Silver
Silver
Erotic fiction
by Sharpfang '2006
I found out that I'm aroused by stories and images of rape, violence, torture, and I was deeply disturbed by discovering it. I mean, I'm not like this! I despise these concepts, I hate them. So, why? They say such images arouse those turned on by control, by causing pain. But I hated the idea of doing any of this myself, I felt hate towards the tormentors, disgust towards these actions. A long introspection finally allowed me to find the source of my arousal: compassion. Helping the victims, saving them, gaining gratitude and love, giving them hope. I think it's not something to be ashamed of. But for each savior there must be one tormentor and this story includes parts that are disturbing and cruel. Don't judge me for them.
Silver
======
The hunt tightened. Crowd of people, torches in hands, dogs barking, shouts, noise of cowbells and metal pots, whistles and drums. Not just a line of people, but a thick belt, two hundred steps wide, with men scattered no further than ten steps apart, and two miles long, between the rocky wall of the mountain and open fields where marksmen with crossbows ready waited. Crossbows with silver bolts. A werewolf hunt.
The officers knew that the two hundred steps filled with peasants wouldn't stop the werewolf. They knew the elite soldiers assigned to guarding the cage, a hundred against one, would fall, all of them, if the werewolf broke free. That the soldiers with crossbows couldn't dream of hitting the werewolf, who was faster than the bolts. That confronting the werewolf would mean a failure. The only hope was fear. Wake up the animal and hunt it, showing no fear, chasing. And never allowing to corner the beast, because cornered it would fight back, and that would mean a failure. Allow it to run, guide it towards the trap.
And even the trap was a hopeless enterprise, smoke and mirrors, a gamble against the unknown, relying on one known, that werewolf given choice, will avoid silver, and one guess, that stamina of the werewolf isn't limitless. Two nets of silver wire, closing two ends of a narrow pass between the rocks. Dropped both at once would enclose the werewolf in the narrow, long tunnel. Not for long, barely hurting its claws the werewolf would rip through the wire and flee. But if at any time one of them remains raised, the werewolf should head to the opening. Only rising the other would possibly stop the werewolf from ripping the one dropped in front of it to pieces though. So people on top would rise and lower, rise and lower the nets, keeping the werewolf running from one end to the other and back, never closed from both sides, never open on the side the werewolf is on.
The beast would climb the nearly vertical walls almost half way up, racing with the upper edge of the net rising, then fall with a roar, then race for the opening at the other end, clawing at the walls by the fine nets, trying to dig under only to find rock and soil spiked with silver bars, and many hours later it slowed down, stopping in the middle, howling long, with despair and fear in the voice.
The soldiers started shooting the crossbows. Not the silver bolts, these could make the werewolf to panic, but the small stingy iron-tipped wooden shafts, annoying, though harmless to the monster regenerating the wounds as fast as it could rip the bolts off. They kept the werewolf running for another three hours, long into the daylight, making the color of the fur apparent - black, and the sex - it was a she-wolf.
They continued shooting for the whole day. By the nightfall the werewolf stopped reacting to the iron-tipped bolts. Like a big, dark pin-cushion she lay in the middle of the passage. The general gave signal. At first, bolts with strings attached to them. Not much, the werewolf could rip them off any moment. But they were used cautiously, to spread legs and arms a little, let the last part snap just right. Then the last, ingenious contraption was lowered on a thick rope.
The bars in every normal cage run around the prisoner. Not here. This was the only cage where the bars run through the prisoner's body. A thick steel slab covered with hundreds of thick steel blades sticking out of its lower surface. Each blade with conical sharp tip. Wide, flat bottom round part of each cone coated with silver. When the aim was sure, the rope was released. The cage fell.
The howl of pain... some soldiers sweated heavily, a few bent over with nausea. The general of the soldiers whispered "Couldn't we just have killed the poor beast?"
The main constructor, a young, smart man rubbed his forehead with his sleeve, wiping cold sweat. "Turn it over" he commanded. "Faster!" - men turning a crank pulling one of the ropes sped up, horrible, distorted howls were coming from down below, as the werewolf body sliding down the bars rested against the silver-plated bottom surfaces of the cone-shaped blades. The wounds already closed around the iron bars, now enclosing them tightly, and making it impossible to slide off, the blunt silver surfaces preventing it.
The constructor was already by the werewolf when the plate stood upright. He pushed the body deeper, moving it away from the silver, and realizing he's likely the first one to touch a live werewolf without getting hurt. He examined the work, pushed the left thigh of the werewolf strongly, making last two blades tear through the skin, improve the lock and stop hurting with the silver, then examined the head part - five different blades were piercing it, at least two went through the brain, but the magic of werewolf regeneration let it still live. He removed four securing pins on the other side of the slab and pulled out four of the blades from the front, watching as the wounds in the head heal - he left just one, through the throat, sticking out of the werewolf's mouth.
