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He Who Would be Master: Chapter 7

He couldn't say how long he'd been there. There were no clocks or windows or anything that would convey a concept of linear time. The room was comfortably lit with wall lamps that cast the room in gentle yellowish light. The walls were all wooden and carved, the same way; each looked like the outside of some simple, in-ornate wardrobe. The room was just big enough to hold a cot and a desk. Everything was neat and cozy, and fragrant. The only thing amiss was the long streamers of paper that totally covered the floor, flowing slowly from the desk like a slow-motion fountain of paper.

In many different forms and angles, the paper was scrawled over with three words:

Othello Marquee Montague

Who was Othello Marquee Montague? What was he? Why, where, when, how was this individual: Othello Marquee Montague?

Reaching heights of boredom and lethargy previously unfathomed... Othello though as he wrote his name again, this time not connecting the lines so it looked sorta Asian.

The instructions were simple: write his name until told to stop. He had done so until first one hand cramped, then the other. He had done so until he'd run out of the ink he was given, or until he'd broken the quill that was provided, both of which were replaced immediately. He'd done so until he had to use the chamberpot - Yes, an actual chamberpot - or until he was fed through a slat that he always forgot was there until it opened.

Then he'd finally lost patience. He roared and ranted and screamed. He tried opening the door, only to find no handle. He kicked and punched and lied and bartered to no avail. Then he slept. Then he awoke. Then he jerked off. Then he cried. Then he used the chamberpot and set it aside to be removed and changed.

Then he realized what he had in this place: freedom. No prying eyes, perceptions or stigmas to live up to. He sang and jumped and danced wildly in the tiny space. Then he jerked off some more. Then he wrote his name in cum. That gave him the idea to explore other fluids and functions. He wrote his name in spit and then in piss. He wasn't bold enough to try it in crap, but he'd considered it. He pierced his arm with the quill. That hurt like a bitch. But it made it possible to write in blood.

That got him remembering what Norn had said to him earlier that week: "The link between blood and Mysticism predates genetics..."

His sweat was coveted by the Little Ones. The Bigger Ones wanted his blood. What the hell was there that could be so valuable? He wrote his name in blood and cum and piss and ink, over and over.

Red, black, yellow, white... White was always more fun, but the others seemed important, too, so he tried to keep them balanced... Why? Who was he balancing his fluids for? For himself. Yes. This could be something done to, for, and by himself with no one to input or judge, except for he himself.

White is pleasure. Release. Future. Legacy.

Red is pain. Sensation. Evidence of one's existence. Evidence of one's struggle to exist.

Yellow is excess. Overabundance expelled, valuable yet overlooked... tossed aside.

Black is providence. Convenience. Needs met by another's sacrifice.

Othello Marquee Montague is all of these...

Othello's meals changed. The saucer slipped to him was not the gray meat-pudding he'd grown accustomed to. It was a saucer, filled to the brim with golden, fragrant honey. He didn't want to spill it by trying to pick it up, so he crouched over the bowl and kissed the surface. He drew his tongue back and allowed the vacuum to draw in the thick, golden liquid.

Othello likes honey... Kaard loves honey. Kaard has always loved honey. It was a gift from his first love...

More honey came. And Othello ate it. It was all he ate anymore. He sipped and slurped and lapped it up, without complaint. He'd learned to strip before dining, to keep the robes given him clean. Then he'd wash in the bowl of hot, herbal-scented water given to him, sponging away honey, sweat, grime and dried cum. He only dressed again to fend off the occasional chill.

Then he went back to the desk and wrote his name some more. Every so often, however, he found his own handwriting illegible. At these times, he went to the cot for some sleep, and usually did not wake again until another serving of honey was pushed at him. Then the cycle started all over again.

He was soon hearing voices, and he realized that they were his own thoughts. With no outside distractions, they were forcing themselves to the forefront of Othello's consciousness.

"Where was done this thing to me?" the hallucinations asked.

"I don't know..." Othello muttered in a dried rasp.

"Why was this thing done to me?"

"Do you really think I know...?" Othello asked.

"When was this thing done to me?"

"How was this thing done to me?"

"What was this thing done to me?"

"Stop... I don't know... Ask someone else..." Othello's head was starting to hurt. He'd felt like this before... Where, though? He didn't like it.

"Who?"

"Not me, okay?"

"Who?"

"I don't know and I don't care; just not me!"

"WHO HAS DONE THIS THING TO ME!??!" Othello roared out and the walls were immediately plastered with the papers he was writing on. From floor to ceiling the room bore his name... But it wasn't His name. It was just the name of this Generation. THIS life.

