The Arlington Denial Facility
#3 of Nine Stories
Frustrated with his lack of arcane talent, the only son of an affluent magical family turns to crime. When he's caught, he's sent to a new kind of prison with very little oversight.
STORY THREE
The Arlington Denial Facility
PART 1
The judge reads: "For the theft and subsequent destruction of magical artifacts valued in excess of sixty thousand enchantment hours: Perceval Swage, you are hereby sentenced to spend five years in denial."
I laugh and say "I guess I'll be joining the prosecution there."
The judge glares at me for speaking out of turn. My high-paid defense attorney sighs and picks at the hem of her robe.
"Apologies to the court, I misspoke." says the judge, smiling like an asshole. "Seven years in a denial facility. No parole."
Assent rises from the gallery.
"Dismissed." says the judge, rapping his gavel. He stands up, turns, and, as if to throw one last middle finger my way, vanishes.
"Fucking wizard courts, man!" I grouse at whoever will listen. This trial had been a nightmare. I'd been in court before. It was always friendly. Evidence usually got lost. The prosecution always mismanaged the case. I'd leave free and clear. This time was different. The stars aligned for the prosecution. They had evidence, witnesses, character testimony, everything. Their paperwork was perfect. I didn't stand a chance.
I turn to ask my council what on earth a "denial facility" is. She's gone, having activated a portal rune inside her briefcase. I stand up and look around the courtroom. The jury bench is empty. Only a handful of faces remain in the gallery. A jury of my peers? What a joke.
I grew up rich. About as rich as you can be without getting investigated by the department of slavery and enthrallment, I guess. I was also born with no connection to the arcane. Official diagnosis. My parents, both from old mystical families, never believed it. They brought me to every tutor, every doctor, every snake-oil salesman they could find with hopes of "rousing my slumbering talent". That's how they'd say it. "Slumbering", as if I couldn't be bothered to perform magic.
For years I tried their lessons, medicines, and rituals. I indulged every request for invasive examinations. My favorite crackpot once had me drink an entire pint of unicorn piss. Because why not? Unicorns are magic, right?
I hear my mother's shrill voice call out behind me. I feel a sudden thirst for unicorn piss.
"Perceval, I didn't want to believe- I couldn't believe that you had actually done it! But here you are, guilty."
"Mom, you know I didn't steal them. Why would I steal enchanted artifacts? I can't even use them."
I had stolen the artifacts, of course.
She purses her lips. "I'm sorry but this was your last chance. We aren't paying for the artifacts. We're not bailing you out again. Your father and I are done."
"I swear, I didn't take anything. This is all a setup. I've always been a target because I'm different."
I buried them in the family cemetery, six feet under, in my parent's shared plot. I've buried a lot of stuff there.
She says to me, with familiar ice in her voice, "When your sentence is up, you are no longer welcome in our home. We are leaving our estate to charity. You'll not be hearing from us again."
She seems serious. I drop the act, my eyes narrow. "Don't pretend like this isn't exactly what you've always wanted. You probably arranged it. A clean break, perfectly justified, beyond social reproach."
"I'm sorry we couldn't give you what you needed." my mother says, voice tight.
"I'm sorry you couldn't buy the son you wanted." I spit the words at her.
The crack of her hand striking my face echoes in the empty courtroom. That's all I wanted to hear. She turns and storms off.
The bailiff walks up to me. We're the only two people left in the the courtroom. "Alright thief", he says, "I'll be escorting you personally to the denial facility. Let's get moving. And put this on." He pushes a wrist band into my hands. It's thick, rubbery, and clear with black runes inscribed around it. I study it for longer than the bailiff thinks is necessary. "That is an order, prisoner", he says, fat hands moving towards the pain talismans on his oversized belt.
I put the band on my left wrist. It's tight. And getting tighter. I try to adjust it but the rubber sticks to my skin. With a crackle, I feel a sharp pain run across the strokes in each rune. The bracelet is gone, melted into my skin. The runes remain, as if tattooed.
"Excuse me," I say petulantly, "I put it on crooked, can we wash it off and try again?"
The bailiff places a finger on his belt and gives the long blink of a shitty magic user. The glyph under his finger glows and I feel a baton strike the back of my head. I go down to one knee.
"Let's get moving" repeats the bailiff. I get moving.
