets for a dirty little shag.’ I said, adopting my most supercilious tone.
‘Look, please. I’m begging you, here. I’ll do anything – just keep quiet about this.’
Gotcha. ‘Anything…?’ I said, emphasising the first syllable.
‘Umm, sure. Anything.’ I could tell by the slight change in the tone of his voice that he had already begun to realise what I was up to.
‘Well…’ I dragged the word out, making it sound as though I was really having to think this through (I wasn’t). ‘Look, I wouldn’t normally do this, I’m not a slut or anything,’ (I am). ‘Maybe I could come around and join you for a little while, and we could all agree that what happens in the loo, stays in the loo?’
So, a little while later – a few seconds, actually, I was in the stall next to mine. It was one of the disabled ones, so quite roomy. I’d been mildly surprised by how readily she had assented to the indecent proposal. Blackmail, actually, if I’m being honest, but there was no mistaking the way her eyes were shining with excitement now.
This wouldn’t have been the first time I’ve had sex in a toilet. It wasn’t the first time I’ve had sex in a toilet at work (that’s actually true. I must remember to tell that story at some point), but it was the first time that I’d had a threesome in a toilet. At work or anywhere. The party had suddenly become significantly more interesting.
***
The three of us stood in the middle of the cubicle. They were both clearly very nervous, so I decided I had to take the lead. I stood between the two of them and kissed each, alternately, encouraging them to use my body as a kind of free-use sensory-tactile play-centre. Timidity began to give way to confidence as their hands started to roam more freely, hers tracking across my latex-encased arse, his kneading my tits through the skin-tight shiny red dress. All the while, I swapped kissing partners every minute or two; he, the more sensual of the two, she – I guessed that this was her first time with a woman – excitedly pressing her mouth against mine and probing enthusiastically with her tongue.
I set about multitasking with my hands. First, finding the intern’s fly, I released his swollen cock from its confinement, feeling it hardening further as I gripped and squeezed it. The intern broke away from my mouth and gave a moan. Turning my attention to his girlfriend, I hitched her sparkly dress up and began to stroke her pussy through the lacy knickers she was wearing. She also lost focus with her kissing technique (OK, it was more over-excited eagerness than technique, but you get the idea) and adjusted her stance to allow me easier access. I might be forgiven for the little thrill of pride I felt at getting them to the point of being at my lusty disposal so quickly. Damn, I’m good at this!
***
The little tableaux in the cubicle was becoming a challenge of both focus and concentration. I was working hard to keep my mind on several jobs. On one side of me, I was running my hand up and down the impressively hard cock, and intermittently rubbing the head of it across my bum, using his plentiful pre-cum as lubrication. On the other side, my fingers had wormed their way inside the lacy panties and were rhythmically stroking the wet cunt I found there, while she rocked her hips in sympathy.
The challenge was exacerbated by what each of the young lovers was doing to me. They had conspired between them to slide the latex up sufficiently that they could each explore; he with his hand between my arse cheeks, she with hers snaking around my pussy, finding my clit like a guided missile and making me twitch and moan with her feather-light lateral strokes. I pulled my fingers away for a moment and inserted them into my mouth, sucking her fluids from them. She responded in kind as we moved our mouths together and kissed deeply, tasting our mingled flavours.
‘Fuck, that’s so hot!’
It was the intern, who, inspired by the ‘girl on the girl’ show playing out in front of him, had slipped his fingers further and was now circling my tight little arse with the pad of a fingertip, lubricated by my pussy juices. It would have been heaven to have continued as we were until, one by one, we gasped and shook to our own orgasms. The thought occurred to me and was worthy of serious consideration, but I already had another idea, and this one involved an escalation. I turned my attention back to the girl who had her fingers back in my cunt.
***
‘I don’t want to come yet. Sit on the loo-seat.’
She was oh-so-wonderfully compliant, immediately breaking away and sitting herself down. She knew what was coming. The taste from my fingers wasn’t enough – I wanted, no, needed to taste her properly. To devour that sweet little pussy.
I pulled her knees apart. Our eyes met.
‘I want to eat you out. I want to drink from your cunt while he fucks me from behind. Is that OK?’ Her eyes were wide as she nodded. ‘Well, then….’