Suddenly he was aware that he, Othello Montague, was just a chapter in a larger story. The story of the being known as Kaard. He felt very small, and also extremely huge. The boy he was growing up from was... nothing. Simple. Petty. The thing he used to be before that was... he had no words for that! It was all just snippets of memory.

He looked at the walls and started looking back on his life.

"Let's go play with the fairies again!" A young Lothario pleaded, tugging on Othello's sleeve. Othello was eight then. Lothario was six. Almost ten years ago. He ignored his little brother. "O. Thel. Lo!" Rio whined, tugging harder.

"My word, you're..." Little Othello scratched fingers through nappy hair, searching for a good word. "Pesky... like a little bug." Othello let his eyes linger for a moment before turning away.

Rio had gotten that look before and so, undeterred, continued to pester his older brother. "Come onnnnnn!!!" Rio pounced on his older brother's back, accidentally knocking them both to the ground. The two fought and wrestled. It was all apart of the game, until a voice over them startled the two.

"Enough!"Both Othello and Lothario froze. "Look at what you little... Monkeys have done!" The two looked at the carnage of knocked-over papers from their mother's desk as well as at the clothes and pillows strewn about. Othello could have sworn the house was perfectly clean a moment ago...

The two turned to their older brother, Macbeth. He was Othello's senior by almost six years. Despite this, he never seemed to resent being his brothers' keeper. They called him Mac. Other kids called him "Bull-Dog". Mac looked like his brothers, who all looked like their father. Whenever Othello looked at his older brother, he saw what looked to be a million hands orbiting him like moons and planets. They were all the left hands, if the thumb on each was any indicator. Where there would have been nails, there were eyes. Milky and instead of pupils, ripples seemed to emanate from where ever the eyes focused, and spread over the surface of the beings('s) eyeballs. Othello watched these hands actively repel other Bogies in the vicinity. He usually felt safe around his brother.

But now he was in trouble, and knew he had it coming.

"Sorry, Beth..." Both boys muttered sullenly.

Mac sighed at his family "pet name". They only used it to kiss up. Rumor has it that he HATED being called Beth, but that all changed when Othello's first word was "Beth".

"Alright, peons," Mac said, "Go on. Get outside and enjoy your freedom until the 'rents come for your narrow asses..."

Othello pouted while Lothario cheered. The two went outside.

In those days, the Montagues lived on the Fortuna Maw, a ring of jagged cliffs that formed the rim of the Fortuna Crater. Othello could look down on the city and watch it glitter, nestled in its crater. Surrounded on three sides by black cliffs while the south-eastern side dips into the sea, Fortuna lives like a giant geode. Othello liked how the other side dipped into the ocean. He'd heard talk of the family actually moving down there. He imagined that the Bogies there all looked cool and crystalline.

He turned and saw Lothario already running into the little copse of trees near the houses. Those trees led into deeper woods. Children weren't allowed to a certain point, and it was fenced off, and beyond that was an electric fence to keep animals away. Othello didn't like what was beyond the fence. The Things there stared at him with mean, glowing eyes...

"Lothario... You see those?" Othello, trying to look cool, leaned against the inner fence.

Rio gripped the same fence, staring back in naïve awe. "I see them..." He gulped, following Their movements with his eyes. "What are they..."

Othello felt a rush as sounds, almost like words, rushed through his mind. "Trolls, I think."

"Trolls..." Rio whispered, eyes going wide. "The kiddie-eating kind?"

"What other kinds are there?" Othello snorted.

"The jeweled kind?" Rio suggested, lifting up his shirt to show off his belly-button. "You ever see one of Them?"

Othello giggled. "You're such a baby..."

"Am not!" Rio huffed.

"I bet there are some in the city... We'll go find them one day, 'kay?" Othello smirked.

But Rio already back to staring at the wild-Things beyond the fence."I bet I could touch one!"

Othello laughed harder. "I bet it bites your fingers off. One. By. One."

Rio touched the band-aid on his left pointer-finger. He'd had a fit just from cutting that one on a blade of grass! "Stop being an ass..."

"Ooooh..." Othello giggled. "I'm telling."

True terror shone on Rio's face. "Cut it out!" He whined.

Othello ruffled his hair. "Grab the watering can. Let's go see the fairies."

"Whoo!" Rio's mood changed right away and he ran back for the houses.

Five minutes later, the two were watering the community garden. It filled every adult with warm fuzzies to see the young boys working so hard on it. And the blooms were always spectacular, and the boys guarded them fiercely.