I sit in the passenger's seat of the corrections van. A metal cage separates me from the oaf in the driver's seat. It's filthy and the engine wheezes. Its flat tires thud into every pothole on the decrepit road. Unable to activate portal runes, I've traveled a lot of bumpy roads. It would be cheap and easy to fix up this ancient infrastructure, but that would require somebody in power actually caring about those who had to do without.
There's no official government count of people like me. Those "without". We're simply ignored. My tutors and doctors occasionally mentioned other patients, but they did so in hushed voices with my parents. From what I gathered, there were only a handful of us, and fewer each year. Not enough to spend a dime. And so the roads rot, a vestige of humanity's past.
Old skyscrapers tower above the road. Some of them glow softly in the dusk, green and violet, enchanted by vandals. Others are falling down, neglected. Dark squares of missing glass mottle their once gleaming faces. This city is dead.
I feel my right wrist begin to burn. I must have sprained it when that asshole had me clubbed in the court. An unseen scalpel dances through my skin. I wince. Black runes, blocky and identical to those from the bracelet, appear around my right arm. The bailiff makes a confused sound. He looks away from the road to see what I'm up to.
"What did you do", he accuses.
I quip, "Should I start with my birth or..."
"Your hand, retard." he spits.
I glower. "It's nothing."
The van bounces past a massive crater, partially filled with black water and wreckage from a nearby tower. It looks fresh, maybe just a few months old. The government insists the civil war ended 25 years ago, two year before I was born. The official news is filled with nothing but peace and prosperity. But the scars in the earth tell a different story. I've suspected for a while that somebody is still fighting.
Under my clothes, the base of my cock starts to burn like my wrist. "No" I protest quietly. The bailiff doesn't hear. The magic doesn't either. The burning grows hotter. I spread my legs and brace against the metal cage. The now familiar razor cuts at the skin of my member. The burn subsides. A pit forms in my stomach as I begin to realize what a "denial facility" probably is. I close my eyes for the rest of the ride.
My head slams into the dashboard. It's the middle of the night. The van idles in an abandoned parking lot. A medium-sized office building, four floors, stands off to the side.
"Get out" says the bailiff. I look around the van for a guard or a warden, expecting to be turned over to someone. I see nothing but a parking lot, lit by handful of pale yellow street lights. One of the lights cycles off. I open the door and step out. The bailiff tears out of the parking lot. A chainlink gate slides shut behind the corrections van. I turn in a circle, taking in my surroundings. It's hard to see in the dark, but I can just make out the glint of a fence running around the whole lot.
I stand alone in the parking lot for a moment, considering making a run for it. The door to office building in front of me opens. A man in a grey jumpsuit walks out. He has a stiff gait. He's bald, well muscled, and about 6'8". His broad nose is crooked and broken. As he gets closer, I can see his eyes are completely black. His lips twitch. He has been enthralled.
My dread deepens. Enthrallment is essentially murder. It's punishable by death. There are no exceptions. What is this place?
The thrall is only a few feet away. His clothes are stained. A massive erection tents the front of his pants. He steps towards me and reaches out a hand. His wrist is covered in black runes. I want to vomit.
"Come". He says. I back away.
He points to the fence and says "Death".
I turn and run towards the fence, looking for lethal talismans that might be severed or signs that the thrall might be bluffing. Silently and with impossible speed, he's right behind me. The thrall grabs my upper arm, wrapping his hand almost entirely around it. "Come" he repeats and walks back towards the office building. There is no escape now. I can walk with him or dislocate my arm getting dragged. I walk.
We step inside the building. There is no office inside. Bars slam into place behind me, blocking the exit. The interior of the structure is open, massive, nothing but concrete and steel. There are no windows. Buzzing blue and yellow fixtures provide the only light. The ground floor has an open layout, with clusters of furniture here and there. Each is arranged in a mockery of everyday life. I see a kitchen setup in front of me, a rectangle of linoleum tile atop the concrete floor marks out its boundaries. A table and chairs sit opposite a granite countertop and stove. It looks ghastly and artificial, lit with pale yellow light in the massive open room. Past that I can see other scenes. A living room. A library. An office. A gym. A bedroom. In the distance it looks like two people are fucking in a garage.
The thrall releases my arm. There's a chair in front of me. On the seat is a clean grey jumpsuit, folded neatly in a plastic package.
"Change" says the thrall.
