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"What's this?"  In the darkened, throne room of the goblin king, a single candle ignited.  On the throne itself, a bundle of feathers shifted, unfolding as long limbs stretched out from where he'd been in a half-state of hibernation.  Legs brought high-booted feet to the cobblestone floor as the Autumnal Lord of the Labyrinth sat upright, suddenly awake and questioning the trill which had run through his weakened form.  "Tastes like ..."  Small bundles of darkness stirred and moved, shifted, becoming goblins, boggarts, brownies, redcaps, and in one spot, an ogre and a troll.  A cacophony of voices questioned their liege suddenly, to which, Jareth shouted, "Quiet!  Have we truly begun to fade so much as ..."  Whatever he was going to say faded.  The sparks of eyes, the glow of soft skin, so quick and then gone, but not that rage fueled strike.  "Wake up, boys," at which the female goblins grumbled dissent, but he ignored them.  "Wake up!  Don't you feel that?  A lost one has awakened, and what are we, if not the lords of lost things!"  The last was spit in disgust, knowing how far they'd fallen, he wouldn't even have the energy to sidestep into the human world.  Something would have to be done, however.  It wasn't like she'd call them over.  'Not after that bitch Sarah's ruinous ...' No, don't even think about it.  His cloak fluttered, a mass of owl feathers on oiled leather, as he stormed out of the throne room to find an alternative means of egress.

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A gurgling cry ripped from Nate's mouth as he fell back in pain, horror, and shock, crumpling to the floor with that kitchen knife having struck him true.  She's missed his shoulder, but she'd struck him, and he was trying to rip the thing out as she bolted over top of his prone form.  From his vantage point, he got to watch her struggle back into those clothes, his version of heaven hidden away and taken from him forever as she made her escape.  The door flung open, things tossed everywhere, and this drunken asshole had the nerve to scream that she was a bitch who needed to stop messing up their house!  Fucking kids thinking they could just do what they wanted.  She'd gotten his blood all over the kitchen floor, making a mess of all that work she'd done!  When she came home, he'd beat her within an inch of her life!  Except for the moment, he couldn't feel his hands to get up off the floor.

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"A book still exists," Jareth breathed out in shock, from his bed chambers where he was leaning over crates, sorting through stashed potions and trinkets.  "Someone is reading about us!  It has to be her!"  There were few, if any, coincidences in life, where Faerie was involved.  He could feel her experiencing his story for the first time, though ... no, it was wrong.  It was Sarah's story, but how could that be possible?  Her hands ran over that red binding and he felt it, felt her flip to skim the pages, taking him in in bits and pieces.  He had stood upright suddenly, limbs electrified with a sudden jolt of energy that ended with him releasing a barking laugh.  It wasn't much, couldn't be much considering how few knew of his existence, how few ever dreamed of them.  But ... maybe it would be enough.  And then, she spoke ...

The goblins were restless, excited, worked up from their so-long slumber with the idea that something big was happening!  When Aisling spoke the, "I wish ..."  They all heard it, this time.  "It's starting!"  "What's starting?"  "Shut up and listen!  We're being called!"  "This one's smarter than the last one, starting with 'I wish,'"  "Shut up and listen!"  "Three wishes he was real?  How real does she need him to b ..."  Jareth walked back into the throne room, full of a strength and vigor he hadn't held in ages.  "Quite real.  Three, is a magic number, Boglynn.  You should realize the potency of the favor she did me."  Time worked differently in Faerie and as Jareth's world had been in hibernation, they had all the time in the world to dissect her wishes.  Boglynn, a female goblin who'd just earned her way into a larger part of this fairy tale, chimed in with, "She is in Sarah's house.  That is an awful place, if you ask me."  Jareth kicked the closest goblin to him across the room, knocking Boglynn off the table she'd been perched upon.  "Time to fly."  His cloak did the work for him, with just the tiniest bit of juice, and Jareth was flying as an owl, right back to a very familiar house.

The grandfather clock was chiming, echoing, reverberating through the house.  Thirteen times, to be exact, leaving Sarah startled and hurrying for the library, from somewhere else in the house.  She wouldn't make it in time.  By the second chime, the bay windows were opening for an owl flapping his way into the room, and within seconds, it was a long, lean male with porcelain fair skin and white-blond hair, dressed in black leathers and doublet, thigh-high boots and an owl feather cloak.  Upon his brow rested a gleaming bone crown, a pair of long, two-point antlers rising up from his temples.  "Oh, I assure you, little lost one.  I am quite real."  The third chime.  He held out his hand to her, this one who'd requested him directly, instead of for another, so strange.  "Lost you were, and now found.  Luck-y you.  Hmmm?"  The fourth.  And then he paused, blue-gray eyes taking her in more carefully, her pain spoke to him.  In truth, it excited him a little, though he knew not the cause, specifically.  Just flashes.  By the sixth chime, his cloak was twirled from his shoulders by skillfully maneuvered hands and draped over her shoulders and back.

"Accept her soothing, child.  Those feathers must be given permission to ease your suffering."  Oh, it wouldn't take anything that had happened away, but the comfort would stop her trembling and balance her warmth.  Set her heart to rights for the moment, though the mental anguish would need to be dealt with eventually.  He held his hand out to her, one of his pointed ears catching sounds of someone hurrying closer,  "Do you still wish to face my Labyrinth?"  His words sounded slightly rushed.  He knew who was on her way and had no interest in seeing her again.  Suddenly, it struck him, "And bring the books."