Othello and Lothario were actually sprinkling water on the little Beings that called those flowers home. They danced with glee around the boys as Othello watched and Rio played. The Little Ones fluttered about on wings that looked like petals, shedding sparkling pollen in Their wake.

Othello had noticed that there were an increasing number of new ones that had come with the new plants that had crept in. These looked like the thistles and dandelions that had sprouted. Othello eyed them, but Rio took it all in stride, welcoming these newcomers without seeing the Others' reaction. The spikier Ones were pushing the flower Ones out... And those that wouldn't go were quietly torn to rippy-bits... Othello looked at the flowers and saw them being choked out.

"Weeds..." Othello stood and dusted himself off. He stepped forward and wrapped a gloved hand around a thistle. One of the Thistle Fairies started gagging as he started pulling at the base of the plant. The Others turned their attention towards him and snarled in squeaky voices. They darted at him, but sort of passed through him, like ghosts, but each left a tiny scratch where it touched him.

Othello looked at them and used his Big Voice: "Whither!" His Big Voice gave him a headache, but it could effect little ones like these.

The Prickles all began to gag at once, turning dull before his eyes. The kept up the attack, but they were weakened. Othello went back to pulling up the weeds.

"Tell...?" Rio said softly. "What are you doing? Stop it... Y-you're hurting them!"

"Ugh... Shut up, their killing the flowers..." Othello yelped as one cut just under his eye. "Help me out..."

"But... Tell...?" Rio sniffled. "It's hurting... Seriously, quit!" He pushed Othello hard and the plant came free.

"Rio! Come on!" Othello looked at his catch and looked at the broken stem. "Aw! Dammit, Rio!" Othello started digging through the dirt for the root.

"I said no, Othello!" Rio started pounding on him with his fists. "STOP it!!"

"Rio, if you don't get offa me--" Othello's threat died as he saw the swarm of Pricklies above them. "Get out of here, Rio. Now! Go NOW!!"

Rio didn't have time to argue before Othello kicked him away. The entire flock fell on Othello, biting and scratching him with thorns all at once. It was like getting a hundred shots at once. He tried to get up, but found that he was being held down by the thistles themselves. He was at Their mercy, and there was no mercy to be found.

And Rio watched it all. He couldn't understand what was happening. Othello understood it now, but then, he hated his brother for leaving him.

Othello was left to cry and scream until Mac was lifting him from the ground. "Easy, buddy, shh... I got you... I got you..." His bogey was already fending off the pixies, swatting them to the ground and holding them there.

"Tell... If you just let them be..." Rio started, but the look in Othello's eye scared him silent. He followed his brothers back home.

Othello never went back. He hated himself for giving up, watching the weeds take over, killing the flowers, but the Pricklies made him hate Rio for a little while. Let Them have the stupid garden.

That was Lothario's first betrayal.

_"_Kaard...?" He felt a weight settle next him on the cot. "Kaard? Do you know who I am?"

He opened an eye and then rolled over, facing away. "Ames... Or at least,that's how I know you..."

"Do you know who you are?" Ames asked quietly.

He thought for a moment before responding. "Yes. I'm Othello Montague... For now."

"For now?" Ames pressed.

"I wasn't... Always... This..." Saying it out loud made it... frightening somehow. "Ames? What am I now...?"

Ames gave a sigh and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You are you. You must never forget that."

He sat up then and looked about the room. It was still plastered with the paper that bore his name. "What if I don't know who or what that is?"

"You lived this whole life as a child," Ames said. "Adults get to choose who... what we are."

He turned to look at Ames, and saw the black shirt and white collar of a Catholic priest. He'd almost forgotten that he was in a church.

"Why are you helping me, Ames?" He asked. "You _are_helping me, right?" The last word was a whisper.

"Kaard... I know this is going to sound like bullshit, but we are all God's children," Ames said.

"Do the other habits know about you? Your magic?" He said, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Do they know about me...?" He didn't bother asking about what they knew of his activities outside of this place; those with J, the burly bouncer.

"Oh, yes," Ames chuckled lightly. "In fact, 'magic' is what they aspire to. But to them, you are just a gifted visitor. You're you. You're special."

"Is that all you can tell me?" Othello lay back and groaned with a sudden headache.

"Yes," Ames muttered. Kaard swore that if he said "yes" once more he'd freak out.

They were quiet for a long time and Othello stared at the walls and ceiling. "What's with those...?"

"It's an ancient, eastern art. We weren't sure how you'd do with it, but I see you've done very... really, very well!" Ames said, admiringly observing the walls as well. "Names have power, Kaard..."

"That why you call me that?"

"Yes. The name Kaard has its own power... Because it is your old name."

