by V. L. Locey
Three
Later that day, I was at work, my mind jumbled with a new project. I was rubbing my temples as I slaved away on what was supposed to be an interdepartmental experimental webpage. My supervisor had been quite keen on getting all the slain shifters’ names into one database, which, as Mikel had pointed out, was a splendid idea. It would aid those working on the increasingly difficult job of trying to capture those who were igniting civil unrest.
I suppose my vociferous approval of a departmental database had somehow been twisted around in the air. For when my boisterous “That is an excellent idea, sir. Good luck with it!” entered the ear of my supervisor, Craig Truvor, it sounded, to him, as if I had said, “That is an excellent idea, sir. I would love to have this project heaped atop my usual workload. Thank you so much for the anal penetration sans lube, sir!”
“Calgon, take me away,” I moaned, then slipped my glasses down from atop my head. The website was sitting there, blinking at me, waiting for me to add something. The problem was that I had to add that the investigation was still ongoing. I had added that particular line in a bold font to approximately fifteen ongoing investigations. It seemed that for every death that was solved, five more occurred to stymie the powers that be. I was becoming rather depressed about it, to be honest. I vowed I would never complain about working on lackluster lineage papers again. Speaking of which...
My desk was covered with yellowed scrolls, sticky notes, pens, and a paperclip chain. By the elders, this day was going to be a long one. My instant messenger pinged. I lowered the paperclip chain that I had picked up and hunkered over my tablet lying amidst the carnage of a bored office worker. My spirits lifted instantly. It was a message from Mikel. I smiled like a sap. Then I read the curt missive.
Temp-Swamped. Can U meet boys @ Erie Shore Tailors 4 tux fitting @ noon? Cost no object. Puppy eyes-Mikel.
Oh wow. That should be a fun lunch hour. I exhaled loudly then replied to my love that yes, I would meet them there to help guide them. Elders know that if Dave and Eddie were left to their own devices we’d have men in peach tuxedoes in Mikel’s box at the opera. Besides, Mikel’s puppy eyes were devastatingly effective. Just the mere mention had my “Awwww” meter rising. Talk about a smitten striper. So, at exactly high noon I bundled up and scuttled out into the freezing cold. Three blocks seemed like another state. The tip of my sensitive nose was bright red when I rushed into the men’s clothing store. I removed my steamy glasses and walked up to a salesman.
“Excuse me, but I’m here to meet two friends who...”
“Temp, that’s a dummy,” Eddie guffawed somewhere behind me. I poked the mannequin just to make sure. Trust me, when you’ve spent a few hundred years being the butt of bullys’ jokes, you take nothing for granted. Nor do you go anywhere near toilets or flagpoles without twitching internally. A strong hand took my elbow. I stumbled along in Eddie’s wake, my nose picking up his scent now that I was behind him. We stopped in a spot that was well lit and rather tan. I plunked my glasses to the bridge of my nose. The lenses were mostly cleared.
“Oh my,” I mumbled as Dave turned to look at me over his immense shoulder. “I don’t think that’s an acceptable color,” I said as tactfully as I could. The tailor, a squat gnome of a man glared at me. “I’m sorry, Master Tailor,” I said quickly. The gnome called me several unsavory things as he tugged the ill-sized jacket off David.
“Come on man, it was blue,” Dave argued. I removed my coat, laid it over the back of a padded chair, and walked over to stand beside the towering male in his briefs. Even with a sweater on under my suit jacket, I was cold. I envied the werewolves their internal blast furnaces. “I mean, blue is for boys, right?”
“So some would wish us to believe, but your alpha -- yes, that looks much better, Master Tailor.” I smiled at the tailor whose head reached my navel when he hurried out with a classically cut ebony tuxedo draped over his arm. “Mr. Lupei instructed me to inform you that price was no object. He wishes his pack to be properly outfitted for the opera.”
The gnome’s small eyes sparkled. Within seconds both lycans were surrounded by short men with tape measures, bulbous noses, and rather beefy backsides. The gnomes measured with speed, Master Tailor taking careful notes on each male’s inseam, sleeve length, and neck measurement.
“So what concert is this we’re going to see?” Eddie asked as he tugged his torn jeans up over an incredibly firm rump.