There was an inner glow to her freshly washed, pale skin, and in his drunken state, he just assumed it was her natural paleness shining in the kitchen's overhead lights.  He could finally admit to himself that he'd been waiting for this since she'd developed into a woman, and his hands moved over her body with hungry gropings of every inch of her, around her clothes, of course.  "Of course, Aisling.  I'll be gentle.  I want to show you how amazin' this can be."  His tone was ragged with his heavy breathing, overwhelmed with lust.  Fear of losing his hard-on had him fucking her thighs as her clothes kept them locked together at the knee.  Left hand reaching out to pull the plastic lid off that metal coffee can, he drug it close enough to use easily.  Hands leaving it for the moment to run over her cheeks and spread them apart with his caressing gropes, baring that small star of wrinkled flesh.

"I promise to be gentle, until you've become a better, I'm sorry, 'more experienced' little fucktoy for me."  Right hand held her cheek squeezed as the left dipped his finger into that thick mass, scooping out a dollop to press directly into that dry little opening.  He worked it in with small circles, pressure against the flesh, but not penetrating it, not yet.  His thumb lowered to thrum against her lower lips, such supple flesh so far untouched by another's hands, waiting for him, but that would have to be in the future, once her bitch mother was out of the way and he was sure of this one's blind devotion.  He let it sneak down further, working over her hooded clit as his middle finger smeared the fat into a softer, malleable gel against her.

Unfortunately, or fortunately in this case, he had not the skill, nor the sobriety to try and seduce her physically, as his finger began to find pressure was enough to gain entry and his thumb left her more sensitive bits alone as he worked that cooking grease into her tight, little hole.  It was a massage of sorts, from the very beginning, but a massage she would never have wished for from the man behind her.  He was dipping his finger in further, collecting more grease as needed to ensure her hole remained supple and relaxed, but brought it internal as well to work around the inner walls of that entrance.  Before he pushed the can further away, and out of the way, he smeared that goopy fat all over his cock, moaning as he felt the cold, slimy stuff coat his flesh like lotion that wouldn't ever rub in.

The can shoved away from him, he gripped her by her hips and pulled her towards him, as if to yank her off the counter.  He was just pulling her hips back, letting her legs dangle lower to line himself up with her backside.  He rubbed himself between her cheeks, that Crisco making for a smooth glide against her slicked flesh.  He'd rub against her, enjoying the feeling as he firmed back up and brought that swollen head to the greased mouth of her rump.  "Gentle."  He told himself, his pulse and breathing racing with the excitement of the moment.  He was going to cum almost immediately, he could tell.  It had been so long and she was so much sexier than her mother had ever been.  "Gentle.  Gentle for my good, little, girl."  He began to push himself into her, holding his cock with one hand, squeezing her cheek aside with the other.

It was everything he'd hoped it would be, and he was so focused on getting inside of her, as this required many small motions in and out to work himself in as slowly, and gently, as possible, that he wasn't paying any attention to what she was doing.

Nate was livid, flushed face growing redder as he fumed and sputtered at the gall of this girl arguing with him. "Oh, grow up, Aisling!  She's been done her community service for months!  She's been using this as a cover story, an excuse to hide away and do whatever she wants!"  He moved like he wanted something to throw, wobbling around the kitchen in a manner that would likely keep her frozen, not wishing to run into a limb thrown out at random, let alone purposefully!  He was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a body that had looked nice enough at one point in time, before age set in.  His balls hung beneath his wobbling cock, both dancing out through his open zipper as he somehow managed to stay upright.

She changed tactics again, setting him off and he moved in with lowered brow over squinting eyes, "Oh, so now it's my fault you're broken?!"  Right arm lifted over his left shoulder, preparing to swing, backhand her hard enough to toss her onto the counter from the look of it.  Nathaniel was entirely uncontrolled tonight, thrown into overdrive by his lust for this female, his rage at her audacity, and his shame at being rejected.  Worst of all, he knew, in his mind, that he was out of line and out of control, but though a part of him wanted to back away and go sober up, it was not the part of him in control.

He moved forward to swing, and she reached out to take a hold of him, feeling that smooth skin grown taut and hot with his blood pulsing through it, stroking his length to feel it grow firmer in her hands.  As she lowered to her knees, his arm fell to his side, staring down at her with a strange look of awe, as if he'd never expected her to actually go for it and fuck, but she was so gorgeous.  "Stroke it, like you want to," he added suddenly, in a petulant voice as he could see she didn't seem to be enjoying herself.  "If you don't get into it, you won't enjoy it."  He moved closer to her, reaching a hand down to fumble with her left tit through her shirt.  His arms weren't quite long enough, causing his fingers to rub in slipping grasps. 

When her lips pressed against the head of it, he lifted his head back to release a gust of breath, "Yeah, Aisling, more.  Use your lips and your tongue." This began the awkward directions as this man stood over her, forcing her to participate in her own personal hell.  He grabbed a hold of her head, rubbing that hot rod against her cheeks and jaw, making her feel it drag against her face before sticking it in front of her again.  As she tried to kiss it, or lick it, he pulled back, yanking it out of her reach and expecting her to chase it like she wanted it!  "C'mon, Aisling, get into it.  Open your mouth."  He shoved the head, so swollen and thick, through her partially open lips, forcing it into that warm, wet receptacle.  "Good little whore, suck on it!"  He whispered.

