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The Saga of Black Angus

Part One: Flight From Justice

The old magistrate sighed as he took his high seat in the court room “Bring in the first case." he ordered as he looked over the papers stacked on the bench, from the looks of them today was going to be a list of open and shut cases. Moments later a group of men at arms brought in a large black wolf rapped in heavy chains, even his mouth had bin locked with an iron muzzle.

The prosecutor opened his ledger and read the charges “Your honer, the wolf who stands before you is named Angus Morgan, better known as the infamous bandit chief Black Angus. For the last eighteen year he has roamed this province at the head of a band of renegade wolves committing countless criminal acts. Including, but not limited to murder and rape of humans, grand larceny, arisen, treason, heresy, illegal possession of sword and firearms, murder of imperial officials and soldiers, burning and looting of churches and the theft of taxes rightfully belonging to the crown." When the reading came to an end the court was in an uproar and had to be called into order by the bellowing and gavel pounding of the magistrate.

Once order had bin regained the hearing went on, for the next hour evidence was viewed and witnesses were heard. When at last the prosecutors has no more to say the magistrate spoke “The evidence laid before me today is damning enough to condemn fifty men and despite the fact that it will avail you nothing, the law of our holy empire states that all criminals be given a chance to speak in their defense, before the passing of sentence. I order the removal of the muzzle from the accessed."

Angus waited patently as the iron muzzle was unlocked, once it was off he took his time to stretch his stiff jaw before seeking. He started by spiting on the floor in front of the bench “That is what I think of your empire! We wolves were living in the north when your ancestors were still hiding in caves. When I was a pup we lived under the rule of our own chieftains in are own hill forts, then you came north with your cites and your arquebusiers and made us a province at the point of a sword! You burned are holy sights, enslaved are people and made us beggars in our own land! You called it war, now when I do the same you call me a bandit. In your lands beastkin are second class citizens, we can't even own swords! in this trial I was given no advocate and even the most outlandish testaments were taken at face value, yet it was more fare then I expected! You can torture and execute me, but it won't change the fact that this is our land, the gods gave it to use!" Angus would have said more, but the guards were ordered to replace the muzzle, an act that cost one of them a finger and earned Angus a beating with a cudgel.

The magistrate took a drink of wine before speaking “As royal magistrate of the city, county and province of Lycoas, I hereby sentence the criminal known as Black Angus and all other bandits captured alongside him to be publicly gelded at noon tomorrow and to then spend the rest of their miserable lives in bondage doing hard labor!" when the gavel fell Angus was dragged kicking and snarling back to his dungeon cell.

*****

That night in the dank darkness of the city dungeon the wolves of Angus' band sat, some sang and howled priers to the old god, other throw themselves madly at the reinforced doors, but Angus simply paced the floor, his chains rattling. He made and abandoned a thousand escape plans, the one damning thing that dashed each of them was how to get out of his cell. There was only one window, it was high up and to small for his broad shoulders and the heavy door was made of thick wood, bolstered with iron and it was locked from outside with a strong bolt and a heavy padlock.

Angus sat down on the pile of straw that served as his bed, he cupped his large scrotum, massaging his fat testicles as he thought of all the bastards they had sired over the years. Angus wondered how many of his brothers were doing the same thing, but he new he had one advantage they didn't, as the bandit leader he would be cut last and if he couldn't come up with a plan by then he could always bight off his tongue and bleed to death with his wolfhood intact.

*****

The next day at noon guards dragged the wolves from their cells in chains, each of then had their testicles manhandled into the bottom of their sacks and a leather cord was tied around the neck of each scrotum. As a final insult each wolf was fitted with a muzzle and a collar with a metal ring, a chain was laced threw these rings, leading them in a single file line.

Outside it was raining lightly, vendors sold beer and food to the large crowd of men, woman and children, all gathered to see the spectacle of a nine wolf gelding. The wolves were lead to the top of a high scaffold and they were each chained to a wooden beam jetting out of the plank floor. The guard captain read the list of charges as the crowd booed throwing mud and rotten produce. To one side next to Angus, the hooded, burly form of the city executioner made a show of sharpening his knife.