Othello was only half paying attention. He had become painfully aware that jerking off wasn't satisfying anymore. It hadn't been for awhile. He reached under the covers and touched his dick. It was hard and touching it only increased his horniness. He looked at Ames as the other admired the walls. "Tell me about this art..." Othello... Kaard said.

Ames looked at him with his pale eyes. He answered, but Kaard didn't hear. He was watching Ames' neck. Kaard could see the muscles move and watched those thin lips move as if in slo-mo. Othello scooched closer and saw his teacher's tongue move. He bet it was soft...

"Stop it, Othello..." Ames said sternly, snapping Othello back to attention.

"Stop what? Why?" Kaard smirked, trying not to laugh at Ames' sudden mood-swing.

"I'm... I'm not..." Ames was slowly starting to flush.

"Ames..." Othello was close enough now to smell his breath. "You smell... Good..."

"Othello, no." Ames grasped his shoulders and held him at arms-length. "My soul belongs to someone else!"

Othello was taken aback. He pulled back with a soft growl, an inhuman growl. He couldn't have said then why those words had stopped him, but they had, and that annoyed him. "I need to fuck."

"Sorry, I'm a top." Ames sighed with a chuckle. "I brought you something, though..." Ames called out and a large man entered, wearing only a pair of briefs. It was a moment before Othello recognized him as his whipping boy from Be Temped. "This one is willing to be your meal."

The man took a knee next to the bed. "Sir..."

Othello tensed, almost ready to pounce on the man from his cot. He stopped himself and looked into the man's hazel eyes. "What is your name?"

"Sir?" He blinked dumbfounded for a moment. "What would you l-like to call me...?"

Othello scowled. "I would like to call you by name."

"Simon... Simon, Sir..." He answered, after a quick glance at Ames.

"Have you been waiting for me, Simon?"

"Oh. Yes, Sir... I wanted to meet you..."

"Do you know what I am? Who I am?"

"Not all of it," Simon started slowly, glancing at Ames. "I know you're an old god, one of Domination. I know you were the manifestation of man's lust for other men..." The last was spoken in a shuddering voice. "I know that you were spectacular then, but even now... even now you're so... very... attractive..."

This genuinely surprised him. "Am I?"

"Oh, yes, Sir! I knew you would be, but then I saw you... You looked so normal... And yet, you weren't. It was like a model had stepped into the room. The Lady has had them visit before. It was so flattering that you chose me instead of those prettier boys... I didn't even know, then, that it was you."

The scent coming off of Simon sent Othello's brain buzzing. This man dripped with a primal power. He was wild and this tame act barely concealed raw physicality.

"I want you." Othello said in a soft purr.

"I want you to take me..." Simon shivered and stared into Othello's eyes.

"Ames. You should go. Now." Othello huffed.

Ames smiled but then stood and closed the door behind him.

As soon as the door was closed the two were in each others arms, feeding painfully on each others' mouths. Biting, licking, sucking. There was no kissing, at least none of the sort you'd see in movies. Simon fell back, pulling Othello on top of him. The big man enveloped him and Othello gripped the hairs carpeting his "meal's" chest. There was so much of it. The muscle rippled and bulged around him.

The sound of sharp crunching and shifting flesh barely registered. It wasn't until Simon's skin actually tore and split that Othello looked up. He saw the pale skin dripping away from Simon's body in gory sheaves, revealing black fur. His mouth and nose were protruding grotesquely, becoming a fangy maw. Othello pulled back in terror and the walls started to glow in response to his fear.

Simon stood, but he wasn't Simon anymore. He was the merging of man and beast. He'd never seen a werewolf before, but he was sure that that's what was crouching before him.

_ "You must take me... I cannot make it easy for you, or I won't get off... Please be Him!!" _Simon leaped at him with a horrific roar.

Othello felt betrayed. Here was one of Them, in flesh and blood. And now he had to subdue It, or die. The part that pissed him off most was that really, all he wanted to do was fuck!!!

He scurried away from where the beast landed. "Son of a bitch!" One of the papers from the wall came loose and twisted to drape over the animal's shoulders, and suddenly he sagged as if under a great weight instead of a steamer of flimsy paper. Simon's still-hazel eyes went round as he snarled.

Othello blinked, then grinned. He reached behind him and threw another streamer over the werewolf's shoulders. Simon sagged with a gasp, and Othello gave a laugh. These paper things felt no different to him at all!

Simon tried to reach up, right hand over his right shoulder, to tear the paper away from his shoulders, but no matter how much he pulled - how hard those muscles rippled - the paper clung to him like tape. The notion was only increased further when Simon seemed unable to lower his arm again.

