Raised By Wolves Volume four- Wolves (15 page)

And it immediatelyfled myscrutinylike a mouse. I sat down with hot tears of frustration in my eyes. Gastoncame to me in a rush ofconcern, his own member falling, whichonlyrubbed salt inmyfreshwound.
“Damn it, it rose,” I said. It was the first I had spoken of it since we came to the Haiti.
“I saw,” he whispered and kissed me lightly. “That was promising. It willreturn, mylove.”
“As longas I payit no mind,”I grumbled.
“Then we will have to keep you distracted,” he teased and leaned down to nip my thigh. “And I will have to sit about and leaned down to nip my thigh. “And I will have to sit about naked and aroused to draw it out.”
I chuckled at that. “Oui, please do.” I thought of how he had appeared. “It is always a pleasure to see you gaze upon me in that fashion. Despite all I know in my head, my heart cannot think of a thing that makes me feelas loved as you being risen to greet me—of your own volition—or rather, seemingly of your cock’s volition....”
He frowned, and I shook my head as I realized I was fallingfrommyHorse, or perhaps mountingHim. I was thinking.
“I am sorry, I will stop thinking now,” I said and began to pullaway. “That is the root ofthe problemas it is, anyway.”
He held me fast. “I would know what you meant. And if thinkingis the root, thenperhaps it is time we digit out.”
I sighed, and felt acutely the dimming of the sun as it slipped behind the gathering clouds. Perhaps it was time to confront this wolf—and perhaps others.
I smiled thinly and studied his face. “You rise without thought at the sight of women, as is your cock’s wont; but I feel you must think about rising for me: that your Horse must coax your cock into the act.”
He thought for a time before shaking his head. “Non, that was once true, but it is no longer. You are so in my heart now that it often rises without my needing to think that it should. It is rather like learning a language. There is a time when one must think about what each word means, and then finally, one simply knows what each word means when they are heard: it is no longer necessary to translate them. I see you, and my cock rises, and then I think of the pleasure to come. Before, I would rises, and then I think of the pleasure to come. Before, I would see you, and think of the pleasure, and then my cock would rise.”
“Truly?” I asked with wonder. “I have been laboring under a false assumptionthen.”
“Not for all the years we have been together, non; but for…” He sighed with a frown. “I do not know when I began to rise without the translation. It seemed so correct I put little thought into the change.”
I was truly pleased. That had not been a wolf at all, but the shadow ofa little fox.
“Does it happen with other men?” I asked, stillseeking a larger threat.
He grinned. “Non, onlyfor you.”
That engendered guilt; and then I remembered why, and I could see an entire pack of wolves lurking in the trees. “Mine knows no suchdiscretion.”
He peered at me curiously. “Oui, and I sometimes feel jealousy at that; though you have never given me cause. As I am sure you feel jealousy knowing I rise for women. We have…” He stopped and appeared stricken.
I was surelystricken.
“Will, I am sorry. I forgot why… we are here…” he breathed, and embraced me.
I saw the phantom wolves issuing from that terrifying cave in my heart. It was their den. Less fancifully, I recalled arguing with that bastard, Collins. The memory was as ephemeral as a dream though, and I could not recall it with certainty:onlyits taint.
certainty:onlyits taint.
“Youshould rise at women, and I at men,”I said.
“Oui,” Gaston said and pulled away enough to study my face again. “And I should rise withyou.”
And apparently he did rise with me—of his cock’s own volition:a thingI had not known.
“I do not hold you at fault for the women,” I said carefully. “I would be angryifit were other men.”
“You should be,” he said. “It would mean they meant muchto me.”
“And, as I find favor with women as well, I feel I cannot reciprocate inthat… devotion. Does that sound ofreasonor…”
He smiled. “Non, it sounds reasonable. I have never seenyourise at the sight ofa woman, though.”
I snorted at that. “Oui, it is a rare one that will call my cock forth. Men, not so rare: but women, perhaps I have been translatingthere allalong.”
“You have always said you knew first that you favored men: were women a thing you trained yourself to enjoy?” he

whenfirst I knew I might bed one, mycock was not interested in her so much, but in the prospect of at last being able to plunge into something. She was a dark and wondrous hole. Gods, I cannot evenrecallthat poor girl’s face.”

