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From the Desk of Mordecai Crossbell

--Supplemental journal entry to the previous.--

Upon subduing the nosy reporter, I had plenty of questions to ask him and of myself. Namely, why did fighting him cause me sexual arousal and release? I had always taken pride in that my mind was stronger than my body, that I could control my urges and not be a slave to their whim. Now I am not so sure; was my mind stronger or my body merely bored with my daily machinations until now?

My first order of business was making sure the tiger was secure. I could not keep him in my home -- too many servants would come and go and see him eventually. Second, the trove of items he had discovered required careful examination and analysis. Third, I needed to delve more into this sensation I experienced as I do not want to give the women who wash my trousers cause for concern. No, something more had to be done.

Being of considerable wealth and resources meant that finding a location to house the good reporter was not difficult. I had spoken to a couple of associates about property in the poorer sides of London and settled on a two-floor shack deep in Whitechapel. It was close enough to a main road that even a man of my stature and economic standing could wander down the side streets and be left accosted, but far enough away that the odd sound would not provoke people on the street or neighbors in their homes -- if there even were people in these buildings. It was hard to tell and I honestly did not care to explore too much. All I knew was I would not be bothered.

I had workers go in and quickly fix up the place, using contractors from all over London so they would not be local to the area, even paying a premium for their services. I needed new flooring, a comfortable sleeping area, a secure vault, and other odds and ends that were handled by an assistant. Loyalty could be purchased, especially when no one could outbid you.

It took almost a week of work before I could move the tiger to my new work area. He had been easy enough to hide in my home, fed and watered while drugged so he was compliant, but I had to be careful about the use of such things -- the body could tolerate a lot but if I made even the slightest error he could die. That would be most unfortunate. I would go back to being bored if that happened.

By the time I had brought the tiger to what I was calling "the Lab" I had moved everything I could require to this building. I even had a comfortable bedroom upstairs for myself should I need to sleep here overnight. No one from my house staff knew I was here, either. If they needed me they would leave a message with a local paper boy on the main road whom I met with every day to get my news. I did not need Ms. Mildred wandering here wondering if I wanted supper while I worked.

Let me explain, my dear prisoner, what the Lab looks like, since I am sure you are curious. Besides the heavy door with three locks the floor is smooth wood entirely sloping slightly toward the middle with a drain leading to the sewage below. There is a large fireplace as I dread the cold, a shelf of medical, chemical, and historical books for reference. I installed a chalkboard and brought in a desk for papers, a table for working, and various types of restraints. On the far wall was the outfit I found in the study -- the cloak, coat, mask, and hat. The gauntlets were on a small table after having been examined and sharpened. I still had lots to do but for now this would be most comfortable to work.

Our dear reporter friend was suspended from the ceiling via manacles and chains through a pulley system. He was standing comfortably, if mostly unconscious. A quick mild stimulant from a syringe and he was awake.

"What... is this?" he said to me groggily, blinking those beautiful orange eyes as he looked around the room. He looked at me and I watched as fear claimed him. It made me smile when I even saw his pupils contract slightly. I was not even trying to be terrifying. I did have my jacket off, and my sleeves rolled up like some kind of laborer, but I was not dressed to be a monster. I was told this look on me was charming but beneath a man of my stature.

I pulled up a chair and sat down in it, looking up at the tiger with amusement. "James DeMint. Associate Reporter for The Dial. Mother and Father are deceased, a sister is currently in France. Single but courting a fine tigress from Buckinghamshire. You specialize in sensationalist stories, do you not?" I did not even look at my notes I had in hand as I said what I knew about the tiger. Not that I needed them, but I wanted to enjoy this.

"That's... right," James said, slowly blinking his eyes as he became more alert of his surroundings. "Wha... I remember now. You attacked me! Drugged me!" I saw fear give way to anger, his sharp white teeth exposed.

"And you are a burglar and a thief," I countered. "I was defending my home. You are lucky you are not run through with a blade or with lead in your skull. I could have killed you and not been more troubled than replacing my carpet. If you answer my questions, instead of exploring this tedious back and forth, you may still see your fine tigress. I want to know why you broke into my home and how you knew about that secret area."

