Two Wolves and a Candy Seller [Werewolf Castle 1] Page 4

  Damask lay down again and smiled. Two mouths to kiss her, four hands to touch her everywhere, and best of all two cocks to fuck her. Hell yes. It sounded good to her.

  * * * *

  Jairus didn’t think it was time yet to take Damask into the east wing of the castle. Too many older werewolves would object if she went there before there was a reasonable expectation she would mate him and Grigori. After just one simple date and the mildest of kisses, that would be stretching belief. But the public dungeons were totally different. And at one stage the previous evening she’d said she was meaning to take a look at them. Jairus collected the key—a huge iron thing that looked extremely impressive but was mostly for show—as soon as the final tour group had left the area.

  Grigori had ordered a picnic lunch for them, which was to be their evening meal, and by the time they’d eaten it night would be falling, the perfect time for a tour of the dungeon. Jairus hoped he’d guessed right and that she wouldn’t be scared, but would only think of the possibilities of pleasure, which was what he and Grigori wanted her to do.

  On the one hand, Jairus didn’t want to seem to be rushing her, pushing her into a relationship with them that she wasn’t ready for yet, but on the other hand he was all too aware of how beautiful she was and how many other unmated wolves there were in the pack, any one of whom might suddenly decide to date her. And he couldn’t even blame her if she accepted someone else’s offer. She was a grown woman and free to choose. One kiss did not make them an exclusive partnership. Now, if they could get inside her panties or convince her to play a dungeon scene with them that might be different. Surely then she’d be unlikely to go out with anyone else.

  So tonight’s plan was to have her thinking about how good it might be to try out BDSM with two Doms—him and Grigori. The one good thing about having to spend most of the morning washing the caked-on mud off his car, was that it meant he had more than enough time to plan the kinds of experiences he wanted to share with Damask. Nothing scary, just enough pain to teach her what pleasure it could bring. He’d seen last night what a quick mind she had, so he’d use that to enhance the experience, giving her time and space to imagine what might happen next. A sub’s imagination could be the strongest weapon in a Dom’s arsenal, if he got it right.

  Imagination was basically the main ingredient in the old dungeons as it was. Although there was perfectly good electric lighting downstairs, the tour guides led the visitors down the last flight of stairs using just an old-style torch—a piece of timber with the head covered in pitch and set alight. This gave a flickering, smelly, weak light. Enough that no one would fall down the stairs, especially as they were constantly urged to hold the metal handrail and move slowly and carefully.

  Once inside the dungeon, the guide again warned the guests to step carefully on the uneven stone floor, urging them to be careful of eyebolts in the floor for chains, and generally doing his best to make the most of the atmosphere. The guide then walked around, directing the torchlight on the chains hanging from the ceiling, the eyebolts in the floor, a wooden bench with chains at its head and foot to hold down a prisoner, and against the wall, an old iron maiden.

  The iron maiden was actually a fake, designed and built by the current castle carpenter to match a picture of the iron maiden of Nuremberg—which was also a fake. It was seven feet tall, three feet wide and with double doors so a grown man would fit inside. On the inside were a dozen iron spikes designed to pierce the body of anyone locked inside. No one ever had been, although occasionally a tourist was brave enough to stand close to the open chamber for a photograph.

  In the center of the dungeon was a rack. Beside it sat a Spanish donkey. And finally, resting on the rack, was a lead sprinkler.

  Once his dungeon plans were organized, Jairus had spent a long time trying to work out where they could take Damask to bed if—no, when—their romance progressed that far. The castle werewolves all lived in the east wing. That’s where all the private rooms were and he was almost certain the older wolves would frown on her being brought there so early in a relationship. If at all. So neither his room nor Grigori’s room was available. She was staying in the chapel, sleeping in one of the old the monks’ cells, and they were so small any normal person would get claustrophobia if they stayed there longer than ten minutes unless they were asleep. And possibly even then. So that was out as well.

  Other people must have faced this problem, and solved it, but he couldn’t think how. Although perhaps the women they’d found lived in the town. But he didn’t like the idea of going to town and hiring a motel room. It was possible but it seemed very unromantic and a bit cold and calculating. Well, today, the second date, was likely still too soon for sex, although he had hopes of seeing her naked in the dungeon, and definitely touching her bare skin, but he really needed to think of a solution before the third date, that was essential.

  * * * *

  Grigori’s day had begun in a truly IT comic strip way, with a man complaining he couldn’t get his computer to work no matter what he did. After a few other questions, Grigori said, “You checked that it was plugged in, I suppose.”

  “I never unplug it. Never.”

  “Well, just check anyway.”

  The man had moaned and grumbled but announced it was plugged in, so Grigori had gone to his office—about as far away as possible from his own without leaving the castle premises—and crawled under the worker’s desk to find out that yes, the plug was firmly pushed in, but hidden in a pile of tangled cables at the back of the desk, the plug to the power strip was loose. Since he was already there, hunched under the desk, Grigori unraveled the mess of cables, rolling the excess leads up and neatly taping them together, before plugging everything back in. And the computer worked. Amazing! Not.