It wasn't enough, his cock forcing it's way deeper into her mouth, she was letting him do it out of fear, but he was convincing himself she wanted it and forcing her to take part.  He began to yank it away again, chuckling drunkenly as she chased after his throbbing cock opened mouthed!  If he noticed her tears, he didn't comment and it didn't stop him from suddenly gripping up her head to throat fuck her.  "Don't you ... worry, Aisling."  He was gasping, those sweet virgin lips wrapped around his cock, "I'm gonna ... teach you ... how to be ... a good little whore for me."  A cabinet door opened with a creak as he grabbed a cannister and set it on the counter with a clunk.  "And we ... won't be ... risking your virginity to do it."

He was so close to making her swallow his seed that he had to pull himself from her mouth, much as he didn't want to.  Panting, he spit out, "You'll swallow my cum soon enough."  But, apparently he had something else in mind.  How could he pass on that sweet ass of hers?  He manhandled her, brooking no argument as he grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her bodily from that kneeling position, throwing her over the counter onto her stomach, none too gently.  Fingers clawed at her clothing to pull them free of that freshly washed ass.  His teeth bit into her left cheek, rubbing his face against the softness of her skin as his hand reached for the thing he'd retrieved.   It was Crisco.  "Don't worry,"  He grumbled in a voice dark and growling with pleasure, "You're still gonna be a virgin."

Nate had no idea she was responding negatively, misreading those shudders and sounds for the pleasure of a man's hands against her body and he tried to let those hands circle towards her front and up, shoving up her shirt as he moved them towards cupping her handfuls of breast flesh.  That tongue lapped out again, against her ear, his teeth attempting to nibble against the edge.  His hips brought him more firmly against her, and as her shirt came up from her hands, she would find that his pants weren't tenting!  He'd taken himself outside of his clothing at some point and she hadn't noticed, though now her mind might pick out a musky scent that he'd be giving off as his hard cock had been released for the first time after a long day.  He moved his hips, dragging it against her rump, pushing up against the cleft between her cheeks, and then, her words reached his ears.  He was just suddenly gone, moved away from behind her with a "Don't you move, girl.  We ain't done talking."  He stood behind her, his hard member out to flop with his movements.

"Yeah?" He suddenly began ranting, "You call this a marriage, Aisling?  Where's your mom at then, huh?  I bust my ass day in and day out to provide for this family!  I do my share!  I live up to my responsibilities!  Where the fuck is she?!  You're more a wife t'me than she ever is, takin' care of the house, takin' care of your brothers, fuck, girl, I walked in and you had a beer out and started makin' me a sandwich!  You already taking care of me, now that you know how to.  And that's all this'd be, yeah?  Teachin' you one more thing to go with it.  Fuck, your mom'd rather drink herself to death than be here with her family?  Looks t'me like you'd be doing her a favor takin' this off'a her hands!  Takin' one for the team, yeah?"  He chugged his beer, staving off any sobering that may have begun, and heard her change tactics.

"A ... a fuckin' lez-bo, Aisling?!  That shit ain't right, girl!  You know it goes against the laws of God and Man!  Maybe it's my fault, maybe I should have taken you all to church more or somethin'."  He started for her again, but he didn't make it as close as before, "This ain't right, Aisling!  Now, more than ever, I'm seeing you need to know what a dick is before it's too late and you can't go back.  No man's gonna want a slutty muff-diver for a wife, and you're too good a wife now (If he does say so himself,) not to be one."  His eyes shifted towards the sink, "Eventually."  He grabbed the dishcloth from the sink, running the water to wet it a moment before taking it to his genitals for her.  Apparently, the scent had hit him too and he wanted her first time to be amazing, obviously.  He was standing in her line of sight, scrubbing himself like he was jerking off with the washcloth and making sure she had a good look.  It was an impressive piece of meat, something he was proud of.  To someone who'd never seen one, or compared it to others because that would be fuckin' gay, it seemed exceedingly large, but really, it was just slightly above average.

"I appreciate you wantin' to spare my feelin's, Aisling, but," and he chucked the cloth into the sink.  "Take hold of him.  C'mon, girl, use your hand and feel him, know what you'd be missing as a carpet muncher."  He was so confused and angry, really way to drunk to be talking to anyone.  He wanted to hit her, throw her against the counter and fuck the gay out of her, but he knew he needed to remain calm if he wanted to convince her.  It'd make this easier in the long run, as he wanted to teach her to be a good wife ... for him.  Fuck eventually. He had been so sure she wanted him, and why didn't he just take Sheila to begin with?  What was it about Aisling that made his dick so hard and his blood sing?  "Touch it, Aisling, before I lose my shit, and I'm gettin' really close to losin' my shit.  Feel it, rub on it, then get on your fucking knees and kiss him.  He's going to be your new best friend, Aisling, so you better wise up and make this a pleasant experience for yourself!"

Nate's hand lowered as both of them landed on either side of her, against the counter top.  He wasn't thinking about how this would be taken as closing her escape off, or even her ability to turn around.  As the Alpha male, he needed to put on a show of strength and dominance, like those National Geographic programs he was always falling asleep to.  Arm muscles bulged as he attempted to make himself appear strong before the young female he'd found himself noticing more and more of late, though his mind hadn't acknowledged that fact until now.  He had no idea what was different, only that he wanted to find a way to show himself as the largest gorilla to attract the females.  She'd let him brush back her hair and ... Did he catch a shudder?  He must have been succeeding in his attempt to arouse her!

