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"writing": "[b][u][center]Soulbound Wagers\nChapter 1\nFor Damiekinz\nBy Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe soft smack, smack, smack of hips to rump were loud in Asmund’s tent. He chuckled as he watched the broken butt-slut of a gray wolf shoving his hips back again and again, sinking fat black bear cock between his cheeks and filling himself to the brim. Every smack, every ripple, every little jiggle of those cheeks, was a wonderful distraction for the impatient bear. \n\n“That’s it. Show me you know your place.”\n\n“Nnngh, yes, sir…oh fuck, sir…your cock feels so good…”\n\nAsmund smirked. The gray wolf kneeling before him had been an easy conquest on the way to Targir’s palace. Not particularly strong – and certainly not as strong as the Overthane that he had come to take down – but a fun distraction. That ass had grabbed the polar bear’s attention as he was passing by the other male’s lands, and the idea of having it to himself had been too tempting to resist. \n\nOne ‘Wager’ later, and he had the other male under him. Easily, brutally under him. \n\n“Mmmm, spread them.”\n\nThe wolf obeyed immediately, moaning happily as he slumped forward and pulled his cheeks apart. The way that the flesh dimpled beneath his fingers, giving and soft against the muscle under the flesh, really got to him, and so did the way that his dark shaft sliding out of that pink pucker left the other male gaping. \n\n[i]Where they all belong…[/i]\n\nAsmund chuckled, gripping his cock at the base and slapping the head against that puffy hole. It throbbed, clenching on nothing as the wolf whimpered in need. This Underthane would be a weakling, a butt-slut that needed it from now on, and all it had taken was a single rut to get him broken in. \n\nGrinding between the cheeks, the polar bear imagined the other sluts that he had taken in as part of his harem. From a wandering warrior to a powerful warlord, he’d taken an entire region of this freezing land as his own. Sometimes in war, yes, but more often as part of a duel, a ‘Wager’ for someone’s future. \n\nHe still remembered the early days when there were many that thought they could beat him in a fight. They used to refuse the Wagers, thinking that they could just fight him off. When they realized that wasn’t possible, they started to take the duel, hoping against hope that they could beat him one-on-one. \n\n[i]Never happen,[/i] he thought with a smirk.\n\nHe sunk his cock into that hole again, getting back to rutting the wolf. The once-proud warrior moaned like a bitch as he was filled to the brim with bear-cock, his head falling to the floor and his eyes rolling back in their sockets. There was no sign of the ruling male that he used to be. \n\nThen again, that was what happened when one Wagered their soul during a duel. Everything that they had passed to the other person, and there wasn’t a soul on the ice that could hold out against that transfer. Asmund had seen a few that managed to hold out for a couple of weeks, one as long as a month, but they always eventually succumbed to being property. \n\nIt was how he had gained as much power as he had. He had beaten down one ruler after another, collecting them, and in doing so, collecting what they owned. The polar bear had a harem hundreds-large, now, all of which had belonged to others before he’d taken them for his own. \n\n[i]And soon, I’ll take Targir, and his bitches,[/i] Asmund thought as he picked up the pace, ramming into the butt-slut under him. Gray fur was matted with spit from the bit of generous lubing-up that he’d done earlier, as well as the pre-cum that was oozing from the gaping hole. He growled as he leaned forward, his hand on the back of the wolf’s neck, and pinned him to the floor of the tent. \n\nIn, out, in, out, the soft clapping of flesh on flesh and balls against balls filling the tent. He missed his usual audience, but the sheer sloppy pleasure of the hole around his cock was enough to keep pushing him on. He growled as he bared his teeth, pulling himself deeper with each thrust. \n\nIn. \n\nOut. \n\nIn. \n\nOut. \n\nIt didn’t have the strength to grip him anymore. He could feel how much he’d ruined that pucker, how far he’d pushed the wolf. It would take days for him to be tight enough to fuck again. \n\nThat pleased him. His cock throbbed harder as he fucked the bitch faster, grunting under his breath as he hammered his cock past the cheeks and into the wolf’s depths. He could feel every weak, futile clench as the other male tried to keep him inside, tried to milk him like a good butt-slut should, but it was no use. The constant fucking during