I listened to the man huff, testing the chains above his head. I had also secured his ankles to the floor using a matching set of manacles. He could not use those powerful legs on me. "You want information?" said he, trying to hide the warble of fear in his voice. "Fine. Untie me and I will answer all your questions."

I sighed and drummed my finger on my knee before standing up and grabbing a knife from one of the work tables. I tested its edge on my finger, pleased with myself. The things money could buy.

"James," said I, pacing back to him slowly, "I think you misunderstood your current situation. I know you woke up from a delirious few days chained up and drugged, but do try to speed up. Patience was never a virtue of mine."

I stepped over and stood in front of him. He stood taller than me but not by much. I brought the knife up and touched his shoulder, then pulled. I sliced through the tiger's left suspender strap easily. I repeated the process with his right. I pushed the blade flat against his chest near his neck, letting him feel the sharpness against his throat before I began to drag it down. One by one the sharp edge caught the buttons of his fine shirt and sliced them off. The soft sound of them hitting the floor loud. The last button off, I sliced through his sleeves and ripped the shirt from him.

A secret of mine is that I enjoy the pleasurable company of men. It is something I keep guarded and rarely indulge in since sex is a time when a man is most vulnerable. I admired the man's bare chest, his muscles and narrow waist. I heard James protest more but ignored it, stepping back over.

"Since you do not want to cooperate, Mr. DeMint, we can move along to other methods of persuasion," I said in my flat tone, leaning over and slicing his trousers from waist to ankle, leaving only the band around his waist intact. I did the same to his other leg before slowly walking behind him, purring softly as I looked over his bare back. "When you broke into my house you robbed me of my right to privacy. So I shall rob you of your dignity."

I pushed the blade through the tail hole at the base of his trousers. I made sure the tiger felt the steel slide between those cheeks, gently so I did not actually hurt him. I listened to James yell and call for help as I brought the blade up and over the back of his tail, finally slicing through the waistline of those trousers. With a pleased purr I watched as the man's clothing fell around his ankles on the floor.

I stepped around to the front of him, looking him over with a rumble in my chest as my pants tightened slightly. He was handsome without his clothes on. The tiger kept trying to draw his knees up to hide his shame, but he was exposed. I could taste his embarrassment on the very air we breathed.

"Why are you doing this?! I swear I wasn't going to do any harm!!" he shouted, his wide eyes pleading with me. "I just wanted information on Spring Heeled Jack."

Rage took over but only for a moment. I rounded to the work table where various items for 'work' had been procured. I did not hesitate as I grabbed a scalpel from a metallic tray and whirled on James. "Mr. DeMint," I began as I held up the glinting blade in my hand, "I am sure you know who I am but I am starting to believe you do not understand the limits of my patience."

Before he could respond, I pushed the blade against his fur, his flesh, and cut. The instant he yelled and tried to pull away I knew something had changed within me. I grabbed his arm and held him steady, slowly dragging the scalpel up along one of his stripes, following the black fur. I watched as rivulets of blood trickled down his arm, down his sides. I watched with rapt attention as these beads of crimson followed the lines of his body, following the channel on his pelvis and over his penis.

Mine, meanwhile, was hard. Harder than the last few times I had pleasured myself. I looked down at the tent in my trousers, surprised, but did not stop. I followed the line of his stripe until I got to the end, finally stepping away.

I breathed hard, watching him, watching the blood. I could feel myself wanting to give in to my pleasure, to paint the walls red with his blood, but I had to remember to stay in control. I swallowed and cleared my throat, waiting for the tiger to stop mewling.

"Relax." Mild annoyance crept over my voice. "Firstly, you are not wounded in any way that cannot heal and hide a scar. Secondly, I did not cut anywhere near an artery so you will not bleed out. And lastly, I am a doctor and a scientist. Should anything bad happen while we... talk, rest assured you will not be leaving my company unless God himself wills it."

I walked behind him, slowly and deliberately, then slammed a fist into his side right on a cluster of nerves. "But that also leaves me with knowledge of the body. So you will be wise to not lie to me." I put the razor down on the table and selected the straight edge razor from the table and pulled the chair closer. "Speak."

Desperation dripped from the man's voice, his expression. "It's the truth, you bloody monster! I've been researching him for years and I believe your father was the culprit!" he shouted, tugging as hard as he could.

