Chapter 5-suffering

Lynn's POV

When I called her by those two words, her eyes fixed on me without a blink, as if it were the natural and expected way to call her.

She responded with a soft "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 hint of moisture, like glass beads fogging up in the humid air.

Shaking my head, I looked at her with a helpless expression and whispered, "I think I have a fever..."

During the awakening phase for a werewolf, thoughts tend to be sluggish, and I was no exception. The unyielding surge of mating heat filled the air, unmistakably palpable. I couldn't quite explain how I had arrived at the conclusion that I had a fever instead of undergoing the wolf transformation.

After a brief pause, she approached me and reached out to touch my forehead. As her hand made contact, it felt as if I had been lightly touched by a searing iron.

It was the primal and instinctual signal exchanged between an Alpha and an Omega during contact, although my actual body temperature wasn't particularly high.

My pants hung loosely, and I stood upright, unaware that the fabric around my crotch was unnaturally raised, accentuating a prominent and swollen bulge. I remained oblivious to this undeniable sign of arousal.

"No," Marilyn glanced briefly and quickly averted her gaze. Her breathing became unsteady as she corrected herself, "It's not a fever. You're beginning to transform into a wolf."

I froze for a moment, and then my ears immediately turned crimson. Discovering that I was a wolf without even realizing it felt just as embarrassing as waking up from a dream, thinking I had wet the bed.

Marilyn couldn't fully grasp the extent of Rouge's lack of sexual education, but judging by my innocent expression, she had an idea.

Marilyn didn't show any signs of "mockery" or "surprise" on her face. Instead, she simply said, "Congratulations."

Hearing those words only made me more uncomfortable. I blushed even deeper, and my fingers stiffened, making it clear that I was uneasy. Unusually, I didn't respond to Marilyn's comment.

Marilyn, being an Omega, understood that continuing to stay with an Alpha who was in the midst of their transformation would inevitably lead to one outcome. With that in mind, she gently urged me towards the bathroom, her fair hand pressing against my chest. "Go inside and stay for a while. It will become less uncomfortable once it subsides," she advised.

Without hesitation, I stumbled a half-step back, following Marilyn's guidance.

Inside me, the restless energy of the wolf roamed aimlessly, mirroring my own confusion and uncertainty. It seemed as if my animal instincts were just as bewildered as I was.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, Marilyn hadn't even had a chance to leave when my voice echoed through the walls, slightly distorted by the soundproofing. However, its proximity indicated that I remained standing, facing the door, unmoving.

"...Do you need to rest?" I inquired.

Marilyn paused, retracting the half-step she had taken, and asked, "Would you like me to stay with you?"

Without a moment's hesitation, I softly murmured my assent from within the bathroom.

During the awakening period, teenagers often experience a profound sense of insecurity, much like a fledgling bird teetering on the edge of a cliff, yearning for the presence of a trusted companion.

Having gone through her own transformation without her mother by her side for a significant part of it, Marilyn understood this feeling all too well. Leaning against the wall, she nodded and reassured me, "Alright, I'll stay here with you."

Inside the bathroom, I sat on the toilet seat, trying to endure the surging restlessness within my body. My gaze was fixed on the figure outside, leaning against the frosted glass door.

Like a stone, I remained motionless. Within just a few minutes, the space between my legs had become uncomfortably swollen. The nape of my neck glistened with a damp sheen, and beads of sweat trickled down my chest and back, soaking my white shirt. Sticky and clinging, it clung to my skin.

I sat there, my eyes locked on the blurry silhouette beyond the glass, as time seemed to stretch endlessly. In my ignorance, I failed to comprehend the purpose behind Marilyn's instruction for me to stay in the bathroom.

Aware of my growing arousal, I knew my genitals were now erect. However, I had rarely touched myself before, as nobody had taught me otherwise. Consequently, I assumed it would eventually subside on its own. Little did I know that this time it would persist, making the wait even more agonizing...

Standing at the door, Marilyn sensed something was wrong. The scent of the wolf permeated through the crack, yet the bathroom remained eerily quiet. Even with my cautious movements, there should have been some audible indication.

Raising her hand, Marilyn lightly tapped on the door. "Lynn, are you alright?"

"Uh... Yeah, I'm fine," I replied, my voice barely audible.

My voice grew hoarse, devoid of any relaxation, and instead became even more tense. It was far from sounding "fine."

Marilyn fell silent for a moment, her mind concocting an absurd guess. She cautiously asked, "Lynn, have you ever... relieved yourself?"

I paused inside the bathroom, pondering her words. "Relieved what?" I replied, oblivious to the context.

Marilyn's initial reaction was that perhaps her premature "congratulations" had been ill-timed.

In truth, my lack of knowledge about self-pleasure was not without a trace. Being someone with an embarrassingly thin skin, I couldn't fathom asking Marilyn to stand by the bathroom door with me in such a moment.

If Marilyn hadn't been there, I would have chosen to endure it silently within the confines of the bathroom.

"To relieve sexual desires," Marilyn adjusted her posture, leaning against the doorframe. Slowly, she continued, "Lynn, you need to grasp your... penis." She chose the words she had come across in biology textbooks, hoping to make this ambiguous matter as open and normal as possible, sparing the young man unnecessary psychological burdens.

I proved to be more compliant than she had anticipated, showing no signs of doubt. I followed Marilyn's instructions without hesitation.

The sound of clothes rustling echoed from the bathroom, and once it subsided, Marilyn proceeded, "Once you have a firm grip, move your hand up and down slowly."

Her voice remained calm, as she forced herself not to think about the young boy on the other side of the wall, who had pulled out his erect sex organ from his pants and was slowly stroking it with his clean, slender hand.

Though she could only hear the sounds coming from the bathroom, Marilyn could almost envision me sitting on the toilet, legs apart, the back of my hand pressed against my eyes, lips tightly sealed, as if experiencing masturbation for the first time, my face turning crimson.

Considering my limited knowledge of sexuality, she couldn't help but add 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-esteem and shame made this self-pleasure ordeal feel even longer and more agonizing. Yet, as Marilyn listened to the sounds, she realized that my sex organ had become even more rigid, and the tip leaked a clear, sticky fluid into my palm uncontrollably. One particularly thick and long vein throbbed in my hand.

Suppressed moans and gasps emanated from the bathroom, making it difficult to discern whether they were expressions of pleasure or pain. However, the continuous and unrestrained nature of the sounds led Marilyn to believe that it was indeed bringing me more relief...