the journey had rendered that hole all but broken. \n\n[i]Should have brought a few more of my wives and toys…[/i]\n\nWell, he’d get his own in a few hours. Targir would break and – \n\n“Mmmph…”\n\nAnd soon, he’d be watching his dark dick sliding into that rump. There was no way that the other male would be able to beat him. He was the warlord of the ice, the pinnacle of the polar bears. He took what he wanted, and he would have what he craved. \n\nWith a few more thrusts, he buried his cock up to the hilt in the smaller male. He arched his back and so did the Underthane, the gray wolf whimpering as he was filled to the brim with polar bear seed. Pulse, pulse, pulse went Asmund’s dick, each throbbing release sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine. \n\nHe sighed as he slowly sat up straight again, chuckling at the little bit of leakage around his cock. That rim had been ruined, and he knew that there’d be a waterfall of seed as soon as he pulled out. One more thing to enjoy, he supposed. \n\nThe crunch of footsteps on snow caught his attention, and he lifted his head. The tent-flap opened, one of his warriors poking his head inside. They shared a smirk as the guard saw what he’d been up to. \n\n“The Overthane make a decision yet?” Asmund asked. \n\n“Said that you’re welcome to come in, at least.”\n\n“Heh, ain’t taking my offer?”\n\n“He said he wants to talk to you in the throne room or something.”\n\n“Well, if he wants to make this a public show, who am I to argue?”\n\nHe slid back, his cock popping free of the wolf. The conquered Underthane collapsed almost immediately, a white river running out of his stretched hole and over his taint and down his sac. Asmund turned his attention away from the smaller male, grabbing the blue cloth that consisted of most of his clothing, and draped it over himself. \n\n“Heh, why bother getting dressed?” the other polar bear asked, leaning against the tent-pole. “Gonna fuck him up in a few minutes, anyway.”\n\n“I’m not just a warrior anymore. I’m a Warlord. Gotta keep up a few appearances, at least.”\n\n“Gonna go in with your dick all slimed up?”\n\n“What do you take me for?”\n\nHe wiped his cock against the Underthane’s ass fur, drying it off before pulling his garments on. It was a blue-white stretch of fabric, one that ran over his front and back, with a flap to cover his crotch and another to cover his rump. It wasn’t much, and it certainly didn’t cover a great deal of flesh, but he found that it worked for him. \n\nAnd it made it much easier to get a quicky in when there was only a little time, instead of having to get out of armor or something like that. \n\nOnce he was properly covered, he emerged from the tent and looked up at the palace. His little delegation – himself, a few captured wolves, and his bodyguards and their captives – had set up camp in the courtyard in front of the main doors of the palace. The high walls surrounded them, and the main gates of the palace had been shut behind them. \n\nAnyone else would have felt trapped, but not Asmund. He knew Targir well enough to know that the wolf Overthane’s power didn’t come from military might, but from trade and trickery. He didn’t have the balls to try and kill him like that. More to the point, he’d be an outcast if he went that far, and he wouldn’t risk that. \n\nNo, he was stalling, trying to keep from making a Wager. Not that he could, really; once Asmund came knocking, a fight was inevitable, and the only choice one had was whether they took him on with a Wager duel or whether they fought him hand to hand. \n\n“Well, Warlord?” his bodyguard asked. \n\n“Stay here. I’ll meet with him myself.”\n\n“Heh, can I have a turn with the other wolf?”\n\n“Help yourself.”\n\n#\n\nTargir’s palace was warm, at least compared to the tents and the snow around them. The great hall was filled with braziers and no less than two fireplaces per wall, spreading heat and warmth through the chamber, and Asmund felt it like a wave of summer passing through his fur. It was quite the experience after building up a sweat with a bored rut. \n\nWolf warriors came to meet him, dressed lightly for the interior. They looked him up and down, one of them nervous, the other – and older – looking slightly more confident. Asmund smirked at that one. \n\n“Targir send you?” he asked. \n\n“Yes,” the older wolf said. “Come with us; we’ll take you to the throne room.”\n\n“Gonna have it out there, huh? Well, his choice. I like an audience when I take what I want.”