I walk away from the chair, and look out into the open area. It's long and narrow. Balconies hang above the ground floor on either side. I see at least levels of them, disappearing into the darkness above. On the ground floor, two prisoners in jumpsuits are kissing and dry humping in a cafe.
My pants are ripped to my ankles by the thrall. He grabs a pant leg and pulls. I jump out of the garment to avoid falling over.
"Change", insists the thrall.
"Ok, ok, I'll change", I say. The thrall stares at me, unblinking, as I remove my shirt.
"All" he says, pointing at my underwear.
"All" I say back, patronizing, casting up my hands. I remove my underwear, surprising myself with how comfortable I was stripping in front of the living dead. I open the plastic package and remove the jumpsuit. I unzip the front of the one-piece garment and hold it at the waist. I bend over and step in. Something pokes clumsily at my bare rear. I look back. The thrall is behind me. He grabs my hip and vacantly grinds his erection against my butt cheek, his clothes still on. I push his hand away easily.
"Hey, back off" I say. He does, his mouth briefly twitching into a frown. This must not be part of his programming. I zip up the jumpsuit. It's soft wool inside, surprisingly comfortable. The thrall snaps back to life.
"Come" he says and turns to the left. I know better than to try running again.
He leads me up a flight of stairs. We turn a corner and we're on the second floor balcony. I can see out on to the little scenes below. An empty classroom. An art studio. Three prisoners are taking a shower in a little open locker room, lewdly grabbing at each other.
To my right are lines of cells. Each cell is square room, about 8 ft to a side. The front wall consists of vertical steel bars, about three inches thick, spaced close together. A bunk hangs off the righthand wall, a toilet sits to the left. There is a drain in the center of the floor. Nothing else is inside.
I walk by three empty cells. A fourth is dark, the occupant sleeping on the bunk. The fifth is lit. The door is open. It's mine.
"Home" the thrall says, pointing into the cell. I walk past the wretched creature and step inside. He weakly gropes my ass as I pass by.
"Thanks, sweetness", I say to him. He closes the door and walks away. I push at the bars that were open just a moment ago. They're solid.
I sit on the rough sheets of my bunk, studying the cement floor, mind racing, trying to plan my escape. I hear a chorus of whispers from the balcony. "Warden" whispers a voice. "Warden" says another, worried. "Warden", says a third, concerned. The whispers cut off. I stand up and look out of my cell. A man is walking the block. He holds out a hand and lets it flap from bar to bar with a 'fip' 'fip' 'fip'. He's in no hurry. The bars ring out like drips from a leaky faucet. I sit back down on my bunk to wait. None of the other prisoners make a sound. The warden's hand lands on the first bar of the door to my cell. Immediately on contact with his skin, an ornate pattern glows up and down the metal. He gives the door a gentle push and it swings open. I look up.
The warden steps inside. He's sharply dressed in a tight black robe, cut into the style of a trench coat. Underneath, he wears a crisp white collared shirt and tailored grey slacks, pant legs fitted over his shining leather boots.
His cold eyes are wide and motionless. He turns his head to face me and smiles.
"Welcome Mr. Swag-ee to the Arlington Denial Facility!", he says with mechanical cheer.
"It's 'Swage'" I correct him. "Rhymes with 'cage' like the things you keep your prisoners in."
His smile weakens. "Prisoners? Oh no, you are not prisoners. You are my stars."
"Stars?" I ask. "Is all that shit down below a movie set?"
The warden ignores my question. "No, no no, this won't do at all. I think you'll learn very quickly that having an attitude doesn't serve you well around here."
His tone puts me on edge. I say nothing. I feel the runes around my cock come to life. They massage gently at the base of my member.
"I hear you'll be staying with us for seven years! Seven years, thief. That's an awfully long time. Don't you think?" he asks, gesturing at me to answer. I say nothing. The massage powers up, stroking. I feel my erection growing, shifting down the leg of my jumpsuit. I try to relax and fight it.
"Well, I hope it'll give you lots of time to reflect on your crimes. Maybe-" I see his eyes shift to my crotch for an instant. He blinks, looking back into my eyes. The runes burn my skin. The stoking speeds up. He looks at me like I'm nothing, an animal to toy with. I feel filthy, violated.
"-maybe you'll see the error of your ways and we can help you reform. Do you think you can help me out with that?"
