by Myles, Eden
I cried out as I was impaled twice over. Then both brothers began to move, but not in the same direction, and the unique feel of rocking back and forth upon their cocks teased me ever higher into a state of delirious bliss.
Damian ripped my blindfold away and I looked down into his dear face. He’d torn away his evening shirt and now I spread my hands over his beautifully tattooed chest. Both my lovers worked my body, thrusting and grunting, Damian upward, into me, and Dorian in and out, the hard muscles of his bare lower belly pressed to my spine, his quick, labored breath in my hair. I leaned back to see him, and he slid his hands possessively over my breasts, caught my lips in a biting kiss. I jerked like a puppet on strings for them…for them both…all for them.
Damian reached up and grabbed the chains, pulling gently upon them, while Dorian reached around me and unhooded my clit, encircling it with his thumb as he continued to thrust ever deeper inside me. The two brothers played with me until I threw back my head and screamed my release, and my climax brought them both, almost at the same moment, in tandem, so I was flooded with their seed and they filled every part of me…my body and my heart.
“We love you…” Damian began.
“…our brave little beauty,” Dorian finished.
* * *
CRY WOLF
by Jay Ellison
Chapter One
The hot, longhaired man at the end of the bar was watching him again.
Kevin Sullivan finished mixing the dirty martini for the middle-aged out-of-towner in the blue business suit and slid it down to him on a paper napkin before making his way down the bar to the stud with the long hair. Kevin smiled because that was the way he did things in his job as barkeep at the Barracuda, one of the more popular gay clubs in downtown Brooklyn, but it was a guarded smile, as always.
The man watching him was tall and slender, a sleek body in a tailored black suit. He had chiseled, vaguely Euro-fine features, and long, straight black hair to his waist that he kept back in a tight ponytail. His snug Brioni tux made Kevin think of a younger version of James Bond. It was pretty obvious that he was moneyed and from out of town like so many of the men who frequented the club.
He certainly was a tall, cool drink of water, Kevin thought. And he smelled sweet and slightly wild. But Kevin told himself he wasn’t in the market to pick up anyone tonight. Not tonight of all nights. It was the first warm night of the year, and the moon was gravid and clear. It was his night to run. “What can I get you?” he said, wiping his hands on the bar mop he kept tucked in the waistband of his dark uniform trousers. “Martini? Shaken, not stirred?”
The man looked momentarily confused, then smiled, showing strong white teeth and incisors that were a hair too long. My, Grandma, what big teeth you have. “Manhattan.”
“I haven’t had an order for one of those in a dog’s age.”
The man smirked in a playful, sexy and perhaps slightly dangerous way. “I’m a bit old fashioned, I’m afraid.” He spoke in a soft, lilting British voice. “What does the young crowd drink these days?”
“Julius Orange, the Latte, Odyssey Number Ten. I can make you anything you want.”
“What if what I want isn’t on the menu?”
Is he flirting with me? Kevin wondered. “Try me.”
The man with the ponytail gave him a sly look. “I might just do that, young man. But for now a Manhattan will do.”
Kevin’s cock twitched in his pants. “Manhattan it is,” he said as he reached for the whiskey, sweet vermouth and bitters.
The Barracuda was pretty laid back on the weekdays, but on Friday night it turned into one huge pickup, mostly randy undergrads from CUNY or closeted businessmen from uptown looking to cheat on their wives. The place was low and packed tonight, the lighting intimate and slightly lurid. The poorer students were drinking on the edges of the room, the guys with money to burn sitting down by the stage where a number of handsome, well-muscled, oiled male strippers were strutting their stuff onstage. Synthpop and house music beat at the walls of the club like the wings of giant, invisible moths.
Kevin delivered Ponytail’s drink, two cherries in it. Kevin didn’t know why he’d done that; in the Barracuda, two cherries or olives meant a guy was interested. He shouldn’t be doing that, he chastised himself, not tonight of all nights.
Ponytail sipped his cocktail, sucking a cherry playfully between two fingers, his eyes never leaving Kevin for a moment. “I expect you see your share of trouble in a place like this.”