\n\nThe wolves looked at each other and said nothing. The old wolf waved for him to follow, and Asmund did as he was asked. \n\nWhen they reached the throne room, Asmund was not impressed. He’d seen three Overthanes in his personal conquests, and each one had had something better than this. More weapons on the walls, greater defenses, and more guards on display compared to what lay before him. \n\nTargir, by comparison, had a total of three bodyguards in attendance in addition to the two that had been sent to fetch him. The silver-furred wolf sat on a throne of wood that, while rare, didn’t have the same grandness as the archaic stone and ice thrones that he’d seen in other palaces and huts. The walls were adorned with tapestries from the south, but none depicted war or the grand traditions of the north. They were all meant to show off the wealth that the wolf Overthane had gathered during his life. \n\nSome would appreciate it, Asmund supposed, but not him. \n\nHe walked down the center of the room. To either side, stone steps led up to sets of wooden chairs, high-backed as if offering more height to whatever people that Targir preferred at that moment. Right then, the chairs were empty, and they only served as empty spaces that made the room feel taller and emptier. \n\nThe bodyguards stepped to the side, the wolves taking their places at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. Targir himself leaned on one fist, smiling down at him, dressed in a long wool garment that was halfway between a robe of state and a long tunic, white with gold stitching in places. \n\n“Well, well. It seems that the great bear has come calling,” Targir said, shaking his head as he sat up a little straighter. “To what do I owe the honor?”\n\n“Nothing but ambition and desire,” Asmund admitted, shrugging with a smirk on his face. “I came here to take what you have and make it mine.”\n\n“Indeed?”\n\n“Mm. I challenge you to a soul Wager.”\n\n“Hmm. I decline.”\n\n“…Huh?” \n\nAsmund blinked. It was less that the wolf had said no at all, and more just the way he did it. Almost…flippantly. He shook his head. \n\n“Why?”\n\n“Well, there’s certainly no need to say ‘yes’ to a Wager,” the wolf said, shrugging as one of the other bodyguards nearer to him offered him a goblet, one he took a sip from before handing it back. “After all, the Wager doesn’t work without mutual consent, does it?”\n\n“…”\n\n“And while you are a most intimidating beast, I believe that it would take you quite some time to actually take the palace from me.”\n\n“Yeah? You think that?”\n\nAsmund took a step forward. No sooner had he taken it than the two bodyguards lunged for him. \n\nThey hit the floor a half-second later, their eyes rolled back from the impact of being knocked together. The other bodyguards reached for their weapons, only for Targir to hold up his hand to stop them. \n\nAsmund stepped forward again, this time putting one foot on each wolf, pinning them to the floor. He crossed his arms over his chest. \n\n“I could take this whole damn place on my own if I wanted. Got a few bodyguards out in the tents that are almost as strong as me. So, you want to fight this out, we can fight it out. People get hurt in a fight, though.”\n\n“…Indeed, they do. You’d risk them?”\n\n“I know what I want.”\n\n“And you want…me, I assume?”\n\n“You and everything you got,” Asmund said, nodding. “Including that little harem of yours. I hear that it’s one of the most choice sluts in the north. Not to mention all that money of yours would go a long way towards getting me what else I want.”\n\n“Indeed, it would.”\n\nTargir waved at the bodyguard with the goblet. He took another drink, seemingly taking more time than he needed to as he swallowed its contents. Asmund continued to tap his foot on the back of the guards beneath him, suppressing a growl of impatience. \n\nFinally, the goblet was handed back and Targir got to his feet. The wolf brushed out his clothes, shaking his head. \n\n“Well, I suppose that, to keep my own men safe, I should give you what you want.”\n\n“Then –”\n\n“However.” Targir shook his head. “Let’s not jump to a soul-Wager so quickly.”\n\n“You gonna make me wait here?”\n\n“Call it my condition, hmmm? If you’re so confident that you can win, that you can beat me and make me Soulbound instead of the other way around, then surely you can’t begrudge me a few extra chances.”\n\nAsmund narrowed his eyes. For all that Targir was more of a merchant-lord than a warrior one, he could hear the cunning in the wolf’s voice. It was too smooth, too controlled for someone that should have been afraid. Maybe he was just stupid, or maybe he actually believed that he could win, or maybe…\n\nNo, there was no way to cheat at a Wager. Once you started playing, you couldn’t just force someone’s hand, and you could only bet something that was actually possible. You picked the rules at the start of a Wager, and anyone that broke them automatically lost. Those protections were the only reason that others would make Wagers with him, because they could pick rules that would give them a chance. \n\nNot a good chance, but a chance, nonetheless. \n\nEventually, Asmund chuckled and nodded. \n\n“Fine. I’ll take that. Never had the chance to break someone in pieces before.”