"I'm sorry, girl", he whispered, before others joined in and began helping attaching a matching front slab of the cage, securing the werewolf for transportation.
* * *
Her body ejected all the bolts, arrowheads and wooden shafts, but the silver plating wouldn't allow it to eject the bars of the cage. They were adjusted, each of them pulled back through the slab to allow no room for movement, just a small circle of leather separating the silver from her skin. Ones barely holding and useless outside her body outline were removed. The slab was placed on wooden supports, vertically, slightly tilted back - on display, in a deep dungeon, with access tunnel modified to collapse at a pull of a rope, sealing the werewolf away forever.
She wouldn't howl anymore, just whine quietly. A hundred of noblemen and rich merchants went through the dungeon that day, all to see the captured werewolf. Each of them was instructed that if the werewolf breaks free, the dungeon would be locked and sealed, and them - left on mercy of the beast.
It was late in the evening, when the main constructor finally entered the dungeon. All the energy of the previous day has evaporated. He was drinking most of the previous day, avoiding people, sulking in his quarters, then allowing his body to recover from alcohol daze and hangover, sleeping most of the next day.
"By Lord, you are so beautiful", he said when he stood in front of the she-wolf, stretched on the spikes of the cage, watching him with tormented eyes. He was the inventor and overseer of the project, by order of Duke. Normally he would project and oversee construction of siege weapons or defense facilities, maybe even make projects of civilian facilities, like the big clock on the city hall tower. But Duke wanted a weapon capable of wiping out the enemy from the neighbor island, and his chancellor got this idea... Poison enough peasants with lycanthropy, send a ship full of them across the sea, before the full moon. Let them ravage the land, kill everyone. Nobody would dare to go there after that for ages, but that didn't matter, it was war for revenge, not for land or profit.
But they needed to catch a werewolf and a werewolf they got. The constructor was always fascinated by werewolves, dreaming of taming one some day, and knowing how hopeless that dream was. He gathered enough knowledge and created the plan, madness resembling juggling a red-hot coal. Whenever he could, he would avoid cruelty, but he would shudder thinking of what was monstrosities he couldn't leave out. Before preparing the plans he saw old, failed werewolf traps. Inch-thick steel bars bent and broken, three feet thick stone wall shattered, a cage made of silver ripped in half. He understood silver can't stop a werewolf. Only fear of silver can. The werewolf was locked between two walls. One made of eight inches of solid steel, the other - of fear of silver. Only relative safety inside kept it there. But prod her with a silver-tipped spear, and she will rip free, maybe killing herself in the process - there was no doubt about it.
He rested his cheek against the fur-covered chest, sighing deeply, the fur soft in touch, smooth and silky. The softness... blushing a little he realized it was her breasts... Then a sharp piercing pain as his face scratched against the tip of one of the spikes.
And five dozens more of them piercing her body right now. And her, feeling every single moment of humanly pain... but intimidated by pain so inhumanly that it kept her from breaking free.
He stood back, tears flowing down his cheek, watching now not just a magnificent beast, but a suffering girl, defenseless, scared and tormented. She was beautiful, her black fur shining, strong body so sleek and feminine, and that spark in her eye... a tear in her eye.
The constructor ran back to his drawing board, spending the rest of the night making a plan of a new cage, one that wouldn't make her suffer so greatly.
* * *
She knew of her sins. She had killed many. Not once she wanted to end with herself, but cut wrists would heal in minutes, poisonous plants would cause nausea, a jump down a cliff left her hurting for many hours. She knew what could kill her, but she was too afraid of it. She had a small dagger of silver. She dared to unwrap the cloth on it just once, but she never dared to touch the metal.
Once she asked a close friend. She revealed her secret and asked him to do it for her. After long convincing he agreed. Next day she found remains of his clothes and body parts. Fear had triggered the transformation, and then friendship wouldn't matter. She was a monster and she couldn't do a thing about it. She just hoped for death, but death wouldn't come.
Suffering came instead. The daze of the chase and pain of the bolts raining from the sky, but they were dimmed by feelings of the monster. But now, after a day between two slabs of steel, and a day on display for the noblemen, all of that was gone, she was just a girl in this monster body, knowing that trying to transform back into the smaller body would pop joints from her limbs and cause her only to suffer more.
* * *
The constructor spent the morning convincing Duke the new project is necessary, telling lies of the risk of prolonged exposure and unaimed spikes, metal ejection and regenerating powers. He knew no braces and bars could hold a shapeshifter in place, except ones through the body, but the number of the spikes was reduced, combined with bracers and thick bars they would pierce her body in six points. Arms, legs, chest and head. Preparing them would take another day. He would oversee every moment of it.
* * *
She cried in pain and shame, her body jerked by regular thrusts. The first one was a dare, now it was a routine. The guard was pushing his dirty penis up her sex, gasping in quiet rhythm, using her body for his pleasure and revenge.