Kevin started mopping the bar, not bothered by Ponytail’s obvious advances. Most guys thought he was cute, and he got at least one or two propositions in a night. He was inured to it all. If he’d wanted to get offended by every guy who’d ever leered at his ass, he wouldn’t have been able to hold down this job for going on seven years now. “Not really. The regulars are pretty well-behaved. Sometimes the mucky mucks get rowdy, but only when they get too much drink in them.”
“Mucky mucks?”
“I think you Brits call them Lord Mucks? The execs and CEOs.”
“Ah,” said Ponytail. “And what do you do with the mucky mucks who get out of hand?”
“I show them the door.”
Ponytail looked impressed. “You don’t call a bouncer?”
“I’m stronger than I look.”
It was one of the reasons the club owner, Jolene, had hired him in the first place. Seven years ago he’d been just like one of these young undergrads working his way through college. Back then, he’d had a lot more misdirected anger and hadn’t minded busting up a few troublesome customers. Even now, when he wasn’t tending bar, he often walked the floor, keeping an eye on the dancers. Two years ago he broke a man’s arm in two places when he tried forcing himself on one of Jolene’s boys. After that, most folks had come to respect that the dancers in the Barracuda were here to be seen, not touched.
Kevin wasn’t much to look at, he knew, but Jolene said he had “mad ninja skills” when it came to taking out the trash. He was tall and lithe, with good reflexes. He was a pacifist by nature, but having grown up in Brooklyn, he knew how to fight when he had to.
Ponytail was watching him again. He was definitely interested, and any other night, Kevin would have taken him home, banged him good, bought him breakfast, and then explained in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t into committed relationships. But tonight was not a good night for company. It was almost two weeks since he’d last let the wolf off its leash, and he knew that if he didn’t let it run soon, he’d risk shifting in front of a human.
“A man gets pushed into a corner, he comes out fightin’,” slurred Ron, a local barfly and permanent fixture in the club. By day, he was an exec with two ex-wives, alimony, child support and chronic depression. By night, he was a drunken philosopher and straight man who only felt safe in a downtown gay bar.
Kevin smiled at Ron and started polishing some glasses.
“The weekends here must be interesting,” Ponytail persisted.
“I don’t work weekends anymore. I have an assistant now,” Kevin said, referring to Allison, his protégé.
“So your weekends are free, then?” Ponytail inquired.
Kevin didn’t answer. Normally, he wasn’t a grumpy type of person, but something about the man was putting him on guard. He made the wolf within pace nervously back and forth within its mental cage. His teeth felt sharper in his mouth, there was a hollow, almost painful, emptiness in the pit of his belly, and he felt uncomfortably aroused. The heat in the room was stifling him and he knew he needed to get away soon. Tonight. Drive into the mountains, let the wolf off its leash. It was time. He’d done a lot for Jolene this past week, taken extra shifts, broken up a potentially bad fight; she’d understand if he needed to get away early.
Kevin wasn’t usually so straightforward, but the wolf was growing, making him bolder, more aggressive. He turned to the man with the ponytail and said, “Are you a narc?”
The man’s eyebrows jumped. He met Kevin�
�s eyes head on—a clear, focused hazel that seemed, for just a moment, to lighten, then darken once more. A trick of the light, perhaps. “No. Just making conversation. You look lonely, young man.”
“Well, I’m not,” Kevin said defensively, making a mental note to avoid the guy next time he showed up in the club, maybe switch with Allison. Let Allison take care of him. She was bubbly, friendly, and vapid.
Thankfully, at that moment, a couple sat down at the far end of the bar. Kevin headed that way to take their orders. Along the way, he smelled too much alcohol on Ron and decided to cut him off. By the time he’d served the couple their drinks, Ponytail had gone.
