The Lunt Street Ripper’s Sentence
#1 of The Ripper Wolf (BDSM, Mind Control)
A fearsome wolf has been inciting terror in a busy 19th century city...what shall be his fate when a wealthy stallion decides to take on the challenge of...rehabilitating such a fiend? Gruffy fiction set in Victorian England!
The Lunt Street Ripper's Sentence
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This is a piece of Victorian-themed erotica I coined up for the infamous Sanmer , and it features some interesting topics, as much as there is also gas lanterns, trains, dinner parties and smoking jackets - all in good fun, eh? I hope you will enjoy the read, and I look forward to reading your comments. There shall be further instalments, too, which I am sure will deepen this story and make it even more interesting...so...stay tuned!
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The dungeon reeked of smells the Master did not care for, pungent, deep, tortured scents that his escort seemed to be uncaring for, the Master's sensitive eyes noticing that the barrel-chested canine's whiskers moved without effort. The leather-clad canine's tail carefully avoided the cobbled stone floor, however, covered in filth and grime of years that simply could not be removed, even with the best effort. The lanterns hanging from their black wrought iron hooks barely created enough light to go by, and the stallion did not have the eyes possessed by the harrumphing dog.
"...it took us five men to subdue him, sir, can you believe that?" the canine of uncertain breeding grumbled, having to take two steps for each of the stallion's singular clip-clop on the stone floor. "Biting and kicking and scratching..."
"Was anyone harmed?" the Master questioned, even if he could not have cared less.
The dog spat a black, filthy glob of spittle mixed with chewing tobacco onto the floor and avoided his self-made puddle with a careful hop, leather boot scratching the floor.
"Scratches and wounds, sir," the dog said, "I am glad I was spared!"
By not even entering the cell, I presume, the stallion thought, with a snort.
"How fortunate," the stallion wearing the cape replied.
"Mean, filthy thing!" the canine grumbled. "His viciousness and contempt for the polite society is almost unseen, even for Blackwell! Hardly ever has the gallows waited to serve such a rancid creature."
The stallion's lips pulled into a thin smirk as they rounded a corner in the corridor that made a kind of a rough rectangle throughout the wing of the building, with heavily bolted iron doors on each side. Muffled noises could be heard from within the small rooms, though for the moment, it was the night, and things were mostly quiet.
It seemed that even the death row had its silent moments.
"And they may keep waiting," the Master replied with a confident smirk.
"Ahhh yes..." the dog's ears flattened, "I understand your most unusual request, of course...we do not usually get asked for...for exactly these kind of individuals...for...for service..."
"He sounds most suitable for me," the stallion spoke in a dangerously soft voice, "no question about that."
"This must be only the second or third release of a convict sentenced to the gallows to be released during my entire career in this His Majesty's Gaol," the canine mused, "it is most unusual, as I told you before, sir."
"Hence my eagerness to seize this opportunity, you may understand," the Master spoke.
"Ah...yes," the canine's ears flicked against the shapeless cap he wore over his head, frayed and of the same dirty colour as the leather upon his body, "Yes...and...yes...here we are, sir..."
The had come to a stop in front of a sturdy iron door, multiply locked and stood guard by two uniformed guards with batons and flintlock pistols upon their hips, standing up to attention from their lazy slough upon the arrival of their boss and the mysterious guest.
"Open the pen!" the dog ordered.
With a clatter of keys and chains, the doors were opened, and without words, the tall stallion and the dog passed into another short corridor which eventually opened into another dimly lit room. The arched ceiling rose high, and the room was split into two by a series of heavy bars, guarded by yet another two men in gear, and behind that wall of bars, for the first time, the Master observed his prey.
It was a windowless room and only lit by the dim lanterns, but nonetheless, the glint of steel was unmistakable. There was a tall wooden bench and upon it laid the wolf, seven feet tall, easily as tall as the stallion.
Massive could not begin to describe him.
