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JohnAR last won the day on March 20 2016

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  1. MetaPrompts 613: Alt1 (MW3)

    He jerked out of his sleep as if hit by a bullet. No, because he had been hit by a bullet. In his dream. And years ago in Iraq. On his first tour as a marine as green as the uniform he had worn during boot camp. “It’s okay,” a deep voice trying to be comforting told him; not that his friend wasn’t trying hard enough. But it seemed his own anxiety had affected the man next to him. He pushed his head under the warm water to clear his mind. The naturally warm springs made for a fantastic spa up the hills of ShadowLands. They had to run as wolves to reach this spot, kept secret by his pal Burt. He felt the pain in his shoulder. That’s where he had actually been shot as a young marine. His wolf had never really wanted to heal him as if to punish him for something Prime didn’t know. “So Will will be taking over?” Prime asked, remembering where the conversation had stopped before he had fallen asleep in the warm water. The water on his too long hair, his scruffy beard, and on his quite hairy chest got cold quickly. “Yep. He already has pups, so …” Burt dropped his teddy bear head nearly in shame. Prime nodded. He knew the pain. He had returned to the West Montana Pack at his father’s cremation. But the betas and Zef had made it clear they wouldn’t accept him as alpha. Zef would rule until Seb was old enough to reinstall the Loope line. They were compassionate enough not to kick him out of the pack, but he couldn’t stay there. He had found some unclaimed land further north and lived his eremite life, only once in a while returning to civilization to meet old buddies like Burt. How the big guy could stay as outer circle wolf in the pack that he should be protecting as his alpha’s chief enforcer, he didn’t understand. But every man had to make his own decisions. It was not up to him to challenge anyone about his life choices. They had met some months ago in San Diego at an event with former marines running for a veterans’ charity, even though neither of them still had the tight marine bodies. As everyone else, they had exchanged their assignments history, companies, battle stories, and where they had gotten which tacky or not so tacky tattoo. When Prime shared with Burt how he had been arrested once for trashing Lucy’s, they realized they would have met if Burt hadn’t been off that day – otherwise, he would have arrested a drunken Prime. Prime remembered the next day very clearly. He got seriously NJP’d. And after his contract ended, the Corps hadn’t been interested in another stint, forcing Prime to become a civilian wolf again. “Do you think,” Prime suddenly asked, “that our lives could different – if we had just made a different decision in our past?” Burt looked up. It was obvious he thought that was an unusual, esoteric question from the red-haired wolf. “I guess so.” “So how do you know this is the real one?” Prime asked. “There is only one real life.” “But …” But Prime didn’t finish. He was hungry, but couldn’t motivate himself to shift and hunt. He found an apple in the bag he’d carried up the mountain in his snout. “What’s on your mind?” “It was just a dream …,” Prime pushed it aside and bit. “What happened? I mean Fate sometimes …” Prime angrily throw the half-eaten apple down the hill. “Fuck Fate. She shot me on my first day of the war. And my fucking wolf behaves as if I had married a cunt.” Burt lifted his head to expose his neck in submission. He had had enough fights in his life. He was tired. Empty. Empty like a flat tire. He didn’t want to fight with one of the few men he had still in his life. “Sorry. I dreamed of an alpha challenge. I was fighting an alpha …” Prime mumbled with embarrassment. “Those are rare nowadays,” Burt commented sadly. His beard had grown too long and looked scruffy half-wet with water and sweat. In some years, when he would have turned gray, he would be Santa – without any need for a wig or an artificial beard. “But what was worse, some brat shot me afterward …” “For winning?” “I guess so,” Prime mumbled. “Maybe it’s just my wolf playing with me … stupid bullet in Baghdad and so …” “Maybe.” Prime’s ears pricked up. There was something in Burt’s voice. He wasn’t good at that. He was supposed to be, he was an alpha son after all, but somehow his skills had atrophied when he had started to drink. Getting clean by going cold turkey hadn’t helped. “What do you think?” he tried to be inviting. Burt took a deep breath. “Sometimes I feel I’m in the wrong movie. I feel I should be down there in the Inner Circle’s house as the CE – with a powerful alpha …” “You mean not Rory.” Burt rolled his eyes. Rory, having taken over some months ago because of his father’s untimely death, hadn’t yet grown up. And it was only a matter of time until he would die rotting in a cell because of one of the too many felonies. He had no clue what would happen to the Mt. Patterson pack. He suspected one of the four surrounding packs would swallow them if they were lucky. “Somehow it’s all wrong. It feels like …” Burt rolled his upper body as if he wanted to get rid of something. “Like … like when you wear your sweater the wrong way. Like your sock’s rolling down your calves. Like walking through the empty corridors of your school on a Sunday.” Prime bit his lip. Burt had rarely been so perceptive. “Since when?” “Always. No,” Burt corrected. “Since my accident.” Prime didn’t need to ask ‘which accident.’ Burt had told him how a truck had crashed into his new car on his 16th birthday. While him being a wolf had helped him to recover physically, he also knew that mentally it had changed Burt’s friendly disposition forever. He always was a bit fearful; next to being gay this must have been one of the reasons Will, his younger brother, had aced him. “That sucks.” Burt just nodded. He had kept this to himself. He didn’t want to come across as crazy. But for the first time, he had sensed Prime felt the same way. Out of place. “So what do we do?” Burt shrugged. He stood up trying to take in the beauty of the valley in front of him, grabbing hold of a dead tree trunk. Suddenly, he realized how fat he had gotten. In the water, he didn’t notice, but now, it reaching only to his thighs, he realized and felt ashamed. He looked worse than Warren. He was a fat hairy sloth. Hanging around without direction, growing more wool on him every day. He was a bear as a man, and a poodle as a wolf. He was a failure. “I don’t know.” “We should have met in Lucy’s,” Prime complained. “Not my shift.” “I know.” “So Zef’s getting married?” Burt asked desperately trying to change the topic. For the worse. Prime huffed. “Yep, he’s the perfect hetero alpha now. Found himself some bimbo that will spit out pups like on a conveyer belt.” “Sorry.” “Sometimes I think he’s really forgotten what happened when we were young …” Prime’s voice was cold. “You were both pups … it didn’t mean …” “I know,” Prime barked cutting the conversation short. Maybe he should try to sleep again. Sleep normally made the pain go away. Even if not this time. “And Seb found a female as well.” “You told me.” “I guess I did,” Prime whispered. After a while, he asked with resignation: “What do we do?” “Did VA offer you a shrink?” Burt asked carefully. Prime sighed. “Yes.” “And?” “No,” Prime decided firmly. “Gotcha. - But maybe …” “No,” Prime shouted. “A shaman,” Burt added quickly to pacify the red-haired wolf’s rage. Prime opened his mouth to throw out the suggestion; but he stopped and thought about it. “Do you have someone in mind?” Burt sat down again, enjoying the comforting weightlessness the warm water generated. “Yes.” “Who?” “A girl I met once in San Diego.” “You fucked her?” Prime asked in surprise. “No. Well, she tried to …” But Burt stopped. “Anyway. She’s good. She knew everything about me just by reading my spirit …” “Wow.” Prime was not impressed. “What do you have to lose? We can hang around here until our skin falls off all shriveled. And down there they whisper behind our backs about what dirty stuff we did up here …” Prime growled. “Fine. What’s her name?” “Nikita.”
  2. MetaPrompts 611: Task (MW8)