"You'd think such a big bitch wouldn't be as tight", one of the previous ones, gathered in a small group commented. The others stood in line, waiting for their turn.
"Hurry up, Yorick, others are waiting! Up Up Up!" sounded from the line. Pale buttocks over lowered red pants of Duke's guards were moving quickly between furred thighs thicker than whole body of the guard. Last thrusts were slower and harder than others, as Yorick ejected his load into her body, adding his cum to pool of semen of a dozen guards before him. The she-wolf gave out a quiet whine, it hurt, it hurt nearly as bad as the spikes through her body, and the spikes hurt worse than before, her body shaken by rapid thrusts.
The next guard stepped up and walked to the small stool Yorick was standing on. "Move. My turn." "Wait, a kissy-kissy for the girl for the trick!", Yorick chuckled and suckled on exposed nipple, just in front of his mouth. "Good doggy". He stepped off the stool and pulled his pants back up. These taunts... these taunts were making it even worse for her.
The next one was a big guy, but even he needed the stool. He quickly dropped his pants and placed his short, thick penis against her pussy, slippery and wet from cum of others. He thrusted so hard, that she cried out in pain, the spikes pushing at her wounds, his penis nearly tearing her vagina. "Tight? Not too tight for Big Benny!" the big guard chuckled and started thrusting in hard rhythm. His penis would pop out now and then and his quick thrusts would force it back in, without much aiming and so hard that she would cry out every time.
"Slow down, Benny, if captain catches us, we're screwed."
"Yeah, you're screwed, slackers. The ones who finished, back to their posts. Line - move outside the door, sealing order still in place. I take the next turn with the beast.", sounded from the door. "And yeah, Benny, slow down. If bishop catches us, we're screwed. As for confession, remember, it's not a sin, no need to tell a thing to the priest, is that clear? And clean up when you finish!"
Benny slowed down a little, but he began squeezing the furry breast, hard metal through it hurting, sore labia still rubbing against the shaft, unable to heal. Cool semen dripping down her legs, staining her fur. A few last stronger thrusts and Ben added his semen to her overflowing inside. Other soldiers walked out, peeping through the door, many of these ordered back to their posts going back to the end of the line.
Captain of the guards instead of walking up to the she-wolf, first searched a bit in a box in the corner. After all, it was a torture chamber... He found a small, short crop. He walked up to the stool, removed his boots and trousers, then stepped up onto the stool and cut the werewolf through her breasts, once, fast. His penis was long, but limp when he stepped up on the stool, but when the furred body arched under the new source of fierce pain, it throbbed a little. Another fast hit, right in the nipple, making the she-wolf to cry out in pain, long, desperate howl cut short by the crop nearly cutting out her tongue tip. The penis was semi-erect. Another hit in the breasts, followed with yet another right into the nose tip, fearful helpless yelp of a beaten dog escaping the muzzle, the cock jumping upright, filling with blood. Captain held the breast of the werewolf with one hand, exposing the nipple, then three really fast, sharp hits, right into the nipple, reddish drop of milk dripped from the tip, the cock hardening and growing, red glowing pole nine inches long, throbbing in the lights of the torches. He touched the drop of milk with the tip of the crop, then licked it. He saw what he wanted in the eyes of the prisoner - terror. Three fast hits right into the clitoris were followed with a rapid thrust, deep, to the hilt, inside. Daze from the pain in her clitoris didn't let the she-wolf react to another experience, odd, nauseating, horrible pain in her womb, her cervix being pushed open, the thick, hard tip entering her womb, pushing semen of dozen of guards inside, keeping it open. The body arched, jerked against the bars, touch of silver burned like fire when the werewolf pushed her body back, her lower body spasming, trying to eject the intruder but unable to, only milking it and arousing more, keeping it there against her will, violating her body deeper than anyone before, and his hateful cool eyes, melting slowly in ecstasy, her disgust, fear, humiliation, helplessness becoming his delight. He kept it inside, feeling every spasm of her body, her cervix clutching around his penis, trying to push it out, but only stimulating it more that way. And when it seemed that her body finally defeated accepts the intruder, that it ends, and she looked at him with her tear-filled eyes, he hit twice, fast, sharp tip aimed perfectly, piercing her eyelids and smashing her beautiful eyes, two huge dark tears dripping out and falling to the floor, eyelids oddly depressed, droplets of blood replacing tears. The horrible pain, world replaced by darkness, horror of the experience didn't even let her feel his ejaculation, his semen mixing in her womb with sperm of others, his cock going limp and sliding out.
The first of the soldiers in the line pushed the one behind him, "you go, I'll be after you." Captain stepped down, put his pants and boots on, smirked while fastening his belt. "Same as whores from southern cape, when we burned their village in 86, just doesn't bleed that much. What's up, soldier? Her eyes will regrow in a few hours. Take your time, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity!"