When the captain finished his reading the executioner walked to the far end of the scaffold, his first victim was a young wolf of thirteen, in many ways he was still a pup, but by the standards of imperial justice he was a man. The young wolf whimpered as the executioner approached, his virgin erection releasing a stream of yellow fear as the pup regretted his choice of saving himself for mirage. The executioner didn't slit his sack at the bottom as was the norm, instead he cut around the circumferences of the sacks neck just bellow the cord, this was so the executioner could later sell the scrotum for a coin purse, it was a common belief that the owner of such a purse would be blessed with increased virility. Next he pulled the spermatic cords tight. Angus had more then his share of experiences gelding males both man and beast and as he watched the executioner work he could see the man had skill, but his technique revolved around inflicting pain. The point of his knife was razor sharp for cutting threw the sacks, but the rest of the blade had bin dolled and chipped so that it tor rather than cut, shredding the pups cords lair by lair. The young wolf spurted out a pitiful load as his nuts finally came free, the executioner then held up the young orbs, flaunting them before the eyes of the cheering crowd.

The next two wolves gritted their teeth, attempting to hide their pain as they were deballed. Forth in line was a scarred wolf that Angus knew to be a sadist, a wolf who tortured and killed for the pleasure of it, a wolf who never fought a battle without becoming erect, he wasn't erect now. He wet himself and wailed like a scared pup as he was gelded. Number five fought madly against his chains as he was cut, his erection spraying it last as it flailed in the air. Sixth was an old gray muzzle, covered in scars, he never made a sound, not even when his balls were held up before his eyes, he only stared with hate. Seven whimpered and wet and eight came twice, once for each nut. Finally it was Angus' turn.

The executioner took his time, brandishing the bloody knife before Angus' eyes as he abused the black wolf's balls in his strong hand. The crowd waited for the cut with baited breath, but the large wolf had other plans. A combination of time and poor maintenance had allowed the beam at his back to rot and all the while as his former companions were being castrated, Angus had bin rocking on his paws, weakening the soft wood. Now with a flex of his powerful muscles the beam cracked and splintered allowing Angus free movement. His first act was to headbutt the executioner, sending him reeling backwards, stumbling off the scaffold and landing on the cobbles with a loud crack as his neck broke. Then Angus turned and leaped off the back of the scaffold. In the chaos that fallowed whistles blow and arquebusiers fired, one round striking Angus in the back, it did little to slow him as he fled, but it did leave a blood trail for his captors to fallow.

With most of the cites population at the gelding the town was virtually empty as Angus ran threw the streets and alleys. Luckily he had a head start and the rain was washing away most of his spilled blood. Ducking into an alley Angus noticed a derelict building with a broken window on the ground level. He slipped in, wiping the blood from the windowsill and blocking the window with an old table. Next he slipped down to the basement to hide. In the dark safety of the basement he removed the leather cord from his balls, breathing a sigh of relief as his blood starved orbs were freed.

Several hours past in that dank cellar, as the storm got worse the guards gave up their search and the city slowly returned to normal. As Angus peered out into the deserted street he clapped eyes upon the wagoners guildhall, outside their doors he could see two men loading a horse drawn cart with barrels of ale, over which they threw a canvas tarp. When the man went inside to fetch a rope Angus crept out into the street. Quickly he slipped into the cart and hid himself.

The city gates were under double guard and the soldiers were searching every wagon and traveler, but as they pulled back the tarp of the ale cart Angus was unseen, he had hidden himself under the thick lair of straw that was cushioning the bottom of the cargo. Angus remained hidden until the cart had left the city behind as it vanished into the woods, then he slipped out onto the muddy road. The wolf fled into the forest, leaving the road behind, when he was deep into the wilderness he collapsed to blood lose.

*****

When Angus awoke he found that his chains and muzzle were gone and a bandage and salve had bin bound around his wound. Observing his surroundings he found that he was in a little hut, the smell of smoke hung in the air and the walls were covered in shelves filled with jarred herds and other curiosities, on the fire in the rooms center a brass cauldron bubbled, all signs of a witch's domain.

Before he could rise from the bed the plank door opened and Angus fell back, feigning sleep. From the corner of his barely open eye he spied the hunched figure of a hooded woman, a pare of buckets in her hands. He placed them on a low table before turning to the fire, as she stirred the pot Angus rose silently from the bed. Without lifting her head the witch spoke “If I were you I'd use the hatchet by the door, it would be quicker then your claws." to Angus' surprise her voice wasn't that of a wizened crone, but the chime of a melodious women.

“Why did you help me?" he asked as he stood behind the witch.

The witch chuckled grimly “I wanted to hear from your own lips, why you hate humans so much."