His shaggy, dirty furs covered a body that was built like a bull's, his ears aggressive and tall like the horns of a bovine, and his body, despite weeks of being shackled in the gaol, still bulged with thick muscles and continuous tension. Thick chains covered much of his body, around his legs, arms, torso and even his neck, attached to loops on the floor and pulled so tight that there was barely room for the wolf to breathe. Whatever freedom of movement his chest had was even further countered by the brown leather muzzle covering most of the wolf's head, tying his jaws together and allowing no speech, no eating, and most importantly, no biting, while he could only breathe with a deep growling, rattling noise that seemed to echo off the walls of the cell. His eyes were covered with a slip of leather, to even further confuse and bind the captive wolf whose paws were curled into fists, and whose long, bushy, filthy tail hung over the edge of the restraint bench, unmoving, as if he was sleeping .The Master could tell that he was not. Simply resting...gathering energy, for whatever attempt on the life of his guards, or a way of escape, formulating in his vicious mind.
"The Lunt Street Ripper, the Eater of the Mackley Street Gang, the Lurker of the Shallow Docks", the supervisor rumbled away a litany of names everyone knew from the quarterly newspapers widely in circulation, "we have no real name for him. He has resisted all attempts of questioning, besides boasting about his deeds!"
"Which are numerous, I am sure," the stallion rubbed his hands together, covered in thin, very well-crafted leather gloves of a deep purple, precious, expensive, and suitable of someone of his social standing, "and he is secure now?"
"I guarantee you, sir," the dog spoke excitedly, "this is our most secure holding pen, and the restraints have been tested with utmost care. He has not been able to move for over twenty hours now."
"Has he been fed or relieved of his natural needs?" the stallion questioned.
The dog's ears flicked rapidly.
"He...sir...he relieved his water upon a guard..." the dog averted the stallion's gaze.
The Master snorted, with hidden humour, as his eyes kept gazing lustily at the mountain of grey furs and endless anger bound in the room, and most likely listening to their every word that were exchanged.
"I see," the stallion replied. "Most unsavoury behaviour."
"It certainly was!" the dog growled. "Beastly!"
"I shall need to be alone with him," the stallion spoke in a deep voice, "open the cage, and let me in, and vacate this room. It is for me and him only...and for your own safety."
"But that is most -"
The stallion snapped his glowed fingers, and the dog was silenced. His muzzle froze in a questioning, sour expression.
"It is imperative," the horse said.
He glanced at the flustered dog, whom re-arranged his lopsided, ugly cap and then made a few paw signals to the guards standing in attention. One of them took out a set of keys and opened two locks on the sturdy door on the cage, pulling it open before both of them moved away.
"We shall lock the outer door, sir," the dog said. "We must. But if there is any trouble, you must shout for us to - "
"It is of no concern to me," the stallion spoke without looking at the dog, his eyes resting on the bound monster of a wolf instead, "You do as you please. I will call for you when I am ready. When we are ready to leave."
"Yes, sir," the dog bowed.
He did not seem to be able to get out of the room fast enough, the horse thought, as the dog dashed out of the room, followed by his stomping guards.
The stallion stood in place until he hard the clatter of locks and chains from behind the front door, simply watching the rise and fall of the wolf's massive chest, before it became quiet again but for the rattling breathing, and then they were truly alone.
"Hello," the stallion spoke, loud enough for it to echo from the damp walls.
There was no response.
The stallion smiled to himself and walked through the barred doorway and into the main holding area, under the lanterns where the wolf laid still on his back, bound under the heavy mass of chains digging into his flesh and fur and bone. Arms, legs, chest, neck, everything covered in black, greasy chains that made it impossible for him to move an inch. The stallion, still smiling, stood by the bench and began to remove his gloves, meticulously, one finger at a time tugged on and withdrawn.
"You have been sentenced to death by hanging for your crimes, wolf," the Master spoke, "you have been set to be executed at midnight in two days' time. Did they tell you that? I bet they did...it must amuse them."
No response. Not even a change in the pattern of slow, measured breathing.
The Master put his gloves into a pocket of his cloak and stood hovering over the bound wolf. His heart beat more rapidly despite his determination for utmost calm. Even he couldn't resist the urge and the temptation of the situation, of admiring the wolf whom was even now at his mercy...and would be for evermore. His teeth were bared in another deep grin as he placed his paw upon a patch on the wolf's chest that was not covered with chains, to truly feel the mass of thick fur and muscle.