"I thought I said not to lie, James," I said with a tut and grabbed the man's testicles. I gave them a hard squeeze, rolling them around. I had never touched a tiger before. I loved their patterns and their brashness, but even the biggest warrior was a mewling kitten when his balls were on the line. I brought the razor against them.

"STOP!" he screamed at me, looking panicked. "It's the goddamn truth! I'm not lying, don't cut me there!"

"Fine." I looked up at him with a grin. I had the sharp edge of the razor pushing into the grain of his fur on his fuzzy sac, slowly dragging it against his skin. I felt and saw the fur slowly starting to fall down between his legs. "You have one chance to convince me you are telling the truth. If I think you are lying, I shall shave your balls for surgery, and I will take them and keep them in a jar."

I listened to the tiger's breathing become shallower. He was beginning to panic. He was going to make a mistake. Good. Either way, I won. I had tools ready for an extraction if necessary, though I wanted to keep him as intact as possible. I was not one to keep trophies in jars like some of my compatriots. Still, I listened, looking up with unyielding and dare I say unfriendly eyes.

"The book!" he said, looking around the room quickly. "There's a book! A brown book. About... about... twelve inches tall? With your family crest on it! Your family's journal! There's Latin on it around the crest. It says 'The debt that all men pay' when translated into English. That's the key!"

I did not move. I had the blade right there against his testicles, and I even pushed forward just a little to nick his flesh before getting up from the chair, leaving James and his manhood intact. I put the blade down and walked over to the table with the book and the items of question from my father's secret little room. The book was indeed there, a large volume of ancient pages with our family crest on it. The Latin words surrounded the emblem of a Bell with claw slashes down it. I had been most eager to read it but I had found it written in code. There was a grid drawn on the cover, a five-by-five marking. I had been so foolish that it caused me to laugh and turned to James.

"A Playfair cipher! Of course. Father was always enjoying his little mathematical riddles. I should have seen the clue with the grid. But without the word to decrypt it would have been impossible. But the text on the front..."

"Death," James said with a heavy swallow. "Death is the debt that all men pay. That's the cipher key."

"And how did you come by this information, my dear reporter? I doubt my father and my forebearers were stupid enough to leave clues around for someone to find in hopes of being discovered."

"No, not at all. It was as you said, sir, your father was a fan of mathematical riddles. In some of his papers he worked on in his business he would have those grids drawn into the margins. He was a fan of ciphers, as I found out from the books also found in his office after his death. I was able to speak to several of his employees and they spoke of his hobby -- coming up with new codes and tricks. I think he was afraid someone was going to steal his ideas."

I looked down at the beginning of the book. It had five boxes for the word to be put in. I grabbed a pen and quickly filled in the letters. D. E. A. T. H. That done, it would be simple... and I had almost started to decode, but I had a guest I needed to deal with. I closed the book and picked up the blade once more, quickly going over to the bound tiger and touching the metal blade to the man's arm and dragging it down along another one of his stripes.

The cry of agony sent a chill down my spine and spurred my loins. I could feel myself throbbing. I had to pull the blade away, look at the blade and turn it over. I had almost hit my peak once again. How was this possible? I was a man, a master of my body, but torturing this fool was stroking my fires like nothing else had in my whole life. I exhaled a heavy breath and put the knife down. "You still have not told me how Spring Heeled Jack plays into your research. Right now I am certain you are trying to show me you have some pieces of truth, some picture of something my father did, but you are dancing around the information I want. If you want to play games we can continue, but you do not have an infinite amount of blood nor I patience, so I suggest you start talking."

James was panting. He was in a lot of pain. I had to be a bit more delicate with the harm I was causing him. Too much and he would pass out. Too little and he could attempt to trick his way out of this. I walked over to the chains holding him up by his wrists and lowered so the man could kneel, rest his legs. I stood and waited.

"Your father... was Spring Heeled Jack," said he through heavy breathing. "The outfit confirms it. Your family has been in London since the attacks began, and I'm confident that your grandfather was also Spring Heeled Jack. In one of your father's last letters he mentioned to a Mr. Willaby in the United States that he was getting too old for his night life to continue. I thought it odd, but I have also been a fan of the occult. I went through your family company's public records and I found out that your father was never in London during a Jack sighting. Or if he was, he was always sick or indisposed."

