The Lunt Street Ripper’s Sentence (2)
#2 of The Ripper Wolf (BDSM, Mind Control)
The Lunt Street Ripper's Sentence (2)
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The carriage drove through the night. The skunk in the bowler hat, perched on the driver's seat, used his whip regularly to urge the large black horses onwards, their huge hooves first pounding on the cobbled stones of the streets, then, as they left the confines of the city, upon gravel and dirty. The rain continued, hard, invigorating, cold and whiskered in by the wind. It rattled against the windows of the carriage, but its occupants remained mostly unaware.
The white tiger, sitting with his paws against his knees and staring directly ahead of him, his hat resting against his wrists. Next to him, the otter, dressed immaculately just like the servant of a well-affluent man should, for they were the reflection of their Lord, after all. Not even an ear flicked in reaction to the potholes the carriage rumbled across on the increasingly winding, wet road.
The deep sound of breathing was the only noise that was not a creak of the wooden carriage, or the batter of hooves. The dark, shaggy-furred wolf slept uninterrupted on the bottom of the carriage among the footpaws of the furs sitting across him, a cloth bag pulled over his head and his paws secured behind his back with steel cuffs. His tail hung about legs that were pulled close to his chest, the posture foetal and and primal, unmoving from this state of things despite the motion of the carriage.
The horse, the final occupant to be mentioned, stared at the wolf with the thrill of ownership that could be only be felt once, upon the very moment of acquisition. Despite the presence of the servants in the carriage, knowing that almost nothing went on in their minds without his permission, he was technically alone, and he was free to display any emotion, excitement, joy, upon his success.
No.
The Master simply stared in quiet admiration, and enjoyed the feeling of his rock hard cock filling his trousers with its fleshly bulk. He was more aroused than he had been in a long time. He could smell himself in the confined air of the carriage, even through the overwhelming musk of a wolf. His earlier bath had done little to reduce it, even if the grime was gone. The furs were mostly clean now, but the scent of a wolf...no, the Master thought, the stench of a wolf remained. Something unsavory about it, something so lacking in finesse of the kind he was used to that it simply wouldn't do. It was unacceptable, not a noble fragrance suitable for his social standing.
A smell to be enjoyed, with every one of his breaths.
He didn't even realize, nor minded, that he was practically breathing in rhythm with the wolf.
Hhhhhhh... deep, dark rumbling, and the cloth of the sack covering his head sunk...hhhhhh...and the air escaped, slowly.
He would make him stand under lights, for hours, he thought, just for the viewing pleasure of his master, the horse was determined. Wash his furs, powder them, make him flex to bring every muscle out and then...hold that pose for as long as the Master determined it to be amusing for his senses. Naked, of course. He would not waste a single scrap of cloth or leather upon the wolf's form. He would likely remain unclothed for most of his stay at the horse's residence, the Master thought with amusement. Many of his servants wore very little to begin with, but this wolf was intriguing, physically and in his spirit, too. The horrors the papers loved talking about had been the making of this fur, those claws that now rested behind the wolf's back, responsible for countless murders, killing for sports, for lust.
He would put that lust into good use, the Master determined.
His excitement was unstoppable. He was almost tempted to order the tiger or the otter to provide him some relief before their arrival. It would be as simple as giving the order and there would be warm paws and even warmer, slippery maw and tongue struggling to slide over his swollen flesh. The gagging...the gargling...the vicious flow of spittle from those stretched lips...and a neigh from the usually so contrite, quiet man.
No, he told himself. He was a Master, and while he freely indulged in his own urges, this was not a time for such distractions. Soon he would be in his home and it would be time to begin anew, to properly start welcoming the wolf into the little family the horse had gathered around himself.
The rough, intricate ideas filled his mind and kept him occupied all the way until the lights of his manor shone in the distance, the lands became cultivated, tilled and enclosed in stone fences. Magnificent trees sprouted and led a path over to the fenced premises, red brick, black iron spikes lining the top, and the iron fence, watched over by quiet sentries who opened it for the carriage to pass.
The house was plastered in grey, with windows that glowed with dim light through the curtains. A graveled path led over onto the large stone steps that had towering Doric pillars supporting the roof above them. The doors themselves were a dark wooden tone, reinforced with black steel.
The carriage stopped with a creak. The horses stomped their hooves onto the ground and threw their heads up, burning muscles steaming under the rain.
