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JohnAR last won the day on March 20 2016

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  1. MetaPrompts 622: News (MW9)

    ‘Are we almost home?’ Seb wanted to smile when he remembered this very spot, and his words. He felt he had uttered them only yesterday, like every child who wanted to get back to his holo-games as quickly as possible. His father, Forest, had shaken his head with gentle disbelief, but wouldn’t change direction. For hours they hiked through snow-covered forests up the hills of ShadowLands. His smile – if he could have had a smile on his snout – froze in the very same second. He missed his father so much. It had only been 18 months ago that he had to cremate the White Wolf Pack Alpha; died too quickly for his age due to the insidious wolf cancer. He so hoped Forest would be one of the last victims of the plague. His mother was slowly recovering from the loss of her mate, but she was no help to run the pack. And his Inner Circle was mostly empty. His CE, Alexander, was running next to him, big, fearsome and loyal as had been his father, but particularly his grandfather. Burt had actually been Alexander’s grandfather’s brother, but for the big enforcer, Burt was his granddad. His real granddad and his betrayal were buried deep in the Pack’s archives. Another enforcer, the offspring of one of the last female survivors of the Winterfir pack, had joined them only weeks ago. Theo reminded him strangely of two of his uncles – the face of his Marine Colonel uncle with the body of the biggest wolf he had ever known next to Burt: Sam. The rest of the wolves hunting with him were fighters. His father had kept a substantial amount of fighters when he had taken over the pack from Prime, the founder of the White Wolf Pack, knowing that good times could quickly turn into bad times. And unfortunately, he had been right. Some odd blogs had appeared on the net some months ago listing the mysterious deaths and disappearances of young girls on the Western half of the North American continent, particularly in Idaho and Western Nevada. The police were hunting a serial killer, but Seb didn’t have to be the near-PhD in Western Philosophy to understand some serious vampire was feeding on girls. Based on how cunning the perpetrator was he had come to the conclusion an actual vampire queen was on the loose again. He had listened to Prime’s stories often enough to get a feel for them; he had learned from the fighters how to fight them best, but mostly he had studied ‘Of Vampires and Wolfs’ by L. Colt Parker so intensely the conclusion had been obvious. And when several of his wolves had gotten itchy over the past days, and their alarm system had gone off for no apparent reasons three times, he had had to assume that very vampire queen was trying to get to them. Maybe for a revenge long due, though none of the wolves from the Big Battle Against the Vampires were alive anymore. But the statue celebrating their heroic fight and commemorating the sacrifices made was located in ShadowLands; the annual celebrations took place in ShadowLands; that made ShadowLands, and thereby his pack, the logical place for the vampire to sniff around. He had to stop that, even if his IC was almost empty. They ran. His CE to his right, his second enforcer, Theo, to his left. Two dozens of fighters spread out. But he knew he had more support than that. His father, and his mate, had made sure of that. The net got tighter. And then they spotted her. Tall and blond. She looked surprised, but not scared. Even from a distance, Seb could appreciate the porcelain white skin, the slender figure, and the cunning eyes. Every red-blooded alpha wolf would have been interested in such a female, Seb too if he hadn’t been Seb, and the female not a vicious vampire queen. Of course, she vanished, reappearing some 100 meters away, finding herself again surrounded by some of his wolves. She transported again. She was tough and capable it seemed, as a vampire queen should be. She quickly realized the gap the wolves had left and transported behind their backs, with a benevolent smile on her lips. Seb smiled as well. The moment she materialized, nodding to them like “Nice try, boys, see you later,” hundreds of arrows appeared from nowhere. The moon’s reflection created a piece of art of broken silver light, supported by a swoosh only a deadly weapon could make. The arrows were so dense, only tiny birds would have been able to escape. Most disappeared somewhere in the distance in the snow; many got stuck in the thick-trunked pine trees of the forest, but three hit the target perfectly. She was stunned. She stared at them in disbelief. When she