{"sf1_id":4098,"sf2_id":"Oe5yWPKe","title":"Maranatha - Chapter III, as told by Owen Zelazny","author":"khakidoggy","words":10795,"posted_at":"2004-11-21T22:38:00.000Z","tags":["Abduction","Abuse","Action","Adventure","Doberman","Lion","M/M","Mild Drama","Mild NC","Wolf"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4098-maranatha-chapter-iii-as-told-by-owen-zelazny","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/Oe5yWPKe","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/45/98/4598c13a-e194-4e1a-9962-8acbda2c41cb","description":"#3 of Maranatha","content":"  \n  \n\n  \n\n  \n\nM A R A N A T H A  \n  \n  \n  \n© Osfer, November 2004  \n  \n  \n_All rights reserved.  \n  \n  \nMay only be distributed for free.  \n  \n  \nMay not be altered in any way.  \n  \n  \nContains material of an erotic and homosexual nature which may be illegal to  \nread in your country, state, province or region.  \n  \n  \nThe author takes no responsibility for transgressions on the part of the reader  \n  \n  \nComments welcome at  \n[[email\u0026nbsp;protected]](%5C)._\n\n  \n\n**Available on paperback in 2005**\n\n  \n\n[  \nMail the author](%5C) for information  \nor [  \njoin the mailing list](%5C)!\n\n  \n\nCheck out [Maranatha on WikiFur.](%5C)\n\n  \n\n~ Enjoy. ~\n\n  \n\n  \n\n* * *\n\n  \n\nChapter III - As Told By Owen Zelazny\n\n  \n\nI zip my jacket up again and smooth back my hair.  \n\"Rear entrance to Ferrum's office. Might be a guard. Only exits are the double  \ndoors right opposite the elevator and the stairwell to the left. You really  \nthink this guy has something to do with Alice? You explained it to me and it  \nmade sense at the time, but I've kinda forgotten,\" I admit as I watch the  \nnumbers on the little LCD screen steadily rise.  \n  \n\"I told you. He tried to hook you at the Dive the same night Sharpish took Alice  \nhome, and then he was seen meeting with that ferret last night. He must know  \nsomething and if he doesn't, well... There's no way we can take on Sharpish on our  \nown. Even if I collect every favour I'm owed, and I doubt that more than half  \nthe guys who owe 'em are goin' to stick to their honour, we still won't have the  \nmoxie to make Sharpish do anything he doesn't want to. That fucking ferret's got  \nmore people in his pockets than I've had suck my dick,\" the dog growls. It's  \ntimes like this that I'm reminded that my friend, the big tough dobermann, is a  \npretty small dog in the scheme of Maranatha's crime circles. He makes his money  \ndealing, and he's good at it, but he's never really developed much clout because  \nhe has these pesky morality issues. He won't sell teenagers anything harder than  \nweak weed or maybe a few tabs of E and he won't sell anything at all to anybody  \nhe considers 'too young'. It makes others see him as soft, but he usually  \ndoesn't care.\n\n\u0026nbsp; He does today. I know what he's thinking, as we watch those numbers creep toward  \nsixteen. If he'd done the things he didn't want to, pushed the pills into the  \nschools, made himself a reputation, got some following... If he'd done that, he'd  \nhave the clout to simply call up Sharpish and tell him to let Alice go, and  \nmaybe offer him something in trade. But he didn't, and he can't.  \n  \nWhen the doors open I see two guards across the hallway, guarding the heavy  \noaken doors to Ferrum's guest offices. They're wearing the black, unmarked  \njumpsuits of Ferrum's personal security force, which is worrying. I crack a  \nsmile, preparing to bluff my way past but before I can even open my mouth Malloy  \nshoulders past me and decks the guard on the left, a tiger, right in the face,  \nfollowing with a punch to his abdomen and as he grabs the tiger's head and  \nbashes it against the doorframe he delivers a sharp mulekick to the other  \nguard's stomach, knocking that jackal right against the other doorframe. The  \ntiger slumps down and the jackal recovers quickly, pulling out his nightstick  \nand taking a swing at Malloy, so I jump forward out of the elevator and block  \nthe nightstick with my arm. It hurts like hell and knocks me off balance but  \nMalloy's right there, pulling the unconscious tiger's nightstick free from its  \nscabbard and gives the jackal a good whack between the legs, finishing him off  \nwith another blow to the back of the head.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Jesus, Mal,\" I whisper as I cradle my arm to my chest, shocked and impressed by  \nMalloy's outburst of violence. He doesn't listen. He doesn't look up at me. He  \nkneels by the fallen jackal, rolls him over onto his back and unclips the  \nguard's holster, pulling out the sleek black gun. I feel that odd pain when your  \neyes go really wide but before I can stop him or say anything Malloy's already  \nturned his back to me and runs up to the wooden doors, giving a sharp kick to  \nthe door-handles and letting out a loud roar as he kicks the doors in.  \n  \nIt's all I can do to scramble after him as he strides into the spacious,  \nwell-lit corner office. We're in the lounge area, passing comfortable leather  \nsofas and a coffee-table strewn with, of all things, porn magazines of various  \ndescriptions, all featuring a buff, twinky blond puma on the cover in assorted  \nstates of S\u0026M discomfort. At the far end is the window-wall, with left of that  \nthe broad, expansive desk and chair and computer and to the right a seat for a  \nsecretary, now empty, and the official entrance to his guest office.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Right,\" says the dobermann loudly, marching forward with the gun pointed at the  \nstallion silhouetted in front of the window-wall. \"My name's Q. I. Malloy and  \nI'm looking for my friend Aleš Vlcek, and you're going to fucking help me find  \nhim, or there's going to be unpleasantness.\"   \n  \nThe horse says nothing, but turns from his perch at the window and starts  \nwalking toward us. He's a hulking, black figure, the light from the windows  \nblinding enough that he seems a perfect silhouette as he closes the distance  \ntoward us. I feel like I'm watching a movie, I'm so lost, like I'm not even here  \nand this is all between the dog and the stallion.  \n  \n\"Did you hear me, dickhead?\" Malloy yells, jabbing the guard's gun in the  \nhorse's direction. \"I know you're in bed with that fucking ferret and I swear,  \nif you've got anything to do with what they did to our Alice I'll pump you so  \nfull of lead-\"  \n  \n\"Aluminum,\" the stallion replies calmly, coming to a halt right under one of the  \nsoft-focused spotlights, at which point I realise he's shirtless. That, plus the  \noddity of his reply, causes Malloy to stop in his tracks and think for a second.  \n\"Not lead, but aluminum. The gun you're holding is a fourth-generation prototype  \nmagnetic accelerator that fires non-volatile aluminum rounds. It's also  \nequipped with a biometric sensor on the surface of the trigger and an integrated  \ntheta battery that will emit a disabling electrical shock when it's fired by  \nunauthorised persons.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Oh yeah?\" asks Malloy, casting me a quick sideways look, hoping surely I'll  \ncome up with something. I'm drawing a blank and shrug my shoulders at him and he  \nscowls, reaching behind him with his free hand and pulls a badass-looking  \nchrome-plated gun from the waistband of his pants. \"Well, I've got Lola here,  \ntoo, and she does fire lead, so if you-\"   \n  \nThe stallion shakes his head, with such scary calm. \"Not today. The only clip  \nmanufactured for the gun you're holding extends six millimetres below the end of  \nthe grip and is black. There is obviously no ammunition in your weapon.