A Simple Solution

He sat -- sprawled, really -- on her couch, slouching and almost looking like he was trying to slide off onto the floor as they zoomed around the Mario Kart racetrack. "I just -- I dunno," he said, popping a red shell at one of their electronic opponents. "We always got along, we never really had any arguments or anything. Except yesterday."

"So she didn't say why she was dumping you?" She leaned as she piloted Luigi around a curve, power-drifting around Bowser and getting the blue sparks of a Mini-Turbo to send her shooting ahead.

"I mean --" He hesitated.

She glanced at him, then quickly back to the race. The two of them never competed, always doing their best to knock the AI's racers out and place one-two. "Christ, you're blushing. Something to do with sex again?"

He didn't answer until the end of the game -- damn Bowser managed to squeak in to place between them -- then tossed his controller to the table and dropped his head against the back of the couch. "Yeah, it is," he finally admitted.

"Are you finally going to tell me what the hell keeps making you lose girlfriends?? This is, what, the fourth this year?" They'd been friends since forever -- at least third grade -- and while maybe there was some crushing going on in the tweener days, first on one side and then on the other, nothing came from the infatuations besides their lasting bond, one which wound up sending them to the same college. There weren't many things they kept from each other; boyfriends and girlfriends were introduced to the other somewhat sooner rather than later, then in private discussed, dissected, analyzed, and -- at this point, always eventually -- disposed of.

She'd been without a boyfriend for a couple of months at this point; not that there weren't guys she was kind of interested in, nor guys more than kind of interested in her, but her last breakup was on the disastrous side, so she was giving herself some space -- 'taking a break', she called it. And he, of course, had slunk over almost immediately after having come home to find his girlfriend packing the things she'd moved to his apartment, handing him the key, and walking out.

"It's... you know I've always had problems with my shifting."

"I thought your Dad helped you figure that out in, like, sophomore year." She finally dropped her controller on the coffee table too, and snuggled into her corner of the couch, feet folded beneath her as she watched her BFF bang his head (metaphorically) against his problems with romance.

"He did!! It's just that, um..." He blushed, glancing at her in her loose crop-top tee and yoga pants, then shifted to stare instead at the character-selection screen and crossing his arms. "I... go big when I, um..."

She eyed him, then found her gaze being drawn to his groin as his sweatpants shifted. Like other werewolves, he rarely wore anything tight; loose t-shirts, sweatshirts, loose shorts or sweatpants (with either boxers or without underwear entirely) were their preferred dress code. It was rare they went either combat-form or full-wolf without warning, but it was an intrinsic part of their culture that they ought to always be ready to do so -- just in case. He, obviously, went the no-underwear route.

"Not get hard," she guessed, watching the fabric tent, then giggled when he blushed, groaned, and threw his arms over his face as if to hide.

"Fuuuuck. No. When I cum."

"That... I don't get it, what's the problem?"

He gave her a look past his shoulder, still trying (very cutely, in her estimation) to hide his embarrassment. "I quintuple in volume when I go war-form. I get big."

She bit her lower lip, running her eyes down his body. "All of you?"

His muffled groan made her laugh, and she pulled herself out of her corner, to cross the couch and bump his shoulder with her own. "So how big do you get?"

"Oh, god, not you too," he groaned, then yelped, arms coming away from his face as she jabbed his ribs hard. "What was that for??"

"I'm not anyone's 'you too', mister, and don't you forget it."

He met her glare with his embarrassment, then muttered, "Yeah, I know. Sorry." His gaze fell, his blush intensifying as the tentpole in his sweats started to make a dark spot. "Fuck. I should go home."

She noticed he didn't really want to, evidenced by the fact that he didn't try to get her to stop leaning against him. "Your rut coming on?"

He groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch again, staring at the ceiling. "Yeah. I was hoping she'd see me through. You know how I hate going to the pit."

"Well... the pit is useful-like," she mused. "Not that us normies really get it."

"Other normies, you mean. You get it just fine." He threw his arm back over his face, as if hiding his eyes would stop the inevitable progress of time.