A dot of pre appears on my pants. I can feel my cheeks starting to flush. My nose burns. I resolve not to give him the satisfaction. I steady my breathing and reply.
"Fuck you." There's fire in my chest.
The warden pauses and smiles again, his face twisting. "New prisoners are always my favorite. So wild and coarse." My breathing grows heavier.
He continues, "You will learn to be polite in my presence. You will learn to control yourself. You will reform, I am certain.", his voice growing quieter with each word.
My rage flashes. I explode off the bed and draw back a fist to strike the warden. "I WILL NEVER-"
My cock plunges into a tight hole. The sides grip and milk it. An oversized appendage, writhing like a snake twists up my ass. My chest seizes and I fall to my knees. My arms are struck with impossible weight. I fall forward, wrists pinned to the floor.
The warden tuts. "You are a wild one, aren't you?"
I gasp pitifully in response. The front of my suit is soaked though. My cock drools through the fabric, dripping to the floor. The unseen tentacle stretches and explores my ass. I try again, tears welling in my eyes. I try say "You're a demented asshole". It comes out as a choked grunt, interrupted by a moan.
I struggle helplessly on the floor. The warden laughs. It's a loud, booming laugh, filled with hate. It echoes in the cell block. I twist back and forth, bucking, trying to get away from the magic, the overload of sensation causing my every move to falter. I use all my energy to look up at my torturer. He's grinning madly, face red, a lock of hair fallen out of place. He closes his eyes and moves his arms like a conductor.
I feel the appendage in my ass start to hammer at my prostate. The enchantment on my member tightens and holds it in a vise-like grip. I shut my eyes. My balls retract, ready to climax. The ultimate insult. My muscles tense. A strained noise escapes my throat.
Then suddenly, right at the edge, it all stops hard.
Five seconds pass. I remember to breathe, taking a huge gulp of air. The weight on my wrists is gone. The appendage in my ass, the hold on my cock, gone. I open my eyes and look. I'm alone in my cell. It's darker now, my light is out. The door is shut. I collapse to my side and roll on to my back, looking at the ceiling.
My balls ache terribly, my pants are stained dark. My cock strains at the cold, wet fabric of the jumpsuit. I have to get out of here.
I try to replay my memory from earlier, when I walked to my cell. I need to remember the layout of the prison. I need to escape. The runes around my cock begin to thrum. The harder I try to think, the more distracting they become. My thoughts shift unbidden to sex. I look out the bars of my cell. I see nothing but darkness.
I reach under the waistband of my pants and feel my member. I'm still rock-hard. I give it a stroke. It feels good. I just need to finish, then I can concentrate on escaping. I begin to pump up and down. My legs tense and relax with the rhythm. I go on for a minute or two. The floor is uncomfortable.
I get up and sit on my bunk, lean against the wall, unzip my suit, and masturbate in earnest. I think of my ex-boyfriend and grip my cock. I stroke it gently, expertly, the way only I can.
I think of three ex-boyfriends. Together. In an orgy. One filling my ass, another taking my cock, a third kissing me deeply. I immerse myself in the fantasy, relax, and stroke faster. I feel my orgasm build, crest, and recede over and over. I know I can make it, I'm so close. The fantasy grows more and more vivid. I lose control and it feels good.
PART 2
I must have fallen asleep. My stomach groans and I open my eyes. My balls feel backed up, too full. I have a headache. It's been at least an hour since I sat on my bed to masturbate. My hand is still stroking weakly at my cock, making a wet squeaking sound. It's red and irritated but still hard. Pre glistens all over my hand, cock, and balls. The sheets between my legs are wet.
I hear a snicker and let go of my cock. A deep, husky voice calls out from the wall behind my back.
"Hey buddy, you've been at that for over two hours, why don't you give it a rest?", the voice says.
"Who's there?" I say, startled. My hand stops.
"Name's Luke. Looks like we're neighbors, bud." he says, with a light drawl.
"I'm Perceval", I say. "Is it safe to talk?"
"It's ok, the warden left right after working you over. Good to meet you, Perce."
"What is this place?" I ask, dimly.
"The Arlington Denial Facility, your own little slice of hell." Luke answers.
"But I don't understand, this isn't what prison is supposed to be like. That one prisoner had been enthralled! This isn't-"
"Isn't what?" asks Luke.