"Home, Ripper," the horse spoke. "We are at home now."
He snapped his fingers.
"Alistair, Stuart, get everyone to the hall to welcome our new friend."
"Yes, sir."
"Yes, Milord."
The door was opened and a chill entered the carriage, as the white tiger and the otter excited the carriage. The otter opened the step on the carriage while the tiger went over to the door and knocked three times.
The door opened, and a growing cone of light spread so that the carriage became illuminated by lamp light from within the house. A bear dressed from neck to toe in black appeared in the doorway, a blank expression over his muzzle.
"Master is here," the white tiger said.
"Welcome, Master!" the bear's eyes suddenly gained new light to them as he learned the reason for this call. He bowed his head deep and held it so, much to the amusement of the horse still enjoying the protection o f the carriage.
"Good evening, Edward," the horse spoke.
"Master," the bear replied, head still held down.
"Everyone are to be roused and to be presented," the white tiger told the bear.
"Yes, Milord," the bear said, and left again, walking with quiet steps across the marbled hall of the mansion.
The horse tapped the wolf's hip with his hoof. He knew that it was enough to rouse him from his slumber, the one he had been ordered to. The sudden tension running over the arched spine told him everything he needed to know.
The horse smiled to himself with joy.
"Ripper," he said, "we are home now. You will meet your brothers. Do not answer. You aren't to speak yet."
The wolf remained immobile.
"You have travelled a very long way," the horse spoke to himself, "it is over now. This is home."
The horse extended his hand onto the rain.
"Stuart."
"Milord," the otter bowed as he took the accepted hand.
The Master did not require help to get out of the carriage. He did it simply because the gesture was one he had come to expect from his thralls. They were there to do his bidding, and reminding them in little ways about all that was a very particular pleasure for him to enjoy. It appealed to him to no end, and they never spoke a word of ill for it.
They were unable to, and that was how he preferred things to be.
He strode under the canopy of the extended roof with a few steps, up the stairs, and into the cavernous hall of his manor, his home. Alistair, the wolf, bowed in respect as soon as he was in the vicinity of his Master again.
"Help your new brother out of the carriage, Alistair."
"Yes, Milord."
"Stuart, help Alistair."
"Yes, sir."
The otter climbed into the carriage and tugged on the wolf, with the help of the white tiger, so that he could take fumbling steps out of the carriage, unable to see where he was going which meant that he was at the mercy of the four paws that had been assigned to guide him out. He landed, huge footpaws in the gravel, then with toe claws clicking on the stone steps.
The Master admired the wolf, whom, even bound, was an impressive form. Whatever little he wore did nothing to hide the musculature of his body which seemed to have lost none of its size and shape even through pro-longed immobilization in the dungeon. He would make sure to ensure that with some calisthenics and exercise. The servant's quarters were well appointed in that regard with equipment for that purpose. The wolf's new brothers could surely instruct him on how to use these items he surely had never used. This body had only seen violence and hardship, no regimented attempt to shape him into a particular way.
The horse's way, and the wolf would not be choosing upon whether that was to his preference or not.
"Put him to stand next to me and line up, men," the horse said.
The white tiger walked the wolf by his arm and turned him so that the tall, thickly furred male was standing by their Master. He was as tall, and broader, a complete contrast to the sleek shape of the horse, a body made for running. The wolf's body was made for brawling and stalking, with arched shoulders and huge paws, a body of a worker, should he had actually worked.
The otter and the white wolf moved noiselessly, to stand on the floor clad in stone and carpet.
Doors opened, in time, and further males entered. There was the bear, in his black, immaculate uniform, followed by a wolf almost as large stature as the one who stood by the horse. His furs were of lighter color, however, and his body was adorned by leather cuffs around his wrists, and a leather collar around his neck, made of black, polished leather. He wore nothing else but a codpiece of leather held in place by leather straps about his waist and around his thighs, and they creaked with every motion he made.
He took his place on the line, impassive, arms by his sides, paws held out, staring ahead of him in a mirror effect of the three males next to him.
Others, followed, coming down the stairs from their quarters. Unlike the others, their only visible garment were long, flowing night shirts, from their collars over to knee where the cloth terminated and left their bare foot paws visible. They moved with precision, and despite the baggy outfits that covered their bodies and made it difficult to ascertain their shape, it was clear that they were powerful, strong men.