“It’s not called a concert,” I corrected. “It’s a production, I think. I’ve never been myself, so we’re all in the same boat.” I watched the two hulks as they dressed. “I think Mikel said it was Mozart’s The Magic Flute.”
“Is that like a skin flute?” Eddie snorted, elbowing his bisexual brother in the side so hard Dave grunted.
That brought about a round of hearty guffaws. I waited patiently for the two to stop laughing hysterically. They caught their breath, looked at me giving them hairy eyeballs, then fell into another fit of uproarious laughter.
“I have to go back to work,” I told the hysterical fools. “Try to control yourselves. You sound like hyenas instead of members of the Lake Erie pack.”
“Yeah... Temp plays a merry tune on a skin flute... my sides... I’m going to die,” Dave panted, his hand gripping his ribs.
I threw my coat on, stepped over the outstretched arm of Eddie who had fallen to the floor in mirth, and met the Master Tailor at the door.
“Won’t you be measured as well, good sir?” the gnome asked as he polished the brass buttons on his nicely cut vest with a silk handkerchief. I tossed a look at the two lycans gasping on the floor.
“I’ll drop in after work,” I assured the man. He glanced at the howling wolves with mild trepidation.”They’re fine young men, just boisterous. You’ve no need to worry.” I patted his arm then hustled out into the bitter cold blowing off the lake. If I jogged, I would just have time to grab a take-out grease burger at the nearest fast food restaurant on the way back to the office. Mikel was going to repay me for my indigestion, as well as that stupid skin flute comment in the tailor shop, rest assured.
***
Surely you’ve heard that payback is a bitch? That is true in many instances, but sometimes they are not bitch-like at all. Take the payback my stud of a wolf was gifting me with at the moment. I was spread wide on our bed, my arms bound to the tall bedposts with a pair of Mikel’s finest silk ties. My legs were splayed as far as I could manage. Mikel’s brindle head bobbed up and down with increasing speed between my thighs. As if the feel of his hot, wet mouth wasn’t payment enough for a slight burping spell, his two thick, long fingers rotating deeply inside me certainly made up for needing a gulp of chalky antacid after dinner.
Sometimes I close my eyes when Mikel and I are pleasuring each other, just so that my other senses grow heightened. My eyesight is so poor that all I would have seen of my lover’s oral delight would have been a big, blackish-red glob. So, I sink back when Mikel is of a mind, and I listen and inhale the cloud of sexuality lying heavy over our bed. The suckling sounds of his mouth vied with the slick, sloppy sounds of his lubricated fingers stretching and scissoring deep within me. Smell and taste coexisted.
I could inhale the musky aroma of my base animal as well as Mikel’s, the scent intermingling with the moist, heady smells of sex, sweat, and man upon my tongue. Tasting sex is amazingly erotic for our kind since we rely so much on smell. My back arched upward. Mikel pushed me flat to the mattress with one hand, his rhythm never broken. I tugged at the ties that bound me, hissing angrily. Mikel’s deep chuckle vibrated through my cock. Shock waves of pleasure streaked outward from my genitals. I gasped at the sensation of my orgasm approaching. When it arrived the ties were pulled tight. My hips thrust skyward. Mikel pinned me to the bed, his powerful forearm over my abdomen, as he assured that he remained in control of my release. My balls contracted. His fingers found and then stroked my sacred spot. I cried out as a million delicate nerve endings all fired off at
once.
When I could think clearly, I opened my eyes. Mikel appeared, blurred terribly until his face lowered enough so that he could brush his nose against mine. His cock nudged at my nicely lubricated entrance, his hair dangled downward, brushing his high cheekbones, his golden eyes smoldered. I whispered my permission, my breath ragged. Mikel eased into me inch by glorious inch.
“I love the feel of being inside you, Templeton,” he growled, his teeth latching onto my shoulder. I winced at the love bite. My lover began to move. In, then out, stretching me anew with each deep thrust. “Move... higher. Yes!”