had recovered from the surprise of having been outwitted by a dog, she started to pull the first arrow out of her left upper arm. Examined it, nearly admiring the dagger-like shape. Wondering where they had come from. When she tried to rid herself of the second arrow stuck in her thigh, the wolves had caught up with her. Theo shifted mid-jump and tackled her, stopping her from removing the last arrow in her abdomen. And Alexander’s paw sliced her chest open turning her delicate t-shirt red in an instant. A scream of unbelievable pain and unbelieving annoyance filled the forest. Another fighter joined Theo, immobilizing her completely. Alexander’s wolf growled his hot breath into her face, keeping his razor-sharp paws ready to stop her from healing, and thereby from escaping. They had caught a queen. Seb shifted. He didn’t care he was naked. He had long stopped being annoyed by cold snow and preferring his warm room with stuff to read and games to play. That had been before he had shifted for the first time; since then he was a real wolf, who loved winter, forest, snow and the hunt. It didn’t matter that his bachelor was in philosophy. When he had closed the gap to the queen, the moon highlighted her features. He nearly wanted to touch the skin, so oneiric it looked, stretched over perfect cheekbones. But her perplexed look stopped him mid-tracks. “Prime?” she asked. “Seb actually, Sebastian Prime Loope, Alpha of the White Wolf Pack,” he introduced himself politely. He didn’t know why. “You look like him.” “’Him?’” “Prime,” she repeated numbly. “Maybe. He is my grand uncle after all.” “And they called you Seb – like my …” She didn’t continue. “So who are you?” he asked, wondering why he made polite conversation like on a Sunday afternoon barbeque. “The vampire queen of the West.” Seb moved his hand to invite her to continue. “Emma.” And now it was Seb’s turn to be surprised. Emma. He remembered from Prime and Colt’s tales, from the documents of the pack. Emma, his grandmother. No wonder his grandfather had fallen for her. What a woman. She smiled taking in the surprise of Seb. “So they called you after my Seb.” He thought he heard pain and gentle love in the angelic words, but he also recalled his training. Never trust a vampire. “The Seb you had killed, if I recall correctly,” he challenged her. “It wasn’t me. It was that mutt fucker …” Seb laughed. “I didn’t believe Colt when he told me that was the vampires’ nickname for him … but obviously, he’s right. Which I should have never doubted in the first place.” He had separated himself from the impact of the woman’s beauty and closed in again. And in just that moment, Alexander’s paw ripped her open again. She had gotten too close to healing, and his CE wouldn’t let her escape after they had planned this elaborate trap. “So what do you want?” “Nothing,” she answered. Lying. “I see. Seeking revenge?” She didn’t say anything. “Or looking for something?” He didn’t know why but something in her had changed. “I noticed, you don’t have a full IC yet, you’re vulnerable …” she whispered. “Not really,” he challenged her. “And your father, my son, died of that horrific disease …” “You made your son an orphan,” Seb shouted. “But you know what it takes to keep wolves – your wolves – healthy.” Seb smiled as if interested. “The presence of vampires?” “See. We could come to an understanding …” “You had my grandfather killed, you made my father and my uncle orphans, you had one of Prime’s Beta’s killed …” She was puzzled. “Leo!” he shouted. A replicate of the glass column was reminding them daily of the White Wolf Pack IC’s sacrifices. She shrugged. “And at least 20 girls in this country … and you want me to forget all of that for avoiding the cancer?” She shrugged seductively. “Well, I have news for you, my dear vampire queen.” “You talk like him.” Her being puzzled made her look even more intriguing. “Who?” “Colt.” – And then she choked. Less because of her wounds, but because of the realization. “Fuck,” she lost her composure, “you’re like Prime and Colt in one.” “That would be biologically impossible, but I take it as a compliment. – However, I can inform you your help regarding the cancer is not needed.” He turned his back to her, sending signals of disinterest, and continued: “Thanks to a German nerd we now have a preventive vaccine. He seems to have found something in Colt’s blood. Now, we cannot heal anyone, because it has to be injected before a pup shifts for the first time. But most of my pack’s wolves are safe. – So your assistance is not required.” “But I could …” “Alexander – kill that bitch!” he instructed coldly, swirling around to face that abysmal creature one more time. And with two ferocious paw