I offer increasingly loud suggestions. "Legal. Ethical. Sensible!"
I hear Luke get up and move to the front corner of his cell. I move to mine. Something clicks across the floor as he walks.
"Keep your voice down" Luke whispers back. "The council has no time for ethical or sensible. They're fighting a civil war and keeping it quiet. That takes a lot of resources. They got no time for running prisons either. I figure the warden here bid on a contract and won, that's it. As long as he keeps us alive and locked away, he's set. He can do whatever he wants."
"The civil war isn't over?" I'm startled to hear my suspicions confirmed so casually.
"Man, you really did come from inside the government's little bubble. The council might have declared victory but the rebellion is still alive. Most of us in here are rebels, POWs. Can't have POWs without the W." says Luke.
"So you're a rebel?", I ask.
"I was a rebel. Will be one again if I ever make it out of here", whispers Luke.
"That's a lot of loyalty for an organization that landed you in prison. Why?" I ask.
"Why? Ever heard of The Human Purity Act? Passed the council unanimously when I was sixteen years old. Bunch of bigots..."
"Human Puri- wait, you're a hybrid?" My eyes grow wide.
"Yep. Born one. Or at least my parents said so. They were fooling around with some pretty wild stuff. Trying to summon a pack of spectral wolves from the beyond or something. Mom caught one to the belly, phased in and never phased back out. She didn't even know she was pregnant. Wolf essence fused with mine and there you go. Little wolf baby."
"Did you ever try to remove the wolf spirit? As an alternative to overthrowing the government, I mean."
Luke laughs, wheezing. "Nah, too dangerous. It's part of me now. And even if it could be done, I like these big old paws."
"How long have you been in here?" I ask. I hear him sit down.
"About 4 months." he answers. "Was caught doing some spy work outside the capital. I was-"
"You were a spy for the rebels? I can't imagine you're inconspicuous."
"The hell do you think I look like, Perce? Some giant 9 foot tall werewolf, stomping around in ripped robes, howling at the moon? Wolves are smaller than men. I'm lucky I grew tall as I did. I tie down my ears, throw on some long robes and nobody's any wiser. So long as it's dark and they don't stop to chat."
I'm embarrassed by my ignorance.
Luke starts again: "As was I saying, before you interrupted with your bigotry-"
"Oh shut up you mongrel, I didn't know!" I whisper through the bars. Luke makes a wheezing sound. He's laughing.
"I was mostly in charge of sabotage and propaganda for the rebellion," says Luke. "I fancy myself an alchemist, making bombs and such. I mixed up a special paint for propaganda messages right before I was caught. It glows at night, impossible to erase. Cover it and it shines through."
"How'd you get caught?" I ask.
"I got careless. I was testing the paint on the side of a skyscraper. A government patrol spotted me, spotted the glowing letters anyway. They surrounded the building and caught me when I came down. I did manage to cover a good number of soldiers in indelible, glowing paint, though.
"I'd like to have seen that." I say.
"I hope they're still glowing, the bastards." Luke wheezed hard. "I'm sure they are. I don't play around making my enchantments. Anyway..." Luke trails off.
"So what about you?" He asks. "What's a nice normal human boy like you doing in here? You look like a councilor's son."
"The short version is that my life was easy and I threw it away" I say, moping.
Luke is unsatisfied with this. "Oh come on now, I told you my story. Quit your belly aching and tell me yours."
I take a deep breath.
"I have no arcane connection." I start. "I can't activate runes. I can draw them but they don't work, not for me or for anyone else. My parents couldn't handle it. Prestigious family, reputation to uphold, all that. They tried for years to fix my connection with treatments and doctors. Eventually, I couldn't take it any more. I refused to let one more impeccably qualified researcher tell me that I'm broken."
Luke listens quietly. I swallow hard and keep going.
"My parents turned mean. They didn't understand why I couldn't do it anymore. They withheld money unless I saw another doctor. Food unless I drank an awful tincture. I couldn't live that way. I left home and got my own place. Without my family, I had no income, no skills. I began to steal enchanted artifacts for money to live. I continued to the steal because I was angry. I didn't just take from the rich or the government, or from those who deserved it. I stole from friends, family, and strangers. I kept stealing after I no longer needed the money. I buried most of what I took, or threw it away. I wanted everyone else to lose what I never had. I wanted to be caught so they could all see what they turned me into. It was a relief when I was."