\" The  \nstallion's voice is deep and emotionless and those big, dark eyes glimmer with  \nthe intensity of this equine's intellect. He takes a step forward and Malloy and  \nI instinctively step back, standing shoulder to shoulder. \"I'm going to take a  \nshower,\" he announces simply, walking around his desk. \"I'll leave the door  \nopen. Have a seat, and tell me about your problem. Owen, are you on the clock?\"  \n  \nMy heart's pounding in my throat as I hear the shuffling sounds of the guards  \noutside the door waking up. The stallion nods to them and groggily they close  \nthe doors while he slides open the concealed partition behind his desk, stepping  \ninto what seems to be a cream-tiled bathroom. I just barely manage to croak an  \nuncertain \"no\" in response to his question, hearing his hoofsteps echo tinnily  \naround the room. Malloy and I exchange a glance, heave a deep sigh, and take a  \nseat on the couch next to the desk.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Pity,\" the horse's voice booms as he turns on the water. \"Could have used a  \nblowjob. Now, your Czech friend. Did you know his surname means Little Wolf?\"  \n  \nMalloy slumps down on the couch, dropping the gun he took from the guard and  \nholstering Lola down the back of his pants, giving me a pleading look as he  \ntries to cover the trembling in his hands by burying his face in them. \"Er, yeah  \n- I mean no,\" I stammer. \"Alice is a buddy of ours. I got a call from him today,  \nhe said he was in trouble. And we figured out that he went with Sharpish a few  \nnights ago, so we think he's got him.\"  \n  \n\"Sharpish. Ferret in a trench-coat, right? Curious nickname,\" the stud says,  \ngroaning as he steps under the spray. I peer at the door-opening of the bathroom  \nand, in the polished cream tiles, I catch a glimmer of a reflection of Tiber's  \ndark body. His hide is almost the same as Malloy's and his body is just as  \nmarble-hard, but obviously way bigger. I'm feeling some uncomfortable stirring  \nin the crotch of my leathers and I'm having a hard time keeping my attention on  \nthe job.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Yeah, that's the one.\" I can't take my eyes off the reflection in the tiles,  \nman. I want to go in there and crawl on my hands and knees and beg for a  \nmouthful, and the urge is really, really strong. \"What was your business with  \nhim, mister Ferrum?\"  \n  \nThe horse laughs, snorting water from his nostrils and from the sound of things  \nhe's lathering himself up with some fine, ambrosia-scented soap. \"My business  \nwith your friend Sharpish was prematurely concluded. I had perceived an  \nopportunity but was rather displeased with the methods that stinking ferret  \nopted to employ. Methods which, in all likelihood, involve your friend. Now,  \nobviously I'm not going to tell you what I did or didn't do because I'm not a  \nfool. But you've been of god service to me, Owen, and your canine friend has  \nsome impressive gumption. More than my soon-to-be-fired guards, at any rate. My  \ntheory would be that your unfortunate Little Wolf has been selected to be a  \npermanent host to the C-65 microbe cluster, also known as the Henderson cluster,  \nafter the Maranatha University doctorate student who discovered their  \nproperties. If you had Alice on the phone today he probably hasn't been infected  \nwith the microbes yet, which means that mister Sharpish is awaiting the arrival  \nof the microbes' carrier.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I'm trying to figure out what all this means - microbes and carriers and  \ninfection and all that - but Malloy's much quicker, deciding that all that crap  \nsimply doesn't matter and strips the information down to the basics. \"So if we  \nfind this carrier we'll have something Sharpish wants. Something he'll be  \nwilling to trade for. Who are we looking for?\"  \n  \nThe water's turned off, now. Steam billows from the open bathroom door. I'm  \nalmost drooling with lust. My thighs are squeezed together because my dick hurts  \nso much, trapped in that device, and the leather creaks as I rub my knees  \nagainst each other, panting hard. \"Your friend is very, very sharp, Owen. You'll  \nhave to introduce me properly, next time. The carrier will definitely be male,  \nand in order to carry the microbes for as long as he has, he'll be young,  \nvirile, but very capable of restraining his libido.\"   \n  \nThe intercom on the desk buzzes and a soft, female voice says, \"Mister Ferrum?  \nThe UEN delegates have just returned Grey. Shall I send his crate up to your  \noffice?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Gentlemen, I'm afraid it's time for you to leave,\" the stallion announces,  \nclearly still preening himself in the bathroom. A hand juts out of the door's  \nopening and points to the desk, at the pile of folders. I want to be on that  \ndesk, on my back, with that horse on top of me. Or Malloy, I think as I see him  \nstand up. Either will do. \"The green folder, third from the top, contains  \ninformation on the properties of C-65. It is very, very confidential and I do  \nsincerely hope you won't steal it. If you do, I'll be very disappointed. If you  \nsteal any other folder than the green one, I'll have you tracked down, tortured  \nand killed. Good-bye now.\"  \n  \nHis tone is final, and the threat doesn't sound idle. Malloy's already at the  \ndesk and fishes out the folder indicated, tossing it at me. I open it and peek  \nat the front page, scanning - C-65 - Henderson - oh my god I need to suck a dick  \nso bad... \"Thanks, mister Ferrum, we're out of here,\" says Malloy and pushes my  \narm as he jogs over to the service doors. He opens them and walks right to the  \nelevator, which opens as soon as he presses the button. I exit more sheepishly,  \nfolding my ears as I pass between the tiger with the black eye and the jackal  \nwith a little blood running down from his hairline, both of them looking at me  \nas if they want to fry me with an electric spark like they're Tesla coils or  \nsomething. \"Owen, let's go!\" Malloy yells, holding the elevator door open for me  \nand I hurry inside, unzipping my jacket. I'm feeling really hot right now.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I keep leafing through the file, trying to find anything meaningful and take my  \nmind off the fucking sexy dog standing next to me, my best damn friend in the  \nwhole damn world, who still refuses to this day to accept a discount when he  \nfucks me, and he fucks me so well, and I really want him to fuck me right now.  \n  \n  \nHe's got his cell-phone out, dialling a number. Looks at me. \"You okay, mate?  \nYou look a little-Yeah, it's Malloy. You behind a computer now? I need to find  \nout how many Hendersons there are at Maranatha U, doctorate students, and what  \nall they do. Never you mind why. Because I say so! Jesus, Mark, just look it the  \nfuck up and get back to me or I'll fucking pwn you, noob!\" He flips his phone  \nshut and exhales, grinning at me. \"You gotta know how to talk to these people.\"  \n  \nWe exit the elevator and walk to his car. \"So, we gonna assume that Sharpish has  \nhim, then? I mean, there's good odds that he does, but it's still possible that  \nsomebody else got him.\" I don't answer, lest I salivate too much. It's okay,  \nthough, you don't have to talk for Malloy to have a conversation with you. \"Then  \nagain, if somebody else has him then we know fuck-all and we don't stand a  \nchance of findin' him. You're right, we should gamble on Sharpish. First thing  \nwe ought to do is head over to Maranatha University, don'cha think? By the time  \nwe get there Mark'll have the info on the Hendersons and we can find out what  \nall this is about. You sure you're all right? You're awful quiet.