Othello chuckled, peeling another streamer from the wall. He held it gently, taut between his hands. He crouched and took a few shaky steps towards Simon. The wolf saw this and lunged forward, off the desk. Othello reacted and held the talisman out in front of him with a yelp. Simon caught it in his teeth and bit down... a moment before he landed, he realized he couldn't part his jaws again to release the suddenly weighty paper.

Poor Simon didn't realize that his paws were touching those talismans on the floor until a second after he landed on them, sticking his feet to the ground. Suddenly, the big bad wolf was left with only one free paw. The wolf-man bristled in fury.

Othello walked to the far end of the room and peeled down another paper. He watched the wolf strain, muscles bulging and fat jiggling. He heard his muzzled howls, each ending in a soft whine. He smelled the sweat that was so unsettlingly familiar, bathing black hair in a velveteen sheen... And the steam of that sweat, he smelled the animal's fear. Sweet, addictive fear...

Knowing that this snarling creature was afraid of him... Well, he could no longer distinguish the Conquer-Beast from his logical brain. He wanted Simon, badly... But first...

"Yo! Dog-Shit!!" The shout silenced Simon for a moment with a shuddering gag. "Ya done?" Othello was lost in such a rush! He'd faced death, slobbering, claw-slashing, fang-gnashing, ravenous, death! And now had it pinned to the floor! At his mercy... Ass high... And what an ass... Why had he never... imagined...

He approached Simon, circling to the front. He looked down at Simon and nudged the dog's nose, tugging the paper from his locked jaws with his toe. Simon sniffed it, and then licked the toe; just quick, chase touch with the tip of his tongue. Then he licked more, but Othello didn't like the look in Simon's eye. He couldn't put his finger on it... Here was the werewolf, puppy-kissing his feet, but there was something smoldering in that look he was giving... Then, in a flash of gleaming white, Simon's jaws opened, then slammed shut. Othello barely had time to jerk his foot back before he lost it! Kaard didn't put his foot back down, but instead brought it forward to kick Simon's snout. There was the sound of crunching bone, and in the moment before Othello realized it was the bones in his foot, he smirked, thinking it was Simon's muzzle. When that realization hit, however, Othello crumpled, clutching his foot, swearing.

Simon gave several short barks, and Othello figured out that he was being laughed at. Othello snarled and yelled out: _ "Suffer, creature!!" _

Simon's eyes widened and his every muscle tensed. The howl that was so high and simply broken that it could only be described as pain. Othello didn't have time to appreciate his own pain; after uncovering his ears against the din, he watched in a strange mix of horror and fascination, as the characters on the paper started to glow, then smoke, then burn. It wasn't flame, just bright white embers eat away the paper. As the paper burned, Simon thrashed, freed from the floor, but not the paper. Simon clutched at what what paper clung to his fur.

It seemed to go on forever, but finally, the paper was only ash. Simon was left crying, tears streaming from through his whiskers. That went on long enough for Othello to calm down and sit back on the cot. He slowly picked a strip of paper from the wall.

Simon fell silent and still. His huffing breaths, and quaking shoulders let Othello know that he was still alive. "Simon...?" The beast moved, climbing onto all fours. Othello tensed, feeling like he couldn't move if he wanted to. He was afraid, but a deep breath showed that Simon was terrified. Even without that, Simon crawled on quivering limbs around the edges of the room. It was hilarious considering that in this form, he almost filled it.

"Simon?" Simon froze with a gentle snuffling sound. "No more biting?" Othello chided, talking like he did to his wayward siblings.

Simon wined, and Othello actually understood it: "_ No, Sir... No more biting..." _

Othello smiled and tried to move. He raised a hand and held it out. Simon slowly crawled until his cool nose touched his fingers. Othello had a brief flash of Angel and choked back a giggle. Instead, he did like he would any other dog, and smoothed his hand up Simon's muzzle. Simon whined and his tail wagged gently. He noticed a series of bald patches in his fur, and a closer look showed each letter of his name, burned through the fur, and branded into Simon's skin.

"Whoa..." He breathed.

His fingers touched one of them and Simon tensed before pushing forward, his head against Othello's chest.

"Oh, puppy-dog..." Othello sighed. "I'm sorry... Does it hurt?"

_ "It does..." _ Simon whined._ "Will you give me more...?" _

"More?" Othello asked loudly.

