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Chapter 7: Dominated & Displayed

7:13 PM MST

“I just have to dominate you.”

“What?!” I screech incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You know, mount you so he thinks you’re my bitch.” Wyatt keeps talking, explaining why it’ll calm Canuck down, but I’ve stopped listening as my entire world crashes around me; ears ringing. This terrible, bearded guy has no class at all. In fact, the way he’s speaking indicates there’s no question about it; something so shameful and horrible has to happen – all for some wolf-pack dynamic he’s clearly obsessed about.

“You’re dreaming if you think I’m going to let you,” I breathe out. “I’m not going to be anyone’s bitch…”

He glances at the wolf, then back at me. I know with the hard look he’s giving, Wyatt’s not going to wait for my permission.

“Just get up on your knees,” he instructs.

“Now?!” Wyatt’s returning nod is grim and sentencing. “Don’t make me,” I refuse, shaking as I consider how easy it would be if he used any force at all. “I don’t want to be seen as a bitch, Wyatt! I’m already bottom of the pack and everything…”

“Aw, it’s okay,” Wyatt says, offering a comforting tone. “A bitch isn’t a bad thing, Calix. Sorry – when I say bitch, it’s – y’know…” he trails off awkwardly, scratching at a spot on his head. “Besides, we’re doing it for your own good. I don’t want to argue. Get on your knees.”

With those finishing words, it’s clear this guy is planning to mount me and I can’t talk my way out of it. My heart explodes in my chest and I lose all control of my limbs as Wyatt helps me onto my bad leg and turns me around on my knees so I’m facing the headboard of the small bed.

7:17 PM MST

Things are quickly getting out of control.

Wyatt presses my shoulders deep into the musty old mattress and lifts my hips way too high. This unhelpful demonstration of “doggy-style” is so completely humiliating I’m not even sure I understand exactly what’s happening. My heart is pounding away though – at least I can count on it to take me as close to a heart attack you can get without actually keeling over and dying.

“O-okay – is this enough?” I ask after an eerie silence. I try to twist my head but Wyatt’s hand pushes it back down so my cheek is flat against the mattress. Like this, I can hear the creaking of the frame, clear as day. Even though I can’t feel it – or see it – I knowWyatt’s in the act of dominating me.

I’m not sure how I agreed to it in the first place. Actually – I don’t remember agreeing at all – yet here I am on my knees for this psycho pack leader, playing an irreversible role as his bitch so his title isn’t threatened. More importantly, being shamed like this is actually making me feel weird. There’s a deep heat spreading from my stomach and it has nothing to do with fever and everything to do with Wyatt.

“Oh! He’s coming over. Look Canuck – this is mine.”

There’s a wicked slam of Wyatt’s pelvis to my ass as he emphasizes the word and I shriek out – completely startled. “Wyatt! Don’t – don’t do that,” I beg, letting my hips slack. “Isn’t it enough already?!”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done,” he says – all strict voice.

If it’s a show, at least our clothes are still on as he lifts my hips up once more and the creaking continues. I focus on the crocheted pattern of the blanket, unmistakeably trying to block out what’s happening, before Wyatt speaks again.

“Hmm – I don’t think he believes us...”

“Wh-what do you mean? He’s a dog –”


“Yeah – whatever. What do you mean he doesn’t believe us?”

I look back and Wyatt lets me this time, both hands occupied gripping my hips.

“I don’t know – I can just tell. Look at him.” He jerks his bearded chin at his wolf and I turn my head to see for myself. Canuck is facing me already, and it’s true that there’re hooded hints of boredom reflected in his bright yellow eyes. This wolf isn’t giving me a terrible feeling. He sniffs the air curiously then glares at us and turns away, disinterested.

“He didn’t buy it at all,” I confirm.

Thankfully, Wyatt thinks this is grounds for calling it quits; he releases my hips and lets my body fall slack against the mattress. After I turn over and gather my senses, I notice his blue eyes focused on a spot in the middle distance. He’s definitely thinking about what to do, and I shiver with dread before he turns back to me.

“I have another plan,” he declares. “Come here.”

I make absolutely no attempt to get anywhere close to him. I’m as far back on the mattress as I can get with my bad leg drawn up to my chin as if it can protect me. “Wh-what is it?” I ask instead.

I’m swiftly made aware that Wyatt’s not in the waiting mood. He pulls me by the ankle until I’ve slid far enough down the mattress to his satisfaction.

“I’m going to mark you,” he says – all like he’s casually commenting on some every day, ordinary occurrence.

My eyes go wide and I shake my head back and forth unbelievingly. I don’t necessarily know what it means, but that intense look Wyatt’s giving doesn’t exactly make me feel better.

“Don’t mark me, Wyatt,” I beg rationally. “Can’t you– isn’t there something else you can do instead?”

Wyatt’s bushy brows lower. “What? Are you scared of me?”

