Jimmy Dalesonの小説

Bjorn awoke the next morning resolved to understand what he’d gotten himself into. His girlfriend was clearly a werewolf, formally initiated into her pack. And now he may become a werewolf himself.Chelsea’s father, David Pendergast, had suggested that Bjorn speak to his soothsayer, Mr. Gregory Rosewood, at his bookstore downtown. Bjorn had been in the bookstore before, Delphine’s Crystal Emporium, but had never interacted with Mr. Rosewood himself. The eccentric old man had told Bjorn that his family was an ancient clan of werewolf hunters.It looked like Bjorn was hunting…himself?He shook his head as he tossed aside the sheets. Chelsea, laying flat on her tummy, turned her head to him. She had guilt in her eyes, and she reached out and clutched Bjorn’s arm. “B…” was all she said. He looked at her for a long moment, trying to decide if he was angry, disgusted, or accepting of her apology. She couldn’t help that she’d become a werewolf, and it wasn’t her fault that her teen pussy ha

Bjorn didn’t make it very far. He lurched as if in a drunken nightmare, the sound of dozens of bare feet thumping on the stone floor as they overtook him. He went down in a pile of naked, hairy bodies. Male, female, no matter. They were all over him, wrestling him to the cold floor and tearing at his clothes. He fought desperately, but he was hopelessly outnumbered.Dragged to the center of the room and onto the dais, a hairy person on either arm and several more trailing, Bjorn feared this was the end. He was flung down on the middle of the raised stone platform, clearly being made a spectacle.“Bjorn Haraldsson, I presume?” said the cult leader in a smooth, deep voice. His words reverberated off the walls of the torch-lit cavern. He was tall and muscular, a layer of short brown hair covering his naked frame. His cock was enormous and swung like a menacing sword with each of his steps. He circled Bjorn, sizing him up.Bjorn didn’t answer. He merely looked up, making eye contact and

Silent shadows flitted across the room, illuminated by the streetlamp just outside the cemetery gates. It was an otherwise dark night, the waning crescent moon nearing its third quarter. Bjorn lay quietly, sure he had heard something. Yes! There it was again– the ringing squeak of rusty iron hinges straining to open. But why? The cemetery had several large family vaults, little stone houses built in various interpretations of Greek architecture, where multiple members of a single family could be buried. Each had an iron gate but all were padlocked.Save one. The Hertford Family Vault.The Hertford lineage was rumored to stretch all the way back, over a thousand years, to the very founding of England’s modern Hertfordshire, a literary and movie hub of contemporary storytelling. It’s all the place riddled with werewolf tales.Bjorn lay listening, making sure of the sound. He reached out to rub Chelsea, and found her side of the bed warm…and empty.He sat up. Where was Chelsea?From t

Bjorn never liked suits. He was short so he always felt like they made him look round. Suits are for tall, skinny men, not guys five and a half feet tall with thick muscles and the start of a fifty-year-old pooch belly. Chelsea seemed to like it though. “Hey, Mister Handsome,” she growled seductively when he stood in front of the mirror. They’d had the suit tailored even and now was the final fitting. The tailor, an older Italian man, was a bit aghast of the age difference in this couple. Or was it that she was actively rubbing her ass against his leg and seeming desperate for a hard fuck? *****The sight of the Pendergast home took Bjorn’s breath away. He felt awkward driving up in his dirty Jeep when all the rest of the cars were worth exceptional price tags. How could Chelsea not love growing up in this opulence?The house, if one could call it a house, was at least fifteen bedrooms and looked like an English manor. Gardens splayed all around the front entry, which had a three-ti

“This just arrived for you,” Miriam, his administrative assistant declared, waving a fancy, gold-trimmed envelope. “What have you gotten yourself into, Mister Caretaker?”Miriam, along with Dottie and Samantha, helped keep the cemetery operating. Miriam was a retired secretary of a major law firm downtown, and knew how to keep a busy office running. She ran a tight ship, almost oppressively with schedules and expected work productions. Bjorn appreciated her leadership, even if she was a volunteer. He was the son of a single mother who started her own business and wouldn’t take shit from anybody. Mom gave him a keen respect for a dominant and capable female. In fact, he didn’t do well around other men and preferred the company and collegiality of women. Dottie and Sam, on the other hand, were his volunteer gardening staff. They kept the cemetery looking beautiful and inviting, both for families visiting interred loved ones but also to help maintain a park-like feel to the cemetery. Af

Bjorn stepped gingerly from the shower, the steaming water searing his back unexpectedly. He wiped his hand across the mirror, turned for a glance and recoiled in painful horror. Crimson, swollen, animalistic scratches ran the length of his spine. He didn’t remember Chelsea latching on, but that girl needed to cut her nails. Or claws. Definitely more like claws.The bedroom door squeaked as he peeked in. She was still sleeping soundly but the blankets had slipped to just above her waist. A woman’s back had always aroused him and this teenager had a marvelous, sculpted form, as if she was a student athlete. Student? Good grief man, she’s a child. But hey, she’s legal. Still though, he wondered how his two volunteer gardeners would take the news that this 49-year-old man was having a tryst with a teenager. He’d find out on Monday morning.Bjorn was about to get dressed when he glanced over at Chelsea again. She was asleep, but she had started this arrangement for some kinky loving. Why