\n\n“Splendid. Then let us adjourn to the Challenge Pavilion, shall we?”\n\nThe silver wolf clapped his hands. The guards disappeared, and were replaced with a small collection of wolf females and slender wolf males. Asmund could only imagine that they were part of Targir’s little harem of wives and butt-sluts, each of them rounded around the hips and with plenty to offer in the rump. \n\nScantily-dressed, too. Most of them were barely dressed in underwear, and as they turned to face their Overthane, he saw that their garments all but disappeared between their cheeks, pulled tight between rounded rumps. He smirked, licking his lips as he imagined one of them beneath him. \n\n“Signi.”\n\nTargir gestured at one of the females, a white-furred wolfess that stepped forward from the ranks of the others. She bowed her head, her breasts all but spilling out of the small top that she wore. \n\n“Lead us there, and ensure that everyone knows what’s going on,” the wolf Overthane said. \n\n“Yes, my love.”\n\n“Heh, might be calling me that, soon,” Asmund muttered. \n\nThe wolfess showed no reaction to his words. Instead, she turned on her heels and walked to the door leading east. Asmund shrugged, following her and Targir. He barely heard the groans of the unconscious bodyguards as he stepped off of them and followed his ‘host’ through the palace. \n\nThey passed through several corridors before coming to a door that led to an outer garden of the palace. A small pavilion had been set up outside already, with stitched furs along the top to keep the cold off and various pits of heated woods and embers throughout the garden to keep the snow at bay. Tables were already set out with a number of tools and weapons upon them. \n\nAsmund adjusted his opinion of Targir. Not far, but somewhat. The fact that he had this ready meant that the wolf might be a little more familiar with a Wager duel than he had expected. \n\nOnce they arrived, the white wolf bowed her head and left. Asmund watched her go, a little smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth as she swayed out of the garden, and he shook his head as her barely-clothed rump disappeared back into the palace. \n\n“By sunset, I’m going to be pounding some cubs into her,” he muttered. \n\n“Perhaps, or perhaps I will be doing the same to your harem,” Targir said, chuckling. “After all, the game could go either way.”\n\n“Heh, keep telling yourself that.”\n\n“I shall, heh. Now…May I have the right to pick the first game?”\n\nAsmund almost said no; after all, he had already given the wolf enough of a gift by allowing him to stretch this out. But on the other hand…\n\nWhy not? Why not give Targir the rope to hang himself? If he picked the games he was good at to start, then there’d be more room for the bear to pick the ones that he was good at later. Just good tactics. \n\n“Sure. Go ahead,” Asmund said. \n\n“Then may I suggest ‘Blade-Cast’?”\n\n“Heh, that old game, huh?”\n\n“It seems appropriate for something between warriors.”\n\n“Between a warrior and a merchant.”\n\nBlade-Cast. It had been some time since he’d played that. It was a simple game that was used by many a warrior to keep their skills sharp during the long darks of winter when they couldn’t go out on raids. Handaxes, daggers, and more were thrown at targets thrown up by someone else, and the winner was whoever managed to get the most points. Points were determined by how many targets – and how many small ones in particular – you could hit during a game. \n\nHe smirked. \n\n“Fine. Then I get to pick the stakes first. If I win, then you call all your wives out for me to see, and to watch you lose the other games.”\n\n“A fair price,” Targir said, still wearing that increasingly-annoying smile. “Then if I win, then I get to give you a nose-ring.”\n\n“Hmmph. Why would you want to decorate my face?”\n\n“It is a trifle plain for my tastes.”\n\n“…”\n\n“Shall we?”