"Comes from majoring in psych with a focus on sexuality. Wolfboys gotta rut, wolfgirls gotta heat. If they don't have help getting through it, give them something so they won't breed, then let them get through it together." She shrugged, eyeing the slow spread of the dark wetness from the tentpole's peak. "So how long does the rut last? I mean, actually. I usually don't see you for, like, three days, but..."

"Mmfph." He unconsciously reached down to adjust himself, something he'd rarely done in her presence, and even gave himself a squeeze and a bit of a stroke. "Forty hours or so."

"A few hours to get set," she guessed, "a day to recover?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Huh. Be right back."

He sighed when she left, but when she glanced back before ducking into the little hall that led to her bedroom and the bathroom, his hand was back on his cock, masturbating a little bit. She did her business, made some clothing alterations, then washed her hands. As the water ran, she opened up the medicine cabinet and lifted out the package she'd bought near the start of the school year, when she'd been dating a werewolf. The breakup there had been relatively quick -- great sex, shitty attitude -- and she'd never had a reason to tell the werewolf in the other room what she'd picked up. For a moment she hesitated, then took it out and tucked it under the wide elastic hem of her yoga pants, just in front of one hip before finishing up.

Out of the bathroom, she crossed to the kitchen, pretending not to notice how his hand had hurried to slide out of his sweatpants; she wondered what he was thinking about. "You want anything to drink?" she called, opening up the fridge and deliberately bending at the waist, letting him see (if he looked) the curve of her ass, the way the loose crop top hung down to give him a look at her underboob. She knew she was a little plumper than she'd been -- she hadn't lost the Freshman Ten, nor had she kept running and swimming quite as much as she had in high school -- but there was a reason she could have had someone (or someones) warming her bed every weekend, if she'd wanted.

There was silence from the living room, and she looked past her shoulder, a little smirk popping onto her face as she caught him looking. "Sorry, I'm all out of milk," she teased.

"Water," came his clumsy, embarrassed reply. "Just, uh, just some water would be fine."

She retrieved two bottles from the store, then checked her cabinets for a moment before coming back and returning to her position -- against him, not opposite him. "So. Speaking of the elephant in the room," she says, handing him his bottle and opening up her own, "how big is your dick?"

The only reason he didn't splutter was because he hadn't been drinking yet. "Fuck -- c'mon, seriously?!?"

"Well," she said with all the reasonableness she could muster, "you're sitting on my couch with a raging fucking hardon, you've been stroking it when you think I'm not looking for, like, the last fifteen minutes, you've been ogling me every chance you get -- I think I have a right to know how much meat my boy's been giving his girls."

That shut him up. He fumed, but the precum stain on his sweats was the size of her hand, maybe bigger, so it wasn't like he had a leg to stand on, not even a third leg. "Just over eight inches," he finally admitted in a sullen, embarrassed mutter.

"Fuck me," she breathed. "Really? How big are you in war-form?"

He glanced at her, noticing the fact that her nipples were stiffening against her crop top, and looked away. "With or without the knot?"

"Mmmm, why not both?" She couldn't help it, her tongue stroked her upper lip. He wasn't looking, so it didn't count, right?

"Thirteen and seven-eighth inches above the knot, sixteen and five-eighths all the way to the root." He looked and sounded embarrassed, but his cock wasn't twitching, it was downright throbbing.

If he asked her later and he seemed upset, she decided, she'd tell him she couldn't help herself. And she almost couldn't... but it was absolutely her own decision, reaching out and wrapping her hand around his covered cock, squeezing it.

His eyes popped open wide as the rest of him froze. Well, not completely frozen -- his cock responded, surging in ferocious primal desire. "Jesus fucking -- what are you doing??"

"Helping you out," she said, meeting his gaze as her hand made short little up-and-down movements, not quite managing to get a decent stroke in, what with gripping him firmly too.

"You don't -- you should --"

"Stop? Face it, buddy, you don't want me to stop. And I," she said, pushing up and across the back of the couch the arm that was starting, awkwardly, to try to get between the two of them, "don't want to stop. The only question at this point is this: do you want to be a sullen, whiny little bitch and just let it happen, or are you gonna give me a little help?"

He looked away, shy and maybe a little shocky with the realization that his best friend of over a decade was not only expressing sexual interest in him, but that she was doing something about it. His breath shuddered in his chest, and then his hips shifted to push at her hand -- not helping, just his sexual instinct wanting more. "What... what do you want me to do?" he muttered, still looking away.