I gulp hard with a tight swallow and turn my head away with this burning shame. I don’t want to say it out loud to Wyatt’s face, because I’m not even sure if what I’m scared of is Wyatt, necessarily. It’s confusing. A part of me wants to please him and trust him - but another is so completely disgusted with that self for submitting so easily; being made into a bitch…


“I don’t know... what – what are you going to do?” I venture. I half-hope that if he explains it to me - and I have enough time to mentally prepare - maybe that’ll make it easier to accept.

Wyatt reaches out and pokes at my throat but it’s more like a jab because he’s not aware of his own strength. “Just going to lick here, alright? You can handle that.”

“Lick?” I repeat weakly. Rationally, it’s a bit better than getting on my knees again – but it’s still not a whole lot different in terms of how completely degrading it will be. Also, as I imagine Wyatt’s mouth anywhere near my neck it does nothing but disturb that heat in my stomach. It makes my throat tighten, my heart race, and my hands fly up to stop Wyatt from getting anywhere near me. “No… no I don’t want to…”

He frowns. “I’m not asking.”

My gut reaction is to protect myself by any means. I sit up and try to swing my legs over the other side of the mattress, holding on to a naïve hope that some distance between us will at least clear Wyatt’s head so he thinks of some other solution to his pack problem. A solution that doesn’t involve me. Before I can even make it two inches, however, he pulls my wrist and stops me from my daring escape.

“Lay down,” he says, tone demanding. Only when the back of my head is resting on his pillow does Wyatt take some pity on me. His hand rests on my neck – exactly where I’m sure he’ll be marking – but he just gently thumbs at a spot and holds unbreakable eye contact with me. “Just relax. I thought we’ve been over the fact I’m not a cannibal – I won’t chew through your throat or anything.”

This wasn’t even a blip on my radar, but now that he brings it up – smiling and showing straight white teeth – I’m that much more terrified. I don’t want them anywhere near my throat, and even if he’s making a joke, I cringe at the thought of them ripping into my jugular.

Sadly, there’s no more time to complain, or whine, or even attempt to argue. Wyatt climbs on top of me, placing knees on either side of my waist. He’s careful not to rest any body weight on my legs, but he doesn’t hesitate to take the hands that are flying up to fight him into a strong grip. My wrists slam into the mattress as he holds me down so easily; it’s pathetic.

“Stop it,” he warns as I continue to struggle underneath him. “You’ll be fine.”

The adrenalin makes my head swim. I can barely come to terms with the fact that any of this is happening, much less so quickly. “J-just wait,” I whimper. “I don’t want to be your bitch Wyatt…”

“You wanna be Canuck’s bitch then?” Wyatt asks, turning impatient and harsh as he makes the situation all that more unreasonable with such a ridiculous accusation. “I’ll call him over here right now and let him have you.”

“No!” I shout. The idea is horrific but Wyatt continues without pausing for breath.

“You come here, mess everything up for my pack, and don’t even take responsibility?”

Saying it like that makes me feel guilty – even though I know it’s all out of my control. I don’t even understand how I could be labelled as a bitch when I’m clearly a dude. Then again, I’ve been super emotional lately… weak... and now just by existing I’ve almost destroyed Wyatt’s pack.

“I-I’m sorry; I – didn’t mean to mess it up Wyatt!”

“Then shut up and stay still,” he growls.

There’s a conclusive flip of my stomach and my wrists relax in his hold.

Before I can come to my senses to start fighting again, Wyatt’s beard is at my throat; the coarse strands tickle like earlier and it causes me to twist. He doesn’t let me get far before forcing me back and going in again, stirring that awful heat deep in my stomach. It sends a blood rush through my body as I insist this can’t be happening.

But holy shit it is; Wyatt runs his tongue along my throat to remind me of this fact. There’s no hesitation either. The wet muscle starts on exactly the same spot as before, just above my left collarbone, and rolls along, spreading drool and spit.

I swear my neck has never felt like this before in my eighteen years of life. Every nerve ending is on fire; electrical thrills speed south with every coating of saliva. The way Wyatt rolls his tongue makes me so dizzy I have to close my eyes - then once I do there’s an inexplicable need to relax my entire body.

Everything gets hotter and hotter until I realize the heat is far past spreading to my dick.

Panic takes over.

I push against Wyatt’s grip to get him off of me... and when that fails I try twisting and thrashing. I open my mouth to protest but the sensations of a smooth tongue gliding towards my collarbone extract a strange noise from me instead.

“What’s the matter?” Wyatt asks – voice steady in comparison to the next words I choke out.

“St-stop! I-I wanna... stop...!”

“I’m almost done.”

Oh fuck... I just hope he doesn’t notice this raging hard on I have. I would rather fucking die in a fire. In fact, the way things are going I will probably spontaneously combust and my wish will be granted. Getting excited like this isn’t normal - but I wouldn’t know exactly because I’ve never had someone pin me down and tongue-rape my throat before.