But the she-wolf didn't hear him, enclosed in her small, dark world of pain, terror of darkness, life leaking out of the nearly immortal body, shock doing what silver couldn't, her mind escaping into darkness... But she couldn't. She felt two firm hands on her hips. And penis entering her vagina again, dull pounding, the horrible experience of her shattered soul getting violated even more, the horrible connection with the outside world, being used like a rag by a stranger, an evil stranger. She wanted to sever it but she couldn't, against her will she felt every single detail, the stale breath with hint of garlic, one of the nails on the hands broken, piercing her skin, handful of her fur pulled as the loins kept thrusting. And that penis, slightly flat head, loose foreskin trailing after each thrust, long, touching her cervix with most of thrusts, sending shocks up her underbelly, she was able to feel veins on its core through the thin foreskin, fast thrusts into her body, his pubic hair rubbing semen of others into bruises on her labia, preventing them from healing, and awakening the fiery pain in her clitoris. And his long, loose ballsack slapping her buttocks in the rhythm, insulting the last of the self-respect that was ever in her.
Each thrust felt like ages, every touch, every detail reaching her consciousness, tormenting her soul worse than silver ever did. She would rip free now, escape, but her body was out of her control. Only this touch existed in her universe. She felt the muscles hardening, she felt the flow of semen through his skin, then she felt it, cold and sticky, spurting at her cervix, a long string slowly dripping onto the bottom of her vagina, then dragged out by the tip finally leaving it. Some semen leaked out, formed a long, thick drop on her labia, hanging there, slowly, slowly preparing to drip.
There were voices. She knew of the voices but she didn't hear them. Then she felt a thin, pointy penis entering her vagina again, without warning. It was throbbing like a small angry dog, ready to bite. And it did, it barely moved inside when she felt it hardening in the last throb and the semen spurted in, this time hot like lava and burning her. The penis retreated but the semen remained, burning her like acid, thin stream flowing down towards the opening, forming another drop, feeling like fire on her labia. And she knew it was not the last time this penis would enter her that night.
The next one was almost gentle. Lazy, slow strokes were just taking what rightfully belonged to it, arrogance and experience telling her she's to be fucked, and nothing can change that, her will doesn't exist, the body isn't her anymore. The suffering of soul was worse than pain of the body, and his sperm, planted in a few firm spurts felt like flowing upward, claiming her body his, planting her womb with his semen.
Another one entered her, hurried, nervous, pushing hard, wanting just to release his stress, her body just a thing to use and discard, small bump on the bottom of his penis adding to his annoyance, pushing his nails into her flanks and giving out a gasp of relief when his cum shot, as if he defecated. She wouldn't even consider the semen filthy before, but this one felt like filth inside her, tainting her body.
And yet another one. This one started differently. The hands gently stroked fur on her breasts. She was almost ready to accept the caress. His touch was soft and gentle, and as he was entering her, it felt as if he was sorry to her for doing this. His strokes were gentle and shy. His hands wandered up her chest. And then she realized how his love was tainted, she realized he did it at least once before. His fingers locked on her throat in a hard grip, his thrusts became hard and violent. In the past he was refused once and he wouldn't allow it again. He held the throat hard, not allowing her to breathe, and forcing her to give him her body, no matter if she dies in the process. Each thrust like a scoop of treasure for him, thief of the touch, taking what he wasn't given. Physically it was barely discomfort, but her neck was in grip of hands that kill for greed, and she felt each pull of his penis wasn't just a scoop of pleasure for him, it felt like he's stealing her soul. His last thrust rested his body against hers, sharp spikes notwithstanding. His semen was insignificant, it was her touch he was stealing. He didn't have right to her body, to any female body, but he would still take.
The emptiness when he left was scary, as if he took a part of her away with him.
She didn't see, but she could feel the evil grin on the face of the next one. She felt a sharp knife pushed up her vagina, spike of pain, tissue being split, then the penis entering her, entering the wound, moving between her bowels. New, alien kind of pain, short penis ripping edges of the wound, fast gasp, his sperm landing amongst her bowels, in her belly. "Too fast, bitch. Once again". She understood the whisper. He retreated and the wound grew together, sealing his sperm in her body.
The next one was clueless. He was tall and thin like a stick, his bony hands resting on her shoulders. His penis was also thin and long, easily pushing against her cervix. At first he was moving as if he didn't know what for. His chaotic thrusts were like senseless jabbing her body with a stick. But soon he discovered the feeling and she felt as his thrusts become more organized, seeking more and demanding, greed waking up, need to claim her body his own, just like the one before, conqueror of flesh, but this one was chaotic, hurried as if the moment wouldn't come, as if he could get lost somewhere. But he arrived there and planted his seed, right into opening of her cervix, with pride and satisfaction as if he won a battle. He was still clueless. He didn't realize his captain was already there, that he ravaged and tore down what he just touched. He didn't realize his touch woke up the fresh memory, the memory of pain rippling through her womb, her cervix trying to eject the intruder. He took the spasm of her cervix caused by her memory of the suffering for reaction of pleasure, chuckling a little. It wouldn't be his last time that night either.