Luke sighs and doesn't reply. I shouldn't have said so much. I sound like spoiled piece of shit. I brace for his rebuke.
"You aren't alone, you know." says the husky voice behind the wall. "Nearly a quarter of the rebellion has no connection. They were chased from their homes. Their families killed - no - culled by the government. Buried in shallow, unmarked graves. They would have preferred treatments and doctors, I think."
I feel my mother's hand striking my face in the courtroom.
Luke's voice softens. "That was unfair of me." He takes a breath. "Your family's status and money spared you, sure. But in the end you share the pain of those who escaped and joined the rebels. They know what it's like to live in a world that sees them as broken and useless too. But they don't blame the world for taking something they never had. You shouldn't either. You were born Without. You need to take responsibility and make something of yourself."
"I do take responsibility for my actions." I say, defending myself. "I stole and now I'm here. I accept that."
"You've martyred yourself to protest a fucked up world. That's not taking responsibility at all. Responsibility is an obligation to the world, Perce, no matter who fucked it up."
I don't have a snappy reply to that. I sit in the dark, conflicted. He might be right.
A minute passes. My attention drifts back to my manhood. The runes at the base shake it gently, keeping me perpetually erect. My prostate is swollen, it's uncomfortable to sit. My balls ache.
"One last thing before I go to sleep."
"Sure" says Luke.
"Any advice for the serious blue balls situation I have going on here?"
Another long wheeze. "I wish. That's how the warden gets to you. Real powerful magic. I don't know how it works exactly. Just try to relax and clear your mind. The less you think, the less tugging you get. With practice, you should be able to get it to half mast at night. Least before morning wood kicks in."
I groan.
"Goodnight, Perce. Rest up for tomorrow. It'll get harder before... well, it'll get harder." He laughs at his own joke.
I try to clear my mind and go to sleep.
PART 3
A loud clang wakes me. My cell door is open. I stand up and look down. My cock is nearly flaccid, it barely prints through my suit. I pump my fist for the small victory. I step through the bars and on to the balcony. I hear Luke's voice to my left, for the first time clear, not whispered, not muffled by a wall.
"Morning, Perce." he says.
I turn to look at him. He's striking. He stands about four inches shorter than I do, heels on the ground, black pads covering the bottom of his feet. He wears no jumpsuit. His proportions are those of a lean, built human, with a thicker neck and deeper chest. His coat is dark grey, short and fine. Shiny. It doesn't hide his anatomy so much as accentuate every curve, every muscle with satin highlights.
The hair grows darker and thicker between his pectorals, under his arms, and above his manhood. A crest runs down his chest. His cock is half erect, rounded glans blushing pink. His foreskin is covered in fur and partially retracted. A small knot swells near the base.
His face is broad and square, a human jaw stretched into a short muzzle. His fine, black lips are pulled into a grin, revealing large white canines. His nose is dark and wet, sitting high on his face.
Black human hair pushes out through his fur, revealing expressive eye brows and a spiky black beard around his jaw line. Upright, lupine ears sit atop his head. A small black mohawk grows from the grey fur between them. Deft, furry fingers tipped with short black claws rest on the balcony ledge as he looks down to the ground floor. He taps his finger pads on the concrete. His short, bushy tail, about a foot and a half long swishes back and forth.
"I guess it's just you and me for now," says Luke, looking my way. His eyes are green: wild and iridescent. "Sorry if I was too harsh last night.", he apologizes. "I can get a little too passionate about my causes."
"No," I say, "I needed to hear it. Thanks for listening and being honest."
"I hope you weren't up all night, thinking hard about what I said" he teases, gesturing at my crotch.
I look down at the tent popping out of my jumpsuit.
"It must be those damned runes," I say, unable to stop studying his body.
Luke laughs his smoky laugh. "We need to get down there quickly before the warden gets impatient."
We head down the block.
"Looks like his patience has run out", I say, feeling the familiar thrum of the runes around my manhood spring to life. It's hyper sensitive after I rubbed it raw for two hours last night, just walking is too much.
"So you're gay, right?" Luke calls back.
"Yeah. Was my erection that obvious when I saw you?" We start down the stairs. My jumpsuit, now rough inside, rakes at my cock. I lean on Luke's shoulder to avoid falling down.