A thrill shot through his fingers and into his arm, causing his heart to leap, his tail to slap, beneath the thick cloth of his cape, a sensation he had longed for, craved for, and which he now savoured with every moment he kept touching the bound convict. No matter that the furs were matted with filth and there was a definite stink in the air, he did not care. The faceless wolf excited him, touched parts of the stallion's mind as dark as the soul that inhabited this prison of flesh so exquisite and so misused, driven by filthy impulses he could not control, and that had led him to commit so many infamous crimes, out of spite...and worst of all...out of pleasure.
"You are already dead, wolf..." the stallion nickered, pleasure flowing off his tongue with the words he spoke. "In two days' time, a declaration will go out in the papers, telling that the Ripper was executed in the gaols...hung by his neck until he died...here..."
He stroked his fingers over the wolf's chest, coming to a rest over the thick, black chain bound around the wolf's neck, and pressed there, against the skin, over the loops of chain nearly crushing the wolf's throat.
"Can you imagine it...being dead and alive at the same time, wolf?"
Only breathing, no words, no movement.
"You will die..." the Master spoke as he let his fingers caress the wolf's chin, almost tenderly, feeling the curling, thick, furs under his sensitive fingertips, "there is no doubt of that you will...but your body...will remain...and small part of your soul...if a wretched creature like you has one...oh yes...perhaps you do...but for the world you will be dead...did you hear me, wolf...you will be gone...only memories of you will remain...a few tales to scare misbehaving children with...but for the world...you will be dead..."
With a feeling akin to regret, the stallion removed his fingers from the wolf's furs and simply stood there, savouring the constrained power and the scent of the tied down creature, knowing that he was now to take him as his own...for good.
"This is a very unusual arrangement, wolf..." the stallion lectured, "death is the punishment for your kind...murderer...pilferer...rapist...but there is a punishment more subtle...and that will be yours...and what's best out of it...when you die...you will remember everything...feel everything...but there is nothing you can do..."
His heart was hammering in his chest when he pushed a hand into his chest pocket and produced the green glass bottle with a cork stopper, filled with liquid, and palmed it, feeling the coldness upon his fingers.
"...isn't it the most suitable punishment, do you think? Do you even think?" the Master nickered. "I know you do...your beastly acts are too beastly to be the produce of a pure idiot...no...there is perverse intellect at work, driving above your impulses...so beyond your control...because it feels good...oh I know your kind...it feels good to let go and just enjoy...to bite and to tear..."
He shook the bottle, gently, making sure that its contents were evenly dissolved and mixed, and leaned closer towards the wolf's ear. He puffed hot breath against it, and got a flick...involuntary, surely.
"...and you will never forget...but you'll never ever feel it again...you can only long...but do you even long...are you even able to? I do not know...you fascinate me...and I will learn all about you...when I'll let you..."
The Master put out his hand and held it above the hole in the leather muzzle, and felt the hot stream of air flowing within. He smiled darkly, and removed his hand, only to uncap the bottle.
"I would advice you to swallow very quickly," he said, "any attempt to spit it out will be very pointless and unpleasant."
With a rapid motion, he tilted the bottle against the opening in the leather muzzle and poured its contents into the wolf's restrained maw, before he dropped the bottle down and placed his hands flat over the breathing holes of the muzzle.
It only took a few second before the wolf tensed again...trying to move his head and to throw away the hands depriving him of his life-giving air. Even the tail, long dormant, moved, as his entire body tensed, fighting with the urge to breathe, and the feeble attempt to keep from swallowing the awful-scented fluid in his muzzle.
When the stallion heard the deep growl, and felt the whole wolf shudder beneath him, he knew that it was done. Smiling, he stepped back and allowed the wolf to breathe again, taking deep gulps of air, loudly, his body beginning to shiver, his muscles twitching and shaking against the restraints.