Now, Nate had taken a strong hand to this girl plenty of times, because: spare the rod, spoil the child.  She was a wild thing when he'd come into this household, undisciplined and ridiculously unaware of simple shit like saying "Please" or "Thank you."  He'd nipped that shit right in the bud.  He had been a better man when this all started, not much of a drinker and truly in love with the older woman whom he now despised so much.  But Aisling had always been a hard one to get through to.  What had started with spanking turned over his knee had quickly become belt-whipping and paddling.  The spankings stopped as she became more rebellious, opting for the quick smack to the back of the head, attempting to knock sense into her.  He'd done it all for her own good, doing what her daddy should have done, and it became more important with her being an influence on the boys.  But, it had kept going, getting worse, and she needed a softer hand now.

His nose dropped to brush against the back of her bared ear, a feathery touch that would be followed up with a light lick of his tongue towards the back of that supple flesh.  When he whispered next, that breath would have alternated hot, as well as chill against the wetness, if contact had been made, matching her own instincts blossoming within her.  "You don't have to act coy with me, Aisling."  His voice was no longer a whisper, but the low spoken words were rumbled forth in a deep, lust-filled breath.  "I'm the man who watched you grow into this long-limbed doe, chasin' off those ruttin' bucks who came callin' to ... to try and ruin you.  Who protected you from 'em, 'em and their wants?  It was always me, keepin' you safe and secure."  His body moved closer to hers, hands lifting from the counter to run down her sides, feeling that billowing shirt collapse under his palms to find her smaller waist and run down the flare of her hips.  He allowed that foreign-to-her hardness tenting his torn jeans to graze that dress-shirt-hidden backside of hers as his hands squeezed her hips with wanton 'affection.'

Hands that, at their worst, had backhanded and grabbed her, to toss her against walls and furniture, now attempted to 'make nice,' in a way no step father should have attempted.  Somewhere in his mind, he was aware of this, and it made him want to sway her to his way of thinking, rather than take her by force.  Oh, those boys had been well received by her, and how she'd cried as he chased them off with a boot to the ass and a blast of airborne shotgun spray.  He knew she wanted them to show her what they'd hid in their pants, to teach her about that throbbing heat and how it felt against and inside of her.  If she wanted it so badly, he would show her those secrets, keeping her safe all the while, from herself, as he'd always done.  "I'm the man of the house, girl.  A man has needs and these needs ain't gettin' satisfied.  You have needs too, I seen 'em.  I seen the way you looked at them boys, and I'm thinkin' we can help each other out.  It'll be our ... little secret."

Nathaniel hadn't made it up too far, when he heard the sounds of Aisling calling to him from the kitchen.  Meaty hand grabbed the railing to keep from falling as he tried to spin around and head back the way he came.  The fucking stairs needed to be fixed before someone broke their neck!  He navigated his way back down, holding tight to the railing and trying to discern how the fuck the steps came loose from the house!  It was like walking down one of those rope contraptions at the park he would take the boys to on Saturdays.  Tomorrow, when he was sober, he would discover that the stairs were just fine, but for the moment, the death trap was one more thing to be angry about.  Feet firmly on the floor, his boots were kicked off to clatter against the front door and tumble somewhere in the vicinity of where Aisling's sneakers were, where they should be.

The kitchen floor was gleaming, and the brilliance of the sheen made him grin.  So clean he could eat that pussy off this floor!  No, wait ... that didn't make any sense.  She'd done a great job, but didn't she shrill that she'd been still working on it?  How fucking long did it take her to clean the house!  He'd done cleaning before, you work at it, it got done before noon and you had the whole rest of the day to fuck off!  What the fuck took her so long?  "Floor looks nice," he grumbled as politely as he could manage as he stepped onto the smooth surface in his thick, gray socks.  If he was worried about the stairs, he should have been more concerned with the slippery floor without traction.  The open beer on the counter caught his attention first, and he immediately forgot about how she'd said she was still working on the floor.  It seemed done to him, and he was still thirsty!

Sipping the foam off the top, he sidled up behind her as she worked to collect the stuff she'd need to make him a sandwich.  "Ham."  He'd trained her well, his little house slave, though if you'd asked him if he'd given her a list of demands and punctuating them with his fists, he'd have stated they were merely suggestions.  He was disappointed to see she's so covered up by that large shirt, but then, wasn't he just saying she needed to cover up?  Cleaning done well, beer ready, working on food he wasn't even hungry enough to eat.  She was doing a good job taking care of him, in a way his wife never did.  It crossed his mind that perhaps he was being too hard on her, and then suddenly, somehow, he saw himself as some sort of reward.

He reached out towards her, to let his fingers brush through her reddish-brown hair, intent on slipping it back behind one of her ears.  "Such a good girl, Aisling."  Women liked to hear that, right?  It was like complimenting her and showing her he noticed.  "I'm very happy with how you been keepin' the house, while your mom ain't been able to."  Whether successful or not, she was sure to feel his hot breath, whiskey and gin washing over the back of her neck and shoulder, as he leaned closer.  He was still undecided if he was planning to whisper or nip at her exposed ear.  He went with the whisper.  "Very happy.  I'm thinkin' you need to be rewarded, and if you keep bein' such a good girl, maybe we can lighten your workload with somethin' you'd find more enjoyable."

Nathaniel Clemmons had had a particularly bad day.  He was having those more and more often, lately, and it showed in both the premature graying of his beard and the thinning of the hair he used to pride himself in.  Work had been a shit show.  Construction was never as easy as people made it sound, and when the boss gets the wrong permits, you find yourself suddenly out of work for an extended period of time.  Maybe he should have filed for disability, that damn hernia was starting to press out of his intestinal wall like the knob on a tree, but that dried-up, old bitch he'd made the mistake of marrying wouldn't work and he was left carrying the costs of everyone in the household, like a fucking chump.  Still wearing those same faded flannels and torn jeans to work just so they could eat!  He'd have to carve something out of that last paycheck to get new boots.  One of the steel toes was right falling out of the hole on his left one!

