The redecoration downstairs explained why the brothers had been missing from their jaunt. Gone was the wooden bench with its restraints and stirrups where William had spent so many hours and in its place lay a low pallet of pillows covered by a comforter from the bed upstairs. Curtains hung over the small windows, shutting out the gathering storm, the room was airless and stinking of hashish, perfume and hot wax from myriad candles and against one wall, in front of another pile of cushions currently occupied by Brolly, stood Cropper’s hookah. The whole place put William in mind of the demented opulence of opium dens and harems.
Lyall smiled at him from the far corner, and William hesitated in the doorway, not really wanting to enter this strange new environment, memories of coming back to find the bed stripped when the piercings happened derailing his thoughts. Behind him, Cropper gave a sharp shove and William stumbled forwards, tripping and falling to the floor.
He glanced up, mouth full of protestations that remained unvoiced when Cropper looked him over and said, “Several months ago, you informed me of your wish to become a wolf. This afternoon I asked again, and you said you were ready for this. At least try to show a little courage.”
That was a dastardly lie. Considering his experiences since being sent away to school, William considered himself brave to the point of foolhardiness. He opened his mouth to retort and stopped at the dark expression on Cropper’s face. With a twist in his gut, William realised there was more going on here than he understood, but what was completely evident was Cropper’s determination to see this through, come hell or high water.
Apparently mollified by William’s compliance, Cropper nodded. “Undress then.”
Blushing, William scrambled to his feet and peeled off his clothes, avoiding the other boys’ eyes. They had all seen him naked, but it still made him feel vulnerable when they were dressed and he was not. He piled his clothes in one corner and turned back to Cropper.
“Oh,” he gasped.
Brutus stood before him, clad only in a pair of loose cotton trousers. Despite their many hours together, William had never seen him nude, or even shirtless, unless it was under the covers with the candles extinguished, and he was… magnificent.
“Kiss him,” Cropper ordered settling back onto his pile of cushions and taking a puff from his pipe.
Hands shaking, William reached up and drew Brutus’ mouth down to his level, acutely aware of the similarities between this situation and the one in the prep room a week ago. The kiss was as good as he remembered, making his skin burn and his cock rise, and when Brutus wrapped him in a tight embrace, pulling him on to his toes to access his mouth more thoroughly, William couldn’t prevent a groan creaking from his chest.
“Enough.”
Brutus drew back immediately, his arms dropping to his sides leaving William to flounder.
“Is he hard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lyall? Do the honours please.”
I am a wolf, I am worthy, William muttered under his breath as Lyall came towards him holding a contraption that looked oddly like a miniature bridle. It wasn’t for his head though, at least not the one he expected. Working fast and efficiently, Lyall buckled, tied and clipped it around William’s cock and balls. It was tight, to the point of discomfort and, even when Lyall finished and stepped back, William could not fathom its use.
“Come here,” Cropper said.
Walking proved an interesting experience, but William managed to shuffle towards him, each movement bringing new sensations from the soft leather sheath enclosing his prick and the straps around and between his balls, separating them and stretching them downwards. The final touch, a heavy gold chain, threaded from piercing ring to straps to piercing ring, jangled with every step and made him feel like a pony dressed up for the county fair.
Brolly’s distinctive giggle cut through the silence. Embarrassment pushed William’s shoulders back and his chin up as he took the last few steps. The wall was still the same whitewash as he remembered.
“Kneel.”
The familiar command sent William to his knees and, once he was at eye level, he began crawling forwards to take Cropper in his mouth.
“I do not recall asking you to do that,” Cropper said, stopping him with a hand in his hair, twisting it until William was forced to turn his head. “In fact I don’t remember telling you to do aught but kneel, boy.”
William managed a nod but the hand clutched tighter, making his scalp scream.
“Answer me properly.”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes… sir?”
“Much better.” The hand released him and William hunched down, before a voice snapping, “Kneel!” reminded him of where he was supposed to be – on his knees, eyes downcast, waiting.
