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He knew full well it was an old family he was marrying into, and like any such institution it had developed its own foibles and mannerisms. His lovely Kathryn, bless her, had done her best to prepare him for some of the stranger ones but there were still things that made him wonder. Things like being vigorously shooed from his bridal chamber on his wedding night by his mother-in-law.

He pressed his ear to the door.

"Well, my dear, you knew this day would come." Emily's voice, resigned, gentle. "All we females in the de Lacy family must follow the tradition."

There was the sound of something, a box, maybe, being put down and opened.

"Yes, mama, I know. I shall be brave."

"I know you shall. Now... Conway's proud wo --" Emily's voice had dropped low, too low to hear. Then a scuffling, a cry of startled pain from Kathryn, and a loud, repetitive creaking as though someone were writhing in the bed, or jumping up and down on it. The squeaking, rocking sounds became louder and louder, as did Kathryn's voice, crying out in increasing passion, as she had done on those few occasions he had been allowed to touch her intimate place with paw or tongue. There was sudden silence, then a scream of female delight ripped through the door. Then silence.

"You are a good girl." Emily's voice again, then her pawfalls coming towards the door. Hurriedly he rushed across the room and leaned against the window, pretending insouciance. "You may go in now, Charles."

"Why, thank you, Emily. So nice, to be permitted access to mine own wife."

"Hmph." Emily departed in a swirl of silk and crinoline.

Kathryn lay in a dishevelled bed, her nakedness exposed for him and ready. On the bedside table stood a long, narrow box, open as he had suspected, and on velvet padding lay a long, tapered object carved from some wood he did not recognise. But the sight and scent of his beautiful wolfess, his beautiful wife, was too overwhelming and it pushed all other thoughts from his mind. Within moments he had stripped naked and seconds afterwards their joined snarls and howls of passion filled the room, uncaringly.

Later, he lay atop her, propped up on his elbows and kissing her tenderly as he remained tied deeply within. For a long time they murmured words to one another, soft sounds of love and affection, until in the corner of his eye he glimpsed the box by the bedside once more.

"Kathryn, my dearest... what did Emily want earlier?"

His bride's ears suffused brightly pink. "I... I cannot say, my husband. I may not say. 'Tis but a family tradition... a nothing. Something all de Lacy females must do."

"If it is a nothing, my love, why do you fear to speak of it?"

Kathryn's eyes closed for a moment, then with a trembling voice, she whispered, "Many generations ago, our family owned much land hereabouts. My ancestors were... difficult, terrible people, and among other humiliations insisted upon the right of jus primæ noctis - the right of the landowner to sleep with a newly-married woman upon her first night.

"One of those men was a fierce, jealous man, and began to insist upon that right... even within his own family." Kathryn's voice caught in a sob of shame at the admission. "And... he made a curse upon the family... that unless he had the right to the de Lacy female's first night, by marriage or blood, then they would be childless and the line would die."

Tears now streaked the wolfess's beautiful muzzle at the terrible story and the evils of past generations. Shamed at having forced the secret from his beloved wife, Charles kissed her gently and wiped away her tears as best he could, whispering soft words. "But, my darling... that was many centuries ago. How can it affect us now?"

Green eyes shining with sorrow looked up at him. "Before he died, he visited in secret a witch, who made a spell... She took a piece of old yew and fashioned it into the shape of... of his... his male part... Then her magic took part of his spirit, his essence, and bound it into the wood, so that... when its name were spoken it could be commanded... and his curse fulfilled."

He turned his head a little, enough to see the object in its soft nest. As he regarded it properly now, his eyes attuned to the dim light, Charles could discern its phallic shape, the bulbus part-swollen at the base, the whole gleaming almost with lewd satisfaction with the sweet juices of his wife.

"So... that's... that's the tradition? Your ancestor must have his way for the line to continue?" His tone expressed disbelief.

Kathryn's nod was fervent. "Oh, we must, we must! We must not anger Conway de Lacy, or our line would die out! Each of us, on our wedding night, have been taken aside by our mothers and heard the words we knew we must hear: 'Conway's proud wolfhood, my daughter's sweet cunt.'"

Was it his imagination, or did something move in the corner of his eye? as though something began a furtive dart forwards, only to stop?

"And so it was... so it was for me tonight! Oh, my belovèd, say you will forgive me! I could not be your first nor your only, for fear of this wicked tradition!"

Charles gathered the weeping girl up into his forelegs, the movement making his still-hard shaft twitch inside her. "There, there, my dearest darling, there is nothing to forgive!... but if you desire it, then I shall forgive you, always and forever! It is just - a nothing - a silly fantasy! There is no such thing as magic... it was Emily, she has always been jealous of our love... she beguiled you and used that, that thing upon you!...

"'Conway's proud wolfhood', my sweet virgin arse..."