    “Do you think we can do it again?” one of the guys asked eagerly – he sounded like the oversized cop. “I mean hosing him down when we’re all done with him. It was fun.” ‘Fun?’ Rob screamed in his head, but his shock was quickly replaced by the next horror. “Maybe after Colt’s done with him. But now it’s your turn, Bradley, you’re doing this the first time, but don’t screw up the tattoo completely!” Prime ordered sternly. “Sir, yes, Sir!” Tattoo? Rob screamed even harder. ‘Please, hose instead,’ he begged. And then he felt it. The pain on his shoulder. It hurt. It traveled to his back, down his triceps. They marked him, like they had been marked. He had lost the count of time. Had it been 20 minutes? 40? An hour? “Good!” Prime commented. The other wolves complimented Bradley for his skill. They particularly liked the rainbow flag and the Tom-of-Finland-leatherman in chaps. Rob had stopped protesting when they applied bandages over the fresh tattoos. He had barely processed that he would be marked for the rest of his life when he suddenly felt an unusual tug at his dick and balls. Somebody was manipulating them. Shit, he thought. He felt plastic being moved around his base. His very scared dick being pushed brutally into a much too small enclosure. And when a little lock clicked, celebration broke out in the room. “Now, Robbie,” Prime started alpha-like. “Now you’re one of use. Nearly.” Rob didn’t protest anymore, he was ‘Robbie’ as of now. And ‘one of them.’ “You’re not a wolf, and the youngest of Colt’s fuck boys, so you’re our omega. – Nod if you understand.” Rob nodded disheartened. “Good. I hope you like cleaning toilets. We have a lot of them to clean …” Rob nodded instinctively. He wondered whether his blindfold was wet because of the water from before or his tears. And then he felt something changed. The wolves were quiet. Instinctively, Rob felt something was different. Shit, Colt. “He’s ready for you as ordered, Sir,” Prime reported proudly. Colt didn’t respond. But Bradley felt a finger. It touched his bald head, glided over his neck, his back, made a circle around his ass, before it snapped at his balls, making Rob yelp. “Satisfactory,” Colt stated coldly like a diva. “Thank you.” “Has he been given enemas?” Rob screamed into his gag. “No, Sir. As ordered.” “Good,” Colt commented. “If he isn’t clean, he will clean me afterward with his mouth. Will teach him a good lesson.” Rob lifted his head to protest, but a firm palm pushed him down. “Enjoy,” the voice – CE’s – said nearly honestly. “You can go!” And again the mood changed. The wolves left the room, congratulating each other on a job well done. “We better close all the doors, so we can’t hear him scream!” one of them proposed. “But I want to hear him scream,” another one – the marine? – disagreed. “I hope for him he took a big shit before he went to bed,” a third one continued. There was another joke, followed by air-crushing laughter, but he couldn’t make it out anymore. Instead, chair legs scratched next to him. And then Colt yanked his blindfold away. After a while Rob’s eyes adapted to the light, and he took in the realization he was indeed in a kind of dungeon. But instead of black walls, he found concrete around him, with several tools hanging on the wall he didn’t want to make acquaintance with. He watched how Colt removed his gag. Slowly he pulled the dick out of Rob’s stretched throat. “Oh, they used the horse dick one,” he commented with amusement. Rob wanted to scream, but first, he had to rearrange his jaws. And he was still chained with hands and feet, so any protest wouldn’t have led anywhere. He started instead: “Colt, please …” “Yes?” “I liked you … but I don’t want to become …” Colt frowned before he sat down on the chair as if waiting for a doctor’s appointment. “I told you before I don’t ask the boys anymore whether they want me. Didn’t work for me when I was younger.” “But …” Colt rolled his eyes. “You’ve been a bad boy, Robbie.” “I’m not ‘Robbie,’” Rob protested weakly. “So you agree you’ve been bad?” Colt asked undisturbedly. “How?” “Calling Bradley names?” Rob moved his jaw, trying to lose the muscle memory of dick in his mouth. Then he nodded. “Making fun of him being my man?” “Man?” Colt got up and reached for one of the tools at the wall. A whip. Rob quickly added. “Of course, he’s your man. Sorry.” “Good. He isn’t my puppy, my fuck toy, my boy toy, my baseball bat holder, my catcher, my carrot sheath, …” “Yes,” Rob agreed. He so didn’t want that whip hit his ass – or even more vulnerable body parts. “Yes, what?” Colt asked, weighing the implement in his hand. “Yes, Sir. I will not call Bradley any names anymore,” Rob corrected himself quickly, adding a second “Sir,” just to be safe. “Good. And you will never ever give my other men any other disrespectful names?” “Never, Sir. I promise. – Just please don’t beat me … or fuck me … or …” Colt snorted. “Bradley likes you as a brother …” “Does he?” Colt titled his head. “You’re not his bigger brother, though. And he is in good hands. So I expect you to be respectful as of now. Because if you aren’t, I will forbid him to see you. And you know who he will obey.” Rob let his face drop with resignation and bit of hope. “Sir, yes, Sir!” “Good.” “That’s it?” Colt showed him an evil smile – a smile that could kill and freeze hell. “That’s what my boys think.” “’Boys?’” Rob teased. Colt was fast as well. The whip hit Rob’s ass hard, and the boy screamed. “I call them what I want. You don’t. Understood?” Colt shouted. And for the first time, Rob truly felt why those wolves, who could have killed anyone in seconds, had so much respect for that nerd. He would get what he wanted if it meant dead bodies. “Understood, Sir,” he quickly replied trying to ignore the brutal zing on his ass. “I hope for your balls. – Next one goes there.” Rob yelped in anticipated fear. “The wolves like you as well, Robbie.” “I liked them – until …” He didn’t finish the sentence. “You’re not wolf. And you’re not related or married to any, so Prime cannot really accept you into the pack – even if you applied. But I would be a heartless villain if I didn’t allow Bradley and all the wolves have you visit here once in a while.” “Thank you. I guess you’re not.” Rob had to suppress what had happened in the past hours – that he had been cropped, permanently dehaired, chastity-locked and tattooed against his will. He carefully looked at the bandage covering his new body ‘art.’ “Now, for me to allow it, I’d need you to do one more thing,” Colt continued. “No, please, don’t fuck me …” Colt giggled. “For such a fag hag, you do have a strange fear of that,” he teased. Rob whined. “But I’m not going to fuck you. I have eight men who smell deliriously sexy, are hunky, wear boots, are clean, and more than willing to take all the cock I can give them; the more it hurts, the more they like it … so I don’t need scrawny, dirty, stinky, whining, civilian ass …” Rob didn’t know whether he should feel relieved or insulted. He felt a “Thank you, Sir,” was safe in any case. “I need you to make a little journey for me …” Colt nodded. “Yes, I need you to fly to Poland and check certain things for me. All of this will be in the file I’ll email you. I’ll pay all your expenses.” “Okay. – I guess for me to ever get out of this dungeon, I should better not ask why me …” Colt nodded. “Indeed. Seems you’re not only a pretty pussy licker …” Rob smiled for a second. “You will report only back to me. And if you mention anything to any of my wolves, I will have you back here; and next time I will have rubber gloves with spikes on me to rip your intestines into pieces … is that clear?” Colt threatened. “Absolutely.” “Good. Then we have an understanding. Welcome to the Inner Circle & Friends, Rob. The boys will be happy to have you,” Colt got up. “But why …?” Rob whined. Colt rolled his eyes. And ripped away the bandages. Rob screamed. “Henna tattoo … will be gone in some days,” Colt stated. “The permanent …” “Not permanent,” Colt corrected. “And your girlie blond locks will also grow back …” A sigh left Rob as if half of the Rockies had crumbled. “Good. But it felt so …” “They spiked your drink so touch would feel more intense …” “Ah,” Rob understood. “Well. Remember our deal. I’ll ask Bradley now to untie you,” Colt got up to leave. “You really love them.” Rob didn’t know where that had come from. Envy? Colt stopped at the door, turned around. “I do. And I have killed to protect them. And I will do it again.” It wasn’t a threat, it wasn’t drama. Just stating the truth of the universe. Rob nodded. “Boys!” Colt shouted into the halls. Voices. “Untie Rob and get him out of the Brig! Wasn’t planned for your little frat games!” “Yes, Sir.” Bradley was first. Rob smiled. “Who has the key to the chastity cage?” Bradley suddenly asked. “Not me,” Colt stated the obvious. “Not me,” Prime added. And all the other wolves. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it off before you leave for the East Coast in some weeks,” Bradley teased Rob while he unlocked one of the restraints. And it was only the innocent smile on Bradley’s face that made Rob realize they were still mind-fucking with him. He wanted to say something like: “Simply because you like being the girl …,’ but stopped knowing Colt could still hear him. “Thanks, Bradley.” “You knew Colt would never touch any other ass anymore,” Bradley asked friendly. “Of course,” Rob lied, stretching his limbs. Wondering what in Poland was so dangerous for the wolves that Colt couldn’t let them know. And whether he could deal with that … He nearly missed Sam giving him a little welcome gift: a T-shirt.
  3. MetaPrompts 609: Call (MW8)