I knelt on the annoyingly clean floor. I’d have preferred it if it were dirty so that I had to kneel in other people’s filth while I licked her. What’s the point of fucking in a toilet if it doesn’t make you feel utterly depraved? Oh well.
She’d shuffled down the seat a bit and reclined so that her shoulders were leaning against the tiled wall and her lace-covered cunt was now inches from my face. I hooked a finger around the seam and pulled the little knickers to one side. Her pussy was glistening wet, pink petals flushed and opening to me, offering me their nectar. I couldn’t have waited longer if I wanted, and dragged my tongue the full length. She moaned and arched her back.
‘Oh Fuck, yeah!’ I broke away and craned to look behind me. It was the intern. He held his rearing cock in his right hand and was stroking it.
‘Like what you see? Good. Well, what are you waiting for? I’ll make sure you get a great reference, and nobody ever needs to know about your little indiscretion.’
***
He was on his knees behind me in a flash. I spread my legs further, my knees uncomfortable against the hard, cold tiles as he pulled the red latex over the curve of my arse and pulled my latex thong to one side. I returned my attention to the pink, wet slit in front of me as I felt the head of his cock being run up and down through my slippery folds. A slight pause, then he was sliding into me, so, so slowly. I flicked my tongue over his girlfriend’s hard little button as his prick continued its journey into me. She moaned again, and I hoped that someone would come into the toilets and overhear us. Maybe they’d go into the stall next to us and wank themselves to the soundtrack we were providing.
The cock was now in me to the hilt, and the intern paused, his hands gripping my hips. I felt it twitching inside me, and I clamped down, gripping it with my cunt, relishing the feeling of that hard thing, buried deep inside me. I plunged myself into the wet pussy of his girlfriend: I would put on a show for him of his girl being thoroughly eaten by his slutty latex doll co-worker
***
The gasps and moans of this girl in the sparkly dress inspired the young man who was presently balls deep inside me to begin to thrust. His hands gripped me firmly as he began to run me through. My cunt grasped at him as he slid backwards, not wanting to relinquish the feeling of fullness, then welcoming, expanding as his cock slipped back into its place, causing me to let out little moans of delight as, at the end of each stroke, he mashed his loins against the curve of my arse cheeks, trying to get every last millimetre into me.
Her hands were on my head now, and she wriggled forward a little more to ensure I had full access. I looked up, across the landscape of her body. Her eyes were closed and mouth open, her wet, glossy-red lips gasping as I alternated between penetrating the entrance to her vagina with the tip of my tongue – swirling it – then trawling the flat up through her vulva and fastening my lips around her bullet-hard clit and sucking. I didn’t think it would take her long, judging by the noises she was making. I greedily guzzled her fluids and made sure to smear her across my face, wet with her sweetly tangy cunt juices. My cup runneth over, I thought.
***
The intern was a talker, and kept up a steady, half-whispered commentary of the little show that we were putting on for him. I felt his thrusts becoming more emphatic and decided that I was going to try to bring them off together. My own orgasm was some way away, not being able to attend to the girl who was now pulling my face into herself, touch myself, and balance myself on the tiled floor at the same time. The forward thrusts from behind me were now vigorous and driving my face forward into the saturated pussy.
I steadied myself by bracing my arms against her thighs and reached up, searching out her breasts. I ground my face against her cunt, trying to push my swirling tongue as far into her as I could while kneading at her small, but seemingly sensitive, tits. She began to crest just as I heard the intern announce that he was coming. I drove my hips back against his groin as it slapped against me and, to my satisfaction, found myself as the slutty filling in their orgasm sandwich. I clamped my mouth over her sex as she bucked and moaned whilst his cock simultaneously jerked inside me, filling me with his eager spunk.
***
After reassembling ourselves, I exited the restroom a minute or so after them to rejoin the party. At some point in the evening, the intern’s girlfriend seemed to leave, although I didn’t see her go. I took an opportunity at the punch bowl to enquire where she was.
‘She was a bit pissed, you know? It was all good, then she decided that she was going to get a grump on about me -’ he lowered his voice to a whisper ‘-fucking you. She phoned her dad and got him to pick her up. She didn’t seem to like me reminding her how hard she came with you licking her off.’
The party was beginning to thin out a bit, and I saw an opportunity.