I wrapped my fingers around the ties, my eyes squeezing closed. Mikel was close. I could tell by how he slid into brutish grunts. Also, he was moving in and out of me so rapidly I was being pushed across the bedding. He yanked on the ties holding me in place. One of the posters cracked then tumbled to the floor, my wrist still bound to it. When his wolfish mind saw what it assumed was the solution, he broke the other poster off with one hand as he claimed me with increasing speed. When his climax arrived, my head hung off the side of the bed, one leg, which he had gripped in his teeth, rested on his shoulder, and his eyes were radiant amber beacons. His semen ran out of me, soaking the bedding.
“Mikel,” I panted, as I hung upside down staring at the door, “Drop my leg this instant!” I felt the distended canines slip back into his gum. My calf dropped from his jaw. I tried to sit up but the weight of the massive wooden bed posters kept my arms dangling over my head. Mikel dropped down on top of me then began lapping at my chest while making sounds of canine contentment.
“I love your taste,” the big galoot said as he tongued a turgid nipple.
“I’d love to sit up before all the blood in my body travels to my head.” He laughed gruffly, sucked my nipple harshly then released it with a loud smacking sound. One-handed, he yanked me upward. My head swam. The bed posters came into the bed with me.
“Damn it,” he huffed, pulling out of me to untie me from the massive carved posters.” You need to control yourself, Templeton,” Mikel teased as one hunk of wood, then the other, hit the floor. I rubbed my left wrist.
“Yes, it was me that slipped into feral mode.” I gave him a raised eyebrow. He smiled wickedly before he gathered me up into his arms. We rolled into the middle of the bed. With a grunt, he had the thick duvet pulled over our cooling bodies. I buried my cold nose into his furry chest. A yawn snuck up. My eyes grew droopy. I felt his lips, toasty hot as always, pressing to the top of my head.
“Sleep, elskede,” he whispered into my hair. I grew all tickly fuzzy inside, hearing him call me “beloved” in Norwegian. I wanted to say something special in return but it would have to wait. Sleep overtook me. I slept for ten hours without moving.
Mikel slipping from our bed half-roused me.
“Go back to sleep, Templeton,” he said, leaning back over his side of the bed to drop a kiss to my scruffy cheek. “It’s just noon.”
“Noon,” I repeated sleepily. I fell back asleep before Mikel had the water in the shower turned on.
I was awakened at a little after four. I blinked at the shape standing beside the bed. The person tapping me smelled of lemon polish mixed with beeswax.
“I hope you slept well, Master Reed?” Rugby asked. I waved a hand around in a drowsy stupor. Damnation, but being a semi-hibernator sucks. Our majordomo moved around the bedroom, picking up clothing as well as shattered posts of solid oak. I ran my tongue over my teeth. They felt rather slimy. “Master Lupei informed me that you would need an extra bit of time to ready yourself for the opera this evening. To that end I have--”
“This evening?” I asked as I slowly sat up. The duvet slid from my chest. I squinted at the elderly man. He swam back into view with my glasses in his hand, all neatly cleaned. “Thank you, Rugby.” I smiled and placed my spectacles on my nose. Rugby’s round face came into sharp clarity. “You must have misheard Master Lupei,” I said as I slid out from under the tousled coverlet. I groaned softly. Loving, and being loved, by a lycan can be a tenderizing thing. “We just had our measurements taken for the tuxedos yesterday.”
I gingerly slipped my arms into a plush burgundy robe Rugby held open for me. Rugby is one of only four staff that reside in Lupei manor. Servants in our world are humanoid. If you look closely at Rugby though, you can see the slightly pointed ears, as well as the sharp chin of an elf. Rugby is a half-breed. A scorned product of our tightly governed rules about mating. Why he wasn’t killed upon birth I can’t say. Many Halflings are. According to Mikel, Rugby has been in his employ for nearly a hundred years. Halflings may live to be two hundred. Since Rugby is a Halfling, his only recourse is to be a servant. He can hold no other job in our world, by law. Halflings are even lower than skunks, weasels, and the other lesser breeds. And that is damned low and damned wrong, as is so much in our world.
“Master Reed, your tuxedo was delivered a mere hour ago by Master Tailor himself,” Rugby said as I stumbled blearily into the bathroom. He hurried around tidying the room as I relieved myself, talking about the quality of the gnome tailors’ work, explaining that dinner would be a light affair as the opera began at eight, and that he had noticed that I might require a touch-up to my white roots before the production this evening, if I so wished, of course.
