Behind Yellow Eyes: Prologue
Prologue
The black limo cruises around quietly, maglev holding it a half meter above the road. Silence inside is mingling with the colorful scent of happiness. The fact that it's coming from Sinclair makes it more intoxicating than anything Mist had ever forced on me. I'm working my blunt claws through his fur, rolling them around over his stomach, my favorite area. I think that I want to either laugh, or maybe cry, perhaps even both at the same time. From my perspective, so _ many _ years have passed since I last saw him. It feels like forever. Strange that I'll be contemplating suicide in another thirty minutes.
We talk.
I mention my experiences, just a few at a time. That he is a good listener is a new concept for me to take in, most of the time it was always he who spoke, while I remained silent. A role reversal, for sure. New territory for both of us to boldly explore.
I keep noticing a whiff of anger, as I lay out what Mist did to me, but right away, it fades quickly each time. He's so happy to have me back. Once or twice, I even detect an odd smell, one that I can recognize as surely as my nose is black.
Familiarity.
It keeps coming to me in waves, every time I mention Mist's name. It's so strong ; I know he has to comment on it soon.
"Ten years as a four-legged wolf. I suppose, Keman, that your two-year hiatus has been fulfilled. You coming back to me afterwards speaks much about your desires." He smiles.
I squeeze him in my arms. "Thank you, sir." I was worried he might make me say goodbye, again. I don't think I can handle that. It would rip me apart.
"But when you came back, you were supposed to tell me that you wanted to be my property, in addition to being my mate. I need you to realize how amusing it is, to be wearing your collar, Keman. Why call me sir when I'm wearing this?" A soft grin lines the edges of his big muzzle when he points up at it. Seeing his smile makes me feel so good. Oh, Dog, how I'll do anything to see it again. Anything!
"Well," I say. "Not quite mine." I run my fingers over its warm surface. "But the next best... thing." I'm tabbing through the app the collar had made available for download once my wetware contacted it. Various icons are fighting for my attention at the periphery, including an obnoxious one that keeps eating the others.
My ship.
The AI needs a stern talking to; it needs to learn something about privacy. It isn't actually eating the others; they reappear a few moments later. The computer equivalent of humor. Or was it trying to get my attention?
"I'll inform you that I have a history of wearing these," Sin pulls at it briefly, the motion seems practiced. His weight against my chest is a constant reminder of his heft, and I miss it pressing at me from any angle. "One that is quite unpleasant," he continues.
Time to take it off , I think. I clear more pending icons out, but one catches my attention when I select it, and I see that it's a rejection notice from the collar. Rejection? A rejection to register... I quickly flip back to the app controlling it and notice that the release and unlock fields are grayed out.
I check again, delete the app, and instruct the collar to retransmit its code.
Still grayed out.
I check a few other areas, and see that, in fact, all of them are gray. Outside of my control. My heart rate doubles. Over in the registration section, there is optional text entered in the owner's field. My ears go flat with despair, my body tenses up.
Mist.
Next to his name, in the extended attributes field, there is something else.
A gift for my beloved brother. It's your turn...
I shake my head.
No!
Happiness peels away to reveal something cold and frightening. What have I done?
"Owned by Mist," I mumble. "It's your turn?"
His eyes open very wide.
"It's your turn..." Mist said, while his eyes leaked tears, which was unsurprising after what he just went through. He was avoiding looking at Sin, though normally when their gazes met it produced such good feelings. He reeked of fear, though, with the usual residue of pleasure. What felt good was never enough to cover up what felt bad, Sin knew.
He threw himself into Sin's arms and the two of them hugged tightly, Sin felt his brother's swollen and abused sheath dig into his thigh, but the love they had for each other was the type that broke through all barriers of shame and propriety.
Rings were inside their sheaths, welded shut behind their knots, and linked to the collars that they each wore. With this, pleasure always came with pain, which sometimes heightened the intensity, turning synergistic. However, it was usually too much, and he never sought the activation that a swollen knot would create, not on his own. Not ever. Even when soft, a knot has some cartilage producing its base diameter. It was much too large for the ring to slip past, there was no way to pull it off, and he had tried many times.
"Sinclair!" A deep, bold voice from beyond the doorway beckoned. "I'm waiting..." The opening was dark and uninviting. In that direction, pain waited, pain unlike anything normal life had to offer. Unlike an empty stomach, or even a broken arm. From as old as nine, the age his first and only owner had told him he was, to current day, almost nine years later. This was the routine. Pain, and then pleasure. Then the pain of the memory... building on top of the last.
Sin broke contact with his brother, letting his arms loosen to fall to the side, Mist's let go in return. It was best not to keep Sir waiting. He only wished Mist wouldn't let go, maybe if he didn't have to. Maybe...
He made his way into the room towards the musky odor of maleness. Light was very low, Sir could see in the dark. Sin had no idea what species he was, only that he looked like a giant cat covered in stripes. He and Mist lacked any real education, outside of pleasing Him.