“I don't hate humans." Angus spat “I hate your empire, the empire crushed use and stole our pride. I could have lived with that, but then they treat us like dirt. The empire makes use pay their taxes and fallow their laws, but we have no rights, our words mean nothing in court and we can't own land, we just lease it from the emperor and if we can't pay the land leases they throw use out. But the thing I hate most of all is that there is no room for difference with them. Everything must be their way, their names, their language, their laws and their god. For years I lived with their hate and took it without pause, then one day I was accused of a crime. I worked as muscle for a merchant, the pay was good, so I put up with his prejudiced treatment. One day his wife comes into my room, says she wants to try a wolf's cock, so I slept with her and it became a regular thing. Then the merchant caught use and without missing a beat she cries rape and the local bailiff was going to geld me without even a trial, so I killed him and fled into the wilds. Before long I fell in with a group of outlaws and almost all of them had a story just like mine! After that I swore I wasn't going to take it any more!"

The witch nodded slowly before speaking “The empire is cruel to outsiders, I live out hear for the same reason. When I was young I was accused of being a witch, I fled and took refuge in the forest. With now other means of survival I fell into the arms of the old gods, they made me the very thing they said I was." she pulled back her hood, a mess of blond hair falling down over her shoulders, her face was weathered from years of hard living, but she was still beautiful for a middle aged human. “My visions were right, your not the monster people say you are, your what the world made you, same as me. Your welcome to stay hear until you are well again."

“Visions?" Angus asked “What did you see?"

The witch chuckled again “I saw you bleeding in the woods and I saw the two paths layed before you."

“What paths?" Angus asked “What did the gods show you?"

The witch smiled at his question “If you wish to know, you must pay the price."

“Name your price." Angus said without fear.

“Nothing costly." the witch said “Just a jar of you semen."

“What for?" Angus asked as he cocked an eyebrow, as with most people he was cautious about the power of witches.

“For potions of co __u_ rse"_ the witch said “No matter what people think of me, they still come to by my potions and cures. Wolf semen is a vital ingredient in the brew I make to cure, shall we call it impaired manliness."

Angus laughed at that, he wondered how many rich humans knew they were drinking wolf semen every night before sleeping with their women. “Its a deal." he laughed “Hand me the jar."

“Oh no" the witch said “I always insist on harvesting all my ingredients with my own hands, besides your still week from your wounds. Just lay down and let me do the rest."

Angus did as he was told and lay down on the bed. The witch came to stand next to him and she slipped her robe of to the waist, exposing her beautiful breasts. Angus knew he wasn't the first wolf she has bin with, judging by the stretch marks on her belly and the milk tooth scares on her nipples she had bore a number of pups. She knelt beside him, placing a hand on his sheath and another on his sore balls. Slowly she stroked him as he groaned, his red member rising from his sheath. She milked a glob of pre onto her palm, using it as lube as she jacked him, her other hand came to rest on his knot, kneading it.

Angus lay back relaxing as much as he dared, watching her work “You sure know your way around a knot." he chuckled, shooting another glob onto her hands.

“I've had a lot of practice." She said lovingly “I was married to a wolf once. We had three sons together, their good boys, always stopping by to visit their poor mother."

“And to help with her potions?" Angus asked slyly, the witch said nothing at that, but a coy smile came to her lips as she stroked up and down his shaft, switching hands whenever her pace slowed and before long her technique had Angus moaning and bucking his hips.

When his knot swelled she released it, taking a clay jar in her hand she pointed his twitching cock into it. “Don't hold it back" she urged “You just let it all out for mama." With a deep growl Angus let out the first rope of viral spunk, spattering the jar loudly “Good boy!" the witch said softly “Look how thick you are, just like my husband, he was a good boy too." when the jar was full she took up another and then another, when he had no more seed to give she left him to rest.

When Angus had recovered he sat up in bed “Now that I've payed you, what did you see?" his words made the witch stop her chores and turn to him.

“Like I said I saw two paths." she said softly “In one you stay here and fight for your people's freedom until one day your luck runs out. Your gelded and your enslaved, but after your death you become a symbol that units your people. In the other you leave and you find your way to a distant land where the way of the warrior is still very much alive. There you will find fame and power, but you may never see your homeland again. The choice is yours, you may stay here until you make up your mind."

Angus lay back down as he thought on the two paths that lay at his feet, which should he chose? That was an answer he had to find.

The End

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