“That will be fine, Rugby,” I yawned after giving it a shake. Into the tub I was steered. The water was hot enough to scald the fur off a werebruin. My ass refused to sink down into the steaming water. Rugby tut-tutted me then shoved. I went in up to my neck with a hoot of shock. Within a moment I was slumping back into the claw-foot tub, my eyelids heavy as stones.
“Do you wish for me to wash you, Master Reed?” Rugby inquired. My eyes flew open. The man had removed my glasses while I snoozed. I could barely make out the Rugby’s dark eyes.
“No, that won’t be necessary, Rugby.” I quickly took the bar of Mikel’s soap as well as the thick washcloth.
“I’ll leave you to your bath then, Master Reed. If you require any assistance, I shall be directly outside, sanding down the stumps.”
I slid down into the bubbles until all that remained above the soapy surface were my eyes. By the elders, imagine the gossip in the kitchen this evening. I scrubbed briskly. It was still rather unsettling for me to have a staff. My family never had a servant. It was a rather looked down upon practice among the lesser breeds to be honest. Just another sign of the elite subjugating those less fortunate than them, you know.
That was why I tended to pick up after the lycans now that I lived here. Mikel was constantly chiding me about it, telling me that serving his family name was all the staff knew or wished to do. But if they were given a choice in this world, surely they would choose something less subservient, wouldn’t they? It was a discussion he and I had frequently but never seemed to resolve.
Sixty minutes passed as I shaved, had my roots touched up, and was assisted into the most perfectly fitted tuxedo I had ever worn. As I gazed at my reflection in the full-length mirror inside the closet I shared with Mikel, I could not believe the dapper man staring back at me was Templeton Reed.
“Rugby, I look downright debonair!” I proclaimed. Rugby agreed, as all good domestics do. After one final tug on my cummerbund followed by an adjustment of the white rosebud in my lapel, he announced that I was ready. I fairly sailed down the grand staircase. Into the dining room I went. My jaw slapped my chest when my three dinner companions all rose in tandem.
“What a handsome trio,” I said and meant it. Each of the three lycan men filled out their ebony formalwear to perfection. Mikel stole my gaze and held it. His reddish-black hair was pulled back into a colonial-era club that drew out his regal cheekbones. His golden eyes glowed. The man made the suit in this instance. I eyed him openly. He bowed formally then waved at my seat next to his. I was so besotted with my lover that I stumbled over Eddie’s polished black shoe as I went around the table. Maybe if my eyes were on my clumsy feet instead of on Mikel...
&
nbsp; “You cut a fine figure, Templeton,” Mikel said as I took my seat. My sight was still glued to the width of his shoulders beneath that incredible jacket. “Mrs. Dunrite informs me that we’re having grilled chicken with a side of avocado corn chowder.”
“I thought we were dining light,” I said as I snapped my napkin open.
“Well, it is only one chicken,” Mikel said with a saucy wink. My prick began to thicken. I quickly laid my napkin over my burgeoning erection. Mikel, knowing what the pink in my cheeks meant, ignored the slip of napkin etiquette -- hosts open their napkins first, according to the old ways -- then laid his own napkin over his lap. “We have an hour to dine. The ferry will be at the dock at precisely seven.”
The kitchen staff, which consisted of Mrs. Dunrite and a slim girl named Eru, who also bore the mark of the elf, hustled out of the kitchen. Rugby stood beside the roaring fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, ready to assist in serving should he be needed. He never was. I smiled at the short, squat cook. Mrs. Dunrite was a rarity among the rare, a Halfling that carried dwarven blood. When standing, her ginger head reached my chest. When she spoke to Mikel her nose brushed his navel. Her cheeks were round and red, her eyes brilliant green pools, her arms and waist thick, and her temper rumored to rival that of Wondak the Wild, a famous dwarven berserker warrior.
Eru hustled around the table, her black eyes downcast. Both women wore sober brown dresses with white aprons. Neither wore shoes. That might upset some but when you’re eating with werewolves, shoes are the least of one’s concerns. The chicken was placed in the middle of the table. Eru jerked her slim arm back when Dave and Eddie lunged at the meat. Mikel cleared his throat. Rugby gasped. Both lumbering males in black paused mid-pounce to stare blankly at their Alpha.