Luke snorts. "That would have been the giveaway I suppose, or this business," He gestures at my hand on his shoulder. "That is, if you hadn't been been chanting 'David' last night while you rubbed yourself raw. Boyfriend?"
"Ex" I say. "Still miss him sometimes."
"Well, either way, the two of us are luckier than most here. The straight guys can't pretend to enjoy it as easy. The magic doesn't mesh with their thoughts right, breaks some of them. You met Cliff on your way in, the thrall? He didn't start out that way."
"Wait, you're gay too?" I say, hiding my excitement poorly.
Luke gives a wheezing laugh. "I tell you the magic here broke and enthralled a prisoner, and you're more interested in who I'd fuck given the choice?"
"I'm only more interested if that person is me. I'm not a monster, just selfish." I say.
"You might just survive here, Perce" says Luke, with a hint of admiration.
We reach the bottom of the stairs. The warden is waiting there, thin smile on his lips. He clasps his hands together.
"Well don't you two look fine this morning. Well rested, I hope."
Luke replies quickly, "Your accommodations are always... cozy, sir." His tone is gracious, with just enough bite to irk the warden, but not draw rebuke.
"Yes, I do provide for my men" says the warden, grasping at the air, staring at the wolf. Luke's cock is erect now. His small knot pushes his foreskin back and inflates. I see faint runes around the base, lightly pulsing, squeezing.
The warden continues: "I provide for my men as long as they are unfailingly polite. Don't I, little wolf?"
Luke's eyes are green steel. "You do, sir", he says.
The warden looks to me. I try to maintain a neutral expression.
"I hope you are feeling more compliant this morning, thief." The warden wags a finger in my direction. I feel a single rounded point prod the front of my erect cock. I wince.
"Tender?" The warden asks. I look straight ahead. He stares me down for a moment.
"Well, enough pleasantries. The two of you look hungry. Let's start off cooking some breakfast, shall we?"
The warden turns and gestures towards the kitchen setup in the front of the large, open room. Luke takes my arm and walks us over to the table.
"Follow my lead" he says. "This is your first show, it's bound to get rough. I apologize in advance for what I might do. I sometimes..." Luke looks into my eyes, sincere and pleading. He starts again: "Do not look at the warden, even when he addresses you. Try to do as he says. If you don't, he will break you."
I pull my arm away from the wolf, confused.
"You two look awfully hungry," says the warden. I look back reflexively. An unseen dry hand rubs up the length of my member in rebuke. I grip the the chair in front of me.
"Set the table, Perce" says Luke. "I'm going to cook us some eggs."
"Cooking is messy work" says the warden.
Luke tugs free a pink apron folded over the oven door handle. He pulls it on and ties it behind his back just above his tail. I walk around the table to the counter and open a drawer. I look up at the wolf. His tail is swishing as he looks for a skillet. I watch him, mesmerized. My member hardens fully. It bobs at my stomach with each beat of my heart. He bends over to pull a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator. I feel the warden's magic guiding my every thought towards sex. I can feel tension building in my chest.
"Stay on task now..." chides the warden.
I start to look back and freeze halfway. I glance at the floor, then back to the silverware drawer. I pull out a set of forks and knives and place them on the table. Luke has a skillet heating up. He beats half a dozen eggs with a fork. He turns to look at me. His ears are back. He licks the air in my direction. I can see his member standing fully erect under the apron.
I walk over to help and before I know it, my mouth presses at his. He kisses back lightly, then pulls away.
"Not- not just yet" Luke says heavily, drunk with lust. "Get some plates... and oil."
In a haze, I open cabinets one by one. I take out a bottle of cooking oil and set it down on the counter. Luke opens it and pours a dot into the skillet.
"I'd kill for some butter and cream. But this will do." he whispers, adding the raw eggs.
I find two plates and bring them over. I set them down next to Luke and hug him from behind. He points his head up and pushes it back against my chest. He closes his eyes. His nose twitches.
The wolf looks back to the skillet gives it a stir. He pours out portion of the cooked eggs on to each plate, turns off the stove, then places the skillet back on the burner. He hands me a plate. His paw is trembling. I kiss his cheek.
We walk over to the table and set down our plates.