"Tonight, a new member joins our household," the horse told once the men stood in front of him, two dozen and a half faces that looked at him, and the wolf standing by the horse in charge of the house and its occupants, "he is known as Ripper, and you will treat him as your brother."
The men did not reply. The horse knew that they had no need to speak to bring forward as simple a thing as agreement. They did not have the ability to real opinion anymore, after all, at least not for its expression in full freedom.
The horse released the drawstring that kept the bag taut around the wolf's neck and then he tugged it away, to reveal the wolf's fierce eyes, staring ahead of him. They were different from those of the others. They did not have the same shining indifference, but something else, something that would have unnerved them to no end if their instincts had not been wrapped into the mesmeric embrace of the horse's suggestion.
"This is Ripper," the horse spoke again, putting a hand upon the wolf's thick, muscled, furred arm," he will have a lot to learn about his new life, and I presume you all will be most helpful in his education."
"Remember his face, his scent, his body," the horse said, "you will become familiar with it, in many ways."
The horse loved this moment. He knew that somewhere deep in their minds, beyond the layers of control placed upon them, their minds might have attempted a measure of rebellion. The control was tough and impregnable, but it was only a harness, the horse thought, after his great lengths of learning the art of animal magnetism, called upon its new name _mesmerism_by that man who knew precious little with what he was meddling with. In the deep, dark temples of the mountains of the Raj, it had been practiced for thousands of years and developed into an art mastered by few, but elevated into a power of immense proportions.
His voice, his commands, they were nothing but the brittle, the gag, the eyeshades and the harness his very own stable boys employed to strap the horses in front of the carriage. They were beast brought under control of the paw holding the whip and the reins, and the stallion was that man, in control of a barely tamed beast.
Somewhere beyond the mystic wrap of animal magnetism, the souls of these tortured beings knew that what they did was not on their own accord. Everything they did had been bestowed upon them by an order, a command so irresistible that they simply could not deny it. Their arms and legs moved upon this command of locomotion that made them move as per the orders. In their minds, the calming whisper of the horse's voice quenched the resistance of the minds trapped in their bodies by the horse's power upon them.
All this the horse knew down to the final Sanskrit-engraved words of warning from the great, ancient masters of these arts, and he held them to his heart, close to the amulet of pure gold that held lucky charms and incantations in its own right, for heathen gods and deities with fantastic shapes and powers, surrounding the light-bringing symbol oh good omens, the one that was shaped like four letter L's joined together.
The horse couldn't have felt more aroused by the power he wielded than in that very moment.
"Pip, Alistair, Percy, Hugo, prepare my bath for me and your new brother, like you'd prepare an entertaining bath for me and yourselves" the horse spoke. "Edward, prepare my rooms, I will be there in a moment with Ripper. Robert, you shall take Ripper into the antechamber and have him wait there for me and your brothers."
A few of the males moved away from the double line of men, to exit through doors. One of them, however, a tall lion in one of the white smocks, stepped forward.
"I am here, Milord," the lion spoke in a deep, respectful voice.
"Take Ripper to the antechamber."
"Yes, Milord."
The lion took the wolf's arm and gave it a pull. He did not move. The lion did not pull again, but looked at the horse instead.
The Master smiled.
"Ripper, when one of your brothers is commanded to do something for you or to you, you must allow them to, or face the consequences," he said, "if one of them is ordered to physically take you to somewhere, you are to follow. Say 'yes, Master', to tell me that you have understood."
The muscles and the tendons in the wolf's neck tightened. He was biting his teeth together. He breathed in rapid, noisy grunts through his nose.
"Say 'yes, Master'."
The wolf's tail lashed out. Now his legs trembled...his shoulders...his back arching even further, an aggressive posture if there ever was one.
"Say it, Ripper."
The horse held his breath. The stallion's own body shuddered with tension, as if mirroring that of the wolf in front of him.
"Ripper, do it, or you will face the consequences."
The wolf's body seemed to deflate, suddenly, with a huge exhalation of air from his chest.
"Yes, Master."
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The voice was gravely and unused, and the horse did not detect sincerity in it.
It thrilled him even more.
"Now, go with Robert."
This time, when the lion tugged on the arm, the wolf followed, voicelessly, his tail tense like a spike out of his rump. The stallion watched him scale the stairs along with the lion all the way until they disappeared from sight and he remained alone in the marble hall of his mansion.
He could only hear the thumping of his heart and the blood rushing into his ears.
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