The boys had gone out drinking after being let out early.  He'd had a doctor's appointment where they'd discussed his growing weight, increased cholesterol, encroaching diabetes and elevated blood pressure, and then he met up with them afterwards.  Sheila, one of the bartenders, came around to greet Nate, overly friendly as always.  Fuck the doctor, what did he know?  Nate was a decidedly good looking man, muscular from a life of honest, hard labor, not jerking off in a gym like those pansy ass whatdoyoucallem now?  Metrosexuals?  Sounds like gay-city-boys-in-hiding, probably why they don't use that word no more.  Sure, he had the thickening of the midsection, middle age's "gift" of a spare tire, but fuck, who didn't at his age?  Sheila certainly loved putting her hands all over him, telling him it was time to leave the wife and kids and run off.  They hadn't fooled around yet, not much anyway.  Not as so it'd be considered cheating.  Blow jobs don't count, but of course she wanted more!  His strong nose had never been broken and he still had all his teeth, giving him a face that'd have been handsome, if it wasn't hidden behind all that facial hair.  Even still, twice as good looking as most of the other buck in this shitty town.  Handsome in a rugged sort of way, and he was proving he could provide for a family, no wonder she was always pawing at him! 

He couldn't do it though.  Honor, responsibility, these were the things that kept him going home and handing over that paycheck to keep the fucking lights on.  He had loved his wife, once.  Hated her now, but the boys were his and he'd be damned if they'd grow up in a broken home.  He drank more than he intended, thoughts of his home-life making those shots more of a necessary evil.  He took out his hair tie, ran thick, calloused fingers through long, thinning locks of graying brown, trying to ignore the feel of his scalp as he tied his hair back again.  He could probably have handled it all better, if it wasn't for that entitled, little cunt of a step daughter.  Kids these days took forever to move out of the fucking house, and they needed everything handed to them.  He was plum sick of his wife anyway, she smelled like she sweat vodka, and AA meetings didn't take all day.  He should probably pay more attention to this sort of thing, but he was exhausted all the fucking time and killing himself for an ungrateful family sucked his will to bother with nonsense like chasing after a deadbeat wife, or hell, even shaving.

He was fairly certain he would find his "darling wife" drunk or high in a gutter somewhere during the day, if he bothered to look.  Vomit cleaned off in a port-o-john before she stumbled into the meeting like a good little automaton.  If she wasn't gonna get over that dead husband of hers, why the fuck did she chain him into this life to suffer with her?  And that Daughter.  What the fuck kind of name was Aisling, anyway?  Father must have been one of those dirty hippies, left behind a lazy get, whines and bitches about her chores and responsibilities while she sucks the family dry.  Half the food bill could be cut out, if she'd just get the fuck out of the house!  (He was very drunk by this point)

Oh sure, she worked sometimes in that sorry excuse for a library, where that shrew couldn't bear to give up her home.  But did she give him any of that for the bills?  No, 'course not.  Mommy wouldn't hear of it.  Mommy was gonna end up dead in that gutter soon enough, leaving him caring for a bitch who wasn't his.  She'd grown into a fine looking woman, sure 'nough, had to chase boys away with a shotgun to keep her from getting pregnant!  "Awwww fuck, boys.  Just noticed the time.  Gotta make sure 'Cinderella' done her chores."  He removed his ass from the bar stool, stumbled out to the beat-up, red pick-up truck and started her up to head home.  Break the news that the bread'd be a little tight while them permits got settled.  Not like anyone cared how hard this life was for him, the only one who really bothered to earn money for the security of the "family."

He was half-way home when he began considering that his bitch step-daughter could chip into the family well being in other, more extracurricular ways.  God knew she was the only thing that got him hard anymore, walking around the house in those skimpy little outfits, or those work out clothes, (That she cleaned the house in.)  You knew a woman had a great ass when you could make that swelling out against sweats.  Ain't nothin' supportin' that.  He worked hard, didn't he?  Supporting this family, least he could come home to is a waggin' tail!  (Nope, they didn't have a dog.)  And it wasn't like she was a kid, quarter century old, mooching off a family she didn't help, well my god she was gonna start pulling his weight, har har, and if his wife didn't like it, she could get on her knees or get the fuck out and starve.

As the door slammed open and he stepped into the house, it didn't matter what she'd done or been doing.  Nate's mind was on one thing, and they still had time to sort the details between em before the boys or ball and chain got home.  "I'm home, Aisling!"  He shouted, undoing his belt and slipping it cleanly from the loops of his jeans as he stumbled through the foyer.  It hadn't been intentional, just reflex, as was folding it over into a lash.  "Where are ya, girl?  We need to discuss 'Rent,' if'n you intended t'stay under my roof."  His words trailed off into a drunken mumble as he stumbled towards and up the stairs, planning to test Aisling's gag reflex as soon as possible.  She wanted to suck this family dry, he'd show her where she could start!  The rest of his ramblings were in a softer, quite besotted voice of questionable clarity.  "No more free ride, pretendin' t'be a house wife without gettin' into the important respons'bilities of bein' one.  The breadwinner has needs you need t'see to!"