    When the TV turned on and the logo of ‘WolfNet Communications’ filled the screen, Colt instinctively looked at his watch. Who would video call at midnight? Quickly, Andreas’ picture appeared and Colt pushed his notebook aside to accept the unexpected call, instinctively calculating time zones. It was 0900 in Frankfurt. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” the man in the archetypical lab coat of a scientist apologized. Colt shook his head. “You know, I’m a vampire, active at night …” Andreas snorted. “Not funny, Mr. Minimum 25% vampire.” “Guilty as charged. So what’s up in Kraut country? Beer shortage?” Colt returned the tease. “Or do they want to impose a general speed limit on the Autobahn?” “Germany would cease to exist if either of that happened.” “Priorities.” “No, I’m calling you because I’m furious!” Andreas removed his glasses as if wearing them undermined his display of outrage. “I’m sorry, but CE insisted on sending those weapons to your guys … ‘we have to be prepared,’ he pointed out.” It was evident Colt didn’t really find it a reason to apologize, but he assumed the love-affair of wolf packs with all things that could kill, might have been too much for a lab mouse like Andreas. “What weapons?” Andreas asked in confusion. ‘Ooops,’ Colt mouthed realizing he would so get chewed out by Prime for his unnecessary caviling. “So what is it then?” “They didn’t let me drive my Käfer!” Andreas complained as if the American football had been replaced by the European sissy version. “Who didn’t?” “Max’ goons!” “Who?” Colt continued to play the game with naughty glee, while Andreas’ narrow face turned bigger and redder because of indignation. “The enforcers.” “Tell me what happened.” Colt started to enjoy himself in a perverted way. “Well, it’s Tuesday morning, I stayed the long weekend on the pack land on the Feldberg – it’s fucking cold up there,” he complained, his body shivering as if reliving the discomfort. “It’s late November,” Colt stated unnecessarily. “Anyway, I got up bloody early to drive down into the valley so I could get started on my work early, when Martin, one of those painfully healthy-looking young enforcers, blocked me from opening the door to my Beetle.” Colt wanted to state that a Beetle wasn’t really an appropriate car for Max’ mate, but he decided to listen to the scientist’s complaints instead. “He literally forced me to hand him the keys, and then he drove my little Käfer to my office … with the speed of a snail … on valium.” “How dare he?” Colt uttered in disgust – faked disgust. “I know. That was the last straw …” “What do you mean?” “Yesterday, we went shopping to the mall.” “Yes?” “I wasn’t allowed to pay for my new phone.” “What do you mean?” “Alex …” “Your second beta?” “Yes. Whatever. He said it’s pack expense and bought the phone … and then he took my old one and synched them … it even has WhatsApp missing … he says it’s not safe enough …” “I see.” “I now have to use that strange Wolfnet thingy …” Colt giggled. It seems WWPInc had turned their own über-protected communication net into a business serving other wolf packs. “You know security …” “And then I bought myself some new jeans, all that fucking steak and dumplings. And that Martin put himself in front of the changing cabin like somebody could kill me while I was pantless …” “What did he say?” “So nobody would accidentally open it.” Colt smiled. “I mean. So what? I’m not a shy little virgin who would scream if somebody spotted her knickers …,” Andreas complained, his fury growing by the second. “Of course not,” the Meta agreed with godlike patience, and sweet pleasure. “Again, they didn’t allow me to pay for my jeans. Jeans, for Heaven’s sake! How can that be pack purchase?!” Colt shrugged his shoulders. “They also chose a new belt for me – supposedly Max had told them mine was broken – it was perfectly okay!” Andreas was outraged, but it got worse. “And then Alex grabbed the bag and didn’t allow me to carry it … I can’t go anywhere without one of these goons shadowing me as if I were a Verbrecher! – And when I go into town, it’s normally two of them. I feel like a prisoner!” Andreas complained. “If I consider that you barely have 60 minutes to get to a reasonably-sized city, while it would take me close to four hours, I think you’re in a low-security institution – typical European sissy spa named ‘prison,’” Colt teased. “Not funny,” Andreas hissed; though he was too upset to continue their usual US-European banter. “Martin took the keys with him, I can’t even drive to my downtown flat …” “And he said if you didn’t eat your lovingly prepared lunch bag, but left without him for a break downtown, somebody would rip off his balls,” Colt assumed. “Yes. - How?” Andreas shouted in wrath, until he stopped midsentence, and with an open mouth. And suddenly he deflated. “Shit.” It hit him. Hard. Colt nodded. “Yes, my dear: ‘Shit.’ Welcome to your existence as the alpha’s mate. You’re now pack property.” “Fuck me.” “Well, I don’t know which bunk you prefer, and I would have no clue how Max’ mega schlong could ever fit into you …” “At least he has never been baby boy-dicked like yours …” Colt lifted his eyebrows quickly. “Anyway, with lots of loving foreplay,” Andreas bragged. “Too much information, my little blood sausage-swallower.” “I’m pack property?” “Max is the new alpha. You’re his mate, even if you never chose it like that. They will protect you with their lives. They will care for you until their last breath,” Colt explained – if it could be explained. “But I’m not wolf, I have no role …” “If you’re unhappy, Max is unhappy. And if Max is unhappy, the whole pack is unhappy.” “So they’re just vulpine?” Andreas asked. “No. Lupine,” Colt corrected with a smirk. “Very funny. Was it the same for you?” Colt snorted. “You should have seen them in college. I wasn’t allowed to carry my own books. I felt like a girl. I’m still not allowed to sit at the aisle of a booth in a restaurant. And on a plane, Prime rearranges the boarding passes. – Sometimes I had the feeling they just wanted me to scream for help because of a spider.” “I guess they got their surprise then as well. - Fuck, what did I get myself into?” Andreas asked deflatedly. “They don’t want to manipulate you, they don’t only do it not to be castrated – but that is a powerful motivation. I’m sure by now the Inner Circle likes you, maybe even loves you …” “Oh no!” Andreas shouted dramatically. Colt giggled. “Not that way, but you know what I mean.” “But I didn’t do anything for them. Max is their hero … it feels wrong.” Colt bit his lip. “I mean, you’re a Meta. You’re that crazy White Wolf who rescued them all … but I? I just study mice and get accidentally laid by a chocolate monster wolf; not a major achievement … I don’t want to be Mrs. Alpha, I’m a man in my own right,” Andreas explained. Colt didn’t answer. “I don’t deserve this princess treatment,” Andreas stated, clearly meaning both interpretations of that sentence. “What’s next? A pink hat? A tiara?” “Worried about your masculinity?” Colt teased. “No … I mean … a bit.” “I know. I always thought they saw me as a girl as they always opened the doors for me … they even have that instinctive walking pattern how to take me in the middle, depending on how many wolves were with me … it’s unsettling how naturally it happens,” Colt explained, a strange warmth filling his voice. “You like it.” Colt smiled carefully. “Now I do. I know how it was without them; without being important for anyone. – Maybe you have never felt that, lucky you, but I had been alone for too long.” Andreas nodded. “So I’m overreacting?” “Pretty much so, sorry, mouse masturbator.” “Bloody hell. I shouldn’t have left that voicemail message with Max.” Colt smirked. “Max will understand. He might castrate Martin, but that comes …” “No!” Andreas shouted. “Fuck, you’re playing me again.” “Of course, Mrs. Feldberg Pack Alpha-mate.” “Arschloch,” came as response and it didn’t need a translation. “So that’s my life now?” “Yep. It’s not emasculating. It’s not manipulative. And it’s not undeserved.” “How can it not be undeserved? – I’m a scrawny nerd with no contribution to the …” “Stop it!” Colt shouted; realizing he was shouting at his younger self. “You are precious to Max. Max is a great guy, he could have had any man he wanted, he chose you. So obviously there is something in you that is special.” Andreas rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen Max’ wolf?” Colt ignored the visual objections. “Yes.” “And?” “He’s beautiful; the same chocolate color as his skin. And amazingly big …” “Were you scared of him?” “No!” Andreas protested. “He’s Max … he would never …” Colt smiled. The man on the other side of the Atlantic stopped. “I’m weird indeed.” “’Special,’” Colt corrected teasingly. “It means Max’ wolf loves you as well. And wolves have high standards, believe me. – How do you think his wolf would suffer if something happened to you? How this would hurt the whole pack?” “So I’ll have to take one for the team?” Andreas joked. “Given what you told me, you like taking it repeatedly and deeply,” Colt teased. “One day, Prime is going to forget himself and fuck you devil worshipper crimson-bloody!” Andreas prophesied. “That would be his second mistake,” Colt answered surprisingly coldly. The scientist noticed the chill and asked: “What would have been the first one?” “Thinking about it,” Colt stated bluntly. “So, are you going to play good Alpha-mate now and obey your betas and enforcers?” He nearly sounded like Prime talking to his Meta. Andreas seemed to stomp like a little boy but forced himself to hiss. “I guess yes. Divorce would be bloody.” Colt snorted. “Divorce? Forget that word. You’re hooked!” A familiar glow covered Andreas’ face. “So anything else?” “No. I guess it’s bedtime for you. Whose turn is it in your bed tonight for a drug injection, dog tag chaser?” Colt showed him his tongue. “Get lost, Kraut hose sucker.” “One thing.” “Yes?” “You told me you met the Feldberg Pack and Max for the first time for the battle against the vampires in Arizona …” “Yes,” Colt confirmed. “That’s strange.” “Why?” “We had dinner some weeks before Christian died … and maybe he was already delirious, but he said you had already been a son of a bitch with balls of steel when you were eleven …” Colt frowned. “I don’t know what he meant. I’m sorry.” “I thought so. Max misses him.” “I know what you mean,” Colt whispered, suddenly becoming aware of the two lit columns in front of his window. “Anyway, bedtime. Enjoy your oor-harem!” Andreas smiled naughtily. “I’ll do! Schönen Tag!” Andreas nodded and killed the connection. Colt’s face fell. When he was eleven? He had been to Frankfurt when he was eleven. On the way back from his last trip to his grandmother, the airline had screwed up his connection in Frankfurt and put him into a luxurious hotel room for the night. This had been the source of his preference for walk-in showers and bathtubs for four people. Why would he have met the Feldberg Pack back then? And why didn’t he remember any of that?
  4. MetaPrompts 607: Varq (MW1)

    “How much longer do we have?” “They should be finished any …,” Terrence answered when a deadly shower of chilly cold descended on the canteen. As if controlled by some puppet player nearly everyone looked at the gates that swooshed open letting several men in uniform in; lead by the source of the petrifying freeze: Major Varq. The Major seemed to ignore the sudden change of atmosphere and temperature in the hall and proceeded to the counter as if nothing had happened, making him appear even more badass than he already thought he was. “Is that him?” Spring whispered. Terrence nodded. Terrence wrote some of the crucial navigation software for the ship and therefore was in close contact with the military who after all led project ‘Wolf 635.’ Well, that was not the only reason he had close contact with the military on their construction space station. The main reason was his ‘tool,’ as he modestly referred to his ‘close to 30 cm’ black dick; it seemed not only the chicks in uniform were desperate for the famous Terrence treatment, but several of the guys also enjoyed ‘tool swapping.’ And Terrence, the tall, black-skinned, skinny guy was more than happy to ‘lend’ his tool to all the needy staff on the station. Why restrict your handy skills; letting one gender suffer needlessly? “I heard he fucked the president’s son and daughter on the same day …,” Spring whispered. It was clear she was more envious regarding the daughter who was a world-famous model, while she absentmindedly fiddled some meat from between the teeth of her fork with her very skilled tongue. Or maybe she was assessing the alloy of the fork given her technical expertise. Who knew? “… at the same time,” Hank corrected proudly. At least his name was Hank today because today he seemed to be male. Tomorrow he might be Hanna and female, yesterday ‘it’ was Hanka, and somewhere floating in the spectrum of the 154 approved non-genders. Parker had long given up on trying to keep up and avoided addressing him/her/it in person to dodge the pronoun confusion and consequent lecturing about his insensitivies. When Hank/Hanna/Hanka wasn’t busy deciding which non-gender he was for the next 24 hours, he calibrated the propulsion engines that would blast the ship to 0.99 light speed. Given his unique skill set, everyone just put up with his unclear identities. “Of course, they couldn’t pin anything on him. To avoid a scandal, they promoted him to Major and sent him to Africa to fight some of the rebels.” The room was slowly recovering from the temperature shock, and everyone was continuing their conversations; though Parker suspected every table was exchanging gossip about Major Varq, the vanquisher of the Kongo Rebellion. Hank did at least. “I heard that when he got hold of one of the rebel leaders, he broke one of the bones in his left pinky finger.” The other three looked at him in surprise. While not pleasant that didn’t sound very ruthless. Hank grinned about the expected reaction. “An hour later he came and broke the second bone in the pinky finger. And another hour later the third one. He didn’t say anything when the rebel laughed at him.” “When did he break?” Parker asked. He was the least interesting person in their group, responsible for making sure deliveries to the station were in line with specifications and for ensuring proper storage, while his ‘friends’ dealt with software, propulsion, and material optimization. He still didn’t know why he had gotten this highly paid assignment on the construction space station. But he didn’t want to ask too many questions not raise sleeping dogs. After all, he got top class health care up here to treat his odd blood disease. And when the job was over he would have enough money to buy himself the latest edition of the ‘G.I. Joe adult entertainment system.’ That would be programmed to desire him at any moment of the day unless he wanted to be spooned in bed by it. It was fully customizable. And one reason he had found the Major’s entry so unsettling was that the space marine pretty much looked as Parker would customize his ‘G.I. Joe.’ His interest in that very human-like entertainment system was also the reason he knew a human had 206 bones, and it was only a matter of time one would crack facing 206 hours of horrendous pain – the mind fuck must be awful. “11,” Hank answered. “If he had broken 11 bones immediately, he wouldn’t have gotten anything.” The group nodded. They had started to call themselves the ‘LGBT group,’ with Spring representing the successful lesbian, Parker the boring gay, Terrence the generous bi, and Hank the ever variable transgender. So far, nobody else had wanted to join them to allow them to become truly ‘LGBTQQIP2SAA.’ “Well,” Spring had finished performing cunnilingus on her fork, “I heard he had one of his men rape the 16-year old daughter of one of the tribal leaders. And then another one the 15-year old one. And then …” “We get where this is going,” Terrence stopped her. “Well, he was in ‘negotiations’ with the tribal leader who had eight daughters, the youngest was four. – And he was there with seven men …” “Did he himself?” Hank asked. His odd admiration for a decisive man who wouldn’t take any prisoner had quickly evolved into disgust. “The leader changed his allegiance quite vigorously after his fourth daughter had been deflowered … so no, he didn’t …” Parker turned around slowly. He wanted to steal a better glace at this monster who looked like his dream doll. (Un)Fortunately, the monster had taken a seat not too far from him and caught him looking – of course. Parker quickly jerked around. But the mental picture of this more than 190-cm-tall man, with a more-than-100-kg body packed into an obscenely well sitting uniform with a black space marine T-shirt that painted every muscle, with eyes as green as the proverbial gems, jaws so pronounced you could sharpen any material Spring ever could design, and ginger hair so precisely cut military-style that he was recruiting poster (or G.I. doll)-ready the moment he woke up, burnt itself even more deeply into his brain, made its way down his spine to spike – literally – in his cock. “One of his men disobeyed an order of his claiming it was illegal,” Terrence whispered. “Did he shoot him?” Hank asked. “Nope, he told him to drop his pants and underwear …,” the black guy teased. “To rape him?” Spring hypothesized. “Nope. He told him to sit down,” Terrence teased. The three looked at him telling him not to make them drag every word out of his mouth. Terrence grinned. “The chair had a big hole. So the poor guy’s little balls and dick” – of course, everyone had a little dick compared to Terrence – “hung below.” “So?” “He then put a basket under the chair and opened it …” “What was in it?” “Four poisonous snakes …” Terrence whispered dramatically, the two ‘s’-es in ‘snakes’ expressed very onomatopoetically. Both Parker and Hank quickly squeezed their thighs together shouting “Ouch.” At least that confirmed that Hank truly thought of himself as male – at least today – well, kind of. “Worse – he had it done in front of all his men under his command …” “So why is he here?” Parker wanted to stop the unpleasant thoughts of rape, broken bones, and poisonous snakes close to one’s small balls. Three faces looked at him pitifully. “What?” “The survival of this planet is at stake – who would you send? Some super-correct touchy feely snowflake?” Hank asked with despise. Parker lifted his eyebrows realizing Hank didn’t notice the irony but didn’t say anything. “So he’ll be in command?” “Who knows …” Spring closed the topic. “Anyway, I have news, they successfully cleared everyone in section D of nano-infiltration, so we can go back to work …” “Good,” Terrence put the plates and cups on his tray and went off without further words. Quickly, Spring and Hank followed him. It took a bit more time for Parker as he pushed over his cup, spilling some water all over the table, nearly dropped his fork, and then kind of stumbled over his chair. When he tried to calmly carry his tray to the collection station, somebody got up in front of him, blocking his way. Major Varq. Parker instinctively dropped his head: “I’m sorry, Sir.” Of course, his eyes landed at the generous bulge of the Major. The space marine seemed to snicker before he grabbed his own tray and marched to the station ignoring the little bookkeeper. Of course, that put that perfectly sculptured, tastingly voluptuous, and generously hip-ed ass directly in front of him. He nearly stumbled over his own feet. The Major looked at him with a sadistic grin and left, joking irreverently with some of his fellow space marines. Parker noticed in a panic that some of the spilled water had landed on his crotch, which on top was slightly bulging now because of the Major’s ass. He turned red like a tomato and ran to his office, not to be seen for the rest of his shift. At night, he fine-tuned the specifications for his order of the G.I. Joe adult entertainment system to match the looks of Varq to the last freckle.
  5. MetaSeries Ranting