_ "It's so good..." _ Simon moaned._ "It's proof... I know it's you..." _

"Dammit..." Othello groaned, rubbing his left eye, trying to silence the growing throb there. "So it's okay?" As Othello asked, he watched the burns heal, but the fur didn't grow back. "Oh... I... Guess it is..." The Conquer-Beast licked his chops, imagining the possibilities. He tried raising the beasts over-sized head. Simon did, but wouldn't meet his eyes. When Othello held his face to look into his eyes, Simon closed his tightly. "What's your damage?"

_ "Sir burned me... it... this one... for looking into Sir's eyes... Because... it's no longer this one's place... and this one is sorry, Sir..." _ Simon whimpered.

"Hmm..." Othello hugged Simon's head again, sinking into his thoughts. _I didn't like the WAY he looked... He was... Challenging me... He was ready to fucking maul me! Is that why he was watching?_He remembered a trick Mac taught them years ago: He had them take each other on, but told them to watch each other's eyes... The boys had wrestled like maniacs, but had missed the lesson. He got that now, though. "If you can see the eyes, you can read his mind..."

_ "And so, I do not look... Not this one's place to know what Sir thinks..." _

"Huh..." Othello muttered.

_ "Sir... Will you take me, now?" _Simon murmured.

"What?"

_ "this one needs it... This waiting... I've been waiting so long, Sir... And now... it's so close, Sir... I can sm-smell it..." _Othello felt a large, wet nose press into his groin, against his balls. _ "Essence is here... It smells so good..." _

"Alright, boy," Othello whispered. "Tail up."

_ "Sir, PLEASE bind me!" _ Simon yipped out.

"Why?" It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea, but he didn't like being told how or when to fuck by this creature.

_ "I may lose it... I may hurt you... If it feels good, I may crush, or tear you to pieces just trying to hold you! Please, Sir! Bind me!!" _

Kaard raised the hand that held more paper and looked down at Simon. "clear the desk aside..."

Simon barked and kicked the desk, which flew across the floor and crashed against the wall. He then spun around on all fours and stooped, resting his chest to the ground but raising his haunches high, tail wagging even higher. He looked a lot like a dog wanting to play, but was facing the wrong way.

I'd like to bind him... He thought lightly, stroking his cock almost absently, But I'd rather enjoy this view... The moment the thought was formed, a paper unfixed from the ceiling and draped over Simon's broad neck. Simon wiggled but seemed unable to move.

"Oh." Kaard smiled. He raised a finger, then gestured gingerly, and a second sheaf came loose, landing on Simon's shoulders. A gesture more curled those on the floor around his hands, pinning them there.

"Good..." He flexed his toes, and was pleased to feel that he hadn't broken the foot, just dislocated the toe. He winced as it popped back into place and tried standing on it. It hurt, but it was bearable.

He stepped closer to Simon's haunches. The wolf-man's ass-cheeks were round and pert with muscle. Kaard laid a hand on one and the great beast shivered and tensed. Kaard splayed long fingers and gripped as much of the flesh as he could. Simon gave a deep moan. Kaard repeated the process with the other hand. He kneaded the cheeks, enjoying the feel of the muscle under silky fur. Simon wagged his bushy tail and gave soft little howls. Kaard could feel the bass of his new toy's voice in his bones. When he parted those cheeks, he had to put a bit of muscle into the action to reveal the fleshy hole, but doing so brought a pleasantly musky, earthy scent to his nose. The anal muscles were already slick, and the pheromones coming off it smelled delicious. Kaard wiped some onto his finger, which made Simon whine. Kaard smelled the finger, then gave it a lick. It wasn't bad... light tasting, almost to the point of being bland, but the smell filled his sinuses, making his body tense and heat. Kaard leaned in and tentatively licked the puckered muscle and Simon moaned loudly. Such a slutty sound from so big a beast... It made Kaard want to lick more, deeper, harder. So he did, dragging more baritone moans out of Simon. It wasn't as dirty as his dull fears suggested it might have been. And as bad as it actually was didn't matter compared to Simon's almost agonized moans. Kaard acquainted himself with every dip, bulge and crevice of Simon's hole. Simon's back arched as he pushed back at his Dom's face. As Kaard ate him out, Simon's hole opened up, before tightening invitingly. It was almost as if it was kissing him back.

Kaard backed away and rubbed Simon's haunches. He rubbed at the now-slick, now-swollen hole... This beast had been well-used. Kaard worried vaguely about how loose it was until he slipped two fingers in. Simon moaned loudly and his entire body tensed. His hole clenched and sucked, it almost looked like a flower blooming in reverse; most of the pink disappeared and there was light pull as it tried to take in his fingers with it. Kaard spread them, gaping Simon's hole open, stretching the muscle.