strikes she was gone. Her scream short and satisfying. Turning into dust, spoiling the white snow on the ground, before even the dirt disappeared as if there had never been evil in ShadowLands. Alexander shifted, barking orders immediately. “Theo, make sure the fighters collect all the silver dagger-arrows, we will need them again. Then lead them home for big steaks and our special MaxBeer!” “Yes, Sir! – Guys, you’ve heard the boss …” Seb slowly walked away from the commotion, his CE catching up with him quickly. “How do …” Seb shook his head. “I’m fine. She could have lied.” “But you believed her.” “Colt had always suspected the reason she did what she did and how she died was because she expected to come back as a queen …” “I was always a bit scared of him …” “We were small pups … they were big … well, not Colt, but something in his eyes told us he wasn’t just a weirdo.” “I know what you mean. – But what was she looking for?” Alexander lifted his face, so his button nose could take in the winter forest scents. The scruffy facial hair made him look as dangerous as he was to his enemies. “The feeling I had was she really hated Colt, so …” “But he’s dead, for nearly ten years …” “Maybe.” “What maybe?” Alexander asked. “Sir, I’m not a beta, but I feel you need to talk about something.” “Who was Colt?” “The White Wolf.” “Really? My father told me he could transport.” “Well, he also was a vampire …” “Those can only transport a couple of hundreds of meters max,” Seb challenged. “We saw that today again.” “But …” “They never found their bodies in the rift the Big One opened.” “Well, they were old … “Nor the columns …” “Glass breaks …” “No clothes, …” “Are you suggesting they escaped? They were old!” “Didn’t look old. – I have the feeling Colt hasn’t told us everything.” “So, you’re saying she was looking for Colt?” “Yes. Obviously, he isn’t here, but she was sneaking around for info …” “So where is he?” Seb giggled. “The better question would be: ‘Who is he?’” Alexander rolled his eyes. “Of course, Alpha.” “The where is easy,” Seb put his hand on the big guy's shoulder. Alexander was taller than him, bigger, hairier, dark brown, nearly black hair and big brown eyes. He reminded him of a scruffier Burt. “I miss them,” his CE suddenly whined. “Me, too.” “But we have a job to do.” “Yes, and you guys did well, Alexander.” “Good.” They stopped to look over the cliff, the valley of ShadowLands, lit by the moon’s light reflecting on the snow, presenting itself in its full glory. “This pack deserves it. This land needs it.” “They trained us well. We will prevail.” “Good, now let’s get home, our mates are already itchy.” Seb smiled gently. Alexander had met his mate only some months ago, one of Jett’s youngest daughters, with hair as black as a raven’s, and a smile as sweet as the cakes he loved to eat. His mate on the other side was a different story. “You’re right. Casper is so pissed he has to stay at home and man the drones.” “Well, you chose a drone-piloting air force officer,” Alexander challenged good-heartedly as if that was the last he could think of as a mate. “Came in handy today …” “Yep. Let’s hope we fill the IC soon so we can do it the traditional way,” Alexander suggested. “Don’t tell Casper; he hates to be the girl …” Seb elbowed the big guy. “Doesn’t hurt,” Alexander answered. And both laughed. “Let’s shift and run home,” Seb ordered. “Aye, aye, Sir.” And then Seb stopped, turned around to look down the valley again, and then zooming in on a certain spot, which featured a prominent rock ledge. He thought he had felt something, smelled something. But his wolf senses couldn’t spot anything, so he shifted and joined Alexander to run home. He needed steak, beer, and a rough military fuck. Colt took Prime’s trembling hand. He knew the pack could not see, hear, smell or notice them in any way, but Prime’s quivering lips suggested he was under stress. “They did well,” Colt repeated. Prime nodded. “Good strategy, good execution. – He needs a Beta though, quickly.” “He will find one, we made sure of that.” “I miss this place.” Colt nodded. “And Seb’s a dog tag chaser.” Prime shook his head, pretending to be disappointed, knowing Colt wasn’t innocent. Colt smiled. “Are we surprised? Quality prevails.” “You were right, Emma was looking for us.” The nerd nodded. “She always wanted revenge. Now it’s finally over for her.” “Good idea from Brian to write that blog.” Colt nodded. “Let’s go home, Prime. I also want a steak.” Prime nodded. He turned around to let his eyes skim over the valley once more before he nodded to Colt. He was ready for Fate to transport him home. He just felt Colt knew bad times were ahead of the young third generation of the White Wolf Pack.