Taliesin didn't feel like himself, which, considering the amnesia, said a whole lot about how he was struggling to sit still.  There's more than just boredom involved with sitting in a cage, waiting patiently for some nice patron to let you out.  No, there was a build up of restless energy, and there hadn't been any 'nice' patrons.  After the first couple of beatings, you learn to fear that oft spoken request to see paperwork.  After that, you learn to fear the eyes, scanning you in the pen, praying you don't catch someone's interest.  Pretty soon, you're just dreading the people in general, because at any time they could glance in your direction.  It's just after that, when all you have left is fear, beaten down like a dog.

In truth, Taliesin had already gone through all of that, and had spent a few days of cowering, before he had begun to fill up with this surprising anger.  He didn't know what had changed, couldn't know, that with the full moon only days away, he was flooded with endorphins that ignored flight, and went straight to fight.  He was lucky that he didn't receive a beating for attacking that guard earlier, but that didn't mean it wasn't still in store for him later on, when he was brought back down into the Hell Beneath, unwanted and unsold.  That was the kind of thing he should fear, but he didn't.  There was too much rage in him to be afraid.

He was lowered into a crouch, bent knees and balanced on the toes of his feet.  He had been unable to get comfortable on the jagged stone flooring, holding a bit of crust he'd found up to the nibbling rat on his shoulder, and not afraid of anything at the moment.  When the voice spoken, so close to him, caught both sets of ears.  His face shot up, with creased brow and drawn back lips, like a startled animal.  Incisors may have been a bit longer than for most people, but then he was listed as one of those Inumimi, and this dog-man was ready to pounce.  Oh, he had known she was near, though she walked so silently, but he'd hoped that if he didn't look, forced himself not to move, that she might just keep on her way.

He knew that he should have buried his face in the stone, thrown himself flat on the cobbles and tried to be as small as possible, but right now, more than anything, he wanted to bite down and taste blood, rend flesh with claws.  Vibrant blue eyes flicked up, prepared to snarl, the yellowy-gold ring bleeding out into the cerulean and welkin.  He should have gone submissive, but fuck that.  He was going to ... Goddamn, but if she wasn't gorgeous, the woman who seemed to be standing in front of his cage, talking to one of the slaves beside him.  She wasn't even looking at him, allowing him the time to let his eyes brazenly wander slowly down her body, and then right back up again.  Or, at least, that's what he had assumed, considering how most people used their eyes.  How did she walk so quietly in those heels?

Something in her voice caught and held him, and he realized that he could smell her clearly.  Technically, he could smell everything, within a certain range.  That was nothing new, but her scent specifically, wasn't making sense to him.  It was lovely, to be sure, and not just a perfume, but the essence of her.  She didn't look familiar, he would never forget a woman like that! (Har har.)  She didn't sound familiar, just closer than he'd realized, at the time she'd spoken.  Her scent, though.  It made him think of ... of toxic plants and snake's venom, poisonous liquids.  He understood the concept of a familiar scent recalling a childhood memory, but there was a connection there.  Here, there was no link that he could figure out.

The rat on his shoulder had taken the remaining bit of bread from him in her paws, tiny clawed hands turning it against her sharp teeth, her tail curling around his neck, holding tightly.  He glanced over to the side, curious to see who she was talking to, but there was no one there.  There wasn't even a pen on that side of him.  Slowly, he turned his face forward, back to the woman who was standing before him, watching her look towards empty space.  He tried to recall her words, but he couldn't.  Had she said a name?  "What?"  He blinked his eyes, amber gold bleeding through the blue, waiting for her to show some sort of sign that she was speaking to him.  His voice was gruffer than it should have been, but unmistakably his.  The wolf was so close to the surface, it was luck alone that he hadn't shifted during a beating or fight yet.

The evening was still, the day had been mild and there was no breeze to bring the winds of the north down from the mountains.  A caw sounded in the distance, black on black in the night sky, wings beating furiously, they seemed to bring the winds with it's motions.  He changed to a glide, soaring cross a full moon that hung swollen in the night sky, an ominous ring of her glow surrounding it on the think clouds.  Luna's gloaming rose, covering the farms and homes with a brilliant, but murky, darklight, illumination enough to see, but leaving details to street and house lights.  The avian traveler grew larger, though unwitnessed at present, any who laid eyes upon his form would know him for a stately Raven.  He brought the winds with him and perched upon a telephone pole, crying out.  Beneath his entry, a large beast of a black wolf padded silently into town, fog rolling in gently behind him, filling the streets with a thick blanket of mist.  The Reaper's heralds had arrived.

Galloping in through the mist, the lone rider wore a tatterdemalion black cloak that hid him entirely from view.  Almost entirely.  Between his passage and the wind, the fog was stirred and swirled around him, one skeletal hand lifted as he crossed out over the fields, brandishing a wicked looking scythe.  His horse snorted and sent gouts of smoke out of his nostrils before the beating of his massive hooves crossed from grass to paved road.  The Grim Reaper reined in beneath a street lamp in a crossroads and dismounted from his midnight steed.  The haft of the scythe struck the ground a single time, and the blade vanished, leaving a blackened walking staff with an intricately twisted upper section that ended in branches twisting around a glowing crystal.  Hood-hidden gaze swept over the quiet street, landing on the front door to a residence.  A surprisingly normal voice came from beneath his cowl.  "You're all insatiable Drama Queens.  The three of you."

