Freeing The Chained

No one stays on Mutton Head. Cäthe Dustwell knew that, but the news had made her angry. Damien had apologized, and he had offered to end it.

Amicably.

He had never pressured her.

Mother warned me.

She felt ashamed for her anger and angry about feeling ashamed. And she had suggested his family's hunting lodge.

The mud sucked on her shoes as she stomped across the verdant fields, past the grazing sheep. Everyone knew every building on Mutton Head, and the lodge was more memorable than most. Cast-iron fencing surrounded the two-storey house, built from imported wood and the same dark stone as the Schaffauge Keep. Sinister gargoyles kept their watch, high on the black shingles of the roof. The young man skulked after her.

She waited for him by the lilies at the entrance. Leafy vines crept between the rusting metal flowers, and the wind carried a strange weeping sound. Damien's hand was unsteady and he, twice, almost dropped the key. The gate creaked open, and she took his hand as they walked up the path to the door.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

The house loomed over them, and the keychain rattled in his hand. Cäthe heard the sea, wine-dark waves lashing the pale cliffs. The howling wind. And she heard the sound of her own beating heart. And nearly his. "Do you keep animals here?"

Damien showed her the back of the house, the old kennels covered by tarp. Something moved underneath it; wailing, snarling. "A hound," he said and swallowed. "Dad must've taken up hunting again." His outstretched hand did not lift the painted cloth. "We could leave."

Cäthe shook her head. They instead fled inside. Flickering candles bathed the master bedroom in orange light. A first kiss made her shudder. He had never before touched the inside of her thighs. Or her breasts. The bolder tongue, his lips, made her shiver with heat. The stifling clothes annoyed her and had to go. Her sturdy jacket, and the blue and grey pullover her mother had knitted for her. Damien helped her with her blouse and skirt. "I feel ugly."

"You are beautiful."

The rough-spun panties and undershirt were anything but. She felt less naked without them, but still pulled a blanket close. A kiss lured her out, allowed him in, and she undid his belt. His cock was hot in her hand, and she pulled him under. They fumbled under the cover, and he took his time. Heat tingled wherever he felt her. She whispered into his ear;

ready

, ready for more than his reluctant finger. Then the door opened.

He placed his hand on her mouth. They stayed, motionless, and hoping that no one would open the door. There were steps outside, the sound of someone lighting the grand fireplace, and then the rustling of fabric. The someone left, the door closing behind.

Noises rose from the kennel, wails turned to snarls, turned to song. A woman moaned. Cäthe and Damien looked at each other, and neither held the other back. They snuck to the window and peered through the woollen curtains.

No hound. Instead, a dark-green mass of tentacles writhed behind the rusted bars. Cäthe saw a woman's bare back and the shadow of moving appendages. Heated screams mixed with the creature's unseelie hymn.

Arousal gushed from her sex. Damien touched himself. Her hand reached him, a wordless invitation, and he entered her. There was no pain; her eyes and her mind remained in the cage. Heavy chains bound the creature's limbs, and Cäthe ignored the weight of his hand on her shoulder and wrist.

Slimy feelers sucked the woman's pale skin, and Damien's kisses burned on her back. On her lips. Warmth welled between her legs, and a shivering contraction gripped her. Outside, the woman sank to her knees. Greenish goo coated the noble body and regal face of Damien's stepmother, more dripping from inside her. The song had stopped.

They hid, confused, in each other's arms, anxious for her to leave. Then they fucked again. He pushed her down, kissing her as he moved inside her. The creature sang again, while she rode him atop the giant bed. They visited it, after, and witnessed the cruel iron bonds.

"We should free it," Cäthe said.

And they did. It blubbered something from a toothed, tentacled orifice and took flight. She saw it dive into the endless ocean, swim the boundless sky. And she understood.

No one, after all, stays on Mutton Head.