  2. MetaPrompts 620: Cash (MW2)

    “When were you going to tell me?” Colt asked nearly benevolently grandfatherly. Prime took a deep breath, put the plate with a sandwich for his hardworking Meta on the nightstand – the desk was utterly cluttered – and sat down on Colt’s unmade bed. “I guess the numbers tell you now.” Colt’s pen pointed at the screen of his laptop. Several printouts, a pocket calculator, his phone and a tablet were placed around it, all screaming: ‘Beware. Dangerous accountant hard at work.’ “If I were mischievous I’d say I didn’t know the Corps paid so well …” “But you aren’t …” “Especially after your discharge,” Colt discontinued undisturbed. “And in clean multiples of 5000’s.” Prime winced. “And in irregular intervals.” Prime didn’t say anything. Colt just looked into those big green eyes showing him a beautiful, green Voralpen valley with the first mist of fall. He nearly forgot where he was going with this. The muscle shirt and gym shorts with a hint of pine sweat added to the distraction, as did some grease on his elbows he had missed after quickly washing up. Of course, the wolves did the annual ‘inspection’ of their manly pick-up truck by themselves. The vision of Prime, Brian, CE, and Sam doing a ‘grease lightning’ act was nearly too much to stay soft. But he forced himself down by reminding himself of the night he worked through to organize Prime’s finances. After they had received the brokerage accounts from Prime’s father, Colt had been set to the task to handle their money aspects in the future. What Colt had expected to be a rather mundane bookkeeping and banking task, had turned out to be a surprise worthy a novel. “So do I assume you did some ‘side jobs’ after your discharge?” he asked carefully. He tried to express ‘side jobs’ sleazily and dirty but failed. Even though some men might pay such handsome sums to get at Prime's ass. Prime nodded. “And I assume you don’t have any documents like salary statements. W-2’s or 1099’s?” Prime shook his head. “And your bank never asked where this money came from?” Prime shook his head again. “Well, they are used to the military, so maybe they don’t ask so many questions …” Prime didn’t respond. “So maybe I shouldn’t, either,” Colt concluded, noticing something was slightly off. Prime exhaled with relief. But then his chest lifted as if he wanted to say something. Colt waited patiently. “Once I had met CE, I knew I would form a pack eventually. But I had no land, no rights, and little money. I needed to do something …” “And who doesn’t need the services of a skilled marine alpha wolf …,” Colt added a bit snappy. “There are people who look for us to do some unpleasant jobs …,” Prime confirmed. Colt nodded. He got up and sat next to his Alpha. “I understand. I don’t disapprove.” “Thanks,” Prime exhaled again. “Please, don’t tell the pack.” “They don’t know?” Prime shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure how CE would take it.” Colt understood. CE was very black and white. “Or Brian.” Colt frowned. He would have thought their smart Beta would understand better until he made a connection in his head. “That’s why you were in Colorado when you found him in the woods.” “An alpha of dubious reputation founded kind of a cult pack … “… aren’t they all?” Colt challenged. Prime ignored the interjection and continued. “He was skilled in attracting wolves from wealthy packs … and even more skilled in squeezing money out of them …” “Wow.” “Some of those wolf families and packs got very concerned. They couldn’t really challenge the alpha as on the surface everything was very much according to our laws …” “… so they sent you. The fire brigade, police, and ambulance in one.” “Yes. I observed the guy for several weeks …” “Hesitant?” “A bit.” “And then?” “He approached a woman … she rejected him, but he wanted her anyway …” “So you played white knight and assassin in one,” Colt completed the thought with a sober voice. “Yes. The families were very grateful, and they showed their gratefulness,” Prime concluded. “Well, you made a little fortune.” Colt got up to show him a bank statement. “The pack ne…” Colt put his finger on Prime’s small strawberry-pink lips. “It’s okay. I’m fine with it. – I just need to arrange some stuff, in case certain people ask questions.” “Thanks.” Colt suddenly giggled. “What?” “And there I thought you are the guy who married me for money!” Prime frowned with amusement. “So it must be my looks,” Colt continued while shuffling the papers together. “Of course, handsome,” Prime whispered. “So, we do have an agreement though that your ninja times are over?” “Yes. They were over when we spotted you in