Beware The Wolf - Pt 5 - The Ritual

A maliciously curious human from a previous chapter ends up experiencing an unusual heavy-metal sex ritual at the hands of Steven and Brutus. 

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I screamed in a way I’ve never screamed for real, unintentionally, reactionary, for my life. I turned to run and bolted as fast as I could, but the lights cut out and I could see exactly nothing. No security lights, no safety lights, no windows, no moonlight. I made it a few feet and smashed into something so hard that I heard the sound inside my brain, a loud ‘boink’ that came with a flash of light.

Someone grabbed me from behind and I twisted around again. The wolf was still there, reaching like he was going to keep stalking towards me. I tried to free my arms to get ready to hit him, but the someone clutched them behind my back. “Lemme go! I’ll scream again!” No response. “The bartender downstairs’ll hear!”

“It doesn’t matter,” the wolf said. He could speak English, although talking with a wolf muzzle made him sound strange, like at any moment he might bite his tongue.

“Would you hurry up?” the person behind me said. Their voice was also strange, in a different way, and there was a weird click in a couple of the words. They sounded much less gruff and much more… gay, than the gruff wolf.

“Hurry up and what?” The wolf growled back, and lowered his arms, looking like the dramatic wind had left his sails.

“Subdue him! He just screamed his ass off, he’ll probably try and kick me next.” That was a great idea. I whipped my foot back, and felt a boot jam into the back of my knee, and the assailant pushed me down to my knees. “I’m not stupid, you know,” the unseen person said into my ear. I could hear his clothing rustle as he moved. “I spent the last three hours watching you skulk around the bar. And the way you stared at that sign up here? Tsk.” Then he made a sound that sounded very much like the short caw of a raven.

The wolf was back over by the bed and picked up a small dish towel with an ominous wet and slightly yellow stain, then picked up the small spray can as well. “You should have grabbed some of this stuff. You could have done it before he even knew what was coming. Now he’s gotta watch me.” The wolf spoke to the person holding me. I turned my head and saw a flowing black cloak, and an unsettling black bird mask.

“Look, I just, I mean there are all these rumors, okay? And I’m bored and horny and don’t fit in, and-”

“Spare the bullshit, skinbag. We’re all bored and horny, and fitting in? Where the fuck do you think I fit in?” He pointed to his face and tapped his muzzle with the can, then sprayed it all over the small towel. He approached again, a cautious creep, like someone trying to grab a reluctant cat to put it in its crate. I wrestled back against the masked guy holding me, and while I could wrestle pretty good, he didn’t let go. I tried harder and something jabbed me in the temple once, twice, hard enough that it gave me another one of those skull-boinks. “Alright, bird-brain, let him go on one, two,”

“Don’t call me bird-brain, shit-eater!”

“Three!”

I pulled at my arms and whipped them free, and also fell to the side as I wasn’t expecting someone to let me go. The wolf pounced on me and hammered me to the ground, and yanked the towel over my face. I grabbed at it and grabbed at his hands. It was cold and wet and smelled oddly sweet. I tried to hold my breath but I’d exhaled from the impact and it was only seconds before I had to gasp. The sweet cold rushed in.

Time slowed down like a special effects scene in a movie. I’d just jumped out of the building window and a huge explosion was behind me. Everything glistened in the sun. There would be some sort of helicopter waiting for me. Would I make the jump? It didn’t matter, because time kept slowing down. It was euphoric, slightly nauseating, and I completely forgot I was supposed to struggle.

The next thing I felt was being kicked in the chest by a horse. My vision sparkled and throbbed. I could see a room, a huge room, and not the chaotic mess I’d just been in. Nausea crept up into my throat and I broke into a terrible sweat.

“I told you it’d work,” came a gruff, familiar voice.

“Why do you even have that thing? You’re a reckless asshole. You’re completely unrepentant!” Another familiar voice, the brassy and histrionic queer voice from earlier. “He could have died and then we’d have to deal with that again.”

“Yeah, so I bought this thing at property dispo, so it wouldn’t happen again.” Now the wolf reappeared, still in his rough biker finery, and holding defibrillator paddles. He tossed them aside.