“Canuck was on to something,” Wyatt mutters between licks. “You smell pretty good.”

“It’s c-called soap,” I mutter – finally defeated. “Use it sometime...”

I can’t stop him, so I figure I might as well focus all of my energy in fighting my erection.

It proves difficult, if not impossible. Wyatt’s tongue runs the length of my jugular and sends teasing waves of pleasure straight to my lower half; so intense that I can very well feel my member throbbing and straining against the tight denim of my jeans.

It feels so good, I lose my mind a little bit. My chin lifts on its own, allowing Wyatt better access to the spots behind my ears and he focuses on getting the sensitive skin as wet as possible. I can’t help but notice his breathing is irregular as he exhales and inhales sharply behind my earlobes – as his tonguing turns to mouthing…

We’re interrupted with a low whine; Canuck is beside us with his ears pressed against his head in obvious disgust at the scene before him. He barks and Wyatt lifts up slightly, eyes unfocused as he stares at the wolf like he has no idea how he got there. Then he spares me a glance and I’m not sure what he sees but it probably isn’t good. If I look anything like how I feel I’m probably a red-cheeked, dazed mess. The sight of me makes Wyatt’s eyebrows pull together and he releases my wrists a little too quickly.

As he climbs off, I expect him to be embarrassed, ashamed… at least a little bit remorseful for the dignity-stripping act he’s performed on me. But that would be too good to be true because Wyatt doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his alpha status; quickly proving this when I sit up. He grabs the back of my neck and holds my throat inches from Canuck’s mouth. My bad leg is twisted under me at an awkward angle but it’s manageable, and at least hiding my hard-on as he lets Canuck sniff at the job he’s done.

It dawns on me that he’s putting me on display.

Before I can protest, Wyatt loses it completely and stands over Canuck in a menacing way, one rough hand gripping my neck as his other snaps for his wolf to lie down. Canuck offers him a glare and ignores the command – ears pressed back farther than ever and snarling. Disobedience just tempts Wyatt to do his worst and he pulls me closer to the wild animal with a wickedly strong grip.

“Ah – oww! Wyatt stop—”

There’s no getting through to him as he snaps his fingers again, totally focused on disciplining his dog.

Canuck whines but reluctantly sits. His yellow eyes lower to the floor for half a second before flicking up to me. I wince as Wyatt shouts Canuck’s name, moving forward in such a way that makes the wolf finally slide to the floor, lay down and avoid eye contact with us.

It’s only then that Wyatt releases me.

I’m left with throbbing pain in the places his fingers dug in, and I rub the spots bitterly while absorbing the shock of the events.

“Problem solved,” Wyatt says, turning from frighteningly serious to joyful so quick it’s unsettling. “I feel waaay better.”

7:32 PM MST

Wyatt’s practically glowing as he sets about the cabin and tends a fire. The humming he started yesterday has picked up again, and even though Canuck and I haven’t moved an inch from where he left us, he doesn’t seem concerned about any of the psychological damage he’s caused.

Thankfully, my erection has simmered down but I’m still working through a terrible numbness that’s settled in place of all the heat. I feel sort of detached from the world as I sit on Wyatt’s bed. This impossibly small cabin is surreal and I half-wonder if I didn’t actually die out there in the wild and this is just an in-between to an afterlife.

“Calix,” Wyatt says – tone sharp as he calls for my attention. When I look over, he’s pretty much beaming from ear to ear. “You hungry?”

I quickly realize I’m starving. “Yeah.”

He approaches – careful to step over Canuck – and I’d be lying to say his smile isn’t infectious. It soothes some of the apprehension I feel and makes it easy to focus on reality one minute at a time.

“I don’t think it’s good to leave you both here and go out,” he says, not even considering the fact I wouldn’t want him to leave anyway. “Canuck needs some time to get over all this… but I have some old canned beans and stuff. How about that?”

It’s not like I have a choice, and quite honestly I’m even lucky to get anything at all. I nod agreeably as my stomach rumbles, finding it hard to stay upset in the company of overly cheerful Wyatt.

As he cooks, his happiness radiates out from his worn, plaid jacket and fills the whole cabin – making it nearly impossible to dwell on the embarrassing domination I suffered.

Which works for me.

I am more than on board to mentally supress the entire incident for the time being. It’s left me with all kinds of weird feelings and if I even try to remember the beard at my throat, ghostly tingles make their way through my useless body and make things worse.

Staring down at Canuck though, it’s completely tragic. Just this morning I was shrieking and pulling away from him, but now as he blinks in a depressed kind of way – head between his paws and sunk so low to the ground he’s become a rug – I can’t help but sympathize. After all, I know that Wyatt’s punishments hurt. Not just in a physical sense, but in every way imaginable.

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