    Of course. Well, actually there were several reasons I got to nine IC members (eight wolves and Colt): 1) The 2+7 (Meta/Alpha + IC) is a common pattern in nature for strength optimization (like fibers). 2) The 8 is double the male archetypes (king, lover, magician, warrior) - ie each of them with intuitive or sensing preferring wolf (Jung) - see the overview of the main characters on the E/I and A/F grid. 3) I love the number of eight: 2^3 (i. e. the perfect cube: You will be assimilated). 4) In total, I needed to get to 12 as the number of perfection for the nanoverse (Colt/Parker + eight wolves + 2 dead wolves + 1 AWOL). 5) I realized that any more made the story confusing. Any less unconvincing. 6) After 7 (excl. Al) + 2 + Colt, I ran out of exciting landscape scents. 7) I had planned to add Hunter originally, but it didn't work - so I got stuck with 8. 8) Of course, it's a reference to the USMC structure ;-). JAR PS. I am working on a Varg prompt as suggested - brace for impact. It's mean.
  6. “Colt!” A baritone voice used to being obeyed without question shook the whole floor. Colt put down the checklist he used to ensure he hadn’t forgotten to pack anything for his travels to France. He still had to snicker that this very pack list nowadays included two individually vacuum-wrapped T-shirts (a rather conventional gray-USMC one and a black one saying: ‘Is sex dirty? Only when it's being done right.’ Strangely, it showed a pickle as well, leaving room for many dirty interpretations), two bars of soap with the most exquisite cherry scent to avoid those ubiquitous ‘high-end’ shower gels of hotels with the olfactory appeal of a women’s locker-room, and – how embarrassing was that – an equally vacuum-wrapped teddy bear in MARPAT outfit. If ever asked he would pretend this was a gift for his nephew. Nobody needed to know CE had been sleeping with that little teddy bear for the past weeks since Colt had returned from his ‘Help! I’m a vampire’-episode, started to work, and learned he would be assigned to a project in Paris for half a year. He wondered whether he should play Meta and ignore his Alpha ordering him around like a little omega wolf, but given he would be gone for the next two weeks, he decided to be docile and returned: “Coming with a vengeance!” “Asshole,” Prime barked nearly adorably. When Colt entered the main room, he met all of his four wolves – Isaac, unfortunately, was back on duty, even though ‘only’ in Twentynine Palms. But he noticed a lot of other stuff laid out on the dining table and the rug. The grins on the wolves' faces strongly suggested they were up to something no good – or very wolfy-good. “So, as our Meta has decided to desert us again …,” Prime started. Colt rolled his eyes and decided not to dignify that teasing with any comment but quiet disapproval. Nearly disappointed the Alpha continued: “… and as we’ve had some unfortunate technical glitches …” It seemed now Brian decided not to dignify the Alpha’s comment with a reaction. “… we have taken appropriate measures to avoid a repetition of such events.” Silence. “First,” Brian started holding up a new phone. “We have added a little additional firewall to your phone to prevent anyone blocking Wi-Fi or cell signals again.” “That’s good. You jail-broke it?” Brian shrugged and continued. “Nonetheless they could stop those signals without your phone, towers and such, so we’ve got you this.” He lifted a little stick that fit perfectly into the audio jack. Now Colt was intrigued. Brian smiled proudly and continued. “It reroutes the signal to the 635 MHz ISM radio band frequency and can be picked up by any of our phones the same way within a 15 mi… I mean 20-km-range.” Colt grinned and couldn’t help himself. “Even you guys know that Paris is further than 20 km away from you.” His brain wanted to tell him something, but he enjoyed the wolves’ efforts too much at this moment. Brian ignored that not very smartyass smartass comment and continued: “Of course, we also have a base station that you will hook up to your hotel Wi-Fi. And when you land in LAX our base station here is powerful enough to receive the signal and distribute it to us.” “So, we have our own LA wolf cell net?” Colt asked – he started to get impressed. “We call it ‘WolfTooth,’” Prime announced proudly. Colt bit his lip. A warm feeling had touched his heart, and he so wanted to hug them. Nobody else had ever gone through so much effort to protect him. He might not be able to return the protection as a man should, but at least he could express his gratitude. “Then,” Sam continued picking up a visual order by his Alpha. “We have bought you some new luggage.” “My suitcases are per…” Sam lifted his hand to stop him. Colt tilted his head. It seemed the scrawny little boy had fully recovered from his scent deprivation suffering and used his big boy body to clearly tell his Meta when to shut up. Colt was intrigued about to where that would lead. “First, this is your check-in luggage.” “Okay.” Colt didn’t see anything unusual about it. He was relieved the wolves hadn’t decided to brand it with the USMC seal or a wolf head. One had to be grateful for little favors. “It has a GPS sender in it.” ‘I see,” Colt realized. “The app is on your and our phones. You can always track its path to find out whether it is at places it shouldn’t be …” “Nifty.” “And this is your hand luggage.” “Let me guess – also GPS?” Colt asked naughtily. He touched the high-quality material and jerked away in the very same second. A painful picture had burnt itself into his head. He took a deep breath and continued to pay attention to the Italian-skinned wolf. “Of course,” Sam answered proudly, oblivious to what had just happened, “but …” He made a dramatic pause to open a lid. “It comes with a built-in battery to charge your laptop twice and your cell phone six times if needed.” “Wow.” Colt was impressed. The sweat on his neck had disappeared. “It is FTA-approved,” Prime added as if misinterpreting Colt’s doubt. And this was the clue for CE to continue. “We’ve also backed up all your files to our new server.” Colt bit his lip again; this time because of a hint of embarrassment. “We agreed with the Espoo pack and the Paparoa Pack …” CE smiled when he sensed Colt had no clue who they were, “… our friends in New Zealand, you know. We agreed on reciprocal back-up servers … So unless the vampires take out us in California, the leading packs in Finland and New Zealand at the very same time, our files should be secured.” “I wasn’t worried about that,” Colt confessed, though thoroughly impressed about the anal diligence the wolves had displayed again. He nearly got hard on all of that OCD – who was he kidding? “We’ve backed up all your files,” Prime reassured, not without a hint of disapproval at some of them. “So none got lost like a certain book or certain shorts during my move?” Colt teased. CE turned red like a pumpkin. “So it was you,” Colt stated with satisfaction. CE nodded like a kid who had just been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar – which was a feeling he surely knew as well. “Yes, and I saw those pictures with sailors doing unspeakable things,” Prime seemed to protest; not about the fact they were doing unspeakable things, but the nuisance of them being sailors. “We’ll come to that, Alpha,” Colt threatened in a way that made his waterfall scents cleanse the room and his wine scent fill it with sexual tension that needed resolving soon. Prime growled knowing it meant his Meta was up to no good. Strangely though, his submission didn’t strengthen the strawberry scent. “So, you’ll track my phone even if civilization breaks down, you track each of my luggage pieces, I will get angry messages if I don’t report at the very the moment the plane has landed at Charles-de-Gaulle, and I’m pretty sure there is something techy in that innocent teddy CE gave me …” CE shook his head – vigorously, very vigorously. “Fine,” Colt accepted the denial. “We just want to make sure you’re as safe as possible.” Colt nodded. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” He made point hugging Sam first, then CE, and finally Brian. When Prime opened his arms, Colt shook his head. “No. First, we need to go to a surplus store.” “Why?” Prime asked. “What do you still need for your trip?” “I don’t. But you!” “Me?” “We’re going to get one of those cuty tighty whity sailor uniforms …” “Why would you need …” Prime played outraged. “Not me. You! I’m going to face fuck a sailor tonight before I leave for Sartre-depression. Isn’t that what sailors and marines do before they ship out to unknown lands?” He smiled with the satisfaction of a mean cat that had just caught a mouse to play with. Brian and Sam burst into laughter at the picture of Prime in white on his knees, while CE just sent an apologetic shoulder shrug to his boos – after all CE had ripped the Navy shorts. “You’ll pay for that!” Prime promised. Colt smiled evilly. “Are we done now? Or do you have some more techno gimmicks? A remote white stallion carrying me around in Paris? A flying coach? A gold ring linked to a satellite?” When nobody responded, he continued: “Now, hop hop! After all, later I have to completely repack because of all of this …” He was lucky Prime was too busy bitching about this humiliation of becoming a seaman instead of noticing that Colt had had another premonition when touching the new suitcase: himself old, fat, ugly, along in the house in Palm Springs they had been last year, with the realization that if things were too good to be true, they probably are. But in the meanwhile, he would fuck …
  7. Deprivations was an attempt to elevate the pain of Meta ending in February. It has reached 20 chapters by now and needs to end as well. I'm planning five more stories, two of which are written (the third installment on Rob's misery and the final one), so there is an opening for 3 deprivation stories. So if any of my Meta readers has a "last wish," talk now or be silent forever ;-).