"Yes...yes, wolf...that is it now...the elixir is working..." the stallion murmured as he admired his handiwork, "it is a mixture of very rare extracts from particular plants in the Orient...very, very deeply intoxicating...poisonous, even...but you will not die...it will not stop your heart or freeze your blood in your veins...no...no...you can feel it hot under your skin, whispering with oblivion...your lungs are burning...you keep breathing and wondering if it will stop...I assure you, it won't...and it will only take a few moments for it to reach its ultimate destination...your very mind..."
The wolf's involuntary movements continued, his breaths more like gasps now, as the vicious potion worked its way through his body. The stallion but watched, impatiently, even if he knew that it would not take long...but even he could allow such, for himself, if only briefly, standing above his captive. His flailing tail, his heaving chest, those ever-moving ears...not even the strongest of wolves could resist the elixir causing the delirious fever shivers throughout his body.
"Yes, yes..." the stallion murmured, caressing the wolf's arm and chest with his fingers, feeling the shivers reach their crescendo...and then subside, until it seemed that he was barely breathing anymore, and certainly not moving.
"I think you are ready...let me see..."
The stallion leaned over his prey and carefully removed the tattered length of leather covering the wolf's eyes. They were wide open, glassy, staring straight up, yellow, and angry, looking somehow aggressive despite their owner's state. He did not blink for try to look directly at the equine hovering above him.
The horse smiled. He knew that look.
"You are ready," he said, "and you will listen now. From now on, you will listen to my voice, and every thing I speak to you, you will believe, and you will feel as the right thing to think and to do, no matter what I speak to you. This will be the only truth you know, and that is my word."
The wolf did not indicate understanding in any way, no attempts to speak, no movement of an ear or an eye, but the horse knew that he knew.
"The man you smell, hear and see now is me. You will see me, and know that I have taken you as my own. You understand that your life depends entirely on my decision to take you away from this place, and you understand that this means I am ultimately responsible for your existence."
He gave in to the urge and cupped the wolf's muzzle, whatever little not covered in leather, and squeezed with almost uncharacteristic gentleness. The wolf did not move.
"These furs call you a monster, but I know that you are a prisoner, wolf, of impulses that are beyond your control," the stallion continued speaking slowly, with measured sentences he had thought through so many times, "and now you are a prisoner here, but not for very long. As you are listening to me, the elixir in your blood has made you suspect for my suggestion. From now on, you will do exactly as I speak. You cannot resist. If you will try to do against my bidding, your body will resist. It will paralyze your limbs and you fall to the ground if you try to resist my commands. You will lie helpless and feel your body relief itself into a disgusting puddle beneath your body. I may leave you to lie in your own filth for days, if that is what it takes for you to behave. You believe this, and you decide you will never want it to happen. You will only serve me."
The stallion was practically shivering, almost like the wolf before, but for wholly different reasons.
"It is not that you want to serve me, wolf, but it is because you have to. You feel it is the only way to remain alive, and you will obey my every order, wolf. You will be put to work. You will be told to do things. You will do all of them without a complaint. You will move your limbs and perform for my commands, even if you mind screams otherwise."
So close, the stallion thought...so deeply enthralled, now. The shallow breaths, the lack of muscular tension, that limply hanging tail...he knew they were almost there.
"Feel within you, the urge, wolf, that lust of for flesh and blood...feel that urge and how it compels you to tear into the bodies of those you stalk. Remember how it fills your blood with excitement and lust. Remember that feeling, wolf...for from now on, you will feel that constantly...every waking hour, you will feel that lust...remember that feeling...remember how your body feels, and remember the pleasure your impulse gives to you, wolf...and remember...for you will feel it never again. Your lust for blood will be gone. You will feel lust only for me..."
The stallion felt himself stiffen within his breeches. This was what he was there for.
"You will obey me. You are mine."
The stallion's maw felt dry as he finished the long litany of commands, and let the wolf's exposed mind to process these commands and information, aided by the potent effects of the drug that had not only rendered him docile, but also more than receptive for the commands he was imposing upon him. Once again the stallion congratulated himself, for every lesson and every single pound spent upon acquiring the knowledge and the herbs required to make this happen.
The wolf let out a ragged gasp. The stallion shivered at the almost gentle noise, and pawed over his own groin. The situation exited him beyond measure, not only the helplessness of the wolf, but the feeling of his own control over the murderer, so notorious, now reduced to...to this.