\n\nHe bit back a growl as he nodded. The wolf gestured to the table of weapons, and he walked down the length of it, looking over the offerings. There were short javelins, daggers, long-knives, and more, but he eventually settled on the handaxes for himself. He had more experience with them, and he knew how to work with their weight. More to the point, it was easier to throw them further to hit the more distant targets, and he’d won many a game by purely outdistancing an opponent’s range. \n\nSurprisingly, Targir picked the daggers. The polar bear arched an eyebrow at the silver wolf’s choice, but didn’t ask any questions. If he wanted the shortest-ranged weapon, then Asmund wasn’t going to complain. \n\nThey took their places at the edge of the Pavilion. More servants came out, each one holding a collection of target disks under their arms. Some were as large as a shield, and others were as small as a man’s hand. \n\n[i]One point for shield-hits, ten points for the palm-sized circles…[/i]\n\nHe gripped his collection of axes, grinning. Oh, this was going to be good. \n\n“Three…two…one!”\n\nThe guards counted down and tossed two random disks in the air. Three shield-sized ones, one palm-sized one. Asmund roared as he swung a hand over his shoulder and flung it forward, the handaxe swinging round and round before slamming hard into one of the big disks. \n\nAs it fell back, nearly split in two from the impact, he brough his other hand back and flung it forward. Another axe, another target hit. \n\nHe was just getting ready to aim for the third when he heard the soft thwip-thwip of the wolf throwing his daggers. He put it out of his head and just threw his third axe. \n\n“Three…two…one!”\n\nAnother set of disks. Two smaller ones, one tiny, one big. He kept up his shouts and throws, putting Targir’s work out of his mind and just focusing on hitting his targets. \n\nAnd he did. Every single one of them. \n\nThe game continued until the targets were depleted. Asmund grinned as he rubbed his sweaty hair back over his face, running his fingers down the braided fur that ran down his chin to his chest. \n\n“Heh…I don’t think you won. I hit more targets than you,” he said. \n\n“Hmmm, don’t get too cocky just yet,” Targir said. “There is a reason I picked daggers, after all.”\n\n“Heh, so you could hit the small targets? That’s not gonna be enough.”\n\n“We’ll see.”\n\nThe guards returned with the targets in hand. Asmund and Targir walked over to examine them, and for a moment, Asmund chuckled. He could see his axes in at least three-quarters of the targets, and in every target that was larger than a palm-sized one. Even a few of the tiniest ones had an axe in them. Surely, he’d won. \n\nThen he saw what Targir had been doing, and his eyes widened. \n\nThe silver-furred wolf might have hit fewer targets, but he had hit each of his with at least three daggers, clustering them close together in the small core of the target disk. Instead of ten points per disk, he was getting [i]thirty.[/i]\n\nAsmund could do the math. He realized in seconds that he had lost, and how. He growled under his breath. \n\n“Well, well. It seems that the first round goes to me,” Targir said, shrugging and smiling all the while. “What a shame that we didn’t do a soul-Wager from the start, hmm?”\n\n“Hmmph. If it had been a true soul-Wager, I would have won; this was pure luck on your part.”\n\n“Perhaps. Perhaps. Heh. Now, come. Let me have my forfeit.”\n\n“Hmmph. Fine. Perhaps it will look good on me, anyway.”\n\nNot that he had a choice; losing a Wager compelled one to give in to what they had agreed to. He was led by his own legs back to the stretch of tables, wondering in the back of his mind how many times Targir had done this. A part of him wondered if he had underestimated the wolf – \n\n[i]No. No, no, no. He’s just lucky. What’s a nose piercing compared to the things I can take from him later?[/i]\n\nAnd yet, he still felt just a little concerned as they reached the table with the various rings and piercings laid out. Again, he wondered how many times they had been displayed before, and how many others might have fled from the Wagers when they realized what sort of things would be on the line for them?\n\nBut he wouldn’t run. He would win. \n\nTargir picked up a gold ring and held it up a few feet from Asmund’s nose. The bear growled under his breath, feeling the compulsion drawing his head forward. He didn’t fight it; there was no point. \n\nAs soon as his dark nose made contact with the gold ring, it pressed through his flesh. The Wager prevented pain, one of many ways that made it all the easier to submit as a loser at the end of it. Asmund still gritted his teeth as the metal passed through his flesh, his body as malleable as clay as the ring settled between his nostrils and locked into place. The ring itself didn’t have to pierce him, nor did it ache as the wolf pulled his fingers back. It just…rested there, a new weight in his face. \n\nAnd a strange one, at that. Asmund grunted as he reached up and rubbed his nose, shaking his head as he felt the tingling remnant of it sliding into him, and the [i]very[/i] strange feeling of the heavier metal band pulling at his nostrils. It was so strange; the piercing ring was so small, and yet, he could feel it as if someone had hooked a finger through his face and was slowly pulling it down. \n\n“Hmmph. I’m sure it suits me,” Asmund muttered, putting the minor embarrassment to the side. “But that’s just the first game. And since you won, I am going to make sure that my first win gets me a little pay-back.”