    Please post your wishes here or private-message me.



    1. Show previous comments  2 more
    2. Gavin25


      How about a chapter on Prime set in the nano verse before he went into the simulation. Like how you did for C.E. that would be really awesome :). 

    3. Puppilull


      @Defiance19 LOL You're on to him!

    4. athanos


      Will you quit writing for now? Or are you moving to a story of whole new different settings?

  8. MetaPrompts 602: Loss (MW2 8)

    ‘Just tell which room is his, now!’ Zef wanted to shout, but he controlled himself. He realized, he himself didn’t know who he was referring to with ‘his,’ so much jealousy was creeping into his heart. Something he thought he had long digested, worked out of his system, was rearing its ugly head again after so many years. He had heard the car Prime and his pack left with stop down the road – it seemed he wanted to say goodbye to his mother, that scheming old bitch, Tina had been dragged into the kitchen by a very chatty Sylvia, and suddenly alone, with the testosterone of having potentially to fight to become alpha gone, he realized that all those bottled-up feelings of rejection took hold of his body again. Slowly, not to raise any suspicion, he walked upstairs. His nose told him immediately in which room Prime had slept over the past two days. With some childish satisfaction, he noticed Prime hadn’t slept with the scrawny existence of a ‘Meta’ – maybe the boy had had headaches after the ceremony yesterday. Instead, he picked up a bit of lowly enforcer stink next to the deep-musky scent he had missed for so long. The endless forest of the Rocky Mountains, the masculine power of everything Alpha, and the tantalizing tarty sweetness of youth hit his nose again, made his right hand lift as if he wanted to touch a shadow of the man who had just left. Memories of their boyish games up in the mountains during one of their runs or after came to his mind like an old, but never gone old, movie. They traveled via his spine into his cock. He was erect picturing how he’d fucked that lily-white ass with all those freckles up there in the forests, not once, not twice, but three times. Clearly, as if it had been yesterday, he heard Prime moan under him like a Mexican whore doing a millionaire, shouting at him to pound him harder and not to treat him like a doll. And then the recollection of the full bouquet of his feelings for that strong red-haired boy enveloped him; this had been more than just sex between horny pups … they had felt something. One day they even had fantasized about how it would be to serve as an alpha couple. And then one day everything had stopped. Prime didn’t want to know anything or anymore from him. Zef had long suspected the old alpha had had something to do with that, telling his heir it was unbecoming for a future alpha to get fucked by another male wolf – and an outer circle one on top. Prime had ignored Zef in school, during his shifts, and at every occasion possible. Zef remembered his existence as a young zombie while he had tried to slowly suppress his longing and rage at the same time. He had nearly been happy when Prime had been kicked out, and not only why everyone thought: that this would give Zef a chance to become alpha, but because he wouldn’t have to see the man he had loved so deeply anymore. The daily torture of listening to that baritone voice ripping up his emotional scars would be over. He didn’t understand why the previous alpha had finally kicked out Prime anyway, despite him stopping gaying around years before. After Zef and until his banishment, Prime had never had a man, he would have known that. He went to the corner bedroom, the largest of the guestrooms. Boring human scents circled through the air lazily. Nothing. He couldn’t understand what Prime found in that excuse of a boy. When he closed the door, Sylvia suddenly stood in front of him. He must have been so deep in memories that her approaching had escaped his nose. “So I agreed with Tina what needs to be changed in the kitchen,” she informed him quite controlled. The tears about Prime leaving again were gone. “Thank you.” “You will not get him back, even as an alpha,” she said sternly. “What??” Could she read his thoughts? “Prime.” Zef tilted his head. “I don’t …” Sylvia smiled like a sphinx. “I know what you guys did up in the mountains. It was wrong.” Zef was confused. Of all Loopes, he would have thought Sylvia would be most understanding of the love between men. “Prime has a great future ahead of him. In hundreds of years, wolves will still sing about his deeds – about his and his Meta’s.” A thought grew in Zef’s brain. “You, though, will be just a tiny footnote in the annals of the West Montana Pack.” “Are you saying, you stopped Prime?” Sylvie nodded slowly. “Of course, can’t be in the way of Fate’s will, can we?” she asked facetiously. “That’s why …” “Prime doesn’t remember anything about those events. They’re all wiped clean …” “How?” Zef asked more curiously than angrily. “Nothing that needs to concern you. You have been assigned your role. Fulfill Fate’s will,” she told him like a teacher. She lifted her head high and wanted to leave. “And if I refuse?” Sylvie turned around, tilted her head, and smiled mischievously. “First, he won’t believe you. His resentment for you will grow even further. And second, an unfortunate accident would happen to Tina. And that would be terrible, wouldn’t it?” she asked – cold as the water of rivulets up the mountain in an early spring. Zef bit his lip. It all made sense now. He remembered how close Prime had become to his aunt in his teenage years before he left. “So you had him kicked out as well?” Sylvie shook her head slowly. “Somebody else arranged for that. – Anyway,” she concluded their conversation, “I will be in my cottage if the alpha needs anything from me. I leave this house in Tina’s capable hands.” There wasn’t even cynicism in the last statement. “Wait!” Zef shouted. “Yes, alpha?” she asked, feigning submission and grand-motherliness at the same time. “What happened to the documents Arthur gave you the day he died?” he asked. Sylvie’s fake smile grew before her lips became thin again. “I’m not aware of any such documents,” she lied perfectly, nodded her head respectfully, and left like a queen.
  9. Are you going to write another story/book series while you occasionaly update MetaDeprivation? 

    1. JohnAR



      Gavin, thanks for your interest.


      I have two ideas in my head which might see the light one day.

      On Meta, I have another book written (in my head): MetaAlternate. But it will only be published if certain payments are made.

      And for Deprivations, find my next message.



    2. Gavin25


      Nice, I can't wait to see what those two ideas are. :) Thanks for letting me know.

    3. JohnAR


      Things would move much faster if certain payment were rendered.