"God, you are a whiny little bitch, aren't you?" She jabbed him in the ribs again, making him yelp and flinch -- and throb, too.

"Hey!! Stop poking me!!" At least he was looking at her, now.

"Definitely looking to be the one poked," she teased him, smirking. "Pull the front of your sweats down, mister. I'm gonna take pity on you and show you how your girlfriends should be doing it, so you're gonna help me out with the goddamn logistics. No, don't shuck 'em, just pull down the front."

She paused as he followed directions, finally exposing his precum-glistening cock to both their eyes. "Geez. Your girls walked away from this?? They got more willpower than I thought."

"It isn't this they walk away from," he grumbled, watching her wrap her hand around his shaft, groaning as she started to stroke. "It's the other one."

"Then I'd call them quitters," she teased, leaning her body against his, full breast warm against his firm bicep. She'd seen, even met, a few werewolves whose human forms weren't fitness fiends: chunky ones, even fat ones. He went the other way. Tall and rangy, the musculature of his six-four height was that of a distance runner and swimmer, of a martial artist instead of a powerlifting boxer. And he'd been on the same teams as her in high school, after all, so she'd seen his body plenty of times, especially at the co-ed swim meets.

Damn, she'd loved the nighttime bus rides home from those. Not with him, no, but...

"Keep your hands where I can see them, buddy," she teased him as the closer of them started to ease up -- hoping, no doubt, to curl around her shoulders. Which might be fun, but that would be for later. Right now, she had an example to set. "Did I say you have a nice dick? Damn, you have a nice dick. How much do you cum?"

He grunted, thumbs hooked and stretching the front of his sweats halfway down his thighs, legs spread a little; he hoped she would cup and play with his balls, how sweet. Well, she had a plan, or at least the start of one, so her hand concentrated on stroking his fat throbber. "I mean, it's always a couple or three spurts, and then I shift, you know? And it's a lot more like that."

She grinned, nestling into him. "You never really change around me," she mused as she pumped him, quickening her movement as she felt him throb and pulse, her hand getting utterly smeared with his lube. "Always the human you."

"'s because... nnnff... personal reasons," he groaned.

She glanced up at him, studying his face, watching him watch her hand on his throbbing cock. "Huh. Hey, you ever, y'know, get off as a wolf?"

"Nnngg. Fuck. Yeah, sometimes." His eyes closed, tightened as if trying to stave off the moment.

"How big are you?" she asked, curious.

"Fuck, I dunno. It's not like I could measure myself."

"Nobody..."

"Hah. No. All the wolfgirls I know like same-form fucking."

"You have a problem with..."

"Naah. I don't change into my war-form when I cum that way."

"Reeeally," she murmured. "I wonder why."

"I guess I just -- just wanna -- nnnggg, fuck, I'm gonna cum --"

She laughed huskily. "Let me see your war-form, baby," she teased him.

He let his head roll back once more, and then he spurted. They weren't human-volume kinds of spurts, either -- it was like there was something already transformed inside him, spraying a tablespoon's worth of jism out of his eight inches once, twice --

-- and then he was there, war-form big, a hundred seventy-four pounds suddenly almost nine hundred. The couch legs underneath him snapped instantly, the edge thumping into the carpet; the two of them lurched sideways, but his hands shifted with supernatural speed to dig in, keeping him stable as his enormous fucking cock kept on spraying a massive load of cum out of his lupine tip, triple the volume of the previous spurts, muzzle lips pulled back to bare his teeth as he snarled his delight and clearly holding back from giving a more full-throated howl of pleasure. His knot, she discovered as she pumped him from crown to base, was unexpressed; weird, she thought to herself, watching him splatter his now-tight sweatshirt with his obscenely huge gouts of spunk.

She slowed her stroking when his spurts trailed off, but couldn't make herself stop entirely; it was more like petting him, she excused herself, letting him know he'd done a good job.

He didn't quite think of it the same way; four and a half extra feet meant his head could no longer rest against the back of the couch, but for all that he kept his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. "I can smell you, you know," he panted.