He chuckled sympathetically. “So, if I do catch you gettingrise froma woman, I have everyright to be jealous.”
“Oui.” I sobered as I thought of the other side of the equation. “But men…”
“Are as they should be for you,” he said quickly. “Will…” He pulled my chin up, and I met his gaze. “There is no need for guilt on my account. I willonly be angry if you act upon it. And youdid not, Will.”
I shook my head in agreement. “Nay, I did not… act upon it. I did not wish it. He was…” I sighed, not knowing if I wanted to brave the cave enough to find the next words; but here was my matelot beside me:surely two stallions could stomp a pack ofwolves to death.
“Thorp was a man I would have… wanted,” I said sadly, “in another time and place. Gods, he was a man I could have been: or perhaps, was, once upon a time. I have never… would never… resort to rapine; but I have found great pleasure in the seduction of those who stood to lose much in finding pleasure at my hands. I was often cruel in that. It is a thing I regret.
“I would tell myself that transmuting their protests, their ‘please do not’ into ‘please do not stop’ was a triumph over their fickle mores and the rules of society. I felt I was freeing them:but I seldomsaw themthe morning after to see what I had wrought once theyhad to face their guilt. I was a monster.”
I had once delighted in getting a man who swore he loved onlyone manto respond to me.
That wolf bit deep, and I cringed from the pain. New tears came.
“You are no longer that man, my love,” Gaston said gently. “And youtriumphed whenfaced witha shade ofhim.”
“Oui,”I admitted. “But at sucha cost.”
“Can you not forgive your Horse and your cock?” he asked carefully.
“I feel I can,” I said honestly. “I feel they cannot forgive me.”
But even as I said the words, I envisioned my Horse— and thus realized I had truly assumed the mantle of my Man again. My Horse was standing there patiently, head forward, watchingme:not withtrust, perhaps, but witha willingness to see what I would do next without runningfromme.
“Give themtime,” Gaston said softly. “We have as much time as youneed.”
I was going to express my agreement, but with a single warning rumble, the sky opened like a sluice gate as it often did in this season, and rain poured down upon us as we scrambled to our shelter.
Our somber mood was driven to run before us: through our smallabode and out the other side:so that when we tumbled onto our woven mattress, it was with the giddiness of boys. Clammy flesh pressed to clammy flesh, and we shivered at the suddencold as we beganto rub one another warm. And thenthe wolves found me again with a vengeance, as I recalled another run from the rain and the pleasure that followed: Shane and a barnallthose years ago.
Gaston stilled as I did, and regarded me with renewed concern.
“Shane and that first time inthe barn,”I sighed. “It seems allmythoughts are knotted together.”
He nodded solemn agreement. “That is the way of the mind.” He kissed me lightly. “What would you have of me?” He frowned in thought and smiled anew. “Is there some string I might pullor tease?”
I followed the thread of storms and recalled our trysting inthe face ofdeathonour voyage fromMaracaibo; and the night he returned to me at Negril; and his weight upon my back and his furtive humping… I had panicked that night. The thread of straw led to my drunken admission ofmy fear ofit at Ithaca; and to my overcoming that fear and our happy hours with the puppies in the stall we lived in when last in Port Royal; and our Horseplay; and our fight in Porto Bello, when he had struck me and taken what he would in the name of jealousy over Alonso. I had more than panicked that night: I had lost myself to madness and nearlykilled him.
“Youshould perhaps not pullmystrings,”I said withwry amusement. “At least, not ones related to straw or storms or…”
He frowned, but cocked his head withcuriosity.
“I am much like a marionette,” I said, “with tangled strings, so that I flop about unpredictably.” I shook my head, not sure of what I was attempting to convey. “I amtangled. You are tangled everywhere: in me: with me. All skeins lead to you, yet…”I sighed.
“So if I pull a string…” He lifted my arm by holding the tip ofmyfinger. “I might not get the desired result?”
I nodded and smiled; and raised the arm he was not touching.
“Canwe cut a string?”Gastonasked seriously.
I considered it. “Can you sever a thread of your thoughts? How would that… Would the chain of memory simply end if that was done? Or would we know that it once connected to a thing we cannot remember? Was that how you felt when youcould not recallthe night your sister died?”
He nodded with understanding. “Non. I felt it was behind a snarl of string… Non, like it passed through a hole in a board: as if all things related to that night passed through holes in the board. And I could pull on one, only to find it was somehow tied to the others.” He smiled. “And that would lead to my floppingabout unpredictablyas yousay.”
I could envision it. “Oui, oui. We cannot cut them. It is just that sometimes we cannot see where they lead. And we are ever pulling on strings in the snarl and causing some unexpected limb to twitch.”
Gaston’s eyes widened with some new thought. “They tried to pull your strings—that bastard Thorp did—and you flopped about…”
“In a manner I did not wish,” I finished quickly. “Oui. He…”With great trepidation, I stood in the cave mouth, torch in hand. I could see the eyes of wolves reflecting in the torchlight, but not the animals themselves. “He wanted me to react in a certain manner. And I did…” With shame, I recalled my panic and fear after Thorp blindfolded me: his caressing and pinching: so like what my matelot might do and I might enjoy. A wolf snarled at myfeet. I felt illand nearlyconvulsed withnausea.
My matelot held and soothed me. I let his comfort give me courage, and I kicked the wolf away and continued peering into the darkness.