  10. MetaPrompts 600: Cell (MW8)

    “You fucking moron of a coppermob. Your idiot of dad was too stupid to wear a rubber.” The deep voice made the earth quake. He was awake instantly. A wolf with the scent of an über-enforcer approached quickly. Instinctively, he jumped up. But regretted it. His head exploded, the room started to dance like in a tornado. A rat seemed to have shat in his mouth. He lost his balance and fell back onto his bed. Except it wasn’t his bed. It was a bunk with the nothing of a mattress, the absence of a blanket, and the pitiful excuse of a pillow as comfortable as if filled with bullet casings. His wolf made him stand up again. And slowly some painful memories returned. He was in Germany. “You ungrateful vampire whore slime of a carrot bush,” came next. And then Max stood in front of him. Kind of in front. Separated by bars. Forest wanted to grab those bars, but the big dark-skinned guy just barked: “Fucking touch them and burn your fish-stinking cheese-colored clit-ticklers forever! There’re no fucking pink hair ribbons on them.” He barked so intensively, the young wolf had to take a step back to escape the Alpha’s wrath. And to hold his head trying to contain the pain. He saw he had lost one of his diamond cufflinks. A gift from Colt. Ohoh, that was bad. “I hope your ugly pink tomato dickhead explodes blasting the red horse shit you call a brain all over the place; …” “Could you please …” “No!” Max barked. Only now Forest noted that Max only wore boxer briefs and boots. The boots weren’t laced, and there were no socks. It was obvious Max had been called out of bed surprisingly. Forest made a step back, he balled his fists as if communicating with his wolf to heal his hangover headache, but for some reason, his wolf had the same opinion as Max: ‘Fuck you.’ “What the fuck were you thinking?” Max shouted. “I fucking should send your balls back to California, so you learn to fucking think with that red firetop you have instead of your shriveled excuse of a dick. And then I will rip your girly asshole apart, so you have to use the bathtub to take a shit.” “What …” But Forest didn’t get any further. “Trashing a complete bar in Frankfurt? With a dozen of people around?” “Did I?” Max barked. “Fucking shut up, your worthless piece of rabies dog shit. And then unfuck yourself, you pussy carrot.” “Do …” Forest tried to start defending himself but to no avail. “Shut your fucking faggot-pink cunt-licking cunt …” And this did shut Forest up. He had never seen Max like this. He seemed to have screwed up. Again. Badly. He tried to remember. Slowly things returned to him. It was the start of his second semester in Frankfurt. He had spent most of the winter break traveling through Europe. In his new finance class he had met this generously-shaped blond girl from Sweden. But she had ignored him. She declined his invite for a date because she had a boyfriend she said. He remembered how angry he was about the fact she had men before him. He was so furious he went out drinking directly after uni was over this Friday. And now … he looked at his watch – a gift from Brian. It told him it was barely after midnight. He had no recollection what had happened in that time. But obviously, he had trashed a bar. Otherwise, Max wouldn’t be so furious. “I’ve had it with you, you spoilt mutt of a future alpha.” Max found a piece of paper and threw it into the cell. “I booked a fucking flight back to the fucking West Coast for you. Obviously, you can only be kept in a forest without civilization, you useless pencil head. And I’m personally going to butt fuck you onto this plane.” Slowly Forest bent down, trying to ignore his head, to pick up the piece of paper. And indeed, there was a flight in two days from FRA to LAX. “Max,” he tried. The thought of Max butt fucking him anywhere wasn’t a pleasant one. Not because of Max’ size, but about what Andreas would do to him afterward. “Shut the fuck up. Do you know how many strings I had to pull to keep the police out of this? How much it cost me to make the videotapes disappear? To make the bar owner shut up?” Forest shook his head. “If you didn’t have your fucking rich fucking White Wolf companies you would fucking clean our fucking toilets with your clit-licker until the end of your fucking miserable ginger excuse of a life.” Forest fell to sit on his ‘bed.’ “Did anyone get hurt?” he asked. Max wanted to start another tirade along ginger-insulting mutt-calling but stopped. “Not severely. Couple of bloody hand prints because you split a guy’s lip. He’s on a plane to the Seychelles for an all-paid 14-days’ vacation. The fucking bill for which I will send to your Alpha.” Max seemed to calm down. “Don’t!” Forest said. Unfortunately. “Fucking what? If you dare to threaten me once more, I’m gonna stick my feet up both of your strawberry-asses and wear you around like a couple of gay ginger Sesame Street puppets.” Forest was stunned for a second and then giggled. Regretting it because of his head, but he giggled. Max just barked. “You’re more disappointing than a vibrator without Duracell batteries … and you basically look like batteries.” Forest sensed Max was calming down again. “I guess I seriously fucked up.” “Yep; you didn’t suck my dick, but blew my mind.” “Does the Bundeswehr teach you all those colorful insults?” Forest asked. “No. They come spontaneously to me when I see your ugly face that looks like my asshole after a bad Mexican clean-up.” “Does Andreas know that?” Forest dared to respond. Max opened his mouth to start the next barrage of insults but stopped. “No.” “So I better not tell him,” Forest teased. “Well after I’m done talking with your lovely uncle tomorrow, you won’t be talking to him for a long time …” Forest nodded. “I’m sorry, Alpha.” “What? I’m not ‘Sorry Alpha,’ you’re a sorry pup.” “I know. It’s a blur.” “Not my problem anymore. You’ll be CE’s problem. At least they could have sent you slime ball to the sissy marines.” Forest growled. Not threateningly, but not pleased. He had had that conversation with Prime. He didn’t want to have it again. “What can I do to fix this?” he asked. He got up, straightened, himself, clenched his teeth to suppress the headache and repeated: “I’ll do anything to fix this. But please don’t send me back, I respectfully ask you to give me a chance to fix this.” Max nodded. “At least now you act like the sperm of a man, instead of the pussy. I go to sleep now. Maybe Andreas is still awake and I can get some action. If not, you’ll be sorry tomorrow. I see you at 07hundred for punishment duty.” Max opened the door to the cell carefully. “For every minute you’re late I’m going to boot my boot so high up your ass, Colt is going to be jealous of me.” “Understood.” “There’re some pills in your room, help you sleep. And some really greasy pizza.” “Thank you, Alpha.” Forest dropped his head respectfully while he passed the tall, angry man, whose skin glistered in the semi-dark. And then he left. Before he could close the door to the ‘Gefängnis’ of the Feldberg Pack, Max shouted: “And who is she?” “Who?” Forest asked in confusion. Max closed up huffing and puffing. “I might be a fucking ass bandit, but I know there’s only one reason an alpha pup goes berserk like this.” Forest nodded. It felt oddly good to be understood. And he whispered: “Malin.” “Good. – When you’re done licking all of our floors clean, we’ll see how we can get that Malin to fall for an ugly pencil-dicked carrot top like you, you dimwit.” Forest smiled, nodded goodbye and left.
  11. Friendly fire

    This sounds like a lot of fun! I'm so looking forward to how this is going to evolve - and how Mr. Fire Extingisher can redeem himself. Will we meet Dean's brothers? ;-)
  12. MetaPrompts 597: Done (MW8)

    “How does he always know what to say?” He jerked out of his sleep. Who had said that? About whom? And why? In his after-sleep caused grogginess he realized it was two political commentators raving about the unusual eloquence of the new president on TV. “Graceful, insightful, witty, intelligent, but highly relatable,” they called his latest speech to the nation. Colt shook his head to get a clear mind. He didn’t know where he was, yet he felt his surroundings were familiar. As if he had been here a long time ago, a very long time. He got up from the sofa in the media room. Instinctively, he reached for the remote to stop the blabbering. Where was he? The air-conditioning was on, but it was warm air, not cool one. Yet he spotted palm trees in front of the windows, illuminated by what looked like the setting sun on a late afternoon. The house looked spacious, modern, elegant, desert-style. And then it clicked. He had stayed in this house before. A long time ago. It was in Palm Springs at that October week they had spent fall break to get away from LA. The week they had met Isaac. But why was he here again? And where were the wolves? He rushed into the bedroom he had slept in. It was as he remembered: functional, with pieces of mid-century artwork hanging on the wall. The bed was made. He found two suitcases. Suitcases he had never seen before. Prime hated suitcases, even those with wheels. His solution was duffle bags for everything. The suitcases had tags. He read the name. ‘Colt Parker,’ they said. Strangely, they were his. He quickly checked the other two bedrooms. They were empty. Beds perfectly made, no suitcases. What the hell? He rushed through the big kitchen and dining area to open the French window doors to the luscious garden. The sun was just on the cusp of disappearing behind the brown mountains in the West. The last rays pampered the landscape with oneiric shades of ocher and orange, being reflected by the calm water surface in the pool. He remembered how Prime had made a show out of getting out of the water, so Colt would start salivating. He remembered the enforcers jumping into the pool watering the plants generously with the splashes they caused, to lie down afterward on the spots of grass to sleep like the sleep-deprived enforcers they had been. He remembered Brian sucking seductively at his ice cream just to turn Colt crazy. But the garden and the pool were empty. They looked as nobody had used them for weeks. He couldn’t hear them, smell them, nor discover any sign his wolves were around … … or, worse, even existed. Cold sweat of panic formed on his back. He rushed back into the house to find his wallet, his phone, his computer, anything that would help him in finding himself. The wallet showed his driver’s license. With a chilly shock, he realized he still lived at the address he had grown up at as a kid in Texas. He found a corporate credit card of a company he had never heard of, several dollar bills which weren’t sorted by value (something he always did), and the boarding pass stub SLC-PSP – 11b – aisle. His phone asked for his code. But his code didn’t work. His laptop – a Lenovo of all brands! – asked for a password he didn’t know. Luckily he found a pad that was still unlocked. But the contacts app didn’t show any of his wolves’ details, no Prime, no Brian, no CE, or any of the others. Just names of people he didn’t know, they all looked like work colleagues. For a second, he tried to remember what Prime had been called in his dreams – Forest. But he didn’t find a Forest, or Burt. He dialed Prime’s cell phone number. But he only got a “this number does not exist” message. He sent a test mail to the wolf’s wwpinc.com address, but it was returned immediately as not deliverable. None of them existed. He was alone in this house in Palm Springs. Just with two suitcases and a work laptop. He needed a headache pill, ran into the bathroom. And nearly slipped on the tiles because of the shock he encountered. There he was. In the mirror. Old and fat and ugly. He had gone from young, scrawny, and ugly directly to old, fat, and ugly. No wonder he was alone. He couldn’t find any painkillers and returned to the sofa, exhausted, scared, tired, shaking. A sigh escaped him. The chill of the loneliness on a winter Sunday afternoon in Palm Springs enveloped him like the wings of evil. He shuddered. ‘Painkillers,’ he thought finding a small plastic bottle on the side table. When he reached for it, he noticed it secured a piece of paper. A letter. Handwritten in his own barely decipherable messy style. ‘Dear soldier, you who never came,’ it started. He instinctively knew it was a good-bye letter. And he instinctively understood those pills weren’t painkillers for a headache. After all, he had been there before. ‘When I spotted you the first time as a kid, I knew one day we would meet again; well, I hoped we would meet again. Maybe not you in specific, but somebody like you. My whole life I have kept myself ready to meet somebody like you. I tried to be good at school despite my being shunned, good at work despite my being bad at sucking up, understanding to my parents who had saved me from the dumpster, kind to the few friends even if they lead such busy lives that we couldn’t spend all the time together I would have liked, loyal to my country, especially to the taxman, and respectful to nature. Not only once a wasp stung me just after I had rescued it. My whole life I have been on the look-out for you. At work, during travels, in the bars, on the Internet, during parades, and at many places more. Whenever I was disappointed, rejected, or heartbroken, I soldiered on, because I was convinced one day we would meet; one day we would get together and have a family. For some strange reason, I had already believed we would get married before that kind of marriage was legal in Texas. And for some strange reason, I always imagined us having little soldier boys to complete our family. I was prepared that you wouldn’t be a soldier, nor that stunning blond I had observed in front of the barber, but it wouldn’t have mattered, as long as we would have met. And at every birthday, at every New Year’s Eve, and at every July 4th, I was convinced I would meet you before my next birthday, the next New Year’s Eve, or the next July 4th fireworks. And so I have spent my whole life looking for you, waiting for you, hoping for you. But you never came. I guess you found the cute girl to marry years ago; or you found that cute boy you’ve been waiting for to marry for years, and finally, you could propose to him. I guess I was never in your plans. So I need to tell you now I’m done waiting. My tenacity, my strength, my energy, my getting-back-up-on-my-feet-ability after being stabbed so often … they’re gone. I cannot see myself anymore celebrating another New Year’s Eve alone, or worse with ‘friends’ who just feel sorry for me. And the number of candles of my next birthday cake (not that there would ever be one) is too insane to hope still that one day you would wake me up with kisses to wish me a happy birthday. After all, you never came. I don’t blame you. I don’t resent you. But I need to change things. Even the strongest pine tree will break under the weight of snow, even the most resilient seed of a rose will freeze, when it just snows for too long, with no spring in sight, no ray of hope left. I hope you’re happy with your girl, or your boy, your kids, your dog, your life. At least one of us should be. Good-bye, my soldier, you, who never came. As of today, I will stop looking for you. C.’ Colt’s hands lost their grip on the paper, so it slowly sailed to the ground. He didn’t have to open the lid of the bottle to know what he had planned to do next. And then he shook. Everything around him shook. A cold chill caught him, making him drop the bottle as well, all the pills rolling across the floor with little clicking noises when they hit the tiles. “How does he never know what to say?” somebody asked. “Wake up, Colt,” somebody shouted. Colt opened his eyes. Somebody shook him. Not somebody. Isaac. “Are you okay?” Colt didn’t say anything. “You fell asleep. Your dreams again?” Colt just nodded. And while Isaac shut down the TV where somebody was talking about the incompetence of the president to form a complete sentence, no to mention an intelligent one, Colt grabbed the marine and squeezed him tightly. “I won’t leave,” Isaac said in his calm baritone. “Ever.” ‘If only,’ Colt thought, but was happy for this elusive moment to enjoy the feeling of being able to hold ‘his’ soldier. Because he knew how it felt not having found him.
  13. MetaPrompts 595: FLts (MW8)