She blushed. Fuck. I didn't think of that. "So I'm wet," she tried to shrug it off. "So what? Make a big war-wolf spurt a gallon of cum, you'd be wet too. I mean," she gave a nervous laugh, "you, uh -- you know what I mean."

"Uh-huh." He didn't sound like he believed her.

"No, seriously. Anyhow, this is what your girlfriends should've done. Jacked you off until you came, so there wasn't any sort of, you know, shock to the system, monster war-dick inside of 'em instead of just a big human dick."

"Yeah, I guess. Just that -- what now?"

She hesitated. She wanted to, but now that the moment was here... "What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on." His head lifted, and his eyes, his eyes, those cool grey-blue eyes of his that watched the world with such sharp perceptivity, were now turned on her. "As long as I've known you, you always had a plan when you got us into trouble. It wasn't always a good plan, it didn't always work, but you always had a plan. Now I'm in war-form, my sweatshirt's soaking up a cupful of cum, not a gallon, thanks, my sweatpants have a precum-stain the size of my hand on the front, and all of that pales before the fact that I'm, like, six hours from my rut and my best friend just made me cum and is still jacking off all sixteen-and-five-eighths-inches worth of my war-dick."

He leaned over her, lifting his arm from between them and wrapping it around her, cupping and hoisting her effortlessly onto the thick log of his thigh, turning her as he did so that she faced him. "So what. The fuck. Is the plan?"

She stared up at him. Normally a full foot taller than her, his torso was damn near her entire height. "I, uh... plan. Right..." The idea she had was in her head somewhere, she knew it had to be, but at the moment... speech was a bit beyond her.

"Fuuuck," he groaned, laying his long-fingered hand across his eyes, enormous cock pulsing in her hand as she petted it. "You don't have a plan. For once in your fucking life. Goddammit, this is what they're all on about!!"

"Who?"

"My girlfriends!!"

"What?!?"

He looked down at her, the hand across his eyes reaching down to wrap around her hand, the one still automatically stroking the sixteen-plus-inch fuckmonster he sported. "Look. Eight inches is great for fucking a girl, and I'd love to find a wolfgirl who thought brains were as important as brawn, but until by some miracle that happens, I just -- fuck!! Or rather, I can't fuck!! No normie girl wants to fuck this monster, not with a knot!!"

Oh! Fuck!! Plan!!! Her hand scrabbled just in front of her hip, and she produced the capsules she'd acquired. "Here!! This!!" She held it up brightly, like the first person to discover cooked food.

"The hell is..." His big fingers and blunt claws plucked it out of her hand, lifting it for him to squint at. "LVR-6 -- the fuck -- nooooo, no fucking way. This is a bad fucking plan. Where the hell did you get this? When the hell did you get this??" He looked at her suspiciously.

Freed up, her hand returned to the jut of his lupine phallus, her lower lip catching between her teeth as she stole glances down at the tip -- a tip which, riding his thigh, wasn't all that far out of range of her lips. She supposed he'd probably stop her from flopping forward and burying her face in the cum soaking into his sweatshirt...

"Hey -- hey, c'mon, don't -- fuck, fine, it feels good, keep going. Where did you get this? And when??" He flicked her nose to get her attention.

"Ow!! Fuck!!"

"Well?? Where and when??"

"Legally, thank you. And not recently."

He eyed her. "Uh-huh." A growl came from him for a moment, husky approval of her continued molestation of his dick, and then he blurted, "That guy, that asshole between Halloween and Thanksgiving."

She blushed at his guess. "Yeah."

"Oh, he was such a tool. He asked you to get this shit?"

"Don't be like that, it's approved for use in Europe and Canada. Even the FDA says it works."

"Yeah, by doing major fuckery with your internals. You know this shit can be permanent, right?"

She licked her lips. "It... yeah. Its effects are supposed to last for, like, four months."

"Per-ma-nent!! You take this shit, sure, honey, you can fuck a werewolf war-form, but you lose interest in humans 'cause you can't fuckin' feel them."

"It isn't that bad!! I've seen the documentaries!!"

"Which one, 'Lovers and Breeders'?" Her blush was all the answer he needed. "Come on!! That thing's practically pornography, and it was put out by the fucking manufacturer."