\" he asks as I  \nget in the car and buckle up.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"I'm fine,\" I mutter. What I want to say is that I'd like him to take a little  \ndetour so I've got time to give him some head, but then we'd get into this thing  \nabout him not accepting freebies because he respects me too much and that I  \nreally, really want him to drop a load in me and he'd be doing me a favour. My  \nhands are clammy, my breath is shallow. I don't know what's fucking wrong with  \nme. I put the folder I'm reading into the glove compartment as we drive up the  \nramp and give the guard panther in the security booth a friendly wink when we  \nexit.   \n  \nDuring the drive, I read the folder. Now, I'd like to say that the words don't  \nmake sense to me. I'd like to say I'm so horny I can't focus. Truth is, I'm  \nreally, really horny but I could still understand what I was reading and I'm  \njust too stupid to let it connect. So here's me admitting I'm a stupidhead, so  \nyou don't go ahead and draw that conclusion for yourself. I know I'm really  \nstupid, but this is what's happening.   \n  \nI mention the chapter titles to Malloy and such snippets as I can find. The  \nmicrobes cluster together in certain hormone glands. They can be passed through  \nsemen, but oddly enough only through semen and not blood and when the microbes  \nare passed, the entire colony migrates and the previous host retains none of  \ntheir influence. And they only pass when they perceive that they're passing into  \nanother body. They can be kept from affecting a host by preventing erection,  \nwhich would allow them to move into certain nerve clusters, which means that,  \nfor a time, they can be kept in a host who will be only minimally affected. The  \nstupid document doesn't mention what the effects are until one of the very last  \npages. The C-65 microbe cluster causes a geometric increase of the host's sexual  \nurges, which sounds like a lot of fun in itself, but it gets better!  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; An extra sheet tacked on at the back, hand-written and signed Brian B.  \nHenderson, indicates that from an infected person's blood, and to a far greater  \ndegree their semen, several substances can be extracted that, properly treated,  \nhave phenomenal psychotropic and aphrodisiacal effects, far beyond the effects  \nof the much cruder Rut. \"Hey, our Henderson's called Brian and he's a hoofer,\" I  \ninform Malloy.   \n  \nIf you're a good boy and you grew up in a safe neighbourhood you maybe don't  \nknow what I'm talking about, but Rut's a sex drug for herbivores, while  \npredators and most omnivores are severely allergic to it. Heat's the drug they  \nuse. So if our Henderson only knows Rut, we know which side of the fence he's  \non.  \n  \nI leaf through all the pages again, and notice all the facts again, and fail to  \nconnect them all again. Prevent erection. Increased libido. Sex drugs. And then,  \nsomething I hadn't noticed before, but that libido-suppressants like paxadril  \nhave unpredictable neurological effects such as fucking amnesia. Are you getting  \nthis? Obviously, this is what Sharpish wants: to infect somebody good and  \nhelpless with this microbe, say, somebody like our sweet Alice, and milk him for  \nthe rest of his life to keep producing this C-65 stuff. Plus, more importantly,  \nI should now realise that I am the fucking carrier, what with my dick-cage and  \nmy horniness and the fact that Sharpish sent a bunch of thugs to come fetch me.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But I don't notice any of this. What I do notice is a very familiar young lion  \nsitting at a table behind the window of a diner just up ahead, looking unhappy,  \nwith a threesome of burly leopards in bomber jackets around him and I point at  \nhim and before I have a chance to shout who it is I saw and what I think Malloy  \nshould do he spins the wheel and dives through the traffic of the oncoming lane,  \nguns the engine and sends the 'vette flying up the curb and through the glass  \nwall of the diner, cruising through the air like a missile. We crash through  \nwooden tables and hit the ground hard, both of us getting the wind knocked out  \nof us when we jolt forward in our seatbelts and the car spins madly as it  \nscreeches through the half-empty diner, knocking one of the leopards off his  \nfeet with the rear bumper before finally coming to rest in the very middle of  \nthe diner, with shocked families and a panicked Alice and furious owners and  \neven more furious thugs glaring at us.   \n  \nIn a heartbeat, I slice through my seatbelt with my bare claws and shoulder my  \ndoor open with such force that it comes off its battered hinges and clatters to  \nthe floor. Malloy's out the other side, stepping on the chest of the leopard he  \nknocked down and hops over the hood of his car, kicking a second thug right in  \nthe face. Damn, he's hot...   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Alice!\" I yell as Malloy rounds on the second thug, who clocks him right in the  \nface. The lionboy, still dressed in his tight blue tank top and wide mesh  \nshort-sleeved shirt overtop and his pink-dyed hair and his tight latex pants,  \nthe same outfit he wore at the Dive three days ago - he's so frightened he's  \nstill sitting at the table, an inch away from the smoking, rumbling grille of  \nMalloy's car, so shocked he doesn't even flinch as Malloy's arm flies over his  \nhead to return the punch he just received. \"Alice, come here!\" He hears me and  \nhe sits up straight, and when his eyes lock on mine, the panic's gone, just  \ngone, and he jumps over the table with that marvellous feline grace and runs  \nover to me.   \n  \n\"Let's go!\" yells Malloy, stepping back from the trio of thugs - even the one we  \nknocked down has gotten up, advancing toward us. I grab Aleš by the shoulders  \nand pull him to me, feel him hug me around the waist, and look out the windows  \nto the streets. I see more bomberjackets, and they could be just concerned  \ncitizens, or they could be with Sharpish. I place my hand between his shoulders  \nand push, and the kid makes me proud. He lets go of me immediately and runs in  \nthe direction I push him, following me toward the double doors leading to the  \nkitchen. The chef, a fat hog in one of those ridiculous chef's hats is just  \ncoming through and I shoulder him down onto the ground, muttering a half-hearted  \napology before I grab Alice by the hand and lead him on through the kitchen,  \npushing the junior cooks aside. \"Your mother's a whore! Your mother's a whore!\"  \nI hear Malloy yelling, furniture overturning and then a triumphant laugh and he  \ncomes bursting through the doors, stepping on the hog's belly before he follows  \nus at blinding speed.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; With Malloy bringing up the rear I press on, holding Alice by the hand, feeling  \nhim grip me as hard as he can. I kick open the single door at the far end of the  \nkitchen, ignoring the screams of outrage from the pig on the floor and the looks  \nof bewilderment from the poor junior chefs and jump out into the alley beyond  \nthe door. I see sunlight in one direction and head toward it, toward the street  \nand the safety of a crowd - and then I hear rough voices and footsteps. \"No!  \nThis way!\" Malloy hisses and I stop in my tracks, catching Alice when he bumps  \ninto me. With a pat on the ass I shove him in the other direction and he grabs  \nMalloy's outstretched hand, sprinting like a hare.   \n  \nFrom the corner of my eye I see the chef sitting upright, getting knocked down  \nagain when a leopard in a bomberjacket bursts in and trips over him and before I  \nknow it I've ducked back into the kitchen, reaching out to either side to grab  \nthe racks of cutlery and crockery arrayed there and as I pull back out into the  \nalley I pull them down as hard as I can, blocking the doorway with the crashing  \nshelves. I turn and run down the alley, following the sight of Alice's golden  \ntailtuft, forcing myself not to turn and look when I hear heavy footsteps coming  \nup behind me - fuck, I even hear a car pulling up!  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Malloy and Alice have a good head-start, and Alice is being a good boy. He's not  \nlooking back, he just holds on to Malloy's hand and runs as fast as he can.  \nMalloy lets go of his hand just long enough that he can jump up onto a dumpster,  \nlong forgotten and rusty with misuse. He lands on it with a loud, metallic bang  \nand jumps up again to grab a fire escape ladder, which should extend down, but  \nthe springs creak and the rusty ladder only slides down half-way.  \n  \nBy this time, I've caught up and I grab Alice by the waist, who's looking down  \nthe alley and at whatever it is behind me with abject fear in his eyes. I hoist  \nhim up onto the dumpster and clamber after him, stumbling as I feel it roll away  \nfrom the wall on its wheels. Holding Alice by the waist I lift him up and he  \ngrabs the lowest rung of the ladder with one hand, the other gets grabbed at the  \nwrist by Malloy, who hoists him upward and Alice quickly starts climbing the  \nfire escape. Malloy stays where he is, hanging off the lowest rung, his hand  \noutstretched to help me up. I clap my hand around his wrist and he mine, then  \nplant one boot against the brick wall and one against the edge of the dumpster  \nand with a growl I kick off and push the dumpster away, hearing it thunder down  \nthe alley along with a startled cry and a crash.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Clumsily, but with great desperation, Malloy and I climb a ladder together that  \nwas meant for only one and just as we're about to reach the catwalk that leads  \nto the fire ladders to the roof, I hear the rusty iron groan again and the  \nladder slips, first a little and then completely. I just manage to grab one rung  \nof the solid half of the ladder when the lower half falls away, taking Malloy  \nwith it, and in blind reflex I reach out with my free hand to grab him. The  \nladder hits my knee pretty bad on its way down, but all I care about is that I  \nget a good grip - I've got him by the shirt, by the shoulder, and I can hear the  \nfabric start to tear. Something metal clatters down on the concrete after the  \nladder slams down and my eyes lock on Malloy's when I hear his shirt tear again  \nand in that moment, just before he makes the two-storey drop to the concrete  \npavement and the vicious thugs below, we both look up to see Alice, lying  \nbelly-down on the catwalk, reaching down with feline reflexes to grab the  \ndobermann by the elbow, sinking his claws in deep enough to draw blood.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The kid's got remarkable strength when it comes to it and holds on to the dog  \nlong enough for me to grab his other arm and together we heave him up onto the  \nladder. He's the first to climb up onto the catwalk and helps Alice back on his  \nfeet, with me coming up behind as they head up the fire-escape stairs. It's a  \nrickety, hazardous contraption but it holds out long enough for us to reach the  \nroof, and when I look back down the alley, seeing one thug leaning against the  \nwall next to the spot where the rolling dumpster came to rest, clutching his  \nknee and all the others running away from the alley and down different  \ndirections of the street, I have to wonder: what the fuck are we going to do  \nwhen we're on the roof?  \n  \nMalloy seems to have a clear idea on where we should go, leading  \nus across the gravely flat roof with its rotating ventilation scoops and air  \nvents. My lungs are burning, but I honestly can't feel it, all I can feel is an  \nurge to run and to protect this young lion, this Little Wolf., at any cost. It  \noccurs to me, while I catch up and take Alice's other hand in mine, that I never  \nonce looked back to see if Malloy was okay and he never once looked back to  \ncheck on me, when he was ahead. Both of us would gladly stay behind if it gave  \nAlice a better chance and instinctively we know that about each other. If Malloy  \nfell behind, I wouldn't stop for him, I'd keep leading Alice till he was safe  \nand Malloy would do the same. Now that's friendship, people.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The jump to the next roof is a breeze and we don't even stop holding hands as  \nthe three of us sprint in perfect sync, kick off at the edge of the building and  \nland on the brick ledge of the next. We jump down and cross this roof as well.  \n\"Do you know where you're going?\" I ask Malloy, and Alice looks at the dog with  \nsome worry, as if the thought is only now striking him as well.   \n  \n\"Don't worry, lads,\" the dobermann says with that confident grin of his, his  \nblack eyes glimmering. \"I've got us sorted.\" The next building's an easy jump as  \nwell, but Malloy pulls up short at the edge of the building and veers to the  \nside, jogging over to the fire escape and lets go of Alice's hand to slide down  \nthe ladder, bracing his boots on the sidebars. There's no catwalks on this  \nbuilding, just one ladder straight down and he slides until he's about half way,  \non the second floor. \"Here,\" he announces and braces his knee against the  \nladder, and pushes off. He turns in mid-air, planting his foot on the ledge of  \nthe windowsill on the opposing building, but the brick ledge falls away and he  \ntumbles down, just barely catching the window-sill to keep himself from falling  \ncompletely. Alice grips my shoulder hard, sucking in a breath in fright and  \nheaves a relieved sigh when he sees Malloy clambering back up on to the ledge,  \nfiddling with the window's latch until something snaps and he can slide the  \nwindow up.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I go down the ladder next, giving Alice a squeeze on the shoulder when I sense  \nhis mild panic at being left alone on this building. I stop a little higher than  \nwhere Malloy did, but my jump goes much better, my foot landing on the open  \nwindow-frame and my body coming to rest against the wall. I give Malloy a nice,  \nin-your-face grin.  \n  \n\"Show-off,\" he mutters and we both turn our attention back to the other  \nbuilding, where Alice is climbing down the ladder, looking down at the alley  \nbelow with obvious vertigo. Shit, I should have remembered that about him. Still,  \nnothing to be done, and this really is the safest way. \"Come on, luv, jump  \nacross,\" Malloy whispers.  \n  \nThe poor kid's trembling as he clings to the rungs of the ladder and looks over  \nhis shoulder at us, and then down, and then up, and then at us again. \"Alice,  \ncome on, it's okay. We won't let anything happen to you.\"  \n  \n\"I'm scared,\" he whispers. My ears droop, and so do Malloy's. He sounds so  \nterribly helpless - and I feel a fresh pang of rage at that fucking ferret  \nSharpish for taking the sweetest kid in all of Maranatha and putting him through  \nthis. \"We're right here, luv. Nothing can happen to you,\" says Malloy and the  \ncalm certainty in his deep, masculine voice has even my tail wagging. Alice  \nlooks at us a moment longer, clearly resisting the urge to look down, takes a  \ndeep breath, and with a leonine mrowl he launches himself across the gap between  \nthe two buildings, eyes closed and arms outstretched.