“He wanted… He pulled on simple strings; and some that were snarled a bit… or a great deal—such as the ones that lead me to pleasure when tormented or helpless. And… I could not allow that limb to move: whether it was the one he was attemptingto move or not. So I… I could not cut it.”

That was a curious revelation; and a happy one. It was reassuring that nothing was severed. A tangled thing was not broken. It need not be mended, only unknotted. And I had always lived withtangled skeins, had I not?

“I could not cut it,” I repeated. “So I knotted it even more. It is just another knot, and my mind is fullofthem, and yet I live on. I performallmanner offeats withtangled strings.”

Gaston smiled. “So we must only find what new strings we must pullto move the knot.”
I shrugged. “Or simply pass through the knot. Seeing you gazing upon me with lust and arousal pulled a simple string.” I frowned. “It was not one tangled withthe rest.”
With a mischievous grin, he moved from atop me to lie on his belly beside me and wiggled his arse enticingly. With a chuckle, I rolled atop him to sit astride his back. I caressed his scarred hide, tracing familiar whorls and blossoms of hardened white skin; feeling the muscle beneath, and giving him cause to shiver as my fingertips brushed the sensitive stripes of tan, unmarred flesh. My hands ventured up and out his shoulders and upper arms until they found his forearms. I paused there; spread above him, myfingers about his wrists.
He tensed beneath me, only to relax with a deep sigh. “Do as youwill,”he whispered.

I thought on it. We had never played so: with him being bound or restrained: with him surrendering to me. He yielded to me, true, but never as a matter of our Horseplay. At times he had said my binding him whilst he was in the throes of madness brought himcomfort:a feelingthat he was loved. But it had never beena matter oflust.

Was controllinghima thingI wanted? He once explained that he enjoyed controlling me because it empowered his Horse: the beast had so often been powerless in his life that it desired exercising complete control now and again. And my Horse’s wish to be over-powered—to be ridden—was a fine example of how very tangled I was. And that mess was, of course, why I had beenforced to fight Thorp so veryhard.

I leaned upon his wrists a bit more, and caressed the scars there with the tips of my thumbs. He disliked being bound, and he had been chained again in those weeks ofour separation; yet he would surrender to me. I did not feel desire to make him writhe as he had often done with me. His surrender filled me with… love—that he would trust me so—but no lust.

Non, the stirrings oflust occurred whenI thought oflying thus beneath him. After all we had been through, that was still what my Horse desired. He watched me with wary eyes from the mouth of the cave. The wolves snarled within: well beyond the reachofthe torchI carried:the light ofour love.

I was a Gordianknot.
I shifted my weight from Gaston’s wrists, and leaned down to place an arc of gentle kisses fromhis temple to his chin. He opened his eyes as I moved to lie beside him, and regarded