“I believe that confirms what I thought. No matter. Listen to me now, and listen well. You have but one task here tonight, and that is utter obedience. Do you think you can at least manage to accomplish that much with some level of competency?”
Obedience, if William was honest, wasn’t his forte. He had a tendency to regard rules as being aimed at other people and only abided by them when it suited him. He blamed his mother. However, whilst he may be headstrong, he wasn’t stupid. Aloud, he said “Yes,” agreeing in principle, though silently praying he could so in practice.
“Good boy. Now I have a choice for you. Lyall?”
Lyall brought over a small ebony chest and set in next to William, retreating to his station once the task was completed. On Cropper’s gesture, William flipped back the beautiful inlaid lid to reveal a row of Priapus scale phalluses nested in black velvet.
Glancing over at Cropper, hoping for an indication of what was expected of him, William was disappointed; Cropper’s face remained unwaveringly impassive. He could not bring himself to look to Brutus for help, and the younger ones’ expressions offered not a single clue.
It all came down to a decision then. A choice, Cropper had said. Did that mean a choice of these? William ran a single finger along the carved marble length of one of the beasts and shivered. Given the option he would select none. They were all much larger than Cropper and the concept of any deep inside him was terrifying. But Cropper had also demanded utter obedience. What did that signify? Was he supposed to make an obedient choice? It was virtually an oxymoron, given that William had no idea which of these things Cropper wanted him to chose. Maybe that was all part of the test?
Removing his hand with one last lingering touch, William chose and hoped he had chosen rightly.
“You asked for my obedience,” he said. “Therefore in all honesty, this is not my choice to make. I will bide by whatever you desire.”
A collective release of breath from all the boys and the satisfaction on Cropper’s face told William he had done well. He sighed, relaxing back on his heels as Lyall returned, closed the box with a smile and bore it away.
“Excellent,” Cropper said. “There are few who have the faith to complete that test without protesting.”
William grinned, relieved that he had managed to get it right, and Cropper’s rich chuckle filled the room.
“Do not allow yourself too much self congratulation, boy, that was but one of many tests you will face today, and in many ways by far the easiest.”
The words took some of the joy away but nothing could completely quell William’s sense of achievement. Thus, when Cropper instructed him to go and lie face down on the pallet, and not to move, he went gladly.
*
Was it possible to feel such rage and such pride toward the same person simultaneously? Ballard would not have thought it possible before Brutus returned to him last Sunday to report that his relationship with William had finally been properly consummated. And he had done it to protect Price, no less. Truly Ballard could not have wished for more. Except that William had been his boy and now that Brutus had fucked him, that exclusivity was gone and Ballard doubted he would bother taking him again.
That explained the rage. He always felt it when they left him. The pride? That was simple too. Other boys, Lyall, Forster, even Brolly, had left him to follow foolish affairs, or some petty vengeance designed to wreak havoc on their master. They failed of course, because Ballard would not allow himself to be controlled in such a way. He was a wolf, and as such, made his own decisions. William had shown similar initiative in offering himself to Brutus in lieu of Price. It proved once again, what Ballard had believed from the start. The boy had a finely tuned sense of responsibility and once his pesky conscience was quashed, William would make a fine wolf.
So, both anger and pride. Such disparate emotions, yet lodged neatly side by side in his heart when he gazed upon the boy lying on the bed of pillows.
Ballard gestured to Brutus to begin, settling back in the cushions and taking a deep draw on his pipe, luxuriating in the rush that filled his head. It was a small vice, and one he allowed himself sparingly. At Brolly’s pout he passed over the hose and allowed the younger boy his share, switching his attention from hookah to hooker.
He watched William flinch at the first touch of Brutus’ hand and then melt under the strong deliberate strokes working the cinnamon oil into his skin. Its mildly euphoric effects should bring the boy to precisely the right state of heightened awareness.
The room fell silent, to the point where their boy’s deep regular breaths seemed loud and Ballard, taking that as his cue, leaned over to Brolly and whispered, “Get ready. I don’t wish him distressed by too much noise once he’s relaxed.”