"Tell me," the Master spoke. "Tell me what you are."
Another deep breath, another too loud a sound.
"Yours."
_ _
The wolf's voice was gravelly, deep, broken, unused, and certainly nothing that had ever possessed a soft timbre.
"Again," the stallion panted.
"Yours..." now the voice was more drawn-out.
The stallion placed his hand over the wolf's leather-bound muzzle and cupped it, almost gently, as he hovered over the prone male.
"Yes, you are...only mine from now on...forever."
"Yes."
_ _
"I will take care of you, wolf," the stallion whispered, his voice breaking with excitement still that was quite literally threatening to escape from his body, "you will never have to worry about anything else anymore except your service for me..."
The wolf huffed again. The stallion chuckled, and patted the top of his head.
"Oh, little wolf...how it will be for us...you'll fit in just right," the Master spoke quietly, smiling throughout. "And don't worry about not being able to move yet...it is a side effect of the potion...it will wear off in a moment...but meanwhile, we'll be getting you ready."
"Yes..."
_ _
"Master," the horse said. "Yes, Master, you will say, from now on."
"Yes, Master."
_ _
"That's a good boy," the stallion reached out to touch an ear in lieu of ruffling the wolf's head furs. They seemed too unsavoury to touch for the moment.
"Yes..."
_ _
"But tsk tsk tsk...taking something like this won't do, for you would make a mess of my carriage, wolf...that certainly won't do..." the horse mused to himself, "GUARDS!"
There was a rattle of locks and the two armed guards from before appeared in a rush, breathless from even the few steps required to take them from outside the holding pen and into the cell itself. They were trailed by the watery-eyed dog, who seemed distressed.
"Milord, are you - "
"I am fine," the horse spoke without turning to look at the mutt, "have your guards bring water and soap. The wolf must be washed before it can be taken out of here."
"Milord - "
"He will pose no danger to anyone," the stallion made a sharp movement with his paw," he may be handled now. And have someone run to my carriage, to have my two manservants come here. They shall bring what I need."
"Milord, that is highly unusual - "
"We have a long ride home," the Master said. "I would prefer not to spend any time in superfluous activities."
"Yes, Milord. I shall have the men stay here and fetch others."
"There is no need to," the stallion replied. "He will not be dangerous."
"Milord - "
"I already told you what to do. You have read the papers. I will not speak again."
"Y-yes, Milord."
He gave further orders and left the pen again, so that the Master was together with his prey once more.
"We'll be going home soon, wolf," the stallion spoke. "You just rest now. That potion really takes it out of you."
The wolf let out a small rumble, but besides that, a silence remained.
"It is a shame that I cannot try you out yet, wolf, but this is really not the place," the horse spoke with mild amusement in his words, "but soon, I promise. Soon you'll see what your servitude really means, wolf."
The stallion was whistling idly by the time the guards returned, with the Gaolmaster, too, who was now trailed by two furs in fine, tailored, black coats. One of them was a tall white tiger, whose furs were in great contrast with his dark cloak, and besides him was an otter, equally splendidly dressed. Both carried leather cases and had mild, unperturbed expressions upon their muzzles despite the dank, damp, dark and by all means, unpleasant surroundings.
"Have your men release the shackles once they bring the water," the horse told to the mutt, "my men shall wash him. You will not have to remain for that."
"Y-yes, Milord. I'll have the keeper of the keys come here."
"And the water, quickly. It need not be warm."
"Very soon, yes, Milord."
The stallion pulled out his gloves from his pocket and turned to face the two servants.
"Stuart, Alistair, put these on me," the horse spoke, offering one glove for each male.
They moved almost in unison, with practiced fluidness, to pick the leather gloves and then, as the Master held his hands out, they gently placed the gloves onto their lord's outstretched fingers. There was deliberate slowness to their movements, to make sure there were no creases, not a single measure of discomfort for their Master.
"Excellent work," the stallion mused, "unfortunately our hosts are making us wait."
"Yes, Master," the white tiger said.
"Yes, Master," the otter said.