San Francisco. Now we need to make money the traditional way …” Colt tilted his head. “I would assume we have different definitions of ‘traditional,’ but I agree. – However, that leads to another question.” “Oh no!” Prime complained in protest. Colt ignored it. “So, if you hadn’t had your ‘hit job’ in Boulder …” “How do you know …” Colt just pointed to the papers. He wasn’t a detective, but he could read ATM receipts. “… what I was saying, if you hadn’t been sent to Colorado for some bible-selling job,” Colt grinned, “you would have never met Brian.” Prime nodded. “You know that’s too much of a coincidence …” “Yep.” “You and CE. You and Brian. – Do you think Betsy is behind that as well?” “I don’t think L… - I don’t think my contact works with a vampire Shaman,” Prime expressed his doubt … though his face started to doubt his own doubt. “Great, we have a vampire-shaman-marine conspiracy here to form a pack. I mean what’s next? – Good, we’re going to Palm Springs for vacation … only old fat golf-playing men there …” Colt stated. Prime nodded very affirmatively. “I think I should get a shower now, I worked through all the night to clean up your mess,” Colt teased. “Thanks.” And Colt understood it was for more than cleaning the financial mess. But he also understood Prime had something up his sleeves for their trip to Palm Springs. That cunning ginger alpha ass. The only thing that didn’t make any sense in this was that the entity that had paid Prime’s moonlighting work had the same nine-digit zip code as the company he had sent the DNA samples to. Well, and the fact the wolf Prime had killed, had been a former USAF officer with the dashing looks of Liam Hemsworth and the open preference for men …
  3. MetaPrompts 619: Tale (MW8)

    “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Colt whispered when he looked into the mirror. Slowly he put the blond wig on his ¼ inch cropped head, pushing the braids behind his ears. Nonetheless, the tips landed where the wearer of such braids should normally have tits. He sighed again. He might have killed Evil itself, two vampire queens, fuck over-sized wolf marines and nowadays having turned 40, impress even Isaac with his marksmanship, but after all, he always was the girl … and today showed it again. It was a stupid idea. No, he contradicted himself; it was a rather smart idea. For his pack to dress him up in embarrassing ways – as he did with camouflage, jockstraps, lederhosen, or cowboy hats – was just the cherry on the cake. He rolled his eyes in defeat and tried to rearrange his braids, but he gave up. He looked stupid in any case. He had successfully vetoed the skirt. They had compromised on a kilt. Not that made a lot of difference for the kids on the streets, but he felt he had protected a thin veneer of manhood. Nonetheless, even in a kilt his skinny calves and bony knees were barely of the Scottish hunkiness he had hoped for. He rearranged his unisex white shirt, replaced the braids again, but to no avail. He just looked horrendous. He guessed that was the purpose of that exercise in the first place. Slowly he put the red cap on. It wasn’t a baseball cap, nor a cover, or a woolly hat that CE loved to see so much on him when they took long walks through the woods – even if the wooly hat made him look like one of those gartenzwerge Andreas couldn’t stop pointing out … of course that lead Andreas to be puzzled as he had though Colt was Snowwhite and not one of her dwarfs – though his physique suggested more dwarf. Colt pushed the thought aside and rearranged the cap to sit straight without deranging his very blond braided wig, but he couldn’t help, and his braids landed wrong all over again. After several attempts, he had finished. He looked as moronic as the day required. “They will so pay for this,” he threatened, heading for the door. Before he could open it, he turned around and picked up the basket that had been prepared for him. An empty bottle and the poor excuse of old bread peeked out of the red-white-checkered cloth hiding the goodies in the basket otherwise. He picked it up, pushed it into the cradle of his elbow, took another deep breath and walked downstairs onto the dark street. He had never liked Halloween. He had seen too much real horror and drama to enjoy the celebration thereof, but today it seemed to be necessary. So he started to walk. And it took only 30 seconds until a creature, tall, dangerous, golden, bared its gigantic fangs. It seemed to ask with no pretense of any friendliness: “What are you doing out here, little girl?" "I'm on my way to a gay leather bar,” Colt snarled. “I need to shove this bottle up some innocent baby