The Raven laughed, a rapid-fire cawing, "And you, worst of all, Poe," and he was no longer the image of legend, but an indeterminable aged, white male, tall, gaunt.  Somewhere in his twenties or thirties, dressed in oxfords and khakis, a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows.  The staff quickly shrunk, retaining its shape as it became a ballpoint pen.  He stashed it in his interior jacket pocket, and withdrew a pair of thin-framed glasses that he settled onto his face.  "Stay hidden, I'll only be a minute."  His wolf, whose head came up to his chest, whuffed at him and trotted off around the side of the house.  Poe, cawed once more and alighted to the rooftop.  Death, for even in his learned man's guise, he was still Death, opened the closest saddle bag on his motorcycle, the horse no longer there, and retrieved a leather satchel-like briefcase.  He breathed in, tasting the night, and headed up the walkway towards the darkened residence.

Wuxia!  I forgot this, but I love it!  Chinese Mythology is a favorite anyway, but those supernatural heavy martial arts flicks with animal demon spirits?  Always a good thing.

I suppose I'd write Anime stuff too, though I'd have to be familiar with it or find it easy to learn about/watch.  SAO could be fun.

ALSO Group RPs are good.  Doesn't have to be one on one.  I'd love to play Oz in an Angel RP again, arriving in LA after time spent in Tibet to learn to control the wolf somewhat, and looking for work.

[unless we go back and forth with storytelling,]

My Introduction is here.

I am a male who plays straight males.  I don't want to run a story for you to play in, or play in your story, unless we go back and forth with storytelling, but sharing the world, NPCs, both throwing in plots and twists, that will keep me on my toes, and I like that!

I'm a switch, I can write Dom or Sub, with equal interest.  I am most familiar/comfortable with writing a Pet, but am looking for practice among all ranges.  I'd be glad to write a dominance struggle, but I'll completely lose interest immediate for either auto-hitting, untouchable characters, or attempts to control mine or make their decisions for them.  Granted, sometimes it is useful for the story, but a quick message is all it takes to gain permission behind the scenes, or if it's not detrimental, just to offer a warning, like "Hey, your post said the character was leaving, but they were still sitting down, I'm going to have them stand, heading out before my character makes his action."

I'm very into exploring Kinks, Taboos are fun to play with, just keep in the restrictions on the Forum as I'd like to be allowed to stay :-p  Just about the entire female body is a fetish for me, so if you have things you need avoided, let me know before I post something that skeeves you out :-p

I'd rather build a plot with someone, than offer the beginning of a story, so here are some interests where we can begin a dialogue.  I am VERY laid back.  Have a question?  just ask, I don't mind and love interesting and weird discussions!  I'm up for playing either side of the pairing, but the other side should be female.  I'm writing this with the idea of the opposite being human, but blending monsters is always fun too.

Erotic Horror/Horror, Religious or Urban Fiction
Werewolf: Lone, pack, rogue, hero, even an updated or altered Little Red Riding Hood or Beauty and the Beast?  Werewolves are a favorite
Ghosts: Haunting, poltergeist, wandering ghost, urban legends could be fun
Monster: Construct, Creature, Lovecraft-style beasties, King in Yellow style dysfunction is always good.
Animated: Dolls, teddy bears, statues, puppets, animatronics, mannequins
Witchcraft: Not Wicca/Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble
Demons: Haunting, possession, damned, conflicts with other branches.
Fallen Angels: Same as above
Angels: Same again
Pagan Gods/Goddesses/Judeo-Christian: Not sure what to say here, other than Pagan Deities work in Fantasy as well!
Anything World of Darkness would work.  Vampires require an interesting storyline or paired with another category rather than human.

Fantasy or High Fantasy
Faeries: High Court stuff (Seelie or Unseelie,) Trooping Fae, Humans in the Fae world, Pookas, Satyrs, Nymphs, Sprites, Pixies, Whatever.  Alice in Wonderland anyone?
Gypsies: Love this concept and it's inclusion will happen often if I'm playing a human.
Pirates: Like Gypsies on the Ocean xD
Dwarves: I love playing dwarven characters, not so much playing "with" them.  Bearded women?  No thank you xD  Generally Norse mythology
Elves: Not as in Fae, but LotR/D&D styles
Giants: Frost Giants are a favorite, but any really, something large enough to be a Giant, but able to enter buildings, if a little awkward, would be fun.
Magic Wielders: Tower of sorcery?  Hedgemage?  Trouble in Town?  Whatever.
Bards: Entertainers are always fun, Jesters, Harlequins, Pierrots, whatever
Toon: Human World with Toons in it, Toon world with Humans, Muppets, whatever, probably get a little silly

Sci-Fi
Space Saga: Anything with space crafts, different planets, aliens, high tech.
Note: I'm not a Trekkie, don't know much, but if you want to control the story with me playing the clueless new guy, I can swing that.
Cyberpunk: Anything futuristic, but fancy.  Cybernetic implants and jacking brains into computers, AIs and robots
SteamPunk: Considering this Sci-Fi because it's still a science. Victorian Era, or alternate Modern era?
Modern day: Experiments gone wrong? Prequel to Cybernetic stuff?
Internet Extreme: Ghost in the Machine, AI creation, Second Life style

Yes, I am open to Fanfiction or established worlds.

[I am VERY laid back. Have a question? just ask, I don't mind and love interesting and weird discussions!]

Hey all!

I am a 39yo M.  I am VERY laid back.  Have a question?  just ask, I don't mind and love interesting and weird discussions!

I am straight, tend to play straight males only, but I am very smut friendly as long as it's got a plot of some kind.