I smiled. “That is not a thing I desire. I would have you ride me, though.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Do as youwill. Make me run. I must give myHorse His head onthat matter. I must…
accept
that tangled part ofmysoul again.”
He regarded me withconcernand wonder, and caressed mycheek witha fingertip.
“Unless youdo not wishit,”I said softly.
He snorted disparagingly, and his Horse drifted into his eyes. “The knowledge that someone else attempted to ride you in that manner fills me with greater anger than knowing you were used at all,” he growled. And then his Horse was gone and I could see himstrugglingina morass ofguilt.
“Non, non,” I assured him. “I understand. It was the greater violation. It was not merely an act of violence upon my person, but violence attempted uponmysoul.”
I recalled my thoughts from the morning after Thorp’s first desecrationofmyperson:about beingraped bya wolfbeing far worse thanbeingraped bya sheep. I told Gastonofit.
His guilt abated, and as I finished, he regarded me with teeth upon his lips and dark and roiling thoughts behind his eyes. I felt he had not heard a thingI said whenhe spoke.
“You are mine,” he growled. “And your Horse best never runfor anyother man.”
All that was rational and sane of my person—in the eyes ofother menwho lived chained inchairs watchingshadows upon the wall—gasped and recoiled with dismay and surprise. My the wall—gasped and recoiled with dismay and surprise. My Horse trembled with anticipation. I cringed further still as the knots about my heart tightened as a hundred different strings were pulled. My Horse stood bridled and saddled, awaiting the quirt. And mycock stirred:defiantly.
You would have done this for that bastard if I had allowed it!
I railed silentlyat mysoul.
I am a Horse
, my beast replied.
I know only the wind in my mane and the road beneath my hooves. You are the one who chooses the road. You are the one who keeps us from running off a cliff.
Yes!
I cried.
I am. And…
I had.
My Horse could do naught but run when bridled and saddled: when those strings drew taut. And my cock could do naught but rise when handled with deliberate kindness or the organ in my nether passage was rubbed just so. And I could do naught but stop them in the name of principle. We had all behaved according to our nature. We had all behaved according to truth.
I no longer heard the wolves inthe cave.
Oblivious to the now-receding turmoil in my heart, or perhaps in response to it, Gaston was tying my hands to the roots of a tree that sprawled under the rock overhang of our home. I felt I had been struggling: as he had felt the need to pin me withhis weight across myshoulders.
I surrendered. There had been no shame: I had averted that disaster. There was no shame now: I was merely dancing to the knot work woven into my soul. I was loved. I was safe. I could hand himthe reins and let himride myHorse.
could hand himthe reins and let himride myHorse.
He sat astride me and whispered in my ear. “We will exorcise those demons. What did theydo? Tellme everything.”
My cock was indeed stirring; and I wished for it to be trapped between us, but he was sitting too far up on my belly. “Kiss me first,”I whispered.
His grin was feral, and he plundered my mouth mercilessly as I squirmed beneath himhoping to rub my growing member against himsomehow.
“Start talking; or I’llstop,”he threatened witha smile.
I laughed helplessly. “I love you.”
“I know.” He shifted and sat where I wished, pinning my now-turgid member betweenus.
I gasped. It had been so long, I had not remembered it feelingso good.
He stroked his member.
“Let us make love first,”I pleaded.
He shook his head. His smile was cruel.
I remembered… Thorp: doing much the same: looking much the same: while I was bound and helpless. I tore my gaze fromGaston and studied the tree tops pounded by the rain. “Do not,”I breathed. “I do not wishto associate one withthe other.”
Gaston leaned down to hiss in my ear. “You already have. We are here to cure that.”
I groaned with frustration: not from unrequited lust; but that I should be such a tangled mess as to require this activity at all.
“You made me remember one night, my love,” Gaston whispered kindly. “And it was good that you did. I would have gone years without understanding.”
“But I understand,”I protested.
He snorted in my ear and caressed my face and neck sweetly.
I twisted beneath him: my still-hard cock enjoying the sensation of being pressed and held: my Horse enjoying the leather about my wrists and the bonds of the heart they represented. I sighed withresignation.
“He only raped me twice…” I began. I told my love of all that had occurred in as much detail as I could muster. I did not vomit. There was no cave. My cock retreated—as did Gaston’s. In the end, I lay there crying in his arms: my freed limbs wrapped tightlyabout him.
We lay twined together in silence for a long time. His hands at last began to quest, and his kisses became insistent. I was exhausted, but still anxious and pleased by his attentions. And then he reached my member and it remained stubbornly quiescent. I was filled withdismay.
“Hush,” my matelot murmured. “It will rise for me tomorrow. I willmake it.”
Anxietyclutched at myhead, but myHorse nickered and rubbed against him. “How?”
“I know those strings,” Gaston assured me with a warm and lovingsmile.
“I suppose youdo,”I sighed. “Reins,”I corrected.
He chuckled against my neck. “Oui. And I have a fine quirt.”
“Do you?” “Oui. I willnot fuck youagainuntilyourise for me.”
“Damn you,” I said with tired amusement. My Horse informed me this would not be a problem. I chuckled and snuggled against mymatelot.
In the morning, it all seemed a dream: my captivity and Thorp’s depredations, and my telling Gaston of it. All memories prior to our arrival in this paradise seemed but a faint echo of a distant recollectionofa thingthat occurred insomeone else’s life. I did not seek to make any of it clearer as I went about our morning routine. I sank happily back into my Horse’s timeless view ofthe here and now.
My matelot was apparently not so lulled by the need for forgetfulness. He beckoned me into the woods as the sun began to climb. I knew he had been about something:he had come and gone fromour camp several times carrying our improvised tools. I followed him and found him grinning next to a fallen tree. I raised a questioningeyebrow.
“Strip,”he commanded.
I snorted with amusement even as my gut clenched with concern. I was quick to do as he ordered, though.
He pointed at the tree. “Leanover it.”
I saw the stakes he had set into the ground onthe side of the trunk I faced. I understood. MyHorse was delighted. I could not say I was dismayed. I did as he bade, and he quickly secured my ankles to the stakes and climbed over the log to do the same to my wrists. I lay as I had over the barrel in Collins’s prison.
I adjusted my weight, attempting to make it easier to breathe; but I was pantingsuchthat evenwithout the pressure on my chest I would have found it difficult. My heart raced and I gripped the ropes affixingme to the stakes withsweatypalms.
Gaston knelt before me and pressed his cheek to mine. “How are we?”he murmured withgreat kindness.
I answered witha stunningtruth. “I amas hard as aniron