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Werewolf breeding is so different from human courtship. It’s instinct driven and more natural. We don’t tie ourselves down with taboos the way you do. Truthfully, we laugh at how uptight you all are. You’re really just primates when it comes down to it. Animals. The difference between werewolves and full humans is that we know what we are and you’re afraid to admit what you are. I grew up in a village exclusively peopled by my own kind, immersed in werewolf culture. Sex was not hidden from me. I was not taught that it was shameful or dirty. For us, sex is just biology and instinct. When hungry, we eat. When thirsty we drink. When in heat… Nothing was hidden from me ever. I was perfectly used to watching my parents mate; my brothers and sisters too. Sometimes they mated with each other. In our culture, what you call incest does not exist. Oh, it isn’t exactly the ideal. Healthier offspring come from a wider genetic pool. To ensure that each female has access to the widest range of genetic material we have a special building in the village where females go when in heat. Our presence there is a signal to all the males in the village that we are ready to be bred. We mates with as many men as possible until the urge passes. It’s so much simpler than the silly games that you humans play in courting. More often than not, a woman’s own male relations are the istanbul travesti first mates that she has. The first heat can come on suddenly and unexpectedly. It came upon my sister quite suddenly one warm summer night. Feeling the urge calling her she had gone to my older brother Lorcan who had known exactly what to do for her. I watched with interest as he mounted her and wondered idly when it would be my turn. Phoebe had been taken to the Breeding House on the following morning. Three days later she had come home, exhausted, but smug. A few months later her first child was born, a boy. We think he was fathered by the father of a girl I went to school with. My first breeding was similar to Phoebe’s. I had been home alone with my younger brother. My parents were out along with my older brother on a trip to the market. I had always wondered how I would know when the time was right. “Believe me, you will know,” my mother promised. “The instinct will be so strong that you’ll be climbing the walls until you find someone to mate with you.” Fortunately, it didn’t come to that. I was working on a quilt when the urge first came. A jittery sort of warmth washed over me. I was possessed by a single focus. I could hear my younger brother Marrok in the other room, rooting through the pantry. Propelled by the urge, I abandoned my quilt istanbul travestileri and sought him out. My scent caught his attention right away. Male werewolves are programmed to be able to scent a female in heat with ease. “Marrok?” I asked, my voice trembling with need. He turned to face me, breathing hard. My brother had never bred before but the instinct captured him too. We were on each other in a moment. I went for the fastening on his pants, urgently tugging them down. He reached down the neckline of my dress and pulled one of my breasts out, sucking hard on the nipple. We might have been virgins, but instinct told us what to do. I pulled off my dress and tossed it aside, then laid down on the floor with my legs splayed. Marrok positioned himself between them and after minimal fumbling to find just the right angle, tore through my hymen with a grunt. It hurt. Of course it did. But my need outweighed the pain. I held still while my brother inexpertly thrust inside me, pleased that I had finally come of age. My parents and Lorcan came home and found us like that. Lorcan laughed, finding it amusing. Then the smile disappeared and he looked more thoughtful as my scent registered with him. “About time you came of age,” he said, and started taking off his clothes. My mother and father were pleased and discussed taking travesti me immediately to the Breeding House. It was decided that we should at least wait for Marrok to finish — it was his coming of age too. Lorcan grumbled that he wanted a turn. “And of course you have the right too,” my mother said to my father, stroking his arm. Centuries ago there was a tradition that a girl’s father must always be her first mate. The reasoning was that he had loved her all of her life and that he would be experienced enough to guide her through her first time before giving her to the rest of the village. I glanced hopefully at my father. My father has sired many children throughout the village and every woman I’ve ever heard discuss it has spoken almost with reverence of his sexual prowess. How many times had I watched him breed with my mother, my older sister? Once I had watched him mate with the oldest daughter of our next door neighbor when her first heat had come upon her. I had seen the expression of ecstasy on her face as he had mounted her and wondered what that must feel like. Before my father could answer, Marrok ran his course. Red faced and gasping, he rolled off of me, exhausted. Pathetic. It wasn’t enough and I needed more. My instinct fanned out of control, “More…please…” I gasped. So it was my father who came to the rescue. My big, strapping father, sire to so many children throughout the pack came to give me what I needed. “Like this, Marrok,” he instructed, sounding amused. “Roll onto your hands and knees, Selene.” Lorcan gave an impatient sort of sigh but settled down to wait. Gripping me firmly by the hips, my father pushed into me.
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