\n\n“I’m sure you will, heh. But perhaps we can take a short break between this Wager and the next. I’m sure that you’d like to…adjust to your new accessory.”\n\nAsmund narrowed his eyes. The more that this got dragged out, the more that he wondered if there was some trickery afoot. Targir was still so confident, so clearly believing that he would be able to win anything that Asmund suggested. It was nothing like any of his other opponents, even in his early days. \n\n[i]What are you planning?[/i]\n\nThe polar bear shook his head. He wouldn’t get in his own head about it. One way or another, he [i]would[/i] win Targir’s soul and turn him into another Soulbound in his camp. He wasn’t going to let this prize get away, not after this little bit of humiliation, and not after seeing the harem members that the wolf had. \n\n“Fine. A short break. But no more than half an hour.”\n\n“That is more than enough. I shall see you again soon, and then…then we shall see how you handle the next wager. If you don’t feel the urge to leave.”\n\nAs if he would. Asmund allowed himself to be led out of the Pavilion, taken to one of the guest rooms of the palace by the guards. He sat down on the bed that dominated the center of the room, crossing his arms and looking out the window. \n\nIt looked down on the courtyard and the few men that he had brought with him. The Underthane was getting rutted in public, his bodyguards alternating between using the wolf’s rump and putting his tongue to use under their tails. Asmund chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he looked away – \n\n“…Oh.”\n\nHe understood. The break wasn’t for some sort of trick, or at least, not the way that Asmund had thought it might be. The break was to give him the chance to think about leaving, about giving up and cutting his losses. If he wasn’t going from one Wager to another, then he’d have time to think about what he lost, how he lost, and he could see how so many other warriors would start wondering if it was worth pushing forward. \n\n[i]Probably how he got half his stuff…[/i]\n\nBut while that would work on merchants and other warriors that had yet to get a name for themselves, Targir clearly didn’t know him. Time didn’t break his will or his determination; if anything, it only made it stronger. \n\nSatisfied that he had figured out what the wolf’s trick was, the polar bear leaned back on the bed. It creaked under him, clearly not made for his size, and he chuckled as he fondled himself to the thought of what he’d do to punish the silver wolf for his trickery. The nose ring would take some time to come out, if it ever would, and he needed to take a suitable pound of flesh out of the other male for that. \n\n[i]Not quite fat-assed enough for me…[/i]\n\nBut that was something that could be worked on, and in the meantime, that silver tongue could be put to use somewhere else. \n\nHe rolled the flap of cloth out of the way, groping himself once more. His cock rose quickly to the occasion, and he grunted as he stroked himself to a full hard-on. He teased it, rubbing the head back against his stomach fur for a moment before letting it stand out, hard and proud. \n\n[i]I’m going to make you take every last inch of this, eventually,[/i] he thought, imagining the proud merchant whimpering under him. [i]And when I’m done, Overthane, you’re going to give me everything that you have in this palace.[/i]\n\nThere were many things that he could do with that. He already had quite the reputation in the land of ice, but with that money, those people, those connections? He could spread further, take more. The world would be his for the taking, and he could enjoy whatever he liked, as he liked. \n\nTempting as it was to keep stroking, he took his hand from his cock and let it throb idly over his balls. The last thing that he needed was to use up all his stamina before he had that wolf Soulbound to him. Best not to risk anything, particularly if Targir had any more tricks that he could pull out. \n\n[i]Still…he’s more brains than brawn,[/i] he thought. [i]Long as I actually take a second to think, shouldn’t be that hard to beat him. He got lucky with the dagger-throwing; could have been less small targets for him to work with.