Brolly nodded, shucked his shoes and socks, and rose to his feet, stripping off his shirt and casting it back onto the cushions. Silently, he padded across the room to the flat panelled cupboard, opened the door and selected his personal cane, flexing the rigid length between his hands to check for cracks or flaws. It was perfect, of course, but he wanted to be sure. A good beating started with the highest quality tools.
Not that there wasn’t more to it. Other boys may practice their batting technique or Ovid. Not Brolly. For Brolly there was no pleasure like the swish of a well-aimed cane and the smack of it hitting flesh, and he would gladly devote many hours to the pursuit. On either end.
Glancing over at Brutus and then down at William, Brolly calculated he had a few minutes to warm up before the boy was ready. He rotated his shoulders and swung his arms, loosening up the muscles he would need to make this pleasurable for all concerned. Cropper smiled at him, and he returned that smile before turning away. He could not allow himself to be distracted, and looking at Cropper always distracted him. As the months slid past it was increasingly difficult to forget that as heir apparent he would become head wolf at the school once Cropper left. Such power he would then have to command!
But that was for the future. For now he needed to concentrate. In his head Brolly rehearsed the pattern of blows and caresses he would inflict on that sensitive skin. Gentle, to begin with, like the patter of heavy rain, getting the boy accustomed to the feel of it – there was no use in really hurting him, at least not before Brolly was ready to take him up a level. Starting with the feet and working upward; calves, thighs, buttocks, back and shoulders, punishing the paleness until it glowed. Spacing and pacing perfect, a little harder with each pass, listening for any sign of panic, any indication that the slow burn was becoming too much, waiting until those slim hips pushed up to meet each blow, waiting for desire to reach its peak, and then… Then he could really let fly. That is where the brothers would come in. With a cock down his throat and his legs pinned to the cushions, William would ride the pain or let in consume him, either way he wouldn’t be going anywhere.
“He’s ready,” Brutus said quietly, stepping aside to let Brolly take over and to give him enough space to work. His own cock hung heavy between his legs, still aroused from the kiss earlier and not helped by the feel of William’s skin sliding sensuously beneath his hands. He wanted to take the boy again, urgently, but knew the charade must play out a little longer. Not that it was entirely a charade. He had, after all, gone against Cropper’s order by asking William, even implicitly, to fuck him. Cropper had wanted the boy to make all the running, to see how long he would go without straying. But if anything was said, it would be William’s word against his own, and Brutus knew whom Cropper would rather believe.
From his place leaning against the wall, Brutus watched as Brolly used the tip of the cane as a conductor used his baton – tap, tap, tap. Not a flinch from William. He was too far under to sense the difference at this stage. That was good. Brutus had been witness to more than one of these events that had gone horribly wrong, and fun though it was, he didn’t wish that on William. The boy had such a sweet arse he didn’t want to ruin his chances of burying himself there again.
The tempo and force of the blows increased, and a fine sheen of sweat covered Brolly’s chest, echoed by that puddling undisturbed on William’s back. Slowly, but surely, the boy’s hips started to rise in time with the cane, and Brutus found his hands moving to the same pace, stroking himself through his clothing. He licked his lips and forced himself to stop, to concentrate. He was on duty, not here to enjoy the view.
Oh, but what a view. Each lift, each blow, saw the boy’s thighs slide further apart, the whiteness of the untouched skin a startling contrast to the burnished red of his buttocks. And between? A glimpse of swaying gold, a heavy sac, and that working hungry hole, begging for attention. Whimpers now. Quiet, desperate, full of agonised ignorance. There was no sound sweeter and Brutus bit at his lips to stop his moan becoming an inappropriate harmony.
An insistent cough pulled him from his reverie and he glanced over to see Cropper holding up three fingers. He frowned at the change in plan but knelt down to open the chest, shrugging at Brolly who looked askance at him. Number three, carved in the shape of a dolphin. A beautiful piece perfectly capable of reducing the most resistant arse to begging in Brutus’ experience. It was something to do with the curve of the body and the way the bulbous snout pushed just so on all the right parts.
