Her Pets

"The straps are too tight, Ma'am!"

"No, they are not. Just relax and enjoy."

"No...please...really! I can't feel my hands!"

"Dearest! You are not paying attention to me. Now quit complaining."

"Please..." moaning and beginning to cry. "Please...my feet...what's wrong with my feet?"

"Nothing."

Sobbing now. Then screaming. Then nothing.

As blood dripped onto the floor, she smiled, her fangs barely visible. Stripping off the long, satin opera gloves, she opened the heavy, oaken door and called for 1 and 2.

"Clean up the mess. And be sure to put away all my toys this time. The straps need oiling, and my best English cane needs to be sanded a bit." She strode out of the dim room, her chestnut hair streaming out behind her.

1, the heavier of the two wolves, growled at 2, who was smaller and somewhat timid. "We always have to clean up her mess. Why?" 1 snatched a bit of hanging thigh meat. "For this? This bit of rubbish? I am tired of playing maid to the bitch upstairs."

2 quivered a bit. "What if she hears you?" he slid up to the bloody body and tore off a bit for himself. "I mean, she takes care of us and feeds us and sometimes loves us. I think."

1 grinned, blood running through his fur. He swung his massive head towards the slightly open door. "Yes...love. Let's show her some love."

2 was appalled.

"Just what are you suggesting?" he murmured, exceptionally afraid she would overhear them. "You know tonight is the Dark of the Moon. We're human and mortal tonight. It's the only night she lets us be human, and she could do something horrible to us." he whined and backed away from the doorway.

1 grinned a shaggy grin, his ragged teeth dripping gore. "Yes, she could, but we will distract her tonight. And behave for a little while, but then..." he stared at the heavy, iron banded door, his gaze sharpening. Suddenly, he spun around and stood up on hind legs, drawing himself up to his great height of seven feet. "We will be free of this bitch tonight, Brother. I promise!"

2 busied himself with cleaning up the remains. He dared not look at 1.

*****

She sat in the Library, perhaps the very finest room in the entire house. The house, if you could call a mansion with 54 rooms something as simple as a "house", and grounds suited her, as it was an antebellum plantation home, located deep in Western Carolina at the very base of the Appalachian Mountains, far away from any neighbors. She could stand on the Widow's Walk, and gaze at the great, dark forest, or at the fine, majestic mountains in the distance. Yes, it suited her well. She was close enough to Charlotte to bring back all the willing lost boys and girls, yet far enough away for no one to bother her.

A fire was blazing in the great stone fireplace, illuminating only a few feet around it. She had only one lamp on for reading, but that was all the light in the vast, sprawling room. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling; great leather bound editions all the way down to ragged paperbacks. Every language was found in this room; she herself spoke seven languages and could not bring herself to read Russian novels in anything but Russian. It was the elitist in her.

But something was wrong.

Usually, after finishing with whichever gender she happened to bring home, the boys were happy, even excited, to have fresh meat. The tension in the air was so apparent, she could have reached out...reached out and strangled it. They were plotting something again. She coolly turned the pages, not really reading at all, merely going through the motions. The sound of the pages turning was loud in the deep silence of the house. She could hear their breathing, their racing hearts. Having dealt with their small uprisings before, she would squash any rebellion immediately.

*******

Night fell quickly in their part of the world. She gazed out the tall windows, noting the shadows as they spread. The heavens revealed their glory in the vast number of stars visible...oh, but the moon was not. The moon tides pulled at her--she knew it was the Dark of the Moon.

So, she waited.

Suddenly, the French doors boomed open, bouncing off each adjacent wall. Dust of plaster from the ceiling drifted down slowly.

"Must you make such an entrance, 1?" she coolly asked, setting her book aside.

"I have a name." he smoothly replied. "Or have you forgotten?"

"I forget nothing, Adrian." she turned and looked at him, her crimson velvet robe wrapped loosely around her. "I choose to call you 1. It is my right. I do own you."

He stood before her, a man once more. Where black fur once was, was now intricate tattoos and piercings. He was tall, but heavily muscled. Black hair, so black it looked perpetually wet, crowned him. His chest was covered in a light pelt which ran down to between his legs and framed the thick, heavy, hard cock waiting there. Gold rings were set in his wide-spaced nipples. His left ear held a thick, plain gold ring, but his cock and balls gleamed the most--a Prince Albert was there, as well as six smaller rings placed in a row up the bottom of his shaft. There were two rings placed high on his ball sac--they looked as if it had been a traumatic experience getting those in. Black, tribal tattoos wound around his arms and thighs. They danced and mingled on his back, so intertwined, one became dizzy just trying to look at them. His cock was so hard, it was purple; precum dripped onto the floor.

She smiled cruelly at him. "Do be so kind as to clean that up. It will stain the rug."

With seeminly one move, he was across the room, tearing the robe off of her. She allowed it, and stood only in her red corset and lace pantalets. As he was pulling at her wrists, they were interrupted by 2.

"My Lady..."2 stuttered, standing in the open doorway. He was smaller than 1, but more lithe...and fair. As fair as fresh snow. His blond hair spilled down his shoulders, and he had more hair on his body than 1. And much more around his long, thin cock. Where she had tattooed 1, and held him down as he screamed when she pierced him, she had branded 2. Scars ran all over 2's body--thin, whitish lines whirling and twisting from his neck down. It had been a great deal of fun for her to strap him to the long table downstairs, then climb naked on top of him and sit on his chest. She had shown him her hands, and twirled the simple silver ring around and around, laughing as he sweated, his eyes getting larger and larger, and the pupils dilating in fear. She never said a word, but began running the silver ring down his skin; where the ring passed, the skin smoked and blistered. Oh, yes, she had had an exceptionally good time as he screamed, leading to intense orgasms every time. But the poor boy always screamed himself hoarse, finally losing consciousness. When that happened, she would climb down and let 1 get him up. It was no fun if he wasn't screaming. The patterns were complete now; it had taken several sessions to cover his entire body.

2 knelt down, hiding his twitching, dripping cock, and 1 snarled at him, "Get up, you stupid fuck!" 1 turned his attention back to her, his grey eyes sweeping over her form. When he attempted to pull her to him, she slipped through his grasp, laughing lightly. He stumbled, surprised by her move. Quickly, he righted himself, and howled at her, "Damn it, you know we have the right to you at the Dark of the Moon! It's the only fucking thing you allow us! Why the game...my lady?" he added sarcastically.

She stood in front of one of the windows for a moment, then turned to him. Faster than he could follow, she was behind him, her hands full of his black hair, pulling cruelly. Putting her face close to his, her fangs full and noticeable, she whispered, "Tonight you have to earn it."

2 began whining, low in the back of his throat. He knew what "earning" meant. Torn, that's what he was, torn between his Mistress and his Brother...who was right?

She continued to pull 1's hair, harder, softer, until she was merely running her nails through the silky strands. Still whispering in his ear, she explained, "You pups are going to perform for me tonight." 1's cock twitched, and he hated it, hated it with everything he had. She slid around in front of him and took one of his hands. Slowly, she ran her tongue over his fingers, and scraped the back of his hand with her fangs lightly. "No excuses,...Adrian."

2 jerked up, amazed she had used his Brother's real name. How many years had it been since she had called them anything but "1" and "2"? He couldn't even remember. He crawled over to her, and began kissing her feet over and over and over.

"Lovely, Elliot." Her hands ran through his hair softly. Then grabbing a handful of it, she yanked 2 to his feet. "Now, my two darling wolves, shall we retire to a more...appropriate...room?" Grasping each of their ball sacs, she led them out of the library, down the hallway, and up a long, wide flight of stairs.