[/i]\n\nLuck, he couldn’t control. Plans, he could. He just had to pick games that didn’t have that same element of luck to them, and he’d be fine. \n\nAsmund rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand as he looked at the wall. He hoped that the half-hour would end soon. He wanted to get back to the games, and the Wagers. More than anything, he wanted to pay back the humiliation of the nose ring. Every time he moved his head, he could [i]feel[/i] it dragging at him, the weight just enough to keep pulling his attention back to it. \n\n[i]Soon,[/i] he told himself. [i]Soon.[/i]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]\n\nSummary: A little series of a bear coming to make a wager with a wolf, and the number of ways that this can go wrong. \n\nTags: M/solo, M/M, Polar Bear, Wolf, Gray Wolf, Silver Wolf, Anal, Rump Focus, Ass Focus, Medieval, Magic, Fantasy, Piercing, Painless Piercing, Orgasm, Cum, Gape, Series, White Wolf, ",
"writing_bbcode_parsed": "
Soulbound Wagers Chapter 1 For Damiekinz By Draconicon
The soft smack, smack, smack of hips to rump were loud in Asmund’s tent. He chuckled as he watched the broken butt-slut of a gray wolf shoving his hips back again and again, sinking fat black bear cock between his cheeks and filling himself to the brim. Every smack, every ripple, every little jiggle of those cheeks, was a wonderful distraction for the impatient bear.
“That’s it. Show me you know your place.”
“Nnngh, yes, sir…oh fuck, sir…your cock feels so good…”
Asmund smirked. The gray wolf kneeling before him had been an easy conquest on the way to Targir’s palace. Not particularly strong – and certainly not as strong as the Overthane that he had come to take down – but a fun distraction. That ass had grabbed the polar bear’s attention as he was passing by the other male’s lands, and the idea of having it to himself had been too tempting to resist.
One ‘Wager’ later, and he had the other male under him. Easily, brutally under him.
“Mmmm, spread them.”
The wolf obeyed immediately, moaning happily as he slumped forward and pulled his cheeks apart. The way that the flesh dimpled beneath his fingers, giving and soft against the muscle under the flesh, really got to him, and so did the way that his dark shaft sliding out of that pink pucker left the other male gaping.
Where they all belong…
Asmund chuckled, gripping his cock at the base and slapping the head against that puffy hole. It throbbed, clenching on nothing as the wolf whimpered in need. This Underthane would be a weakling, a butt-slut that needed it from now on, and all it had taken was a single rut to get him broken in.
Grinding between the cheeks, the polar bear imagined the other sluts that he had taken in as part of his harem. From a wandering warrior to a powerful warlord, he’d taken an entire region of this freezing land as his own. Sometimes in war, yes, but more often as part of a duel, a ‘Wager’ for someone’s future.
He still remembered the early days when there were many that thought they could beat him in a fight. They used to refuse the Wagers, thinking that they could just fight him off. When they realized that wasn’t possible, they started to take the duel, hoping against hope that they could beat him one-on-one.
Never happen, he thought with a smirk.
He sunk his cock into that hole again, getting back to rutting the wolf. The once-proud warrior moaned like a bitch as he was filled to the brim with bear-cock, his head falling to the floor and his eyes rolling back in their sockets. There was no sign of the ruling male that he used to be.
Then again, that was what happened when one Wagered their soul during a duel. Everything that they had passed to the other person, and there wasn’t a soul on the ice that could hold out against that transfer. Asmund had seen a few that managed to hold out for a couple of weeks, one as long as a month, but they always eventually succumbed to being property.
It was how he had gained as much power as he had. He had beaten down one ruler after another, collecting them, and in doing so, collecting what they owned. The polar bear had a harem hundreds-large, now, all of which had belonged to others before he’d taken them for his own.
And soon, I’ll take Targir, and his bitches, Asmund thought as he picked up the pace, ramming into the butt-slut under him. Gray fur was matted with spit from the bit of generous lubing-up that he’d done earlier, as well as the pre-cum that was oozing from the gaping hole. He growled as he leaned forward, his hand on the back of the wolf’s neck, and pinned him to the floor of the tent.