I tried to move but I was tied down. Strapped, when I did a curl forward to see. Leather straps around my chest, my arms, my legs apart with padded pieces beneath each hamstring. The padding behind them looked like the top of a gym weight bench, but smaller. I was reclined at an angle. It was a bondage fuck-bench. “What happened? Where am I?” I looked around.

“Hit the lights,” the wolf called out, and there was the metallic clunk of big lighting relays turning on. I was in a church. A black church. Not like African American, but like black metal. There were a few pew seats but mostly open space in front of me, while I was up on the pulpit. Off to one side, a rough wooden stage area, with several cloaked figures. What wasn’t covered by cloak was either covered by leather, or fur. Off to the other, the guy who’d accosted me when I screamed. He was also wearing a similar dark cloak, and had fantastical gloves on. They looked like the kind of thing I’d seen at the Ren Faire, like they were meant to be leathery like a bird’s feet, but five fingers with claws. Underneath his hood, the bird mask. A crow, or a raven, I could never remember how to tell them apart. Big beak. That meant raven, didn’t it?

The raven started to approach me. He turned and looked at the wolf, who was standing on stage. “Well, go and change, you’re the star and you’re not going to do this dressed like an axe murdering biker faggot. It was your idea, anyway.”

“What are you going to do to me? What did you do to me?” I started having a terrible feeling that not only was I in a bad place, but the bad people who put me there weren’t any sort of cunning and skillful.

“You died by accident and we couldn’t have that, not when you hadn’t even tasted the glorious seed of our lord wolf,” the raven said, and his sneering bratty voice now seemed a lot more malevolent than just irritating. “So we saved your life. You came here seeking carnal relations with a wolf monster, did you not?”

I looked around harder. The cloaked figures on the lifted stage weren’t merely standing there. They… had instruments. They were a band. The drummer was the only one without a hood, and only because he had a deer mask on, complete with antlers. Guitar, bass, both wolves. The keyboardist was a cougar. No, they didn’t have hoods. Their heads were just like the biker wolf’s and the raven’s. They were real heads. I died by accident.

The raven walked over and swiped a classic handheld microphone off a stand and pulled it up to his face. It hit his black beak and an enormous clack and thump echoed throughout the space, blasted into the air by large and mismatched PA speakers. “Answer the question,” he said, snippy voice now capable of taking off a head.

“Y… yeah, I guess so…” I squeaked. My heart flopped in my chest, and again, and again, and I broke into a sweat. It felt wrong, and in a bad way, and only after a few seconds did the bad rhythm go away, leaving me with my pulse hammering in my ears. I’m in the weird part of that building the bar’s in. There was some kind of cult that used to use it, wasn’t there?

The raven then aimed the microphone into my face. “Again. Announce your intentions again.”

I breathed against the microphone and the huff enveloped the room through the amplifiers. “I want to…” Could I play along? “Be.. bred… by a werewolf?”

He stuck his arm out and pointed towards the band; the drummer yelled out a count and banged his sticks together, then all four members dropped into a massive lurching roar together. Distorted guitar and matching bass blared into the room, propelled by a tom-tom-pounding tribal doom metal drum beat and chromatically ascending keyboard motif. I cursed my on and off music education for making me care about the specifics of what was playing when I was strapped down and spread apart like a piece of torture meat at the hands of impossible creatures.

Timed to another crushing wave of sound on a downbeat, a curtain next to the band billowed open, thrown by a black leathered hand. The wolf, now wearing something different. The same punky collar he had before, though it was obviously now part of an unusual ‘bulldog harness’ that put a leather strap across his upper pecs below his collarbone and leather pauldrons over his shoulders, with smaller ring-jointed harness straps connecting from the two points of his collarbone to the studded collar.

The wolf’s torso was naked aside from the harness, and more straps went from under his armpits down to the front in a V, attached to a metal cockring that framed around his very black and very sizable cock and balls. His forearms were clad in leather gauntlet bracers made of tesselated leather ‘dragon scales’ and more ring-and-strap harnesses, while his hands were fingerless gloved in more black hide. He wore a cape affixed around atop the collar, not fabric but leather itself, black and thin. His legs were sheathed in traditional leather bar chaps with a seven-snap front buckle, and the leather tucked down into the same tall engineer boots he wore when I’d disturbed his reverie.