‘Well, you know we shouldn’t be out and about at night on our own, what with… You know. Fancy sharing an Uber? Or you could, you know, invite me to yours for a nightcap or something?’ The look on his face told me that I wouldn’t need to make any further efforts to persuade him. I was still soaking wet. His cum was seeping from me and providing a layer of lubrication between my flesh and the slippery-slick latex thong.
‘Besides,’ I said, ‘I think you owe me an orgasm.’
We conspired to leave a minute or two apart to avoid malicious – but entirely true – gossip, and met up again by the main entrance.
***
As we step out of the building, white flakes settle on my eyelashes. I pull my red hood up over my hair.
‘Wow – was this forecast?’ He asks. It’s snowing lightly, but there’s already a thin covering on the ground, and the flurries of flakes dance in the yellow lights of the buildings surrounding us. A gust of breeze spins them around all in a frenzy, as if a panic has taken hold or they are trying to warn me – us – that something is going to happen.
Something is approaching, emerging.
There’s no CCTV coverage at this precise point on the pavement. I’m not sure why I know that; I seem to have a sixth sense for these things. It would be the perfect spot for a werewolf to strike, but we’re together – as the authorities advise – and that would surely disincentivise any attack. Still, this is exactly what the authorities have warned us against: going off with someone we don’t know well. Someone we’ve just met. I glance at him obliquely. Nah – he doesn’t look the type.
He takes my hand, a little nervously, as we watch the Uber pull over. I turn to him and smile. God, he’s simply delicious; I could eat him all up.
It’s all I can do not to start openly salivating. I’ve reached the point of no return.
We get in, and the driver smiles into the rear-view mirror.
‘Can I just check your destination, please, Miss Woolfe?’
Love, Jaimie. xx
Links and Stuff
The picture which accompanies this is quite old. I took it in the autumn two years ago. It originally accompanied a non-erotic piece wherein I basically fangirled for 2000 words, explaining why I love the short story ‘The Company of Wolves’ by Angela Carter and which I read every Christmas Eve and have done since I was seventeen. I think that blog post was read by maybe four people.
I always had in mind to recycle the picture, because I think it’s quite a good image. It’s not taken in one of the London parks but, rather, near to where I live, a part of England which is totally overstocked with spooky places, such as haunted woods (like these), ruined castles and remote, wind-blown coasts.
Why would I read a story about werewolves on Christmas Eve every year? Three reasons; it’s a masterfully written story, it’s wonderfully creepy and, of course, it’s set on Christmas eve. The Red Riding Hood in Carter’s story is a young woman who discovers that the magic she possesses is at least as potent as the beast’s animal, carnal lusts that would devour her.
It taught me more about the power of my sexuality than just about anything else.
Also, according to legend, werewolves are born on Christmas Day…
8 thoughts on “Wolf Prints in the Snow”
Happy Christmas to you and thank you for another great year. I think this is my personal favourite so far. Very hot.
I was going to try and work in a reference to “Christmas has come again” but thought better of it…
* great read, not great year!
Thanks, Matthew! A very happy Christmas to you and a New Year as well. Thanks for your support and kind comments this year – it’s been SO appreciated.
Jx
No problem at all. Looking forward to all your 2026 stories.
One final thing, can you bring this story to the attention of Mark Gatiss? I enjoy his Ghost Story tv programs on the BBC every Christmas but I think it’s about time he adapted a modern story rather than a Victorian one…
Who to cast in the 3 main roles though?!
Ooooh. That’s a good question!
In my depraved little brain, I would cast myself as the narrator/werewolf, with Nicholas Hoult as The Intern and Anya Taylor-Joy as The Girlfriend, for no other reason than that I would love to shag both of them.
Not sure that’s the best way to approach a casting decision though! XD
Ha, possibly not but good choices!
I might have been influenced by the Canary Wharf setting but I had Harry Lawtey and Marisa Abela from Industry in mind for some reason. Perhaps due to some of the debauched behaviour in that show?!
Definitely her. She could have me…
Not seen that show. I must check it out if there’s unbridled sluttery in it.
It’s a good watch. I’m not sure how accurate a portrayal it gives of working in the finance sector in London but there’s a lot of sex, drugs and generally amoral behaviour in it