The next one was lazy. It took him a long while to get hard, but her vagina was so overflowing and stretched that it didn't matter, he fucked her with his half-limp cock, got harder, got soft again, and it lasted nearly half a hour. She would cry, reminded of her position by regular thrusts over and over again, if she still had her eyes. He reached orgasm with highest effort, gasping hard and thrusting his cock back and forth, spurted hot semen and left her, used up fuckhole.
She felt another presence. A few fast spurts landed in fur of her chest and belly. The guard went to take his place again on the end of the queue.
The "small dog" penis again. This time slower and more cautious, taking his time and enjoying the touch. It loved her vagina, exploring it and experiencing. The fingers were spreading the labia, allowing for easy access, leaving and entering again. Then suddenly he shot his lava-hot semen again and walked back to the end of the queue, while she-wolf was clutching her jaws, trying to wait through the burn.
But instead, more pain came. The knife cut her inside again, and the burning sperm was pushed inside the wound with the short, thick penis. She felt a finger by the penis entering her body. Fast thrusts were smearing the burning sperm inside. The she-wolf gave out a quiet cry, tears appeared in the corners of her eyes. He heard and saw it, and it made him come, some sense of victory, of revenge achieved. He stopped moving and felt like the wound closes around his cock. He let her body eject it, but the burn and another portion of his semen remained inside.
Then the thin, long penis again. He wasn't clueless anymore. He knew the route and quickly began using her body as he pleased. He was riding hard and confidently, but his body betrayed him. He was going limp, unable to push a full thrust, unable to claim the satisfaction he wanted.
Then his rock-hard fist landed on her jaw. And another. He was punching her face with hate, as if it was her fault. "You ugly bitch", he mumbled. It worked. In thirty more thrusts and then more hits to her face he came again. Satisfied, he left.
The next hands were gentle and inexperienced. Maybe even likable in other circumstances. Young, eager penis entered her as if asking for permission, trying not to hurt her. Then he came. Then he went.
Then the graveyard shift of the guards began taking their turns.
* * *
In the morning, when displaying the werewolf to more visitors began, the dungeon was mostly cleaned. Cum stains in the fur were explained as her drool dripping from her muzzle.
Her sight returned but her eyes were dim. She was too exhausted to cry, too shocked to rest. She was hanging limply on the blades, her body shaking from time to time in spasm of fear of daydream nightmares. She had no doubt she would lose her eyes again, she would get used and abused whole night.
But the Duke came to check the precious prisoner. He saw her eyes, will of life waning. He ordered the constructor to hurry up, apply the new iron slab without letting it cool down properly, cool it quickly even at cost of durability. It was made much stronger than necessary anyway.
The process would be risky, precautions taken weren't one hundred percent fault-proof. But instead of problems with ravenous beast, the constructor saw other problems. The werewolf barely moved when her wrists and ankles were pierced to attach new bracers. Inserting a metal gag holding her jaws open didn't cause any reaction. She just twitched a little when her chest was pierced with a long bolt, before the bolt was connected with a strong bar around her chest, below her breasts. The bars were more than iron. It was a strong steel sword-like blade core plated with silver and then covered in thick layer of tin. The werewolf could push through the tin like through butter, but that would expose the silver and the silver-plated blades were capable of cutting her in half, killing her instantly.
Her limbs were attached closer to her body, with slack allowing her to transform into human, but a tin-silver-steel piece of metal resembling an arrowhead was placed in her mouth, with two adjustable steel strings pulled through a hole in the back of her throat attached to it, forcing her to stay in choosen form by limiting allowed distance between chest and throat, human body much smaller than the beast. Attempt of transformation would pull the blade through her neck, killing her.
But now the fear of silver was waning in shadow of fear of life. She pondered killing herself with the new contraption. Maybe she would even find enough courage. But the constructor bent down to her face, and while checking the spike in her throat, he whispered "It will be fine, don't worry. We won't hurt you anymore."
The constructor arranged exclusive "examination" of the werewolf and possibility to extract the lycanthropy poison without performing actual werewolf bite. The plan was a secret, very few knew why the werewolf was captured. Serving the poison with a needle or in food would be much better than transporting infected and aware of that werewolves. It could increase the scale of infection, it could be discrete and lethal. The constructor would work alone, and nobody was allowed near the door - the door was just to remain locked at all times. Captain of the guard didn't argue when Duke denied his request to leave guards at the door of the dungeon. Trusted servants guarded the door to the corridor to the dungeon.