    “Double shots for all of us, he pays!” Carlos, in his slightly disarranged dress blues, ordered. A certain intoxication contributed to his very loud but not very clear voice. With a wallet in his hand, he clumsily pointed at the newly minted First Lieutenant Gavin Nawat, whose dress blues also wouldn’t pass inspection anymore and who laughed as only a drunk wolf could, having each of his arms around the shoulders of his fellow marine officers. The bald bartender with Navy tattoos under his wife beater saying ‘Real superheroes wear dog tags,’ shook his head with an approving smile, when he realized the wallet was somebody else’s. He had barely filled the glasses and put them on the counter when five greedy hands reached for them. “Here’s to an officer who can now find his ass without a map!” “Only needs GPS,” Zack added, punching Gavin into his abs. “He doesn’t need GPS, only a big dick,” the third one, Dylan, corrected, widening his arms like a fisherman bragging about his catch. Gavin just rolled his eyes. He would have to take that abuse until his four friends fell to the ground this night, tired, drunk, or humping something, or all of it. Given not only his three ‘ex’-marine Inner Circle members, Prime, CE, and Isaac, had shown up at his promotion ceremony, but also Colt, his closest friends now could put faces to the few names he had dropped when it came to ‘family.’ Of course, they had quickly concluded the nerd was the guy with the schlong that made Gavin salivate, leak, or open, or all of it. More abuse was the logical consequence. “Man, he looked small … like a mouse …,” Z said, they only called him Z, because his last name was an unpronounceable Polish name without any vowels, “… but those ones always have the biggest dicks.” It wasn’t a surprise Z was the smallest of their group of five. It wasn’t a surprise either he basically blurted it into the bar to attract the few females hanging around in the hope for some young marine meat. And while Carlos was married, the good Catholic boy he was, Zack pretty much engaged to what everyone knew was a dog tag-chasing cougar, and Gavin committed in a setup that raised more questions than the user manual of an Osprey aircraft, Dylan and he, Z, were very much available right now. And what Dylan had in height on Z, Z had in size where it counted on Dylan. “And I thought he’s married to that redhead,” Carlos collected the glasses, to point to the bartender for another round. “So what are you, Gavin, boy, the mistress?” Dylan asked. “Or do they spit roast you?” “They’re not … they …,” Gavin slurred to explain, but it didn’t matter. Zack and Z had already pushed him around, to illustrate spit-roasting live on him, both panting their tongue like horny dogs. While his head landed more at Zack’s belt buckle than at dick height, Z had arranged Gavin’s perky ass correctly and was pushing his mid-section into the white uniform pants. Feeling Z’s endowment, he thought he was fortunate that Z was too straight and too drunk to spring a boner at this joke, but he knew drunk, straight marines had done gayer things than fucking an ass and not remembering anything the next morning waking up with an overstuffed pillow under their pelvis. “And what’s with that bear? I’m sure he’s hung like a horse,” Dylan continued. “No wonder you run fast, they must be chasing you dick-crazy bitch every second.” “No, he …” “I’m sure that bat shit-crazy NCO sleeping in his boots, also likes some lily lieutenant ass …,” Z continued. “Isaac?” For a second a grin rushed over Gavin’s face, remembering Isaac and Gavin doing their recruit drill act again, right under Colt’s windows. Of course, that little MARPAT-fetishist couldn’t resist and fucked the come out of both lily asses. And of course, that little Meta knew he was being played, so as punishment they had to wear boots and utes for the next three days; with two small stones in each of the boots as permanent reminder not to fuck with the Meta anymore. “Look at his face … are you thinking of getting it up the ass right now …?” “Maybe you should try it?” Gavin returned after he had downed the second double shot. Dylan’s facial expression of disgust was Hollywood-worthy. “Oh no, I want some nice chocolate pussy, warm and soft …” “That’s so gay!” Gavin challenged. After the laughter had calmed down, Carlos ordered the third round … Just the moment Gavin wanted to pick up the glass, a scent hit his nose. A wolf. An alpha wolf. Powerful. And he knew it. He sighed. The last thing he needed was a wolf shifter marine Colonel reporting back to ShadowLands. Of course, he knew by now nearly every alpha in this fucking country reported back to Prime. And the rest Sam and Jackson found out via their surveillance. Not that he had any secrets from his Inner Circle, but it was a bit overwhelming to know he would never ever have a secret again. A certain wine and water combo would make him spill the beans in seconds and take another bean into any of his orifices. He was so fucked. His buddies knew something was going on. Instinctively, they turned around. And there he was: Colonel Lunn in full dress blues, with more ribbons and medals than his chest could carry – and he had a big chest in the first place. “Colonel,” Gavin slurred, now being the highest-ranking officer. “Lieutenant, could I have a word?” The other marines were confused. Here? In Lucy’s? Now? At 01hundred00 in the morning? What the hell? “Sure, Sir.” Gavin put the glass away, shouted: “A fourth round for my friends while I’m gone. Maybe afterward they will put out.” Under protests by his buddies all reasserting their heterosexuality, he found his formal cover and left with the Colonel. He didn’t know how it happened, but any intoxication was gone the moment he stepped out of the door into the night of San Diego. The fresh air outside, the presence of this wolf, his thoughts about what was going on, and the scary memory of his first meeting with Lunn, all of that had a sobering effect on him. “I’m not sure you know, Lieutenant, but I will be retiring by the end of this year.” “Oh. Sorry to hear that.” “Don’t be sorry. Be happy. Seen enough shit. Even found a nice woman putting up with me. We’ll move to Minnesota.” “Congratulations.” “Now, I need to ask you something before you return to ShadowLands.” Gavin nodded. “I’m the lead alpha in the Marine Corps. I’m taking care of all the wolves in the Corps. It’s a shit detail, but somebody has to do it,” Lunn explained, walking down the street in measured steps. “I see,” Gavin answered. It explained a lot. “With my retirement, somebody else needs to take that billet.” “Makes sense.” “Somebody with lots of influence,” Lunn continued. Gavin had no clue where this led, his promotion to First Lieutenant was barely 12 hours ago, he surely wasn’t of ‘lots of influence.’ “You, Nawat,” Lunn stated dryly. “Me? I’m just a …” Lunn lifted his hands. “You’re an alpha. You’re a wise alpha because you’ve given up your right to lead a pack for the better good – as I did.” ‘For a dick,’ Gavin thought Carlos would explain. “And you’re member of the White Wolf Pack’s Inner Circle. There is no more influential pack right now … doesn’t matter how much Max in Germany tries to insist.” “Wow. So it’s not me, but my …” Lunn tilted his head. “Stop it. – Think about it. Tell me next week.” “Understood, Sir.” “Good. – Now go back to your buddies and get drunk until you can’t walk anymore, the situation in Africa looks like shit.” Gavin nodded. He wanted to salute as good-bye when Lunn added: “And please keep that nerd away from my base. I had three car accidents, two guys slipping in the showers, and a married Major trying to sniff at your Meta today. He’s a threat to any orderly marine base.” Gavin giggled. “I will tell him, not that it will mean anything.” Lunn rolled his eyes. He accepted Gavin’s salute and was off into the dark of the night. Later that night – or early in the morning, when only Dylan and he were still reasonably awake – the Chocolate-colored boy asked: “So Gavin, does this Colt have a phone number?” Gavin shook his head. They really had to keep Colt away from any concentration of MARPAT.
  14. MetaPrompts 593: Aide (MW4)