The stallion worried that his affected air of boredom could become the genuine thing, a disastrous faux pas for a man of his standing, but at least the noisy pawsteps trumpeted the arrival of the guards with their heavy buckets of water. They were soon joined by another guard, this one with a heavy iron ring with the keys, hanging from his hip.
"Are you sure he is to be released?" the fur, a thin, unwell-looking beaver, asked from the guards he had followed.
"We have orders," one of the solemn guards said, "open the locks."
"So who's going to hold him down when I do?" the beaver asked incredulously.
"No one," the Master replied sharply, drawing eyes. "He is to be released under my command. He is unable to harm anyone."
"What is this?" the beaver grimaced, showing rotten teeth.
"You can ask that master of yours back if you like, but I am sure he explained it all to you once already," the Master grunted. "I would prefer not to waste more time."
"Blimey, it stinks here," one of the guards growled.
"I am sure none wish to spend any more time here than is necessary," the Master spoke smoothly. "It smells of excrement and decay in here."
"Well I'll be out as soon as the locks are off!" the keeper of the keys announced, eyeing the wolf with panic in his eyes. "This is lunacy."
"Oh, my good man, that is the last thing this is," the horse almost laughed.
The beaver made a lot of clatter with his keys, and the locks made heavy, loud noises as they dropped to the floor, opened for now, with the chains hanging loose over the wolf.
"Take the chains off, and go, my men will handle the rest."
The keeper of the keys glanced at the two immaculately dressed servants and clicked his tongue.
"Blimey..."
The beaver shuffled away and shook his head as he went on his way. The two guards on duty glanced at one another before they tentatively approached the quietly rumbling wolf.
"He is practically asleep," the Master spoke. The two guards jumped.
"Just go," the horse spoke. "Get the chains off him. They are not needed, and my servants are not used to such duties."
The guards stood by the wolf's bench, well aware that they were seeing the Ripper in front of their very eyes. For the moment, the wolf seemed to be harmless...more like, knocked out, and not about to chew someone's face off. Knowing his history of violence, they could expect anything, and seemed to, as well, with their fumbling paws as they made a messy job of trying to remove the greasy shackles from the wolf's body.
"There we go," the Master mused once they stepped back, "you may leave now."
"We ain't asking twice," the guard growled before he escaped from the pen, with his companion in tow.
The door closed with a deep clang, leaving the horse alone with his two servants, and the dozing wolf.
"Stuart, Alistair, please help your new friend wash. He is a bit...out of it for now," the horse chuckled while watching the shaggy wolf with keen eyes.
And what a display it was. The wolf was like a rag doll under their paws, sponged with cold, soapy water without as much a reaction as a hitched breath and a stir, before he went back to his dazed, sleeping state. The white tiger and the otter moved slowly, covering every inch to remove the grime that had accumulated during the wolf's long confinement. They treated his chest, his arms and his fave, which required them to remove the leather muzzle and his blind.
For that, the Master stepped close, to look a the wolf's open, glassed eyes.
"What a handsome beast you are..."
The wolf's muzzle was rough, aggressive, with huge yellowed canines visible even in this resting state. There was a scar across one cheek, from whatever street fight he had taken part in long enough ago that it had healed and left such a mark. His breath smelled putrid.
"Take off that cloth, now."
The white tiger used his claws to simply tear away the grey, messy loincloth that had been the only piece of apparel the wolf had been allowed to wear in his imprisonment. Its removal brought into view a heavy sheath and balls nestled in his groin, all adorned with copious amounts of darker hair. The stallion felt another stir in his own loins at the sight, and saw that his two servants spent quite some time watching, too.
"Not yet, boys," the horse spoke sharply.
"Yes, Master," came their reply, almost in unison, as they proceeded to soap and wash the wolf's private area as well.
There came a time to roll the wolf around and do his back, too ,which exposed further muscle, both in his rump and his back, and kept the horse's eyes and mind well occupied for the duration of the bath. Then the servants, without further command, brought out a new loincloth, of brown leather, crisp and new and with the associated scent, and eased it about the wolf's hips.