He picked it up, feeling the slight weight and the living warmth of the ivory. Oiled, it would slide into the boy’s body more smoothly than any human phallus.
Alerted by Cropper, Lyall stepped forward at the same moment as his brother and knelt at William’s head, prepared for restraint or comfort. Running his fingers through sweat drenched curls, he whispered, “Soon, I promise,” and hoped he wasn’t lying. It wasn’t unheard of for Cropper to change the scenario half way through but it left the rest of them wondering what was to happen next. Personally he considered the toy too much.
A hand gripped his wrist and he glanced down, immediately dragged into William’s agony by the need screaming from his eyes.
“Will not - will not,” the words stuttered out so quietly that Lyall had to bend further to hear them over the thwack of the cane.
“Will not come… disobey…”
That made sense. “You cannot,” Lyall answered, berating himself for not telling the boy before this began. “The straps will stop you.”
A shudder ran through William’s body and for a second Lyall thought it resulted from his advice. But no. The clench of fingers digging into his skin and the desperate heave of hips told another story. Number three was home, which meant it was time for him to act.
He lay down, propping himself on one elbow, loosened his trousers and brought his erection to William’s lips. It took a moment but eventually the boy opened up and Lyall slipped inside, hissing as a tongue immediately began to work around the head.
“Very good,” he said. “Now deeper.”
Memories of being in the same position assailed him, of pain like weed in a bathing pool dragging you under until survival became the only thing in your head. And though it seemed cruel, this really did work; the contact acted as an anchor to the familiar. Having a cock in his mouth would make William fall back on instinct and control his breathing, it would demand his concentration and allow the rest of his body to experience the pain without fighting it.
As he slid further down William’s throat, Lyall gripped the back of his head and then glanced up, nodding his readiness to Brolly and Brutus. His brother smiled bleakly and grabbed William’s ankles, pinning them to the cushions. Brolly hesitated, stepped back and swung, bringing the cane down hard across already bruised buttocks.
Pain exploded around William’s body and he fought to escape, fearful of another blow. It didn’t come. Just the flutterings and touches he’d become accustomed to, the smooth of a hand over the pain and then down between his legs to tug gently on the chain sending his hips thrusting forwards into the cushions. The thing inside him seemed to fuse with his prick and together they felt like a single lead bar driven through his entire body. But he did his best to forget everything except Lyall. He could do this. He could obey. He could control his body and so prove he could control others.
The whistle of the cane warned him the next time, and he rode it out, absorbing the pain and not allowing it to defeat him. Pain was nothing to a wolf, a creature known to chew off its own foot rather than remain in a trap. He was no base brute reduced to quivering fear by the application of a whip.
Suffused with a new determination, the third and fourth blows took him higher, tapping into a wellspring of determination he hadn’t known he possessed. Soaring above the physical, his eyes cleared, his mind sharpened and the entire room fell into stark relief. The crimson curtains swelled and pulsed in rhythm to his heartbeat, the walls crawled with tendrils of light and time slowed to an insect crawl. A band loosened around his chest and, like breaking the surface after coming close to drowning, a sense of power flooded through him. He’d discovered his wings before hitting the ground, was the proverbial one-eyed man while all around him grovelled sightless. He’d won. He was a wolf!
A snarl erupted from his chest with primordial ferocity and William rose to his knees, wrenching himself free of the hands that sought to confine him. Brolly’s cane clattered to the floor at his sudden move and William grinned, pinning Lyall flat by his hips before glaring over his shoulder and demanding, “Fuck me!”
Lyall squirmed and thrashed beneath him, and William spared the boy nothing
as he returned to devouring his sweet flesh, pushing spit damp fingers between
Lyall’s legs and forcing them inside even as someone scrabbled between
his own removing the leather that had bound him tight. A hand replaced it and
he thrust hard, losing himself in taste and touch and the sounds of Lyall crying
as his climax was torn from him. Only then did William allow himself the same
pleasure, lifting his head to match eyes with Cropper as he came, fixing them
both into an unwavering dialogue of dominion, a warning that this pup was maturing
fast and that the elder must look to his laurels.