    “What did you promise this time?” she asked, fearing she knew the answer. “Him? – Nothing,” MaryAnn asked and answered at the same time. Both knew it was a lie. They watched the two ‘men’ leaving in the truck. “You really want to destroy this pack.” She shook her head like a librarian in indignation about the decreasing quality of English literature. “No. I don’t care about this rabies-infested bunch of mutts.” Her nose was insulted by the stink around her. “But you made him kill the new alpha,” the dirty blond with no boobs to speak of insisted folding her children’s clothes diligently. They were playing down at the lake. And her husband? She didn’t know where he was. She had long resigned herself to her fate. “So? You wanted to marry the fat one … just to …” “He isn’t fat,” Samantha contradicted. “Could have fooled me.” “What do you want?” “Nothing today, my dear. I’m happy with our current arrangement. – I just need to pass the time until they approach the meeting point …” “And then you’ll whisk out of here?” Samantha made a magic genie movement with her right arm. “Yep. To my readily waiting Merc …” “And why that charade?” MaryAnn moved her attention from that atrocious painting of the Rockies to turn to that very uninspirational and rather bland woman next to her. It was always surprising to her how unremarkable the love-making of men must be nowadays that women fell for her so completely after one night. Well, who cared? “He doesn’t need to know how well I can teleport …” “You don’t think they know already?” “’They’ have no clue. He still thinks I want to kill him. Such a dummy.” Samantha picked up the empty laundry basket to return to the living room with it filled again. Laundry with two small kids never ended. She had dreamed of more than two, but not with Will. With his brother she wouldn’t have minded some more, Burt had been nice; unfortunately, it was true: all the nice ones were gay. In childish spite, she had thrown herself at Will, who had been only too happy to conquer another female. The not anymore future wife of his older brother on top, he couldn’t resist that trophy. He hadn’t planned for her to get pregnant, and she had only partly planned it. Given she was from the same pack, Will’s fatherhood undisputed – he was the new future chief enforcer after all, and it was quite convenient for the pack chief enforcer to get a grandchild given that ‘unfortunate’ Burt event, the wedding had been hastily arranged; neither Will nor she had had a lot of say in the matter. After two not very fulfilling years of marriage, the romantic seduction by a stunning woman had been more than comfort, it had actually been excitement. After delivering her second child, Will’s philandering got so excessive that she fell … for a vampire. Fate was a bitch. She had paid for it for years. MaryAnn dropping by, giving her little crumbs of affection, which barely satiated her starvation given Will’s attention went somewhere else; in return that vampire got all the information Samantha had. Not a lot Samantha thought. She didn’t know about any secrets. Neither Stan, her father-in-law, nor Will told her anything, she was a stupid female after all. So she didn’t really know about pack secrets, so she didn’t really betray the pack, she thought; just provided small talk to her little side affair. The good thing about having an affair with a vampire queen was that nobody could find out. Wolves couldn’t smell them. “So how did you make him shoot the new alpha?” It seemed she had moved back to Colt, one of the men in the car. “Honey, don’t think about that … they are just some … perverts …” “Okay,” Samantha stopped. “Aren’t …” Before she could continue, MaryAnn sat down touching one of the boy’s T-shirts. A distant memory of her son being just three years old, running through the plantation fields, filled her mind. She smiled and bit her lip before she regained her composure. “So what do you know about this not-husband of yours?” “Who? Burt?” MaryAnn shrugged. “Nothing. I mean. Nothing secret. He was … is … a really nice guy. The bigger he grew, the nicer he got. Always standing up for the smaller pups in the pack when we were young …” MaryAnn rolled her eyes. “A saint?” “Bernard,” Samantha giggled. A little bit of warmth filled her body for a second. MaryAnn suppressed her vomiting instinct. “Is that so?” “He has these big brown eyes …” “Mmmh.” “And this deep, gentle voice. When he talks with you, you feel safe …” MaryAnn could only think: ‘Safe with a man?’ “He would have been the perfect father for pups.” The vampire noticed the woman had to force herself not to say ‘our pups.’ “He’s big.” Samantha giggled. “Always been, but when he returned the other day I thought he’d grown even more … and you should see his wolf.” ‘I have,’ MaryAnn thought. “So strong, so protective, so …” She stopped. “So what happens to the other men …,” she hesitated, “wolves around him?” “What do you mean?” “Does he attract their aggression?” MaryAnn knew men when together always had to prove who had the biggest dick. “I don’t think so. I think it’s more the opposite …” “Opposite?” “They don’t feel challenged by him” – ‘in contrast to Will,’ she added in her head. “I think he inspires them, gives them confidence, they become stronger than they thought they could be.” “He does that to other men?” MaryAnn didn’t really intend to ask it as a question, it was more a thought growing in her head. “Yes. I’ve seen Inner Circles before, but never one like this. It’s like each of them pulls each other higher … and Burt,” she suppressed a girly sigh, “makes them more loyal and stronger.” “I see. But he must have a weakness – he ain’t a Saint,” MaryAnn insisted. Coincidentally, she had gotten up, closed the space to Samantha and taken some socks out of her hands. She made sure her gently rose-perfumed neck was close to the woman’s nostrils. “Not really. Sweets – yes, he loves sweets like a kid.” “That’s it?” MaryAnn inched a bit forward. “I think it’s the only thing,” she was slightly confused about what was happening, “the only thing that would hurt him is when his closest family would deceive him, or betray him.” “Is that so,” MaryAnn stated, breathing the hint of a kiss on her forehead. Samantha moaned. “Oh, it’s time. Sam has delivered the kid.” MaryAnn always called the mutt fucker ‘kid’ in Samantha’s presence. After all, one of the mutts was ‘her’ Burt. “Need to deliver on my promises,” she added with a smirk. “So you did?” “Of course, my dear,” MaryAnn had no scruples to confess she had lied before. “What?” Samantha asked, with a hint of jealousy. But the vampire queen had already gone.
  15. MetaPrompts 591: Were (MW1)

    When he woke up, he felt dirty. He threw the blanket across the room as if it was covered in squirrel shit, and got up. He spread his arms to allow the fresh wind from the sea caress his body, letting go of a calming sigh. “What’s up, Precious? It’s in the middle of the night,” she asked him full of concern, kissing his neck gently. “The boy,” he answered, trying to collect himself. “He’s safe, the Messenger and the Smart One are making sure of that … “I know,” Precious answered, his body still trembling. “What is it then?” She left him to return with a plate of grapes; big grapes from the Island of Aphrodite. “He’s found his Good,” he huffed; accepting one of the grapes being pushed between his lips. “That’s good.” “I guess so,” he calmed down. “We need to meet.” “In the morning, Precious. - So who are his Good?” “Werewolves,” he started. “What are werewolves?” she asked in confusion. “Λυκάνθρωποι. Men who turn into monstrous beasts at the full moon.” “And they are his Good? Like Lykaon? But he’s evil.” “He was. They were. But in this new world, evil is good,” he explained. She looked doubtful. “I can explain tomorrow. It’s linked to his preference for men. Anyway, he has the fantasy of controlling them in their beast state; and …,” he swallowed, “… loving them in their human state.” “So we need to get those tall, darkish, hairy beasts?” she asked pondering about the implications, suppressing the gruesome aspects of Lykaon. “No. Fair-skinned, red-haired, compliant, …” “Why’s that?” Now she ate one of the grapes herself. “I don’t know. I just sense how he reacts to what he sees on these … TV shows.” “I guess we couldn’t expect him to react to the Odyssey,” she joked. She had found the modern invention of TV highly entertaining; though the depictions of most historic events she had actually witnessed, were as far off, as was the treatment of the Greek divinities. Zeus surely wasn’t an old man with long white hair. “True.” He ran to the table, heaps of scrolls of parchment covering it in a system only the Smart One understood. “Did we catalog some of them?” The ‘young’ woman closed her toga with a delicate needle, one of many gifts from Precious, before she approached him. “We are watching the lives of more than thousand young men, many with connections to the U.S. military as you’d ordered … I’m sure we’ll find some.” Anxiously he shuffled through the papers. “Not him,” he threw one to the side. Slowly it glided to the floor. She bent to pick it up returning it to the table. The Smart One would be upset otherwise. “You need to get him to Europe to deepen his desire,” he suddenly said. “Of course, Precious. I’ll change the location to the North – home of those wolves,” she suggested. The boy would never remember where he really had been until he was eight … her suggestions would form his memories in line with their needs – his needs. “We need to instigate the wolves in his home town … he needs to sense their presence … but they cannot reveal themselves,” he continued, still shuffling through the scriptures. “The Messenger will do that.” “I need to meet the headmaster, …” he mumbled until he suddenly shouted: “Here. That’s the right guy for his first.” He handed a big roll to his goddess. Her delicate white hand unrolled it and read the name: “Prime Loope, Montana.” The picture showed a good-looking young man, even though he had just turned fifteen. She added quickly. “I’m pretty sure he is a man already. And has lain with another man, that best friend of his,” she read the name ‘Zef,’ before she doubtfully added: “Or a woman.” “Man, most likely,” Precious stated. “We need to make him forget that.” “We need to do a lot of that. We need to control his father. Make him banish his son. – This boy has an aunt - Flora. Sylvia can take over her place,” she continued. “Here, the next one,” the man shouted. He placed another roll on top of the one the woman was reading. She smiled at the man’s eagerness, rolled up the first scroll properly, before reading the second one. “A Mormon?” she read in confusion. “Blond. Innocent. Fast. Easily manipulatable because of his environment. Easy to be kicked out.” “And easy on the eye. Gaukula will be so happy.” The man growled but didn’t comment. He continued to discard scriptures, continued his search, throwing papers left and right without respect for the system. “Him,” he shouted. “Looks more like a bear than a wolf,” she stated with amusement. “Burt Alexander,” she read. “But he will be tougher to get control of.” He ignored her. “Gaukula will find a way.” “Of course, Precious.” She rolled the parchment and put it next to the other two. “We should return to bed …” “Not yet,” he stopped her, the pictures in his head still vivid. He hadn’t expected the boy to find his Good so early, but he guessed with the invention of TV, everything was happening faster in today’s world. “He. He’s the fourth,” he pointed at the boy in front of him. “Another Mormon. Jared?” she read. “Are you sure about this?” “Yes.” Suddenly exhaustion captured him. He fell on the chair in front of the table with a big sigh. And then they just listened to the wind moving the white drapes providing them with privacy in their Mediterranean retreat surrounded by a luscious park; their private refugio, built thousands of years ago after they had killed the Lord of the Dark; a long time ago. She gently pushed a slice of sweet pear through Precious’ lips, who swallowed obediently. “I think you have done enough. Let’s go back to sleep.” He nodded. “Tomorrow we’ll sit together and start our plan how to get the first four out of their families and together; and when and how they should meet the boy.” “Yes,” he agreed. He slowly sat down on the bed and let himself fall onto the soft cushions. “Good.” She smiled, caressing his shoulder gently. Her lips brushed his scruffy cheek. “Maybe I can help you fall asleep …” He giggled like the little boy he had been thousands of years ago … but stopped in his tracks, his body stiffening. “What is it?” “The new Lord of the Dark has manifested himself,” he whispered. “The boy has made his choice,” she stated, not surprised. “Yes.” “We will be prepared this time, Precious. We will succeed.” “Yes,” he added enjoying the touch on his skin, the elegant thin fingers on his less elegant, less thin ‘finger.’ “You know Gaukula, she writes stories like Homer … and makes them happen …” He smiled. Homer had just been Gaukula’s pen name, so … And before he fell asleep feeling that warm moist cloth on his loin, he whispered: “You need to send him books … with these wolves … and the soldiers he likes … more books … and those movies …” “I will, my dear. His grandmother will. Now sleep, Precious, …” She kissed him on his head. And on the other side of the planet, a young boy wondered whether Daniel ‘Oz’ Osbourne in Buffy could be bigger, cuter, and with a controllable wolf; but most importantly whether he could be interested in young boys like him. The boy rejected that stupid thought and decided instead to play with his Lego castle. And somebody in New York broke her cell phone throwing it against the wall when she realized the boy had made another choice – against her.

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