Slitted green pupils eyed him from within the darkness; a tail lashed around two meters distant. "Up, on the bed. You know what I want, boy. And I know you want it, too. Right?"
"Yes, sir," he said quietly, hoping for enthusiasm that just wouldn't come, no matter how much he tried. He climbed onto the bed's slick rubbery surface. Stray fur was stuck to it in long streaks, from where Sir had sprayed cleaner, carelessly wiping off whatever Mist had left behind.
"Paw yourself, Sinclair. You know you're my favorite. So big and black , the credits I could sell you for, ho! But none will have you, no, you're mine. All mine."
Sin put most of his weight onto his knees and right wrist, he reached between his legs, and gripped behind his knot, tugging and rubbing his sheath over the slender metal ring that had been installed so many years ago. He shut his eyes in expectation of what was to come, the climax that would ensue, and the pain along with it.
He jerked himself off, and tugged on his knot, pulling while thinking of the one thing that wasn't terrible in his life, the love he had for his brother. Sir knew how much they cared for each other, and had threatened injury and death to each of them as a means to control the other. He'd followed through with almost everything, too. Sin's eyes opened in fear when he realized he grew soft, just thinking about it.
He squeezed tighter and pulled, and pretty quick, his collar began to pulse. It was only mild pain at first, a tickle that felt more like an itch than anything else. His knot continued to grow as his pre drizzled onto the bed's surface, in small clear jets. The pain went up a notch, and then suddenly ten. His back shook and his ears fell flat. He gasped and let go, knowing the chain reaction of an orgasm was past the point of no return. Thick splats landed on the bed below him, while his body tensed up from the waves of pain his collar was giving him. Each bigger than the last. His tail rose and fell with each pulse.
The ring was stimulating him, too. His body quivered while his mind fought to make sense of the sensations. Occasionally, pain and pleasure combined, in the good way, and he strained with a loud grunt, his muscles standing out. Muscles Sir loved to run his claws down to trace through his fur.
The bed shifted and large knees appeared to the left and right of his own. Warmth enfolded him with a long, deep rumble, a purring that was usually the harbinger of the worst kind of cruelty. Sin struggled to lean back against Sir, because he knew he liked that. But his body was twitching in ways he couldn't manage, the collar and ring were out of phase.
"Hurts..." A word he had said once, only on accident. But no punishment came. So it turned into one of the few he knew he was allowed to speak, at times such as these.
"Yes it does... I'm sure of it," Sir's deep voice behind him. The hot fur around him grew tighter, with pinpricks of pain stuck deeply in his ribs; a sharp slickness drove quickly under his tail, with burning heat spreading his hole wide, while it was clenching down from his climax. Sir pulled out quickly, and while there was little pain going in, the sharp barbs on his shaft clawed at him from the inside, making him gasp.
Sir fucked him quickly, and he felt, as well as heard, a tearing, ripping sensation to which his ass had only built a limited immunity. Sir's pre stung and burned, though, and by that, Sin was able to gauge the extent of the damage. The pain of the future was all he could think about, through the haze of his orgasm, and in the pain his collar kept dialed in, along with the pleasure he felt behind his knot.
The most important thing Sin held tightly in his mind was not collapsing. If he fell, Mist would be punished severely, that was the way of things. Such a terrible shame and guilt he would then feel. Mist might start having nightmares again, waking up sobbing. A behavior Sinclair had absolutely no way to help with.
"Sir?"
"I'm sorry, no, please..."
"But... what does that mean, your turn? Mist is your brother?"
Sin's eyes are still open, but he's startled, reality quickly advances him to the present. He glances at a soft simulated star field glimmering in the roof above, only broken by the dark tinted windows of the limo. His paws ache, because of the tight grip he's got on the collar around his neck. A familiar scent permeates the air, it is in fact the best he knows, and it's coming from right behind him.
Keman.
Sin recognizes his warm lupine body pressed behind his own as reality fully reasserts itself. He's still dizzy from what he'd been dosed with, earlier, he should still chew him out for that stunt. Nevertheless, he won't, because he pulled it off so well.
The collar, though... and those words. Panic will accomplish nothing useful, but it tempts him.
He leans forward and carefully turns his body around in order to sit across from Keman, lying back in a comfortable leather couch. He regards his mate severely. His wetware icons are alerting him of stressed physiological status, and he absentmindedly dismisses them.
"Keman... did you say this collar is owned by Mist?"
His ears are flat, and Sin can tell that misery soon approaches; by the way he keeps shaking his head back and forth.
"I don't understand," he keeps saying. "I told it to register the same way I did back on his ship... it should have worked. I can't control it. I don't get it..."
The man in the middle attack, the oldest there is. Sinclair used the same technique when Mist had tried registering this exact same collar on Keman.
Well. Mist isn't dead, then.
That is a problem.