Simon panted as his body stayed clenched. He shuddered and it sounded almost pained.

"How do you feel, Simon?" Kaard asked. Asking felt like a silly thing to parts of him, but another part couldn't continue without knowing this was okay.

_ "He t-teases... Sir t-teases... so-o-o bad..." _Simon growled. _ "Give it... It's sore... Your fingers... You're rough with this one's hole... Just give it, pl-please...?" _

Kaard withdrew his fingers and was surprised to see that doing so just seemed to agitate the werewolf. Simon pulled at his restraints and snarled, trying to push his ass backwards, His hind claws scratched the wood flooring as he tried to back out from under the restraints. Kaard thrust his fingers back in and Simon, with a yelp, calmed. It lasted for only a moment, though before Simon started crying again, trying to ride Kaard's fingers.

"You need more...?" Kaard pushed until he felt a similar throbbing to the one he felt when he found Angel's spot. Everything about Simon was somehow more intense than it was with Angel. Simon was more experienced, but that only seemed to have deepen his cravings. "I get it... I'm supposed to cut my teeth on you..."

Simon snarled as Kaard rubbed his spot. He was fighting the bonds again. A new smell reached Kaard's nose, and Kaard stooped to investigate. The smell was coming from a growing puddle of murky fluid beneath the beast. Precum was pouring from a lupine cock as thick as Kaard's wrist, with a knot the might've been as big around as his bicep. Kaard stared at the impressive log of meat and touched Simon's spot again. Simon gave a whine and gave up more pre.

Simon suffered while Kaard played, milking the animal from the inside.

_ "H-hurts... it.. hurts... I n-need to climax..." _Simon wailed.

"Shut up!" Kaard roared, he drew his hand back and then pushed four fingers in, making Simon scream, "You're not here to take care of your own goddamn nuts! You're here... for..." Kaard almost laughed. He'd almost forgotten about his own blue balls. He stood and pulled his hand back. He watched Simon's hole wink. It looked so welcoming... "You're here for me, mutt!" He leaned forward and slapped at Simon's taint with his dick. "You're here to get the juice outta _my_nuts, get it?"

_ "YES!! Yes, I get it, Sir!" _ Simon sobbed, _ "Please, put it in! This one g-gets it... Please... May this one h-have it now...?" _

Instead of answering, Kaard slid his dick in with one smooth motion. It was much easier than with Angel. Then Simon strained again and Kaard felt his mongrel's hole tighten, hugging his base. Kaard let out a moan, but swallowed anymore that might've come. He had to stay above the sensation. It'd be no fun to cum so soon after pushing in.

Besides, now he could get some answers, if he could focus.

Kaard pushed in deep, grinding his hips against Simon's ass, but then stilled. It wasn't long before Simon was whining for more again.

"Who am I, Simon?" Kaard demanded.

_ "N-Not supposed t-to say! S-Sir not r-ready...!" _Simon whined though gritted teeth.

"'Not ready'?" Rage began to build. Kaard started pulling back, but then slammed in hard, giving a new flavor to Simon's cries. Doing so felt good, heat and lightning from his groin to his brain, so he did it again. He thrust hard into Simon, gripping the fur of his lower back for leverage. "Still think I'm 'not ready'? You're meat to me, animal! And I'll see you roast before you tell me what I can, or can't handle! You hear me? I'll see you _ BURN! _"

At the last word, the paper flared, then smoldered, and Simon screamed. The wolf didn't fight, but dug his claws into the ground. He howled in agony, but still, his hole worked into the discordant rhythm of Kaard's thrusts. He milked and rubbed the cock inside him. He shouted without words as his conscious thoughts shut down, instinct taking over. It wasn't Simon giving his body away anymore, it was the wolf now. It was the wolf gorging itself on everything Kaard was inflicting on it.

It happened all at once; one moment, Kaard was fucking, hard and deep, and the next, both males were reached a roaring peak of ecstasy. The two came together, Kaard, pouring his cum into Simon, and Simon, dumping his own load on to the floor.

The two collapsed in a heap, sticky and stinking, and breathless. It was a wonderful experience, full of filthy, carnal release...

So, why didn't it feel as... fulfilling as his time with Angel?

Kaard tried to shake off the question. It felt good, he'd cum in someone else - someone who'd been his bitch the whole time. Everything else was just in his head.

He nestled into the slick, warm fur and let out a satisfied sigh. "Well? Ready to answer some of my questions now?"

The answer was prompt: _ "No, Sir." _

Kaard lifted himself up to stare at Simon. "Why not?"

_ "May... May I change back, Sir...?" _ Simon asked.