I have been writing for 20-ish years now, short stories or attempts at novels.  Even wrote dialogue for a cell phone game once.  I've been RPing for 30, from Table Top to AOL to Yahoo Groups to Furcadia.

Really, I can write in any genre that's fictional, as long as the story interests me, but my favorites are horror or urban fantasy, usually based around mythology/religion/philosophy and/or cryptozoology concepts.

I tend to do two to nine paragraphs, depending on the partner, scene and amount to work with.  I am very friendly, laid back, and responsive to messages to brainstorm, so if you have an idea, feel free to shoot it my way.

If you would like an example of a post from me, you can look in here.

My list of roleplaying interests are here.  Eventually, maybe, I'll add plot ideas beneath it, but for now I'd prefer we start a dialogue to begin with and build together, brainstorming  Have an idea for something not listed?  Shoot it my way, who knows?  I like lots of things, just want something interesting.

'Shift change' for the slaves was upon them again.  Taliesin hid the journal he'd begun writing in beneath his clothing and rose to join the ranks of the other prisoners.  A couple days without food had made him more inclined to behave, but the close proximity to the next full moon was ruining any chance he had at showing signs of patience, though he knew not the reason for his lack thereof.  He would need to be cautious, avoid conflict.  "Hello there," he whispered to the grayish-brown rat that clawed its way up his tatterdemalion clothing. "Coming along to help?"  She tucked herself in close to his neck, nibbling against one of his long, pointed ears.  The ragged fall of his long hair, filthy with matting, kept her mostly hidden from sight.  Lumbering out of his cell, he was careful to get into line with the others heading out.  Any remaining slaves who hadn't been rented or purchased would be entering almost as soon as they exited up the stairs and out of 'Hell Beneath,' as it was becoming colloquially known to the slave.

"Keep clear!"  The guards were calling out to the patrons in both bar and display areas.  "New merchandise coming through!"  He was paraded out with the others in a single file line, wrists and ankles in manacles, chains connected between pairs and betwixt sets.  The line were shuffling along slowly, the guards moving before, after, and alongside, to keep the mongrels from harming their precious patrons.  Taliesin was mumbling to himself like a mantra, "stay calm, no trouble," over and over.  One of the guards, a bulky human with his face hidden by a helmet, shoved him roughly, "Shut yer trap, Inu!"  The distressed squeak from his shoulder ensured his mantra wouldn't have helped anyway.  "What's this, then?!" Helmet-head exclaimed, reaching for where the rat was clinging to his clothing.  Taliesin snarled a roaring growl of warning that stopped the man in his tracks.

Not one to be embarrassed in front of his fellows, the guard began to move in, but the slave leaped upon him like an animal!  Manacled hands grabbed at armor, metal laden bare feet collided with the man's midsection, the slaves mouth wide and threatening to bite.  His teeth seemed as dangerously canine as both his second set of ears and raised tail.  Polearm trapped between their bodies, Helmet-head was ridden down into the flagstone flooring, the weight of the slaves chains holding him down as much as the slave himself.  It was quite a show, but there were plenty of other guards and Taliesin was yanked off to struggle between two who had dragged him off their fellow and hauled him out of the procession.  He was dragged past the group and tossed into a small cage, on the main sales floor, unceremoniously whacked with the shafts of their spears multiple times before the cage door was slammed and locked.

His head tilted up eventually, cerulean blue eyes, the pupils ringed with gold, flitted about nervously checking for any more aggressors before he would begin to unfold from his tucked up, guarding position, protecting his center.  The contraband in question, poked it's little head out, from where it had been cradled in his arms, and crawled back up onto his shoulder.  Looks like the other guards hadn't noticed her yet, hadn't been told by their fellow what the outburst had been about.  That was likely to change, but for now, he huddled in a private cage for the more volatile slaves on sale.  No knowledge of his name, how he ended up in this mess, or what danger lurked in his future as the full moon was coming.  The barker outside his cage told Patrons, incorrectly, that he was an Inumimi, prone to violent outbursts and cheap enough to make him good arena fodder, if they want to bait their warriors, or even dogs, with him.  To any who recognized his true face, they would spot Taliesin Ainsel, sometimes called Tali, very much the worse for wear.

[Prologue For The Stinging Nettle]

Prologue For The Stinging Nettle (<--All Information By Way Of Hyperlink)

Three and a half weeks prior, The Stinging Nettle had vanished.  He had gone on his own, following rumors of a circus that abducted those in it's side show.  No one knew when or where it would appear next, only that it was said to be something entirely wondrous, and that folks went missing whenever it set up it's big tops and wagons.  It had been luck alone, that allowed him to find them, distorted calliope music leading him on by both sets of ears.  "By the pricking of my thumbs ..."  The Midnattsol Cirque, swearing proof of various supernatural creatures, both humanoid and bestiary.  It would be the troupe's last performance.

He hated working on the full moon, or either of the nights surrounding it.  His control was so thin that despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded his skin near constantly.  But when that haunted calliope caught his attention, he knew he couldn't just wait and hope to hear it again when he would be more comfortable.  "Something Wicked, this way comes."  Infiltration was easy enough, proof obtained to satisfy his need to make things right, and then something went horribly wrong.  The Ringmaster had sought to take his memories, recognizing the Sidhe for what he was, with the powers of his enchanted monocle.  He succeeded.  With no one home in Taliesin's mind, the curse of the moon was unleashed, none of the restraint granted by his Fae heritage.  Aided by a few of those held captive, true monsters, like himself, no one walked away from the massacre.