Just as well. He picked up his phone and texted Allison about taking over his shift a little earlier than usual. He told her he wasn’t feeling well, that he might be coming down with something. She texted him back, telling him no problem, she was on her way. “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Ron was slurring into his empty whiskey glass. “You get that, kid? There’s just a time for things, that’s all. A time for everything under the sun…”
“Yeah, Ron, I get you,” Kevin said as he took Ron’s car keys and hung them on the pegboard behind the bar. He understood Ron all too well even as a trickle of nervous energy crawled down his spine, tensing his muscles. Ten minutes later, as Allison breezed in the door, he found himself sighing with relief. The city was stifling him and he needed to get away. He needed to run before he completely lost control.
A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, he thought as he loosened his bowtie and quickly headed into the back. Unless, of course, you were not a man at all.
* * *
Chapter Two
As soon as Kevin got back to his flat he started packing an overnight bag. He threw things haphazardly into the duffle, making an unholy mess of things. He knew he was going too fast, that he was too full of adrenaline and excitement. He told himself to slow down. He didn’t want any accidents on the road.
“Going to the mountains?” his sister Hannah asked, stepping into his room. She was wearing a pajama top and shorts, her long, dark blonde hair hanging in ribbons across her shoulders. She was twenty-two now, majoring in law at CUNY. Kevin had practically raised her by himself, and he always felt a little guilty about leaving her alone in the city.
“Yeah, sis,” he told her, trying to neaten the mess he’d made. “But I’ll have Burt look in while I’m gone.”
Burt was their super, who lived across the hall. He often looked in on Hannah when Kevin was at work. Their building was a surprisingly tight-knit community, even for New York City.
Hannah plopped down on the bed beside his duffle and started arranging his clothes neatly. “Kev, I’m not a fucking baby, you know. Besides, Matthew’s coming over this weekend to help me study, should I need anyone to protect me.” She rolled her eyes dramatically at that.
“Good. Though I’m not so sure he’s a good influence on you, given your potty mouth of late.”
Hannah gave him a hard look—or as hard as she was capable of with her watery pale blue eyes fixed somewhere other than his face. “Fuck you, big bro. I had a potty mouth long before Matthew. You know that.”
For a moment, Kevin feared there would be an argument. Then they both burst into laughter. Kevin leaned forward and kissed his sister’s forehead, shushing her long bangs out of the way. “I know, sis. But can’t you just let your big brother worry about you?”
Hannah gave him a tight hug. “Only if you let me worry back. What do you do up there in the mountains? I know it’s not fishing. You’re no good at that.”
“Hiking, sleeping…nothing that would interest you,” he lied.
She grinned mischievously. “I think it’s where you keep your porn stash, but whatever.” She hugged him again and he tweaked her nose.
“I’ll be back by Sunday night. Don’t get in trouble, Hannah Banana.”
“That’s me—trouble-free.” She got up to leave the room, trailing her fingers across the wall to guide herself. Hannah getting in trouble was highly unlikely, he knew. She had dreams of being a famous attorney someday and was a serious study horse. She wanted to prove a person’s disability didn’t define them. Besides, if Matthew was showing up, Hannah wasn’t going to be going anywhere. They’d been dating for four years now and Matthew was fiercely protective of his girlfriend.
Ten minutes later, he was heading for the door, the duffle over one shoulder. “I’ll have my cell turned on all weekend,” he called to Hannah. “And there’s beef stew in the fridge. You just need to heat it up slow!”
“Got it!” she called back. “And I hate you!”
“Why?”
“You eat so much and never gain a pound!”
Kevin grinned. “Don’t burn it!”
“I won’t!”
“And don’t let Matthew eat it all!”
“Yes, Mom!”
Less than an hour later, he was well on his way up to the Poconos. It was a two hour drive on the back roads, but serene and scenic once he got past Jersey City. It wasn’t long before he hit the mountains and the road became steep and winding, the dense green pines and blue firs closing in on both sides of the highway. He drove with the windows down even though it was hot and humid, almost the height of summer, and his old secondhand Jeep did, in fact, have AC. He wanted to breathe in the piney, wild forest air as the sun slowly sank beyond the mountains and he wended his way up to his boss’s cabin.