"Circumstantial evidence," I countered, sitting back down in my chair, "and hardly enough to warrant breaking into my home." I said flatly, crossing my arms.

"Ah... but the stories, especially toward the end of the last few sightings, they mentioned a weird cane. Silver with teeth. I kept wondering where I had seen it, and then I remembered: the last photograph of your father alive he was holding the bloody thing! He had that smirk on his face like he was telling the world it was him, but no one paid attention because they were always so focused on the mask and the slashes and the murders. A cane isn't anything special. I wouldn't have paid it any notice either except two witnesses commented on a cane with a head on it."

"Still, that could have been anything--"

"I KNOW!" James said, finding his voice and a scowl forming on his face. "Why do you think I broke in? I knew your father loved his secrets and I know you would never tell me had I confronted you. I talked to your old house staff, that old mouse that retired two years ago? She told me of the study where your father liked to work. When I found the trigger, the button under the book of ancient Latin, I knew I had found it. When I saw the costume... the props, I knew I had found it. But you found me. The mechanism is loud, probably on purpose. And here we are."

I could not deny that the story made sense in a roundabout sort of way. I could not deny that the mechanism had been loud, and that father loved his secrets. I was annoyed though that this stranger had figured out something that had been sitting under my nose. I needed that book decoded. But that could wait.

"Thank you, Mr. DeMint, you have been most cooperative once properly stimulated. I have to go over what you told me and what I have, and I will have more questions for you. Because you have proven to be of some worth and more fun than I imagined, you may still yet earn your freedom," I said as I walked over to him, with my hand, still holding the blade, stroking his cheek. "But I am not done with you by a long shot, and I am warning you now. You try to hurt me, even a scratch, and I will use every bit of knowledge I have about the mortal body to make you wish I had killed you when I found you."

I loved the look on his face. The slow realization dawning on him of what was about to happen. I had given poor James a front row seat after all. I had undone my trousers, and with some effort, pulled out my prick. I sighed at the cool air of my little work room and felt myself pulse. I was hard, and leaking, and eager. James, for as much as I knew, was not a man who dallied in the pleasures of other men, but I did not care. I grabbed his head with both my hands, thumbs pushing onto the corners of his muzzle to pry it open. "If you bite, you will find death to be the sweet release when I am done with you."

"H... hey... wait, no you can't... I am not..!" I silenced him. With his mouth pried open and held there with my thumbs, I slammed my cock right into his muzzle. To say I was in Heaven was an understatement. My back arched as his muzzle wrapped around me, holding me in the warmest, wettest embrace anyone could ask for. I could feel his rough tongue, a feline trait I absolutely loved, along the bottom of myself. I pushed myself in further, deeper, waiting to feel that warm nose against my pelvis. God, it was so great. It had been months since my last partner, and he had been fragile. I could not be this rough.

Holding myself there, hilted, listening to the whimpering cries and the feeble tugs back, I purred. "Good kitten," I hummed, and began to thrust. No, that was the wrong word. I pounded into him.

In bed, you care for one another's pleasure, you seek to find a union together, but this time I was only concerned with my own. Instead of climbing that mountain of pleasure together I dragged James with me. I was not gentle, and I did not care when he choked around me. Every time I was sure he was going to bite down I squeezed hard with my hands, keeping the jaw locked. It took effort not to shatter the bone, but it was worth it.

I kept the pace up, enjoying each whimper as I knew I hurt the man. It made me throb and leak. I sometimes pulled back and forced this once pure man of God's tongue to taste my sweet fluid, only to jam myself back home. God, I wanted to hear him whimper and cry out more than simply climax, but it was hard to fight back from that desire -- I was in a position to release and I was going to.

As my climax neared and I leaned over him, holding both sides of that head with both my hands, I roared in pleasure. I felt my testicles clench and expel its hot liquid, my potent seed, right into that muzzle, over that tongue and across those lips. I purred in pleasure, arching my back as I came. I also had slowly dragged my hands down the length of his head and muzzle, claws curled into fur and flesh, leaving horrible cuts. When I hit my end and pulled out, I lifted my bloody claws. James was coughing, sputtering, bleeding. I grinned.

"We need to do something about that jaw of yours. Thankfully I have just the idea, my dear tiger."