marine’s pussy … they squeal so nicely when stuffed.” The beast growled, its teeth shining in the moonlit night. It came closer. Colt could smell it. He pushed his hands into his hips and shouted: “Oh stop that nonsense, Prime. My knees are freezing, let’s get this done.” Prime’s wolf tilted his head in slight disappointment but lifted his head as if addressing the moon. A bone-shattering howl filled the LA Halloween night, and soon thereafter more wolves, some even bigger, some faster, but equally scary and beautiful at the same time filled the street, surround little red-hooded Colt. “You’re such a drama wolf,” Colt tsktsked and started to walk; but the wolves seemed to hesitate. “What?” he shouted with a hint of annoyance. A silver wolf’s snout came too close, trying to lift Colt’s kilt. Colt quickly grabbed the chain around the wolf’s neck and hissed: “Brian, you do that once more, and I rip your balls off here and now for everyone to see. Understood?” Brian’s silver wolf yelped and took some careful steps back, the head bowed in submission. “And I do wear underwear; I’m not Scottish!” Colt explained. “But, red-hooded girl,” another wolf seemed to approach him, nearly white, stating: “What cute long blond hair you have.” “So I can better strangle you.” An ocher one pushed his snout towards Colt’s boots: “and big army boots.” It seemed the wolf had taken offense. “So I can better step on your dicks.” When finally an enormous anthracite-colored wolf seemed to ask: “And why does such a cute girl have such a big …,” Colt hissed: “So I can fuck you bloody after a shift, and let’s fucking do this.” And with this ten wolves started to move; they’d giggle if their wolf snouts could. Colt was tense. Not because he was dressed like a Little Red Riding hood drag queen, not because it was Halloween on ‘their college,’ not because the Halloween costume was actual wolf shifters surrounding his pitiful drag act, but because he was surrounded by ten wolves; but not ‘his’ ten wolves. Eight were his: Prime, Brian, Gavin, CE, Sam, Isaac, Warren, and Bradley. But they were led by two other wolves, outer circle wolves of the White Wolf Pack, to conclude an open chapter that had been started well before their pack had been formed. To do this on Halloween, and in this ostentatious non-disguise was just a little trick they liked to play to get what they wanted. How else could ten oversized wolves roam the college without creating havoc? The two outer circle wolves led the pack; then Isaac and Warren; Colt, aka Little Drag Red Riding hood, was surrounded by Prime and Sam, with CE on their six. Brian and Gavin flanked them. It was indeed quite impressive how a nearly white and a silver wolf dashed around to check for threats. And they were needed once they reached the streets with people; most dressed up in their usual Halloween costumes: horror movie characters, monsters, (fake) vampires, and zombies. Everything stopped when the wolves showed up. Some girls screamed, looking for comfort in some strong boys’ arms. They seemed to calm them down that those wolves are just a projection, and there was no reason to be scared, but even Colt could smell the fear. It was one thing to say those monster wolves were projection, but another to believe it given the perfection they showed. Of course, nobody would think they were real wolves, except those frat boys who were young wolf shifters themselves. But those made five extra steps back as they immediately recognized at least three alphas, some vicious betas, and a collection of the most brutal enforcers they had ever witnessed. Once or twice an intoxicated, and therefore over-confident, young man, came too close, wanting to touch the ‘simulations’ with his hand, when he faced himself quickly with saliva-dripping fangs the size of half his face. The sound effects – the growls – did the rest. Of course, most could smell some distant dog scent to complete the whole performance, but Colt knew better. A sweet potpourri of strawberry, cherry, forest, plum, orange, apricot, apple, and malt filled his nose the longer he walked surrounded by furry wolf flesh. He didn’t even have to try, but cream and coco added themselves smoothly. And a smile crossed his lips. Nearly passively he grabbed the chains on around Prime and Sam’s necks when they approached the building they had targeted. As expected, a horde of onlookers had followed them and stopped right now with some safe distance. Some younger men exited the building to confront the wolves. Colt smelled courage, but lots of fear. And he saw torn jeans, scruffy faces, long hair, and disorganization. Time to straighten things out, one