  By the time he got back to his own desk he needed a strong coffee to recover from the stress.

  Then he had fun ordering the picnic basket, which was to be their evening meal. Only then was he ready to face his workday.

  But by midafternoon, with his world neatly organized, Grigori leaned back in his chair and thought ahead. Spending time together wasn’t going to be that easy. Of the three of them, he was the only one with a more-or-less Monday to Friday nine to five job. Yeah, sure he had to keep a watchful eye on Twitter and Facebook and the castle website, but he could do that anywhere with cell phone reception.

  Jairus, on the other hand, worked on projects for the Alpha, spending sometimes weeks away at a stretch, then having a few weeks with minimal work commitments around the castle, before he left again. Since he’d just gotten back from Vienna, he should be pretty much free for another week or ten days, then likely he’d be sent off somewhere else. So from Jairus’s point of view they needed to get to know Damask now. But Damask had been specifically hired to work in the candy store right now, during the peak tourist season. She worked a damn long day and a six day week with only Mondays off. Monday would suit Jairus but not him.

  So spending time together was going to be damn complicated. Although he’d definitely speak to the Alpha about taking every Monday off while Jairus was home. But only dating once a week wasn’t going to get them anywhere in a relationship for a long time. They needed to be spending time together every night which was going to make Damask very tired for her long work day and it wasn’t going to do him any favors either.

  He and Jairus needed to talk to the Alpha about the dinner and entertainment idea the three of them had thought of. Well, it was mostly Damask, to be fair. He’d ask then for Mondays off while Jairus was home. Then he needed some downtime to think about a next step. Getting her into bed. Maybe on a Monday they could go somewhere nice. Somewhere she’d never been before. Jairus was the experienced traveler. He could work that out for the three of them.

  Grigori decided to let his subconscious work on how to get to know Damask better, while he got back to work. He took the next file out of his in-tray and spread it out on his desk, sighing.

  * * * *
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  Neither man was waiting for her when the candy store closed for the night, so Damask felt the pit of her belly dropping. She’d really been looking forward to seeing them again. Of course, it was unfair of her to expect them to sit around waiting for her to finish work then change out of her costume.

  She’d been meaning to take a look at the dungeons ever since she’d gotten here, so that part of the evening would be fun. They’d also said they’d bring a picnic. She had no idea how they’d organize it, but she was looking forward to that as well.

  It didn’t take her long to remove the fine woolen dress, heavy linen apron, and her leather sandals tied on with leather strips, and replace them with jeans, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. At least the sandals were both period appropriate and very easy to wear as she was on her feet all day. Apart from her athletic shoes, they were probably the most comfortable footwear she owned. The medieval people had gotten that right. But then, they’d been outside walking around and working all day so it made sense they’d have comfortable footwear.

  As she left the chapel house, which was beside the little chapel, she saw Jairus sitting on one of the benches, a backpack at his feet. Was that their dinner? She smiled at him, then saw Grigori coming across the courtyard from the direction of the castle. He was carrying a wicker hamper that she knew held the picnic lunches people could order. Ah, so they were having a picnic. That would be nice. So what was in Jairus’s backpack? Were they going for a walk or something instead of to the dungeon after all? Well she had her ID card with her, so she could get back inside the barbican if they left the castle property.

  Grigori placed the basket on the table and they all gathered around it as he pulled out a blue and white checked tablecloth, three wooden plates, a loaf of crusty bread, a small wheel of cheese, a salami, a ceramic bottle with a stopper in the top, an old-fashioned knife, three small salad onions, and a wooden bowl filled with berries.

  Damask stared at everything and said, “That’s very clever indeed. Apart from the tablecloth everything is authentic. Cotton wasn’t in Europe then, but the food is perfect.”

  “I suspect the recipe for the bread isn’t quite right. It’ll have some seeds in it, but be more refined than back then. Plus, I think we’ll find the ale isn’t as weak as it was then, either, although it’ll still seem watery compared to modern ale,” said Jairus.

  Damask didn’t care. She knew the chef had a tough job to make foods that people would eat and enjoy, while still embodying the historical spirit of the times, if not the exact detail. As they ate, she watched the last few guests leaving, then the werewolves checking everywhere to make sure no one was left behind. The turnstiles counted everyone in and out, but she knew people always double-checked as well.

  The last of the village traders locked their shutters, then cleaners disappeared into the bathrooms and a team began using a leaf blower to clean all the dust from the courtyard. That was just another clever example of the wolves using modern technology to help out. The cobblestones of the courtyard were uneven. Sweeping them with a broom would take forever. But the leaf blower easily blew the dirt from between the individual stones into neat little piles for another worker to sweep up.

  It was dusk as they finished their meal and Grigori loaded the plates and containers back into the picnic basket. “I’ll return this. Wait here. It won’t take me more than five minutes.”

  She nodded. She was quite happy watching the sun set and the sky grow dark around them. Lights on the castle walls blinked and flickered as they came on. They weren’t bright like in the daytime, but it was enough light to see where people were going. The cleaners had moved into the outer courtyard and Damask supposed people would be checking the parking lot to ensure the only vehicles in it were staff ones.