Jolene had won the place in her divorce settlement. She hated the country but had kept it out of spite. She knew her ex loved it and was huge on hunting. Jolene had been lending it to Kevin for years, one of the many reasons he liked his job at the Barracuda. It wasn’t much, little better than a hunting shack, but once every two weeks or so, Kevin called it home for a weekend. It was private and tucked away, didn’t even have electricity, just a generator in a shed in the back. Jolene rarely ever visited it, but she was happy to lend it to Kevin because it kept the local troublemakers from ransacking the place for valuables like copper fixtures, a common problem in the area. It looked as tranquil as a forest postcard when he pulled the Jeep up the final stretch of gravel road and cut the engine. “Or like something you’d see in one of those teen slasher movies before it all goes to hell,” he joked with a wry smile—except he wasn’t worried about being surprised by a mutant redneck wielding an ax like in all those movies. After all, he was more a monster than anything that could be living in these woods.
The cabin was rustic, made of all hand-cut, redwood logs, with pine and elm trees abutting it on both sides. Little of the surrounding forest had been cleared away. Behind the cabin was the shed, then the dock and, finally, a quaint little fishing hole with some wild trout in it, a rowboat tied to a pylon. Kevin had never used the boat or been out on the water. He had no interest in fishing, though he did consider himself a formidable hunter.
He felt the hum of unspent energy as he got out, listened for a moment to the busy birdsong in the treetops—a sound so very different from the constant, angry roar of the big city—and then hurried up the creaking, plank wood porch stairs, letting himself in with the key Jolene had given him. He didn’t bother turning the power on just yet; he could struggle with the old, rusty 2-cylinder generator on his return from his run.
Run, he thought, his mouth virtually watering with anticipation. Hunt. Feed. The most primal of thoughts filled him with a nervous, ravenously hungry energy.
He threw his duffle bag on the cot in the corner and immediately shucked his clothes off, throwing them in every direction and kicking away his shoes. The cool, slightly musty air tickled his naked skin as he disrobed. He sniffed the air, found it good, shook himself all over like he was casting away his city life, then he was out the door and racing into the forest just as fast as he could.
He bounded nimbly over fallen trees, forest brush, and huge, jagged rocks thrust up from the ancient Pennsylvanian bedrock. He ran, his feet barely touching the ground. He leaped a nearby s
tream with no effort at all, lading easily on all fours, then took off again into the forest, breathing hard in and out, muscles bunching and working, mind racing and yet strangely sedate in his present, almost meditative, state. He felt comfortable, alive. His humanity sloughed off with every step he took and the wolf came awake. He scattered birds and small animals in his wake. And somewhere along the way, he shifted.
* * *
Chapter Three
Kevin was fourteen years old when the wolf came to him the first time. He was making out with a boy named Josh when he felt the first crackling, electrical twinges of the change washing over him.
Josh was the definitive jock. He played basketball and every girl in their freshman class had a major crush on him. Ironically, Kevin never looked twice at him. He just wasn’t into jocks, period. He was tall and slender and redheaded pale. Other than the occasional soccer game for PE, he hated playing sports. He liked reading and playing video games with his small circle of friends. He liked animals and going to the zoo. He didn’t know what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he wanted it to be something spectacular—a doctor or lawyer.
Then Josh passed him a note one day in English, and Kevin’s whole world changed. The note read, I know what you are. Meet me behind the bleachers at 3:30.
Kevin threw it away. But at quarter after three, he found himself plodding across the football field, his shoes and the cuffs of his jeans wet from the rain that had fallen that afternoon. Josh was waiting for him. He was alone, no one lying in wait, which made Kevin feel somewhat better. “Is this a joke?” Kevin said anyway, because you never knew. “If it is, it’s not funny.”
“No joke,” Josh said. He had a couple beers stashed in his knapsack, which he pulled out and opened. He gave one to Kevin. “I like you. But I don’t want them finding out, is all.”
“Who?” Kevin said, accepting the beer like it wasn’t his first.
Josh shrugged. “Everyone.”He drank down a sip. “You wanna go to the movies or something?”
Kevin shrugged too. “Can’t. I have to pick up my sister, walk her home.”