He laid on his back on the wooden slab, still quite wet, but looking much cleaner, and no longer smelling like someone you found lying in a gutter after a heavy night at a public house and who had practiced such amusement for the past decade or so.
"Look at you," the Master commented, "you'll never make a gentleman alright, but at least you give the illusion of being a man...now, sit up."
The servants had to help the wolf, whose movements were sluggish, but they managed to manoeuvre him onto a seated position on the edge of the slab, tail and legs hanging off its side.
"Stuart, your case."
"Yes, Master."
The otter brought over his case and held it in his paws. The Master opened its brass latches and reached into its depths, and pulled out a pair of shiny metal pawcuffs, connected by a thin chain.
"These are for appearances only," the Master mused as he dangled them in front of the wolf's dull eyes," both to keep any passersby feeling at ease and ah...heh...I do like the way they look on a man...especially one like you...Alistair, would you please your Master and put these on him? He won't mind."
"Yes, Master."
The white tiger received the cuffs from the horse before he moved to the other side of the slab. He took the wolf's paw without hesitation and snapped the cuff around it, and then the other, which locked the wolf's arms behind his back.
"And it looks like I was not wrong..." the horse commented once the white tiger stepped back. "Splendid work, Alistair."
"Yes, Master," the white tiger nodded solemnly.
"One more thing, wolf..." the horse spoke as he reached for the bag again, "as comely as you are to see, I think your face brings unfortunate thoughts to many souls, so it is not a good idea to parade it around...hence this must be used for now."
It was a bag, made of thin black cloth, with a simple drawstring to close it. The Master took the pleasure of putting it on the wolf, and made sure it was very neatly arranged, and that it did not hinder the wolf's ability to breathe.
"Now, wolf, you stand up, and my good men will escort you to our carriage for the trip home."
The white tiger and the otter moved to flank the wolf, who needed some encouragement to get onto his bare footpaws. They had not brought any footwear, but the wolf's calloused pads seemed up to task. His tail hung limp between his legs and he stood there, impassive, paws behind his back, the cloth of the bag on his head moving slowly as he drew slow breaths.
"GUARDS!" the Master yelled.
What an entourage they made, the horse thought, at the end of the procession along the stone corridors of the gaol. It was still quiet, and the few guards who saw them looked away, wary of the sight of their captive being moved, even in the presence of so many furs. Many of them were still nursing injuries from their previous encounters with the wolf, and it came not as a surprise that they wanted to steer clear away from him.
The master of the guard waited at the door, his shapeless cap in paw.
"Will that be all?" the mutt asked, eyeing the wolf as nervously as his men had before.
"Yes," the horse replied. "Until we meet again."
"Hopefully not him again," the mutt glanced at the wolf who had now been walked through the door to the rear courtyard of the city gaols.
"Goodbye."
The air was cool, and a wind whipped up the stallion's cloaks as he approached the black carriage waiting. The skunk in a top hat and a black coat sitting on the driver's seat slid down smoothly and opened the door.
"For you, Master," he bowed.
"We shall all ride in the carriage," the Master said, "Stuart, climb in and help Alistair to guide our new friend in."
William the skunk pulled out a step from underneath the carriage, upon which Stuart climbed and then assisted the white tiger in getting the wolf into the carriage. The otter and the tiger sat on one side, leaving the other seat for the horse, who took it, and the skunk closed the door.
The Master drew his cloak about himself and looked at the wolf who still stood in the carriage, though hunched almost doubled over because of the low ceiling.
"Lay down, wolf," he said, "your place is down, on my hooves."
The mighty, fearsome wolf, the terror of the streets, the haunt of the docks, curled down onto the floor of the carriage like a pet feral dog, his tail flapping against legs that pulled up quite naturally into position.
The Master smiled and tapped the panelled wall, which was the signal for the skunk to whip the horses into action.
"And now we go home," the Master smiled to his servants, one ghostly white in the oil lamp glow inside the carriage, the other sitting still as a statue, paws on his knees.
"You heard that, wolf," the stallion smirked as he leaned over to stroke the wolf's newly washed, warm furs.
*
What shall happen next? I hope to continue this one soon, and I look forward to your feedback as always. Remember to keep those comments coming, and to remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!
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