I shake off the sticky feeling of the humiliation I have experienced, turn on the water in the tap as hot as the contents of the cauldron in hell, and stand under the boiling water. The water burns the skin, and I rub the shower gel on my arms, chest, neck with a barely visible scar that heals, in order to wash off this horror of the night - the consequences of my wild husband's love.

I forbid myself to cry, because his red eyes will irritate him even more, and he will again begin to mock me, swaggering over my weakness.

I wash away humiliation, dirt, pain and horror, fear and hatred.

And suddenly I hear the lock click on the door. Oh no. Cloud dealt with the deer faster than I expected, and he's here again, and we're alone. I hurriedly lift my leg from behind the edge of the shower cabin, reach for a towel, but freeze in an unthinkably uncomfortable position.

Cloud, naked, dirty, covered in blood and dirt, smirks contentedly.

- Oh, my dear. I'm glad you decided to wait for me. You knew I needed a treat.

He seems to be purring, but his eyes are dangerously gleaming. I grab a fluffy snow-white towel and press it to my chest in order to somehow cover the nakedness that arouses him. But he doesn't care.

He takes my hand, takes it aside, presses on the place under the palm and the fingers open by themselves, releasing the towel. The cloth falls to the floor, to his feet, black from the ground.

"Let's go," he gently orders me, and I can't disobey. He turns the water back on, adjusts the temperature with one hand, gets in the shower, and pulls me along. I flow after him like mercury, silent and submissive - if he gives me bruises now from anger, they cannot be covered with a dress, it is so open.

“My dear,” he whispers into my hair, foaming shower gel in his hands. "You know how much I want you, don't you?"

I lower my eyes. The water, washing off the dirt that has stuck to his body, frees his trained body, but below it turns gray. With a lathered hand, he strokes his chest, biceps playing under the white foam, and the other runs over his erect cock. Back and forth. The head dives, disappearing into the fist, and shows itself again, and I cannot raise my eyes to him, because I am afraid that he will read all the hatred that I have for him.

“I always want to,” he purrs, touching me, trying on weight first the right breast, then the left. - Only you.

His movements speed up a little, and I pray to the moon that this will all be over. But no. Not this time. He stands under the shower, and the water glides softly over his lean body, gliding over every curve, every scar, every tense muscle.

He takes my hand, squeezes his hand along with my hand on his cock and sets the rhythm of the movement. Back and forth.

"Slower, baby," he whispers in his ear, moving closer, closer, until our bodies are pressed against each other. As soon as my nipples slide over his torso, he exhales sharply through his teeth from the tension. Licks the fingers of the second hand and slowly enters into my bosom, stretching.

The other hand begins to stroke the body, paying special attention to the chest - the large size of his fetish. He twists his nipples a little, watching them straighten out under his hands, after which he bends down and begins to kiss my neck, shoulders, collarbones, wet from the water, and then rises and begins to torment my lips with a kiss. Sharp, greedy, assertive. His fingers are still in me, and now he slowly removes them, pulls away and licks them, looking at me with huge eyes, almost without pupils. He smirks, and then slowly lifts me off the floor, puts my legs on his lower back and slowly lowers me onto his erect cock.

He enters slowly and carefully, catching every movement, every breath from my mouth. He covers his face and lips with gentle kisses, and moves as slowly as his unrestrained nature allows.

And then he throws back his head, throwing up splashes around him with his short hair, and growls, sharply and completely planting me on himself. When he comes, he does not feel his strength: the fingers on his thighs will leave bruises, for which, I know, he will again raise his hand to me.

Suddenly he lowers his head. Kissing, smiling. Puts me on the floor.

- Your dress is waiting for you, hurry up, - he says already without a shadow of lust or just experienced passion. He leaves the shower room, wiping his powerful body as he goes.

And I’m really in a hurry so as not to anger him: I turn on the scalding hot shower again and quickly wash away the traces of his passion from myself. His animal passion.

Alex

The female slipped away, but I did not hope to win: after the blow with the deer, my ears are still ringing. But I knew exactly what I needed to do. Cloud is just obsessed with his wife. This is an incredible feeling: even without finishing off the deer, he is already running back, after her, towards her, leaving traces of the animal's blood in his path. Although what kind of predator will leave its prey halfway?