* * *
"By lord, you're so beautiful, and so sad. I shouldn't have helped capturing you. Creatures like you should live free. In three weeks I'll send you out on a ship, to a place where you will live free. I won't allow them to kill you or to hurt you. You will be free again."
Tear appeared in the big dark eye, quickly vanishing in the black fur.
"I'm releasing the neck bolt now. Please, transform into human now. We need to talk."
The constructor pulled several smaller pins in the slab, the big clamp on the muzzle, holding it open and disallowing the werewolf to bite could be removed. Then another pin released the piece in her muzzle. The steel string went loose allowing the head to move.
The werewolf was changing into a girl. Another string was tightened and the clamp was attached in a new place. The huge bracers around wrists and ankles looked silly, but bolts through flesh and between bones held safe.
The constructor stared for a while at the beautiful female body. Unexpectedly sleek and gentle shape for a commoner she was supposed to be, her skin too pale too. She was maybe 18, tall and slim. Long, black-gray hair spread around her head, gentle long face with mouth slightly open in pain, beautiful, smooth body, pale skin, firm, round breasts, short, black, curly pubic hair.
The constructor realized he's staring. He quickly reached for a box he took with him, he expected that after all - he quickly covered the girl with a blanket. In fact, he covered the huge bracers, the blanket barely touched her skin. He took a small chair and sat by her.
"My name is Aske. What is your name?"
Tormented eyes looked at his face.
"Kill me." she whispered.
"No! You'll be fine! You'll be free again!"
"I would kill again. Kill me, Aske."
"You... You want to die?"
"Yes."
"No way. It's one wish I won't fulfill."
She cried.
He gently touched her head. He didn't expect the reaction.
A loud snarl, her body spasmed, trying to morph into a werewolf, neck arched held in place by the bolt, she struggled against the blades.
He panically pulled the pin releasing the neck bolt. The werewolf struggled against the bonds, the terrifying roar, jaws capable of biting a body in half, hell's fury. Aske backed up to the wall. But five seconds later she was a girl again, sobbing loudly.
He dared to approach her again.
"Don't touch me, Aske, please, don't!"
"Yesterday... you didn't mind..."
Her look, the terror in her look told him more than enough.
"I... Oh lord. I didn't know. Who hurt you? I'll find the one who hurt you. Do the guards know?"
She cried for a long while. He wanted to hug her, but he remembered the raging hell she had turned into. Finally he dared to hold her hand, fully aware she could turn his arm into bloody pulp before he could react. It appeared to help. She looked at him.
"Aske, please. Don't let the guards in."
Then she cried.
He dared to touch her head. Her beautiful, long, black and gray hair. She looked into his eyes.
"I won't allow anyone to hurt you.", he said.
She tried to tell him something, but every time she tried to gather thoughts, one of them would cause her body to convulse. The memories were too strong. But his touch was calming her down.
"What's your name?"
"Marle."
"If there is something... anything I could do for you."
He meant freedom. He offered her freedom, and she couldn't accept.
"I... I don't want to kill you, Aske. I'm scared."
"I'd gladly give my life for you."
She went silent. Her eyes widened a little in fear.
"But who would protect her then", Aske finished in his mind.
They didn't move for a long while.
"I will be always there to protect you, Marle."
"Can you protect yourself from me?"
"There is that... way..."
"No. You'd have to kill."
"Marle... Do you still believe killing is wrong?"
She looked into his eyes. Some more tears appeared in hers.
"It won't help. I'm broken. I will never let you... close."
Aske was silent for a long while. She was afraid, afraid of herself. And there was only one way he could help.
"No. You will."
At first there was terror in her eyes. Then a spark of hope. Then... she thought, why not give it a try, after all nothing else was left.
"Aske, promise me. Please, promise me. Kill me if you fail."
"I swear."
...and myself too, he added in his thoughts. She knew he did.
* * *
It had to be similar. It couldn't be the same, not without destroying her beyond hope. She transformed into the beast. He attached her head to the slab, but didn't put the jaw lock on. He tied a strip of cloth around her eyes. Then he made sure nobody would disturb, telling the guards at the entrance about a delicate, dangerous surgery he wants to perform on the werewolf jaws.
He lay naked on the slab, by her. He took her hand in his, the huge werewolf paw with claws capable of ripping half of his head off, held tenderly and softly between his tiny by comparison palms. He held her like that for a long while, feeling her muscles twitch from time to time, or loosen a bit. He stroked the surface of the huge paw gently, then moved his head closer, to her shoulder. He touched the soft fur with his cheek, breathing the scent in. It was fear of an imprisoned wild animal, but the touch was so nice. He held the huge shoulder with both hands gently, and began massaging it, feeling the muscles, feeling the tension slowly, slowly vanishing. He touched her cheek with his mouth, placing softest kiss. The gentle touch of his mouth made her chest rise fast, in a short, nervous breath. Body tensed, ready to defend, to fight. But he waited, only his warm breath lightly ruffling fur on her cheek, and that breath calmed her down, allowed her to loosen up. And she didn't panic when he kissed her cheek again, she just gave out one, faster gasp. He waited another while and touched her cheek with his lips, barely moving her fur again. And this time he saw a small twitch of the corner of her mouth. The smallest shade of a smile.