Kaard pulled out, and was only mildly surprised that he was still hard. "Fine," He muttered, "But then we talk." He sat back on the cot and watched.

Simon swallowed. Then swallowed again. He gulped hard, and his entire body compressed a little. He gulped hard, again and again, and each time seemed to swallow a bit more of the wolf. When his limbs started to reshape themselves, he'd swallow and flex, forcing the joints back into position with disturbing popping sounds. He had started to sweat again, and as his body swallowed up more hair, the sheen on his skin became more apparent. Bared teeth ground themselves back into flat, primate shapes and bones broke, shrunk, and reset with each gulp. There were moments when the wolf seemed to put up a fight, or the struggle between man and wolf appeared painful, but in the end, the wolf was totally subdued and Simon crouched at Kaard's feet.

"Sir... There is much I cannot tell you about yourself, Sir..." Simon seemed to truly regret the statement.

_Christ, if you feel so damn bad about it, why not just 'fess up?_Kaard chewed a nail and tried to calm down. "Why not?"

"In truth, I know very little about you," Simon admitted, "and what I do know, I've been put under Oath not to tell you."

"Why?"

"Because, as I understand it, you may have forgotten on purpose," Simon muttered.

Kaard raised an eyebrow and the little door opened as a bowl of honey was pushed in. Simon scrambled for a moment to retrieve and present it properly to him. Kaard took it, sipped from it, and finally spoke again: "Fine. You can talk about yourself, though, right?"

Simon had difficulty keeping the confusion from his face. "I-I suppose?"

"What are you?" Kaard asked.

This made Simon look up, but then he remembered his place and lowered his eyes. "Is that not obvious, Sir...?"

Kaard lay a small paper over Simon's forehead and muttered:_ "Burn..." _

Simon's eyes widened and tears rolled down his cheeks as the letters burned. "WEREWOLF! SIR!!" Simon yelped as Kaard's human name was seared onto his brow like a sunburn.

"Why do you speak like They do?" Kaard continued, laying another small strip in the same place.

"B-b-because the were- are s-spirit-b-beings, Sir!" Simon shivered under the paper.

"No..." Kaard said. "You're different. I can tell Spirit-things from normal people, and you are perfectly normal right now."

"Yes. We are d-different, Sir...:" Simon Muttered. "We are called the Forsaken, because we have these human bodies... We bear human young. We live, love, and die as humans. And yet, we are spirits. It is an ancient curse, and a timeless blessing..."

"That sounds absolutely nothing like the werewolves in movies..." Kaard muttered, wary of offending Simon.

If Simon was offended, he didn't show it. "Neither are fairies..." He said softly.

Kaard smirked at that and patted Simon's head. Simon relaxed with a gentle happy growling sound. Kaard continued petting while he thought. He knew that getting direct answers was going to be like pulling this werewolf's teeth. It might be better to just ask Simon about spirits then.

"Simon?" Kaard asked after another sip of honey.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Why did you come here, really?"

Simon reached down and began massaging Kaard's calf muscles while he thought. "To serve a powerful man..." Simon said.

"Powerful? You're being stupid." Kaard muttered. "Stupid and cryptic, just like everyone else."

"No one knows as much as you think we do, Sir." Simon said softly, kneading a stubborn kink. "There are things I've been ordered not to tell you, but really, it's all things that have only been guessed at. They're things that if you are misled about, could do you harm..." Simon tensed, pausing in his massage. "Sir? May I ask you something, now?"

"What is it?"

"You weren't afraid of me, after I transformed. Why?"

Kaard didn't know how to answer that. He flexed in Simon's hands. The fingers felt good. This man's strength was well used with each squeeze. "Because... I knew you were real. In this place, it doesn't matter that no one believes me. You might have killed me, and in this world, everyone knew I didn't do it to myself..."

"So you fear the ones outside... Because no one you love would know why you died?"

Kaard gulped and suddenly another piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"But that's not entirely true anymore now, is it?" Simon muttered. "One person loves you, Sir. And he believes you. Wants to protect you."

"Angel..." At the name, the paper still lacing the walls went inert and fell, fluttering and curling to the ground. Kaard chuckled and then laughed... and then cried. He was awash with emotions as he remembered Angel's declarations... No... it was just Angel being there... Suddenly, he didn't want Simon touching him. He pulled his legs away on to the cot and pulled his knees up and cried into them.

Simon stood, knowing when he was being blocked out. He tapped twice on the door and stepped out into the hall. He wiped the tears from his own eyes, but smiled to himself.

"You're so cruel, Sir..." He whispered. "This is one who loves you..."