He stormed across the stage and didn’t step down the steps and up onto the pulpit where I was forcibly prostrate; instead, he leaped across the six foot gap and landed with enough of a pounding thud that I felt it up through the device I was strapped to.

The raven stood at the ready next to what was meant to look like a preacher’s lectern, though it was battered and scholarly and looked more like it had come from the university’s property disposition department. He picked up a gaudy red velour pillow and carried it over to me, as the wolf approached and flourished his cape back. It looked fantastic, though his actual motion was the frustrated irritation of someone realizing why no one actually wears capes any more - they’re awkward and obsolete.

The pillow supported an ornate knife with a bejeweled handle. It looked like the sort of thing that a satan worshipper would use to sacrifice a goat or perhaps a small child; it also looked exactly like the framed replica knife from a computer RPG that I had in my display of gaming artifacts in my own living room. I was at the mercy of dorks.

Another pause in the beat, then the wolf snatched the knife up mostly on time with another guitar fall and crash into more doom metal. I’m going to die. Supposedly I’d already died but I didn’t feel or experience anything that was near-death yet, just being gassed unconscious and kicked back alive. The wolf brandished the faux-ceremonial blade and used it to cut a hole in my PVC club pants from the very top of my inner upper thigh and across my groin. The blade was sharpened enough to do that; I could feel it sawing slightly and he struggled to do it, lupine face wrinkled and snarled. He drooled slightly from his teeth. It was not a mask. None of them wore masks. Wouldn’t the neighbors hear the racket?

The raven brought something else over, another pillow, this one holding a glass kitchen oil decanter shaped like a teardrop with a pouring spout and full of something that looked very much like semen. The wolf snatched it at his own time and pulled the top plug free, then held his black cock in one hand while he poured some of the substance onto the length. It wasn’t semen; it was the stringy and disgusting mess of modern fisting lubricant.

“You’re really going to fuck me?” I said, and the musical roar swallowed the sound. “You’re really-”

The wolf stepped between my spread and pulled back legs and leaned down over me. “I heard you the first time,” he growled in my face, loud enough that I could hear it, especially as the music abruptly dialed back to just a tribal tom roll. “You can take it, can’t you? You will,” he said, then set the knife down on my chest and started touching me around my asshole. He brushed me with his claw-nail and I recoiled and writhed against the restraints. He laughed. I felt his lubricant-slippery fingertip touch at my hole, but not press inside, smart enough to not shove his claw in there.

Then he took his cock in hand again and moved into place, and I could feel the tip press against me. I thought about what I announced to the room full only of the band, raven, and wolf; yeah, I guess I wanted to be fucked by a werewolf. Why else would I skulk around a bar and trespass into forbidden areas and disregard a sign telling me exactly what I was in for.

The wolf started to push into me and at that exact moment I realized the knife was on my bared chest. “What are you gonna do with that? The knife?!”

The band had to have been watching, because as soon as I perked up and grimaced before speaking, they crashed into another onslaught of heavy distortion and tribal tom-tom pounding. It hurt, but only as much as getting stuffed at the start always hurt, which wasn’t very much because I fucked myself a lot. I can take it. The wolf didn’t act like he heard me speak out, though he had to have, with those ears.

The lube and my disorientation saved the day, and the music honestly helped. He stared down at me, down his muzzle, down his snarling lips and drooling teeth, as actual strands of slobber started to hang from his muzzle as he began to pump into me. Not exactly in time with the music, though he used the beat as an accent a few times.

I looked over to the side, feeling like I should act like I didn’t want it, and even feeling like I didn’t want to confront it - only to see the raven looking not somber, not intense, not intent, not anything reasonable. Instead, he looked between me and the wolf’s slobber as it dripped down and down and finally landed on my chest.

“Disgusting. You’re just a drooling animal!” He clucked.