His hand rested by her forehead, without touching it, without moving, just radiating enough warmth that she would sense it, she would know to expect a gentle caress. Two fingers touched her fur and pushed just enough to touch the skin. Slow motion of the hand, gently scratching a point between her eyes, barely rubbing the skin. And the whole werewolf body was loosening up, one muscle after another relaxing.
A darker spot on the black cloth marked a point, where her tear was absorbed into the material. The stress, the fear, the sadness were leaving her body, she trusted that touch, she felt it was different. Gentle scritching of her forehead. And the fresh memory of these kisses. So shy and fearful and cautious, not even really touching her, just psychical messages.
His finger wandered up and down her nose, just ruffling the short fur. It touched her cold nose tip. One of the points where the cruel crop hit... but this touch was so much different. Warm, gentle, calm. But still the memory was there. Her body tensing, expecting pain to follow shortly. But instead she felt another soft, gentle kiss to her cheek, her body arched like in pain, a quiet whine escaped her nostrils, but the feeling... the feeling was nice. Confusing, strange, because it was a nervous wave like with pain, except it didn't carry pain, just that soft psychical feel of his gentle presence.
Then she felt a different touch. His both hands cupped on her eyes, through the cloth. The protective touch, reassuring her nothing bad will happen to her beautiful eyes, they don't see now, but they are safe, they are healthy and no harm will come to her through them.
The hands held her paw again, but this time she responded, holding them gently. Then she felt his head on her chest.
Her mind raced in panic through dozens of memories, all of them bad, trying to match a similar experience. And it found only one match - his head rested on her chest just like that, adoring her and then realizing her pain. If not her paws still bound to the slab, she would put her hands on his head, holding him to her close.
And this time there was no pain. Somehow even the bolts through her body didn't hurt. They didn't hurt, because they didn't matter. They would be gone soon, and now they were only a symbol, a symbol of the past that was to end soon. She wasn't afraid anymore.
She felt her breast squeezed gently. Just like back then, deceivingly gently with horrible pain to come... But she already knew it wouldn't be pain. His lips... just like that mock thanks, that insult, that taunt, except now it was for real, now her body was adored, she was adored for this beautiful body, with deep respect and shy hope. In the past she would look in the mirror at her human self, thinking she's pretty and then crying for the other self, a horrible monster. But now for the first time in her life she felt proud of this body. She looked in a different way and saw the monster to be magnificent and beautiful. And appreciated. She felt a little ashamed of her vanity, but feeling loved for what she was really, giving her sense of self-esteem, the newly-found pride was so wonderful. She murred quietly in pleasure, relaxing a little more and to her surprise, feeling her nipples getting harder. Touch of mouth vanished, but fingers still played with the nipple, stimulating it, constantly reminding her that she was beautiful, she should be proud.
Then a hand ruffled fur on her chin, and she felt the mouth against her mouth. No fear of the jaws, no fear of death. Only fear of her fear, of her turning away, refusing. But she could easily cure that fear, just by opening her mouth a little, touching his lips with her tongue.
She had faced people who wouldn't be afraid of her in this form before. A self-confident knight with some kind of herb that was meant to protect him. A child who didn't know any better. An old, sick woman who was looking forward to die. A crazy priest who thought God protects him.
But none of them understood who she was, none could look into her thoughts without fear. So she had to kill to live. She thought of her past victims. She regretted some, but she knew she could do better, avoid unnecessary deaths from now on. She gave some deaths of mercy to those who wanted to die, some would even look with gratitude at her in their last moments. Several times she killed in self-defense - mercenaries fighting for profit, knights looking for fame, peasants too stupid to make the right choice and run. She regretted only one, and she regretted it dearly - her friend she had asked to kill her. Only that day she learned the depth of her weakness, her fear of silver. This won't happen again. Never again.
But so many deserved death, and worse than death. She thought of the past, of regret after killing the mercenaries, thugs, greedy merchants, sneaky poachers. So much regret, so many worries wasted on those who didn't deserve it. Yes, her heart has grown cooler, but it got closer to the balance of justice. And closer to self-acceptance. After all, her lover regretted so many things of his past, but wanted to change them now. None of them was as horrible as the recent one, what he did to her, intentionally and unintentionally. And still, she would forgive him. If he could be forgiven, wouldn't she deserve forgiveness?
And he adored her mind as she was recovering too. Her past shy virgin simplicity and purity, tormented by acts beyond her understanding was beautiful by itself. Now her mind was opening, growing more mature and understanding wider image of world, finding room for death in the natural order of the nature, able to see justice and serve it - a mind of a queen - oh, it was intimidating, but also it was magnificent and beautiful. And he knew he was forgiven, so he wasn't afraid anymore. He loved her beyond all measures and he would serve her faithfully.
