Lynn's POV
When I softly called her "Sister," her eyes locked onto mine without a blink, as if it were natural and expected.
She responded with a gentle "Hmm" and asked, "Are you feeling uncomfortable?"
Sweat trickled down my forehead, and I pressed my lips together. The dark pools of my eyes glistened with a faint moisture, like glass beads fogging up in the humid air.
Shaking my head, I looked at her helplessly and whispered, "I… I think I have a fever…"
During the awakening phase of a werewolf, thoughts are often sluggish, and I was no exception. The relentless surge of mating heat filled the air, undeniable and palpable. I couldn't quite explain why I had assumed it was a fever instead of my wolf transformation.
After a brief pause, she approached and reached out to touch my forehead. The instant her hand made contact, it felt as if I had been lightly burned by searing iron.
It was the primal, instinctual signal exchanged between an Alpha and an Omega during contact, though my actual body temperature hadn't risen significantly.
My pants hung loosely, and I stood upright, unaware that the fabric around my crotch had been unnaturally raised, accentuating a prominent, swollen bulge. I remained oblivious to this undeniable sign of arousal.
"No," Marilyn glanced briefly and quickly averted her gaze. Her breathing became uneven as she corrected herself, "It's not a fever. You're beginning your transformation."
I froze for a moment, and my ears immediately flushed crimson. Discovering that I was a wolf without realizing it felt just as humiliating as waking from a dream, thinking I had wet the bed.
She couldn't fully grasp the extent of my lack of sexual knowledge, but judging by my innocent expression, she seemed to understand.
Marilyn didn't display any hint of mockery or surprise. Instead, she simply said, "Congratulations."
Hearing those words only made me more uncomfortable. My face burned even deeper, and my fingers stiffened, betraying my unease. I didn't respond to her remark.
As an Omega, she understood that remaining near a transforming Alpha inevitably led to one outcome. With that in mind, she gently pressed her fair hand against my chest and guided me toward the bathroom. "Go inside and stay there for a while. The discomfort will ease with time," she advised.
I stumbled back a half-step, following her instructions without hesitation.
Inside me, the restless energy of the wolf roamed aimlessly, mirroring my own confusion and uncertainty. My animal instincts were as bewildered as my mind.
Closing the bathroom door behind me, Marilyn hadn't even left yet when my voice echoed through the walls, slightly distorted by the soundproofing. Its proximity, however, indicated I remained standing, facing the door, unmoving.
"…Do you need to rest?" she asked.
I paused, then murmured, "Uh… yeah, I'm fine." My voice was barely audible, hoarse, tense, and far from relaxed.
Marilyn remained silent for a moment, forming a cautious guess. Then she asked, "Lynn… have you ever… relieved yourself?"
I paused inside the bathroom, confused. "Relieved… what?" I asked, unaware of her meaning.
Her premature "congratulations" now felt ill-timed. In truth, my ignorance of self-pleasure wasn't surprising, given my sheltered upbringing. Being painfully self-conscious, I could not imagine asking Marilyn to stand by the bathroom door in such a vulnerable moment. If she hadn't been there, I would have suffered in silence.
"To relieve sexual urges," she clarified, leaning against the doorframe. Slowly, she added, "You need to… grasp your penis." She had encountered the explanation in textbooks and chose her words carefully, aiming to normalize the act and prevent unnecessary psychological burden.
I was more compliant than she expected, showing no signs of hesitation. I followed her instructions without resistance.
The rustle of clothing echoed from the bathroom. Once it subsided, she continued, "Once you have a firm grip, move your hand up and down slowly."
Her voice was calm, as she forced herself not to dwell on the young man on the other side of the wall, who had taken out his erect organ and was cautiously stroking it with his slender, clean hand.
Although she could only hear the sounds from the bathroom, Marilyn could almost picture me sitting on the toilet, legs apart, the back of my hand pressed against my eyes, lips tightly sealed, my face flushed crimson as if experiencing self-pleasure for the first time.
Given her limited knowledge of sexuality, she added a few more instructions. "Don't grip too hard. Take it slow. Do whatever feels pleasurable. Once you ejaculate, the discomfort will subside."
The delayed sense of self-consciousness and shame made the experience feel longer and more agonizing. Yet, as she listened, she realized my penis had grown even more rigid, with the tip leaking a clear, sticky fluid uncontrollably. One particularly thick, long vein throbbed in her imagination.
Suppressed moans and gasps echoed from the bathroom, making it hard to discern whether they expressed pleasure or pain. Yet the continuous, uncontrolled nature of the sounds told Marilyn that I was indeed finding relief.