Now I am sure that Amalia is his real pain, Achilles' heel. A wolf who will leave his prey while hunting is simply obsessed with a she-wolf, and I use this discovery against him with great pleasure. Before I destroy him physically, I will crush him mentally, like a mosquito on my hand.

Cloud dives into the same passage as his wife, and I see through the bars that he is lost in a house far from a large, lighted castle, where music is playing and silhouettes of people lit by electric lamps are visible in large windows.

I have another ace up my sleeve.

I wander on wolf's paws to the road, and having reached the goal - the old "Ford" - I dive into the salon already a man. Very quickly I change into branded clothes, smooth out the repairman's blue trousers, zip up my jacket, and pull a baseball cap over my head with a visor up to my eyes. Although, to be honest, I could go to Cloud's guards and just in overalls - everyone knows that people in uniform are not remembered. And even such well-trained wolves that are now standing at the gate, most likely, they will not even guess to inspect my dirty Ford in the right way.

At the end of the reincarnation, I spray myself from a can, similar to a simple men's deodorant, with a special product that beats off the smell of a werewolf, and thus become the simplest, most inconspicuous person in the world.

I jump behind the wheel and slowly drive up to the back entrance of Cloud's cottage.

- Stop! - a huge mountain of muscles hits the car door, and I obediently stop. I pass documents through the open window. He checks them, scratches his forehead, sniffs the air, but returns the papers.

- I brought the water as ordered, - I nod back. The werewolf looks at the "Water" sign on the side of the Ford, obediently removes his hand from the car. Then he waves his hand to his partner, and he opens the wrought iron gate. The checkpoint post has been safely passed, but I am also preparing my way of retreat. - Yes, you can not close it, I’m like a fly: back and forth.

The men neigh, but the gates are closed - clear instructions.

I park almost near the small house where Cloud and Amalia hid. I go to a small window, and, carefully standing on my tiptoes, I look inside.

There, in a semi-dark room, lit by only one sconce, a real performance takes place. But at first I don't see people - only two shadows, vague, clear, uneven, they circle the walls in the dim light of an orange bulb.

And then the owners of ghostly shadows enter the arena. Cloud, already fully assembled, dressed in a dark suit with a snow-white shirt, helps his wife into a dress. She stands in the middle of a large half-empty room, like a figurine of the goddess Athena, just as solid, full, dazzlingly beautiful. Cloud strokes her large, full breasts, fascinated, lifting first the left, then the right, noting the weight of each; runs his hand along a thin arm, gently touches the collarbones; with two fingers “passes” a little man along a sunken tummy; lightly touches the tip of the nose.

Amalia is completely naked, from the clothes on her only shoes - blood-red sandals with gold stilettos. And I, frankly, hang, forgetting, on the perfect splendor of her milky white body. Rounded lines of the chest, hips, sharp - neck, arms, legs. Mystery emanates from her and cannot but excite.

The shadows of Cloud circling above her, the girl's own shadow as she turns her chin away from her husband, the glow of the orange bra gives her figure a mystical quality. She is incredibly beautiful, and I understand Cloud why he hides his wife from the other world, preventing her from even going shopping on her own. The damn bastard is lucky here too, but I'll help him realize his worthlessness.

Cloud is so involved in the process that he does not even feel that someone is watching them.

He takes a long silken cloth from the big bed and brings it to his wife. She unfolds it, and I understand that in front of her is a dress. He kneels in front of his wife, straightens the fabric, and she, leaning on his shoulder, enters the circle of the dress, in this illumination more like a fire. After making sure that the girl is standing steadily, he lifts it up, slowly, inch by inch, closing the body of his magnificently built wife from the outside world.

He ties two ribbons around his neck in a large bow and straightens their ends on his bare back. Her chest is completely covered to the base of her neck, with the remains of a red bow flowing behind her. The girl looks great, with her hair pulled up in a high hairstyle, earrings that look like the wings of huge butterflies, and a narrow stylish dress. She looks like a goddess or a woman from high society, which, by the way, she is. But only I know that there is nothing under the dress of this princess.