"My fate was in my own hands", she thought. That thought filled her with pride far deeper than pride she felt for her body. That pride confused her at first. She was raised a commoner, not used to thought of judging lives of others. She didn't know she was born from a royal family, and the duke who ordered her capture, ordered ambush and death of her parents too. But she thought "if this is my fate, let it be", and the pride, the feeling of power, faith into her own strength suddenly filled her with desire. She knew that to be able to look into a mirror without shame she would have to tame her ego, to keep reminding herself she's a part of the order, not a power above it, but it wasn't needed just yet. It would come soon, but not yet. She allowed the newly found strength of mind to fill her, a power trip, excitement, feeling of being above all and everyone, a dangerous intoxicating drug, but she needed it, just that one single time, to remove all the traces of the past fear. She clutched her fist, tensing the wrist a little. Tin bent under the pressure of her muscles and exposed silver blade lightly burned her flesh. Sure it still could cut her, but she wasn't afraid of it. It was just a metal. Oh, and sure she was still bound but... even in her heavy power trip there was enough room for love, for limitless trust to that one person who...
...who was there still afraid to fulfill what she craved for now. The feeling of power awakened lust. Feeling unknown before, now burning in her like wild fire. Oh, despite this burning lust she wouldn't force him against his will. But she knew he wanted her too, but he was still afraid to hurt her, even then, when nothing could hurt her anymore. How to tell him what she really feels now, what she wants from him?
She tested how much slack of the metal wire remains, allowing for her head movement. Unpleasant feeling of pulling steel wire through the back of her neck. Silver would slightly burn her throat. So what?
She jerked her head forward, turning it and opening her jaws, gripping Aske's head between them rather hard. He yelped too surprised to be afraid, and as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, even before fear was born, it was replaced by warm, happy understanding, as he began playing with his tongue against hers, cheerful and happy, understanding he won and enjoying his success fully, oblivious to the fact the most dangerous predator in the world has jaws locked around his head.
She released his head and he gave her a small, playful kiss before crawling down her body, his loins between her legs. Just to toy a little with her lust, he delayed the moment a little more, laying his tip on her opening and rubbing a little, watching her body arching to meet his. She gasped loudly from lust, feeling her mind rapidly shifting from absolute power to meek submission, from queen to slave, giving all of herself to him willingly and begging to be taken. And as he kept it from her, her arousal rising, she whimpered quietly, feeling this new, unknown pleasure of torture of waiting. This touch, promising but still not giving, was driving her crazy. She cried out louder, a shriek of despair, and he gave it to her, entered her in a long, smooth thrust, opening a world of pleasure for her. His every move was intended to give her more of that pleasure, only give, never take.
Oh, he did take his share of the pleasure, he was loving every moment of it, but it was her he was focused on, giving to her, and her pleasure being all of his attention. She felt a little guilty, all taking and no giving, so she squeezed him a little inside her, and the resulting feeling nearly brought her over the top. "So this is how giving feels like..." She could feel her top so close, and she felt him struggling to keep from coming before her, so with his next thrust she tensed her muscles once again. The stunning feeling, series of sparkling spasms rolling up and down her womb, warmth flowing through the whole body, violent throbs of his cock radiating the pleasure, and finally his sweet semen, his "why do I think it's sweet?" semen given to her womb, stimulating and bringing back the feeling of domination and self-confidence.
He crawled back up to her mouth and gave her a kiss. She opened her mouth a little and played with her tongue against his, luring him to follow her tongue into her muzzle. And as he did, playing with her tongue tip, she nipped. Not very hard, but enough to draw blood.
"Ouch. What for?" he looked at her, surprised. Then he understood and smiled widely. "So, how long till I can transform?", he asked while standing up and almost routinely removing bolts and pins holding her bonds in place. He removed her blindfold, then helped removing the blades from her body, then began putting his own clothes on, watching as the huge furred body stands up from the slab, free and more powerful than ever before.
Two minutes later the massacre began.
* * *
Two days later Marle and Aske began the rule over the country.
Two years later Marle reclaimed her crown and title of queen, Aske becoming her king, after some researchers found out the truth about her origins.
Two centuries later their kingdom was spanning all the islands of the sea and half of the biggest continent, the land flourishing, justice and order giving safety to all citizens, and criminals few and cautious, because each month two worst would be picked for royal sacrifice.
Two millenia later Marle and Aske passed the title of king to wisest of their children and moved on, looking for adventures among the stars and other planets. Is that enough for "and lived happily ever after"?
Why, yes, nobody ever seen a werewolf to die from old age.
by Sharpfang
Sun Oct 29 01:59:40 CEST 2006