A Beastly Encounter: A Tale Of Beastiality And Lycantropy (non-futa, beast)

Story by Hardcover

This is my first attempt at a bestiality story after sharing so much in the beast thread, I decided to try writing my own story. This is very much inspired by Walerian Borowczyk's superlatively perverse film La Bete (The Beast, 1975) as well as the gypsy camp sequences in The Wolf Man (1941). Also influential was the manga series Kemono For Essentials and a series of stories I found on Asstr called Mom's Donkey Show, which unfortunately was never finished.

I realize this is not everybody's thing, but if you didn't know what you were in for when you read the title, then you've only got yourself to blame. This is a rather long story and contain three sex scenes. No one actually turns into a wolf, although The Beast himself is sort of like a werewolf type creature, the lycanthropy of the title is more about embracing the beast within. Yeah, Hardcover's a sick fuck, what else is new?

Click to download:

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passowrd

vivahardcover

A BEASTLY ENCOUNTER:

A Tale Of Bestiality And Lycanthropy

By Hardcover

Lycanthropy (ly·can·thro·py/ noun):

1: a delusion that one has become a wolf

2: the assumption of the form and characteristics of a wolf held to be possible by witchcraft or magic— ly·can·throp·ic /adjective

--Merriem-Webster’s New World dictionary

"I tried to break the spell--the heavy, mute spell of the wilderness--that seemed to draw him to its pitiless breast by the awakening of forgotten and brutal instincts, by the memory of gratified and monstrous passions. This alone, I was convinced, had driven him out to the edge of the forest, to the bush, towards the gleam of fires, the throb of drums, the drone of weird incantations; this alone had beguiled his unlawful soul beyond the bounds of permitted aspirations."

- Joseph Conrad,

Heart of Darkness

Deep down inside, we are all nothing but animals.

We play at being something superior, with our clothes and our cleverness, but when it comes down to it we are no diffent then our cousins who walk on all fours. We are driven by the same things, to survive, to feed and to mate. Oh god, do we like to fuck. And we do it with such wild abandon; we might as well be living in the forest. I didn’t always realize that. I used to think myself cultured and refined and above such bestial concerns. It’s incredible how wrong I was.

My name is Miranda, and once I was an ordinary girl, living an ordinary life as an ordinary human being. All that is behind me now, but you will come to see that soon as you learn of the radical change my life was about to take. I was the daughter of a rich family, and had been raised as a socialite and as a proper young lady. Taught to always dress nicely and be on good behavior, I was molded by years of charm school into the cream of the crop. I always dressed in long dresses and tops, concealing the body I had been instructed to hide.

If I do say so myself, I am very beautiful: I have large brown eyes and a wide, rounded face. No freckles what so ever and a small cute nose. My hair is long and brown and naturally wavy all the way down to my shoulders. The body that I tried so hard to hide is blessed with large D-cup breasts, rounded curvaceous thighs, and long smooth legs. Not that I let anyone notice of course.

I lived, in a stately country mansion located in one of the most scenic places in England. The house was an old fashioned three story white dwelling, surrounded on all sides by lush grassy meadows as far as the eye could see, and resting at the side of a serene and spectacular lake. Across from it, separated by a goodly amount of grassland, lay a small but thick wood that teemed with wild life, some of it dangerous, including wolves.

And here I spent my days, learning how to walk and talk, and taking my lessons that I might find a suitable husband and do honor to my family. In other words, I was a good, clean, wholesome young woman of eighteen. A quiet and demure scion of a noble family, and exactly what was expected of me. For all outward appearances, I was successful, but inwardly, I was restless. There were fleeting moments when I felt horribly like I was a prisoner in chains, condemned to the dreary existence for some unremembered ill. A part of me yearned to be liberated of these bonds of conformity and duty, to run free and indulge in my wildest whims.

I was curious about sex, but I didn’t dare dwell on those thoughts for more then an instant. Sometimes, in the shower, I would experiment a little; touch myself here and there

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