  “Did it take your people a long time to work out how to balance security issues with having the castle open?” she asked Jairus.

  “The pack knew we had to find a way of making a proper living, and this was the best solution anyone could think of. We were lucky in that the business has grown steadily so our knowledge has grown with it. Security is important to us though. The surveillance videos aren’t discarded. But simply counting people in and out also works. No one ever has been left behind though on a few occasions adventurous children have tried to hide and stay behind. One kid planned on sleeping in the jumping castle last year. His mom wasn’t impressed, though.”

  Damask laughed. “What about losing anyone in the dungeons?”

  “The tour guides are not interested in forfeiting their job. Some of the tourists do wander away though, but no tour guide has mislaid anyone yet. There’s often someone who gets too far behind his group or turns left instead of right. But we expect that sort of thing.”

  She saw Grigori coming back toward them, the security lights more than adequate for them to move around safely. “We should have walked across to the castle to meet you, to save you going backward and forward. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that,” she said.

  “Not a problem. The exercise is good for me.”

  Damask jumped up more than ready to look at the dungeon. She’d hoped to manage a peek inside on her lunch break one day. Having the two men show her around was going to be way better than just looking from the doorway. She’d never seen a dungeon before. Neither a real one, like this was in an old building, nor a fake one in a BDSM club either. In fact, she’d never been to a BDSM club. Her entire knowledge of that, like so many other things, came from the Internet.

  She couldn’t totally blame her parents for that. Part of it was living in the mountains in a smaller rural community. Even if there was one nearby she couldn’t imagine ever having enough courage to go inside. “Is there a BDSM club in town? Or even an adult store?” she asked.

  “No. Such things are seldom in a small town because everyone knows everyone else’s business. But we don’t need a club. Everything we want is here. Or if not, if there’s new toys we would like, we can order them online,” answered Jairus.

  “I was thinking online would be the answer to many people’s needs. The courier would never know what was inside the parcel he delivered.”

  “What kind of toys would you like, Damask?” asked Grigori.

  She’d never thought that far ahead before. “I don’t know. Maybe I should go online and find out.”

  They reached the stairs down to the public dungeon. Grigori flipped the light off then picked up the waiting torch from its holder, striking a long match against the wall just as the tourist guides did, before lighting the pitch and letting the smoky haze permeate the top of the stairwell. “Let’s go. Hold the handrail, Damask. The stairs are very old and uneven.”

  “The handrail’s cold for such a warm day.” She rubbed her palm on the seat of her jeans before taking hold of it again, placing her feet carefully on the steps.

  “The solid stone here stays cool on even the warmest days, but sometimes the guides play tricks as well, rubbing ice on the handrail or leaving puddles of cold water on the steps and in the dungeon to make it look scarier,” said Jairus.

  Damask couldn’t wait to see just how scary it really was. When Jairus pulled a huge old iron key out of his backpack to unlock the door she sighed with happiness. She didn’t care if it was really just pretend for the tourists, it certainly looked ancient and evil.

  Grigori took a step into the dungeon, beckoning her to follow him. He walked around with the torch burning smokily in the cooler atmosphere, shining its weak light on the iron maiden, and a rack. “Be very careful not to trip on the chains and eyebolts. Anyone who angered the werewolves was chained to these walls and their spirits still haunt this area,” Grigori said, his voice deep and urgent.

  “Have you been memorizing the tourist brochures?” she teased. But the iron maiden did look very scary. “What’s that?” she asked pointing to a triangle-shaped box a bit like a gymnastics vaulting horse.

  “It’s called the Spanish donkey. Those who anger the werewolves are forc
ed to sit on it, weights tied to their feet. Gradually their body is forced down and down onto the sharp pointed wood until their bodies are split in half and they die screaming,” said Jairus in a ghoulish voice.

  “Right. And you remember this happening in the past?” she asked.

  “Many, many times.”

  “Uh-huh. Please may I have the torch now so I can look around properly? I really would like to see everything, without the joke commentary.”

  Grigori handed the torch to Jairus and left the dungeon. Damask was surprised but stood still, waiting for him to come back. She was reasonably sure she wouldn’t truly fall over anything, but not quite sure enough to put it to the test. Then the electric light turned on and the room was revealed with its genuine stone walls and floor and old-looking equipment. First she walked across to the chains and weighed them in her hands. They were very heavy, worn and rusted in places. Okay, they might be genuine.

  The rack, the donkey, and a metal scepter-looking thing also seemed genuinely old to her. But the metal spikes in the iron maiden didn’t seem at all worn or chipped as they should have been.

  “The iron maiden is not genuine,” she said, turning to stare at the men.

  “Twice over,” said Jairus.

  “Good deduction,” added Grigori.

  “Twice over?”

  “It’s a copy of a fake from a museum in Germany. Having said that though, the original fake is about seventeenth century I think, just not Middle Ages. The bench and the rack and even the Spanish donkey might only be seventeenth or eighteenth century as well, but the lead sprinkler is old, and so are the chains and bolts,” said Jairus.