The stocks were a modernized version of the wooden device which had occasionally been used to restrain and punish Sophie’s ancestors when they were accused of witchcraft and shape-shifting. With the original design, the victim’s head was put through a large hole in the wooden plank’s center while the wrists were encased in two smaller holes to either side.
Though it conjured thoughts of the cruelty and humiliation inflicted on her kin, Sophie enjoyed her modern toy. She was particularly liking using it now as Tristan circled her.
She was sitting on a wooden stool, naked. The seat was a ring of oak with its center cut out. Its three legs were splayed outward, giving Tristan enough room to get his head and shoulders, or other body parts, underneath it.
Sophie’s wrists were imprisoned within holes in one two-piece wooden plank, her chest pushed forward so that her breasts emerged from two central holes. The top and bottom were separate pieces, the top lowered to secure itself to the bottom with a padlock.
She had asked Tristan to blindfold her after locking her in place, and he did so, so that she wouldn’t know where he would touch her next. He shifted into wolf form and padded silently around her as she sat, rigid, on her uncomfortable stool, in anticipation of whatever was to come.
Tristan moved in front of her and stared at her form. She was beautiful, thin, athletic. Tanned. Her breasts were white, though, and her nipples pink. He stood before her and shifted back into human form. He put a finger on each nipple and felt her jerk back in surprise. She couldn’t go anywhere, however; he had wrapped a strap around her back that ensured that she would remain pressed into the hard wood.
Now, he unzipped his pants. Breathing heavily, he approached her right breast, cock in hand. He began to tease her nipple with its tip, which was glistening with the clear liquid that seeps out with the expectation of further arousal.
Sophie’s lips curled up in a grin in spite of herself. She meant to behave as though she were frightened, but the intense pleasure was too much. A moment later, though, she managed to return her facial expression to the gravity that she felt was appropriate.
Without saying it explicitly, she was trying to teach Tristan. To be strong, to dominate. To be an alpha. She’d realized over time that he submi tted to her more often than not. She ran the show. He needed to learn to put personal feelings of pride and anger aside and to rule with his head, or he would never lead a pack. He would never successfully defeat the current alpha, for whom he felt nothing but rage and disdain.
Now, in her feigned vulnerable state, Sophie wanted him to rule her. To do anything he wished to her, knowing that she would be helpless to resist. She had supplied him with gear: a horse crop. Lit candles which he could employ to drip hot wax on her. Glass cups, meant to be heated up and applied to the skin, which created a sort of hot suction. The bliss of burning. Secretly, she hoped for searing heat. But she left the decisions to Tristan. He needed to learn to take over.
Tristan found himself enjoying looking at Sophie’s breasts, constrained in this way. He could see that she loved it too; her nipples were firm and long, begging to be sucked. And he wanted to get on his knees and to do just that, but he knew that this wasn’t about her pleasure. He forced himself away.
He walked over to the table, where he looked at the items she’d left for him. At first, he picked up the riding crop, and then thought, “No. Too dull.” He put it down again.
He took two of the cups and held them over the open flame of the candle, heating their rims. He had never done anything like this, and it seemed cruel. What if he scarred her beautiful, smooth skin? And yet it was her idea. He would try it and see where things went. He picked up the cups and candle.
He approached her again, heating the inside of one cup with