"Take a bite". says Luke. We each take a bite of eggs. They're bland, and unseasoned but I'm starving. I swallow. The moment I do, the sexual tension that's been building since we stepped into the kitchen multiplies. Luke's eyes and jaw go slack. I push away my eggs and tug at the zipper of my jumpsuit. It falls to my ankles.
The wolf tosses his apron on to the table and bends over. My head swims. I need to fuck him now.
"That oil looks slick" says the warden, tracing a finger through the air.
I turn around and pick up the open bottle of cooking oil. I dump too much into my hands and spread it up and down my cock. I wipe the excess up my chest.
Luke lies across the kitchen table propped up on his elbows. His legs are spread, bent at the knees, tail pulled up over his back. He presents to me. The sight makes my heart pump out of control. I hear nothing but the roar of my own pulse in my ears. My vision shrinks, fading until all I can see is the rump front of me. There's no prison, no kitchen, no table, just the willing, twitching hole.
"Breed"
I can't tell if the word was spoken or just thought. I don't even know if it came from me. I'm so desperately, hopelessly horny. I obey.
I push my member into his rear. He's relaxed. It glides in easily. My toes curl involuntarily. I run my hands up his fur and grab a handful. It feels so good. I withdraw and thrust in again. Luke grinds his ass into my hips. His pucker pulses, grabbing gently at the base of my cock. I continue to pump in and out. I explore his chest. Two rock hard nipples sit atop his pectorals, just under the fur. I tease at them, giving one a squeeze. The wolf's mouth opens and his tongue rolls out. He begins to panting like a dog.
Time loses all meaning for us. I drill Luke's ass into the table with abandon. He howls and whines, grabbing at his own member, squeezing his knot, milking it. His tail slaps against my chest. I hear a crash in the distance. I can't pull my attention away from our lovemaking long enough to see what it was. I forget about it. We knock over a chair. I'm drenched in sweat. Luke's chest heaves, his mouth open wide, his eyes glazed over.
I edge impossibly close to orgasm. I feel myself on the precipice. I try to relax and let my lust spill over. I can't. Something holds me back. I crest again and again. I lose track of how many times it happens. Each time feels like the first. I can't escape the cycle. I can't remember why, but I know deep inside I'll never cum. But I have to keep trying. I'm compelled.
I drift off into mindless, compulsive repetition. The pressure to cum stabs at my mind, draining away any motivation to think or concentrate. I just do.
I hear a loud snap. It brings me back to reality. "That's enough" says the warden.
The room around me slowly fades back in. Chairs are knocked over. A plate lies smashed on the floor, cold scrambled eggs scattered around it. Luke's green eyes are distant and dark, his long tongue hangs out his parted muzzle, touching the wooden table. My wits slowly return to me. I'm still horny, I want to finish, but I remember the runes. I remember the warden. I withdraw from Luke's hole. It takes all my willpower not to thrust back inside.
The warden feigns outrage.
"Look at the mess you two have made. You couldn't even enjoy a simple plate of eggs without fucking on the table. For three hours no less! The food is cold and ruined. You're both little better than beasts. Clean up and return to your quarters." He steps away.
I help Luke to his feet.
"That's- first" he says, panting. "Four- months- here- never- bottom- before."
"I'm sorry-" I start. I remember some of what I'd done. How rough I'd been. The way I lost control. I feel terrible.
"You don't need- apologize, I know how- it is." Luke rubs at his abdomen where the table bit into his skin. There's a small crease in his fur.
We clean up the little mockery of a kitchen the best we can. Luke picks up the eggs from the floor and puts them on a clean plate. He adds the burnt eggs from the pan on the stove and takes a big mouthful.
"Come on" he says. "This could be the only food you eat all day."
I join him at the sink, shoveling down the eggs. I wash them down with water from the tap. I feel sick.
"Your eggs were good," I lie. Luke sighs. He places the empty plate in the sink, rinses it, and walks off toward the stairs. I follow. I catch up to him outside his cell. The fur on one side of his face stands up at the wrong angle. He looks disheveled and tired but at least his eyes are clear and bright again.
I give the little wolf a hug and he hugs back. Our members touch and run across each other. My balls ache, my cock drools. He breathes heavily into my shoulders. I can tell he's in the same state. I want to bend him over. I can't. It'll only hurt both of us more. We need time apart.
We walk into our separate cells. The doors shut behind us. It's cold. I look down at my naked body.
Luke calls through the wall. "You forgot your jumpsuit by the way."