of the wolves seemed to think. Colt was surprised. It hadn’t been one of ‘his’ wolves, but maybe he just knew what he would think. Colt turned around facing the impressed onlookers. He reached into his goodie basket and aimed with a kind of gun with an oversized barrel. A thin black cloth shot into the air with a harmless boom. It unfolded and slowly descended, covering all of the wolves and him. And like with a David-Copperfield-act decades ago, the wolves were gone, and ten very attractive, very hunky and very sweaty men in gym shorts pushed themselves out of the cloth. The audience was oooh-ing and aaah-ing and breaking into a resounding applause. Colt bent as if communicating that the performance was over. And indeed when nothing more happened, most of the college crowd dissolved to continue with their own celebrations. And with this, a young man, tall, dark-haired, with a thin layer of fur on his chest and lean legs, took a step towards the young men ‘protecting’ the building. “Who is your alpha?” he barked. The alpha might not look as intimidating as the two others, the red-haired and the blond, but his self-confidence was the same. Nobody answered. “Who is your senior beta?” the alpha continued. One of the younger wolves had lost control over his bladder, and everyone could hear the stream hitting the pavement. Then a pudgy man stepped forward, collecting all his courage and spoke. “Alpha, I’m Elijah, the most senior enforcer present.” The alpha snarled and issued his orders: “I’m Iove. I hereby claim the alphaship of the Golden Chestnut Pack …” There were barely protests, only confused whispers. “This is Jackson, my chief enforcer. If you resist, he will fight you for my role. If you declare war, the White Wolf Pack will fight with me.” Elijah smiled. Indeed he smiled. “Iove, I’m not familiar with the customs of the Golden Chestnut Pack since we have lost our first better, General Stiller, years ago. But our pack has a special requirement for its alpha.” “Colt?” Iove’s voice turned oddly soft and respectful. Little Red Riding hood stepped forward and said: “If anyone of you snickers, I’ll ask Iove to have you all castrated!” The threat seemed to work, all the young wolves quickly bit their lips; their balls were too precious. “And here is a copy of Iove’s Ph.D. diploma from Yale. That should meet your criteria.” Elijah lowered his head. “Alpha, I will not challenge your claim, and ask humbly to continue to serve our pack.” Iove nodded gracefully, and then he and Jackson, the first son of Prime’s Gamma Jackson, joined the disheveled young men and entered the main building of the old Golden Chestnut Pack. Prime nodded with satisfaction. They had placed another alpha, to be allied with another of the most influential packs in North America. He was satisfied. Then he turned to Colt and said: “So tell me Big Red Riding hood, why do you have such a big mouth?” “That I can bark my orders loud and clear like a US drill instructor, you maggot,” Colt bellowed with a mischievous smile. When he noticed Prime’s grin, he added quickly: “Anyway, now that I look like a very bad drag version of Judy Garland, which made me endure any gay stereotype ever conceived, I should enjoy it more.” “How?” CE asked with a hint of worry in his voice. “Oh, I want my wolves on the way back … those scents make me horny …” And within seconds, eight men had ripped their gym shorts and turned into mean beasts again. And on their way back home he said as if talking to himself: “They say the lion and the tiger are stronger than the wolf; but the wolf doesn’t perform in a circus. I guess nobody has ever done this to a wolf.” And with this Colt loosened his boxer briefs under his kilt and stepped out of them to whirl them into the air like a makeshift whip. And eight lust- and pain-filled wolf howls filled the night air as it was expected on Halloween.
  4. 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.”
  5. 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.
  6. 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?
  7. 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.
  8. 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.
  9. “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 …
  10. 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?

  11. 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.
  12. 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.

  13. 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.
  14. 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? ;-)
  15. 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.

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