The wolf glared his way and snapped. “Shut up and do the thing! If I do it I’ll just stab him, I can’t fuck and cut at the same time.” While he spoke, he stopped thrusting, and I could feel his cock throbbing inside me, even tensing upwards.

The raven crossed his arms, which were feathered down halfway towards the wrists before the bare black skin took over. “You can’t fuck and talk, either. Fine.” He then picked the knife up off my chest, and I twisted and struggled just a second too late to knock it down. He deftly turned it around in his hand, then started to drag the tip against my skin. “I suppose I could use my talons. Do you think it works that way too?”

“Can you stop being a fucking smartass for five fucking seconds?” The wolf growled, and started humping into me again, faster and shorter, and steadily accelerating. The car-crusher doom dirge flowed into a lurching and stomping hammer as the band tried to follow the lead.

I stared at what the bird was doing with the blade. It was actually sharp and it left a red line that welled up with dots of blood in its wake. Seconds later, it started to sting terribly from my sweat. I wanted to be completely horrified but actually, it was hot, in that way that things become arousing when you’re flipped into the mood. The way it’s hot when someone grabs you by the jaw and calls you ‘Boy’ and spits into your mouth, because you’re about to cum, even though you’d gag or kick him in the balls if he just grabbed you off the street and did it.

I twisted and strained at the restraints, and tightened around the wolf’s pumping shaft. I felt the glans yank out and ram back in. I watched the red lines grow brighter as the raven stopped being so gentle. He was carving a pentagram in my chest. I remembered a movie I’d see, a schlocky horror comedy about a shitty police officer who becomes a werewolf. Just like this.

“Oww. Owww! Fuck! Fuck that hurts!” Suddenly the stinging wasn’t piquant, but something hurt, and it hurt bad, like fire. I broke into another flop sweat and banged my head against the bench pad.

“You haven’t fucking felt anything,” the wolf snarled, and then yanked out. “Get outta the way!” He spat in the raven’s face, then used his forearm to send the bird reeling backwards. With no actual wings, instead of fluttering away, he just let out a frantic caw and fell onto his back. The wolf pulled out and grabbed his cock, milking at the shaft as he contorted his face into the biggest, nastiest, orgasmic werewolf monster face possible. He grunted and creamy spunk erupted out of his cock and landed all over my chest. All over the pentagram carved into my now sickeningly pale skin. For something so monstrous and impossible, he only shot perhaps a foot and a half, although there was a lot of it.

The raven got up to his feet and snatched something off a similar pillow to what held the knife originally. It was… a tail. A fox tail. Part of a fox tail, the skin portion gray and simple with the fur sprouting from the other side. He smacked it down against my chest and it stuck.

And it burned. It felt like getting cum in one’s eye, except all over my chest, and the burn worsened with every passing second. Cock waggling between his legs, the wolf turned and made an X gesture at the band. The sound halted with the squeak of strings and squeal of feedback before cutting out.

My heart arrhythmia came back and didn’t stop this time. I felt horribly fatigued, like I was coming down with the flu in a matter of moments. I felt cold and hot at the same time, like standing next to a fire and having ice water thrown on the other side of me. I had no intention of orgasming myself.

“Oh, is it faster this way? He looks awful,” the raven said, brushing himself off before coming back over to look at me.

“I’m… I’m…” I tried to say, but my jaw clenched up. I ground it side to side and fire pain erupted out of my teeth, the electric brain-scrambling jolt of a broken tooth, a raw socket. I felt my teeth move, one way and then the other. I could taste blood and I spat. My vision pulsed and swam, simultaneously overly bright and dimming. “I’m dying! I’m fucking dying!” I knew I was dying. The sense of dread and panic welled up so hard that it blinded me.

Except I didn’t die. That was just the beginning. I threw up uncontrollably, bile and then blood and then material that wasn’t food but my insides. I could feel my bones starting to ache and burn. I could feel my face stretching, my bones moving faster than the skin could, searing burning explosions everywhere like I was cracking apart and bloody lava was pouring out.

I screamed as long as I was able to. They shouldn’t have stopped the music, because when I could see, the wolf and raven looked extremely displeased that I was making such a racket.