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; In one smooth movement, Malloy and I each catch one of his arms and guide his  \nmomentum forward, pushing him in through the window and smoothly sliding in  \nbehind him. Malloy shuts the window and I push Alice into one corner of the  \nkitchen we find ourselves in while I tiptoe toward the door. It occurs to me,  \nnow, that we're in somebody's house. \"I don't hear anybody,\" I whisper.  \n  \n\"Course not,\" chuckles Malloy as he goes over to ruffle Alice's pink hair, a  \nplayful act he always does which always makes Alice growl in protest, and it  \ngarners him a giggle as well. The dog's gone to the sink, running water into a  \nkettle. \"This is my mate Collin's house. He fixes people up with fake ID's,  \nmostly for teens. It's where you got yours, didn't ya, luv?\" he says and hugs  \nthe lionboy around the shoulders, kissing his ruffled pink hair.   \n  \nAlice giggles, though his voice still trembles a little and tries to push the  \ndog away. \"Yeah, he was nice. Really bad at poker, though. I cleaned him out  \nafter you left and I didn't even cheat!\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; That's right. He's such a sweet boy, our Alice, that I often forget he's got a  \ndevious, scheming side to him too. There's no ounce of malice in our Alice, but  \nhe's quite the trickster and he's certainly no innocent. He's had close to a  \nhundred different clients since he started hooking, which is ten times more than  \nI'd had when I was a year older than him and he's mouthed off more than a few  \nwould-be bullies with some well-placed insults and a good piece of attitude.  \nAnother thing that's impressive is that he isn't even out of breath after this  \nrun, making me and Malloy feel like old men as we struggle not to pant too hard.  \n  \n  \nMalloy's phone rings and makes us all jolt, gripping the nearest item or wall. I  \nglare at him and he shrugs apologetically, picking up the phone as I open the  \ndoor into the living room. He barks at the person on the phone - Mark, it seems,  \nwith the info on MU's Hendersons. I can't describe the fury with which Malloy  \ncurses at him, and I have to giggle at the thought of the lengths Malloy will  \nhave to go to, to win Mark's co-operation again.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The room's a spare-looking place, not as Spartan as my pad but still nowhere  \nnear as lived-in as Malloy's. Malloy's apartment... A thought hits me and I turn  \naround just in time for Malloy to flip the phone shut and both of us say \"We  \nshould warn your neighbours,\" at the same time. It's a good thought. Sharpish  \nhad a lot of men guarding one teenaged lionboy, so he must have a lot more  \nmuscle than the last time I heard of him. And the obvious place for those men to  \nstart looking for us, when they realise they've lost our trail hopping from  \nbuilding to building and that we could be hiding out anywhere, is to check where  \nwe live. Malloy goes back into the kitchen as the kettle starts to whistle and I  \nsit down in the couch next to the phone on the wall, picking the wireless  \nreceiver up and dialling the number for Butterfly.  \n  \nI put the receiver to my ear, listening to the crackling sound of the ring tone  \nand see Alice, standing in the doorway, looking a little lost and glancing back  \nand forth between me and Malloy. I flash him a smile and beckon him over,  \npatting my thigh and by the time my weasel landlord picks up with the phrase,  \n\"Kusch meer in toches!\" I've got a leonine pretty-boy draped across my lap, his  \narms around me, his sleek, feline body pressed against mine. I wrap my arm  \naround his waist and press my cheek against his, feeling his trembling ease  \nmerely from being close to me. I feel like a big, strong man, and it does feel  \nreally good.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"What the fuck?\" I answer.  \n  \nButterfly laughs a musical laugh. \"Oh, Owen, it's you! It's a Yiddish greeting a  \nfriend of mine taught me. I think I pronounced it right!\"  \n  \n\"Dude, it's German for kiss my ass.\"  \n  \nThe line is silent for a while. Butterfly takes a deep breath and, trying hard  \nnot to let the bitter disappointment be too clear in his voice, he asks \"What  \ncan I do for you?\"  \n  \nI shift Alice on my lap, raking my fingers through his short, pink-dyed hair,  \nhugging his face to my neck. He strokes my jacket, sniffing the leather  \nappreciatively and reaches in through the zipper to hug my tank-top-clad torso.  \n\"I'm in a bit of trouble, man, and until I get it sorted, it might mean that  \ntrouble spills over to you. Could you do me a huge favour - get out of the  \nhouse, and get Mrs A and Double Bill out as well? Doesn't matter where you go,  \njust get away for a day or two, until you hear from me. If you need to get in  \ntouch with me, you can call Malloy's cell-phone, I wrote his number in your  \nbook.\"  \n  \n\"The way of peace knows many stops, Owen,\" Butterfly responds and I still to  \nthis day have no idea what he means.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"I know,\" I lie, which I know is a sin and bad for my karma but it'll just take  \ntoo long if I ask him what he means right now. \"Just, please, go and get Mrs A  \nand the wake the cats up and get 'em all someplace else, yeah? Don't worry about  \nbringing your valuables, they're looking for me, not for anything to steal.\"  \n  \n\"I will, Owen, thank you for the warning. A chaleyre!\" he says cheerfully and  \nhangs up.   \n  \nMalloy comes back in the room, carrying his phone between his teeth and in his  \nhands a tray with a teapot, sugar-lumps, and three cups. Setting them down on  \nthe coffee-table in front of us, he spits his phone out and joins us on the  \ncouch. Immediately I lean toward him and the lionboy on my lap spills over onto  \nMalloy, saying that he just called Anezka and she's already packing her truck to  \ngo stay with her Jiu Jitsu coach for a few days. \"What's this, now?\" Malloy  \nasks, cradling Alice's head in his arms, toying with the lazy curls of his pink  \nhair, stroking that beautiful muzzle.  \n  \nI open my mouth to make some lewd remark, but Alice beats me to it. \"I knew  \nyou'd come for me,\" he says and for a moment I think he's about to cry, but when  \nI look down at him I realise I couldn't be farther from the truth. The teenaged  \nlion splayed across our laps is completely calm now, completely content. He  \ntrusts us the way a little kid trusts Santa, the way a good priest trusts God  \neven when the times are hard. It sounds weird and really dramatic, I know, but I  \nfeel honoured that he has this much faith in us.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Malloy catches my eye and glances over at the open door of the bedroom, and I  \nnod. Alice has probably gone without sleep since that night at the Dive, so we'd  \nbest get him into bed while we figure out our next move. Malloy starts to pull  \noff Alice's mesh shirt and tank top and I unbutton his latex pants, the boy  \nsplaying out comfortably, eyes closed, half-asleep already. \"That ferret came up  \nto me at the dive... said he had a job for me, he'd pay me two thousand bucks in  \ncash and I wouldn't even have to let him fuck me... He said you'd be with me, so I  \nthought it'd be okay, but he drove me to this place, this big warehouse, and he  \nput me in a cage and then I didn't see him again, and nobody would tell me why  \nthey were doing it...\"   \n  \nMy ears fold as I peel the boy's tight pants off him, stroking down the golden  \nfur of his slender legs, shaking the pants out and draping them nicely over the  \narm-rest of the couch rather than just dropping them in a crumpled heap, because  \nI know how much Alice loves those pants. Malloy's got him raising his arms and  \npulls his tank top and mesh shirt off while I rub the boy's belly, getting him  \nto purr. Sleepily, he continues, as if dreaming. \"I tried the tricks I heard you  \ntalking about, Owen, when you told stories about that time you were put in jail...  \nI tried not to be scared and, you know, make friends with the guard. I blew a  \ncouple of them, but they wouldn't let me out, not even for a few minutes. But  \nthen one of them wanted me to suck him a second time, so I did, and I really did  \nmy best to make it good... and he passed out after he squirted. I stuck my arm out  \nthrough the bars as far as I could and I got his cell phone and I tried to call  \nMalloy, because he has a gun and he could come rescue me, and then I heard you  \npick up the phone and I knew it'd be all right.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I'm grinning like a fool now, and so's Malloy, both of us feeling like fucking  \nheroes as we bundle the boy up in our arms and carry him toward the bedroom,  \nAlice curled up in our arms, snuggling up against Malloy's chest. \"Then that  \nferret came back, the one with the leather coat, and he said that the deal he  \nwanted me for wasn't going to happen, and he was really angry about that and he  \nhit me a few times. He said he wanted to make sure I was 'good enough' so he put  \nme in a van with those men and we drove to the city and he brought me to this  \ndiner and told me to sit still and be quiet and if I screamed or called for  \nhelp, he'd hurt Nezzy. And then he went away to go pick up somebody, I don't  \nremember his name and then you came in and... and you saved me.\"  \n  \nHe's barely audible, exhausted beyond the limits of his young years, but when we  \nlay him down on the simple double bed in the room Alice's eyes snap open and he  \nclutches at my jacket and Malloy's arm. \"No, don't go... please?\" he asks,  \nblinking his eyes, trying to keep them open. \"Stay with me?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Now, I ask you.  \n  \nHow can you resist a question like that?  \n  \n  \nI'm not sure how exactly it happened or when, but somewhere along the way Malloy  \nand I stripped. I can't tell if there was sex, really. I have a couple of  \nmemories, of snuggling up really close, hugging Malloy while squeezing Alice  \nbetween us and our movements might have been sex, but then again, maybe just the  \njoy of touching was all we were after. I remember being awake with Malloy - he  \nhad his pants on, I remember that, so it must have been pretty early on, and we  \nwere stroking the sleeping lionboy between us and discussing our next move.   \n  \nIt looked like it'd be hard, whatever the case. We needed more information than  \nwe had; we wouldn't be able to make any kind of move until we knew what was  \nwhat. We could talk to McIlwain, he's one of the bigger, more civil bosses in  \nthis part of town, but if Sharpish turned out to be working for him, we'd be  \nscrewed tighter than a Christmas tree light-bulb. An easier gamble would be to  \nsimply pull up stake and move, get Alice to another city.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I'm actually thinking about that right now, lying in this stranger's bed with my  \nbest friend and the young lion that, I realise, I've come to see as a little  \nbrother ­- heh, a Little Wolf after all - curled in each other's arms. I think  \nof coming home to this sight after a night of whoring, putting my hard-earned  \ncash in the rent-jar along with whatever Alice earned that night and what Malloy  \nstole, and slipping into bed with these two males, trying not to wake them... It'd  \nbe a hard life, to begin with. We'd have to lay low stay someplace shitty and  \nwork hard, but discretely.   \n  \nAnd it'd be wonderful, really. Malloy and I would be sharing a place right now  \nif we hadn't grown apart so long and now, neither of us can really suggest it  \nbecause we're each so self-sufficient that the only reason we'd move in was for  \neach other's company, which is like saying we were going to be boyfriends and  \nreally, neither of us wants that. I think he's so sexy and I love sucking him  \noff and I know he'd hire me for a whole night, every night, if his wallet and  \nhis ego would let him... But that's just sex. And our friendship is just  \nfriendship. To think that's romance would ruin both.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But we're totally united in our love for Alice. Not romance, either, but love,  \nyou know, the kind that hurts. Nezzy, too, if she was in trouble. Family. Well,  \nalmost. You're not supposed to have sex with family, I'm told, although you'd be  \nsurprised how often I'm hired to be the filling in a father-son sandwich.  \n  \nI smile, and I think back to that night in Malloy's apartment, a memory that's  \nbeen coming to me in fits and starts lately. We'd just stripped, Malloy'd put  \nsome money on the dressing-table, our usual pre-fuck ritual. I'd never cum when  \nwe fucked, which was just perfect. I gave pleasure and he got pleasure, so we  \neach got our favourite thing in the world. This time, though... I was kissing his  \nballs while he made himself comfortable on the bed, flicking my tongue over them  \nand lazily stroking that fine black dogdick of his, took it deep in my mouth,  \nonce, to wet it... Then I crawled on top of him and straddled his waist but his  \ndick missed its mark and just settled between my buns and neither of us reached  \nback to put it where it belonged.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; And we just talked. We talked about how old we were getting and how sentimental.  \nWhen we were kids we'd gone out with the goal of becoming bad boys, doing what  \nshouldn't be done and being damn good at it. I'd hopped on every adult's dick  \nwho could afford me and Malloy learned the art of making people want things they  \nreally shouldn't want - and then selling it to them. We were good at it, and we  \nstill are and neither of us has any regrets about what we've done.  \n  \nBut we do wonder about the future. Neither of us can see ourselves doing  \nanything different or better five years down the line. Malloy can't expand his  \noperation because the competition is so deeply entrenched, Maranatha's long been  \ncarved up into well-defined and generally respected territories. And me, well, I  \nservice my regulars and a couple of strangers at the Dive every now and again  \nand that's as exotic as my sex-life gets.  \n  \nWe talked about moving, that night, and whether we should tell anybody. It was  \nplayful dreaming, really, but behind our jesting grins we were... feeling each  \nother out, seeing how we each felt. It was impossible. We were both too hesitant  \nto expose ourselves, we were too busy trying to hear the other out to say what  \nwe thought on the topic. I don't even know myself what I thought that night, if  \nI thought it'd be a good idea to tell Alice or Anezka and invite them to come  \nwith us and find some house to live in like some mockery of a family. Maybe I  \nthought it'd be better not to do that. Now, I think of how wonderful it would be  \nto have my best friend and my Little Wolf in my bed each night.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It'd be too risky, though. Wherever we go, sooner or later Sharpish or somebody  \nelse will find us and we'd have to run again, and I don't want that for Alice.  \nThat's why I'm lying awake. Outside, the sun's just gone down, so we've been  \nsleeping or fucking for a few hours. God, I feel just like I did that night, you  \nremember, way at the beginning of the story. Sitting in that chair in my  \napartment, which is by now totally deserted, without even the ruckus of the two  \npunker cats' music and the infernal snoring of Pickles, Mrs Ackerby's dog and  \nButterfly's chanting. It feels like that night was a premonition of this night,  \na teaser of what was to come.   \n  \nThen, I dreamt of burning the apartment and walking away. Now, I dream of  \nrunning away with these two wonderful males. I didn't give in to the dream that  \nnight, and I'm not going to tonight, either. But that night I went out and went  \nto the Dive. I did what I always did. Tonight, I'm going to do something  \ndifferent.  \n  \nI get out of bed with a great deal of reluctance and pull my clothes on. Leather  \npants, boots, tank top, leather jacket, I've told you that before. I'm about to  \ndo something really foolish, really, really stupid - not even the heroic kind of  \nstupid, just stupid stupid - and I want to make sure you know I look good while  \nI'm doing it. My hair, blond and shoulder-length, falls neatly backwards, a few  \nlong strands slipping down in front of my ears like bangs and the tint of the  \nblack leather is a perfect offset to the light grey of my fur. I'm a  \ngood-looking fool.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I remind myself of that when an hour later, after a brisk night-time walk, I  \nwalk into the Cavendish Bistro, a favourite haunt of my favourite ferret, and  \nfind him sitting at a table with a well-groomed fox in a suit that could rival  \nTiber Ferrum's. \"Hello, Sharpish. I hear you were looking for me?\"  \n  \nSharpish doesn't even look up from the steak he's cutting, while the fox  \ncontinues to ignore the salad in front of him and fixes me with an appraising  \nlook. Only now do I recognise him - he has one of those generic, easy-to-forget  \nfaces, but those eyes stay with you. It's Harcourt Ezekiel McIlwain. Which means  \nI'm in trouble, and that I really, really shoulda stood in bed. \"You got some  \nstones, Owen my lad,\" says Sharpish Where Malloy's English accent is sexy as all  \nfuck, this ferret, though he doesn't sound much different, makes me want to  \nclean my ears with every word I hear from his lips. \"How'd you know I'd be  \nhere?\"  \n  \nStay cool, Owen. I stand at the table, thumbs hooked in my pockets, trying to  \nlook as if I don't notice the large burly males standing up from their tables  \nand moving into position behind me. \"I didn't. I tried some other places first.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Came lookin' for me, did you? My word, you'd almost think I had something that  \nbelonged to you,\" the ferret jokes, chewing on his steak. He's wearing that  \nfucking coat of his, a trench-coat made of the thick leather they used in the  \nfirst world war, the kind that could protect a man from shrapnel or even, if he  \nwas really lucky, a stray bullet. I bet if he took it off and set it down it  \nwould stand upright, the leather's so tough. \"Of course, we both know it's the  \nother way around... don't we.\"   \n  \nNow he looks at me. Those grey eyes, with pupils so tiny they might as well not  \nbe there at all. That faint, threatening grin. He may be a slinky ferret, but  \nthere's a fire and a determination behind his eyes that can make anyone worried  \nwho meets him. No wonder he has so little trouble ensuring the loyalty of men  \neasily three times his size. They fear him, and rightly so, because with that  \nkind of intensity burning in his eyes, he could easily do anything.   \n  \n\"Alice isn't to be touched. I'm here to take his place,\" I say, and I'm pretty  \nimpressed with myself. I'm putting on a very good show. Now if only my knees  \nwould stop relaxing and firm up so I don't feel like I'm on the verge of falling  \ndown.   \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Ah, it's like I told you, mister McIlwain,\" Sharpish says, putting another  \n  \npiece of steak in his mouth as he turns to his dining-partner. \"It seems young  \nOwen here got his paws on the C-65 documents.\" Shit. I'd forgotten I'd left them  \nin Malloy's car. It is at this point that realisation hits me and I figure out  \nthat I'm probably carrying those C-65 microbes and that that's why I've been  \nfeeling so incorrigibly horny these last few hours and that Sharpish was  \nintending to use Alice as a host to these microbes so he could harvest the drugs  \nfrom the boy's fluids and make a fortune. All of this comes to me in a split  \nsecond and with every fresh realisation, the certainty that I shouldn't have  \ncome grows and grows.   \n  \n\"Listen,\" I say and lean my hands on the table. A dozen hands reach into a dozen  \nbomber jackets for, no doubt, a dozen nine-millimetres, but I level my eyes with  \nthe ferret's. \"You need someone to get infected with these bugs, right? Well,  \nI've got 'em anyway. So what do you say you take that stupid cage off my dick  \nand take me as your fucking milking-host, huh?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Stones indeed,\" says Sharpish, chewing his steak. \"Normally I'd object to being  \ntold what to do. Today... No, I still object. See, you're no good as a host.  \nYou're too old, for starters and you've had the microbes in you so long they've  \nprobably colonised in some other organ for the time being and the drugs we'd  \nharvest from you would be all weird, and that'd be really disappointing to  \nmister McIlwain. I promised him a good, pure product. And mister Henderson, he  \ndid the whole science thing for me. We had to hurt him a little, dope him up a  \nlittle more, but he got it down. Said the best host would be a feline,  \npreferably pre-adolescent, but sexually active. And how many other guys like  \nthat do you know, beside Alice? No, I think you can make up for the trouble  \nyou've caused me. Boys, take him away. Have some fun with him, that's what he's  \nfor - just don't mess him up too badly.\"  \n  \nIt all sounds pretty comical, you gotta admit. Bad guy, sitting in a restaurant,  \nsaying \"take him away, boys,\" it's just soooo fucking cliché. Still, I can't say  \nas I totally see the humour of it when beefy hands wrap around my stylishly  \nleather-clad biceps and squeeze real, real hard and I understand that I Meade a  \nbig, big mistake.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \nLet's fast forward a while. I know you're after juicy details of my various  \nsexcapades, but really, if I give you a, shall we say, blow by blow (and I do  \nmean both kinds of blow) then I'll easily fill more pages than I already have. A  \ncouple of highlights:  \n  \n· Passing out from strangulation, because a limping leopard likes to squeeze my  \nthroat while he's humping me, pumping that barbed feline cock between my legs -  \nthe fucker even kisses me!  \n  \n· A very creative otter who, it turns out, likes electricity play and spends  \nhalf an hour taking apart a power outlet (during which time I desperately try to  \nsuck off a mule, despite how rancid their cum always tastes, because my ass  \nreally, really needs a rest.  \n  \n· Then the otter takes a turn and wires me up, putting me under a mild current  \nthat has me spasming and gasping for breath while he whoops and hollers as he  \nfucks me.  \n  \n· Another bout of unconsciousness from asphyxiation when another of the  \nleopards, who seems to have a similar breath-control kink, plugs his dick down  \nmy throat for a full minute after I swallow his load. His buddies hold my hands  \nas I thrash about, trying to get some air and the only reason I don't bite his  \nfucking dick off is because I've got these pesky instincts to take care of any  \ndick I've got in my mouth. Price you pay for being a pro.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; · Belly-down, on the floor of the warehouse they brought me to. A guard dog, an  \nactual fourfooter is brought over to have a turn and he has a real, real good  \ntime on me. Truth is, of all the sex I've been subjected to in the last few  \nhours, this is the most enjoyable. The dog's honest, at least. All he cares  \n  \nabout is getting off, he doesn't care about making me miserable or taking  \nrevenge because I rolled a dumpster onto him and dislocated his knee.  \n  \n  \nI can't remember half of the other things they did to me. I'm sitting here now,  \nin my cage, the one that smells so strongly of Alice and fear, and the memories  \nare hazy. All of them fucked me, all f them, even the ones that claimed to be  \nstraight when they expressed their disgust at 'bonin' a faggit'. My joints ache,  \nthere's scratches on my face, my lower lip's got a split in it and so does my  \neyebrow, just above what I'm sure is a hell of a shiner. One of my teeth feels  \nloose, I can faintly taste blood in my mouth, black bruises throb on my abdomen  \nand chest and arms and legs and I'm cold and naked and I want a blanket, just  \nsomething so I can be warm enough to get some sleep.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; And you know what the worst part is?  \n  \nI loved it. Everything they did to me. When they used me as a punching-bag,  \npushing me around, hitting me hard and when I tried to defend myself, even  \nharder. I'd like to say that what I felt was pride, at the fact that I was  \ntaking the fate of sweet Alice, that he'd be spared this because I was taking it  \nfor him... But the truth is, the worst ache of all, the one keeping me awake is  \ndown there, in that fucking metal thing between my thighs. My balls throb as if  \nthey'd been kicked but, miraculously, they never aimed their punches down there.  \nDidn't so much as squeeze.   \n  \nI want more. That's why I'm awake. Not because it's cold, but because I don't  \nhave a dick In me. I'm fucking sweating, licking my lips, like a junkie in  \nwithdrawal. I tried not to plead, and I managed it, which sucks because by the  \ntime I gave up and started to bang on the bars and beg for a cock to suck the  \nguards were all too tired and they weren't horny any more. Which fucking sucked.  \nI even tried to lure over the dog, but there was no way he could mount me, with  \nme trapped in a cage just barely large enough for me to sit up in and how can  \nyou explain to a dog that you want his dick in your mouth and it'll feel really  \ngood for him?  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; I'm lying on my side, curled up in a ball, shivering, hugging my knees to my  \nchest. I need something to do, somebody to service, to feel someone orgasming in  \nme and for that brief moment, when their seed's flowing into me, to feel this  \nache disappear, just for a second, like when the leopards took turns  \ndouble-teaming me. I know what I should be thinking of - I want Malloy to come  \ndrive his car through the doors of the warehouse and take on all the guards at  \nonce and fight them off and come get me... But he left behind his beloved 'vette  \nat the diner, so focused on saving Alice that he completely forgot about it.  \n  \nBut when I think of Malloy, all I can think of is 'Highway 68', which is our  \nlittle term for when I unbuckle my seat belt and give him a blowjob while he's  \ndriving and he pays me afterward. That's why it's called 68 - I suck him and he  \nowes me one. You know the joke. All I can think of is that hard man between my  \nthighs, his warm semen in my mouth and the way his face scrunches up when he  \nshoots his load.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; All in all, I'm in a pretty bad state, when something weird happens. The side  \ndoor of the warehouse opens and in walks a fox, stately despite his diminutive  \nstature, dressed in a fine suit. It's McIlwain, and an overpowering sense of  \ncalm emanates from him. He's so poised, so reserved and it makes the guards and  \nme aware of what wretched creatures we are. At a mere nod, the guards slink away  \nand he's alone in the warehouse. Alone with me. I hear the hum of the  \nfluorescent lights.   \n  \n\"Owen,\" the fox says in that soft, concerned but wholly controlled tone that  \nstrikes equal measures of admiration, comfort, superiority and worry into the  \nhearts of all who hear him, \"We've known each other for a while, haven't we.\" I  \nsort of wheeze at him, although I intend to reply in the affirmative. He sorta  \ngets the drift. \"You and Malloy, you came here... six years ago? Both of you so  \nfull of ambition. It was a delight to tutor you both.\"   \n  \nHe smiles and I must admit, I feel a little sentimental as well. McIlwain wasn't  \nas fine a gentleman then as he is now, he was about as high in the ranks back  \nthen as Sharpish I these days. He was my first pimp, rewarded me when I did  \ngood, punished me when I was difficult... Hooked me up with challenging clients to  \nhelp me expand my horizons. You're probably gonna think that he manipulated or  \nbrainwashed me, but really, I'm grateful to him. He helped me past my  \ninhibitions and taught me to embrace the joy of servicing others, and he wasn't  \nselfish either. When I told him I wanted to go independent, he said 'sure', had  \nme work for him for another three months (although he worked me pretty hard, to  \nmake the most of me, I guess), told me which clubs I wasn't allowed to work in,  \ngave me some extra cash and waved good-bye. I wasn't expecting anything less at  \nthe time, but really, if you look at the kind of scumbag pimps there are these  \ndays... They'd have wrung my neck as soon as let me leave their service. So I  \nguess McIlwain was pretty good to me and Malloy, as far as that sort of thing  \ngoes. Which is why I'm kind of worried at the sadness in his voice right now.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"But you caused far too much trouble, and that's something I can't readily  \nforgive. When we acquired the C-65 microbes we needed to transfer it so we could  \nconvince... the other interested party, that the microbes were gone and that we  \ndidn't have them. I sent Sharpish to get you and all you had to do was play host  \nto the microbes for three days without ejaculating - hence the clamp on your  \npenis. It rather suits you, I must say,\" he jokes and I try to laugh, but the  \nsound comes out like a raspy bark. McIlwain's face darkens and my eyes go wide.  \nHere it comes. \"It's just as well, since it won't be coming off you. I know  \nSharpish' methods are a little... unseemly, but you ruined a perfectly good  \nbusiness opportunity. And that stunt you pulled with Malloy, as they say,  \n'busting' that little lion out of custody... That simply won't do, Owen. It's  \nunprofessional.\"  \n  \nMcIlwain's standing by the bars by now. He pulls something small and metal from  \nhis pocket, a PDA of some sort. He withdraws the stylus and taps a few buttons.  \nThe device beeps and the little screen glows blue, and so does the glass panel  \non my sheath-cage. And then there's a sharp pain in my groin and a deep sense of  \nrelief, and then warmth, and then more pain as my dick strains to get hard and  \nthe last words I hear are McIlwain's, \"I'm afraid you'll have to make up for it,  \nOwen,\" before a haze of lust overtakes me that's so powerful that it shatters  \nwhatever now passes for consciousness.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; And with that and a whole shitload of horny, good ol' Owen's gone.  \n  \n  \n\n_To be continued._\n\n  \n\n**Available on paperback in 2005**\n\n  \n\n[  \nMail the author](%5C) for information  \nor [  \njoin the mailing list](%5C)!\n\n  \n  \n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Maranatha","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4097-maranatha-chapter-ii-as-told-by-owen-zelazny.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/4103-maranatha-chapter-iv-as-told-by-q-i-malloy.json"}}