In, out, in, out, the soft clapping of flesh on flesh and balls against balls filling the tent. He missed his usual audience, but the sheer sloppy pleasure of the hole around his cock was enough to keep pushing him on. He growled as he bared his teeth, pulling himself deeper with each thrust.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It didn’t have the strength to grip him anymore. He could feel how much he’d ruined that pucker, how far he’d pushed the wolf. It would take days for him to be tight enough to fuck again.
That pleased him. His cock throbbed harder as he fucked the bitch faster, grunting under his breath as he hammered his cock past the cheeks and into the wolf’s depths. He could feel every weak, futile clench as the other male tried to keep him inside, tried to milk him like a good butt-slut should, but it was no use. The constant fucking during the journey had rendered that hole all but broken.
Should have brought a few more of my wives and toys…
Well, he’d get his own in a few hours. Targir would break and –
“Mmmph…”
And soon, he’d be watching his dark dick sliding into that rump. There was no way that the other male would be able to beat him. He was the warlord of the ice, the pinnacle of the polar bears. He took what he wanted, and he would have what he craved.
With a few more thrusts, he buried his cock up to the hilt in the smaller male. He arched his back and so did the Underthane, the gray wolf whimpering as he was filled to the brim with polar bear seed. Pulse, pulse, pulse went Asmund’s dick, each throbbing release sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine.
He sighed as he slowly sat up straight again, chuckling at the little bit of leakage around his cock. That rim had been ruined, and he knew that there’d be a waterfall of seed as soon as he pulled out. One more thing to enjoy, he supposed.
The crunch of footsteps on snow caught his attention, and he lifted his head. The tent-flap opened, one of his warriors poking his head inside. They shared a smirk as the guard saw what he’d been up to.
“The Overthane make a decision yet?” Asmund asked.
“Said that you’re welcome to come in, at least.”
“Heh, ain’t taking my offer?”
“He said he wants to talk to you in the throne room or something.”
“Well, if he wants to make this a public show, who am I to argue?”
He slid back, his cock popping free of the wolf. The conquered Underthane collapsed almost immediately, a white river running out of his stretched hole and over his taint and down his sac. Asmund turned his attention away from the smaller male, grabbing the blue cloth that consisted of most of his clothing, and draped it over himself.
“Heh, why bother getting dressed?” the other polar bear asked, leaning against the tent-pole. “Gonna fuck him up in a few minutes, anyway.”
“I’m not just a warrior anymore. I’m a Warlord. Gotta keep up a few appearances, at least.”
“Gonna go in with your dick all slimed up?”
“What do you take me for?”
He wiped his cock against the Underthane’s ass fur, drying it off before pulling his garments on. It was a blue-white stretch of fabric, one that ran over his front and back, with a flap to cover his crotch and another to cover his rump. It wasn’t much, and it certainly didn’t cover a great deal of flesh, but he found that it worked for him.
And it made it much easier to get a quicky in when there was only a little time, instead of having to get out of armor or something like that.
Once he was properly covered, he emerged from the tent and looked up at the palace. His little delegation – himself, a few captured wolves, and his bodyguards and their captives – had set up camp in the courtyard in front of the main doors of the palace. The high walls surrounded them, and the main gates of the palace had been shut behind them.
Anyone else would have felt trapped, but not Asmund. He knew Targir well enough to know that the wolf Overthane’s power didn’t come from military might, but from trade and trickery. He didn’t have the balls to try and kill him like that. More to the point, he’d be an outcast if he went that far, and he wouldn’t risk that.
No, he was stalling, trying to keep from making a Wager. Not that he could, really; once Asmund came knocking, a fight was inevitable, and the only choice one had was whether they took him on with a Wager duel or whether they fought him hand to hand.
“Well, Warlord?” his bodyguard asked.
“Stay here. I’ll meet with him myself.”
“Heh, can I have a turn with the other wolf?”
“Help yourself.”
#
Targir’s palace was warm, at least compared to the tents and the snow around them. The great hall was filled with braziers and no less than two fireplaces per wall, spreading heat and warmth through the chamber, and Asmund felt it like a wave of summer passing through his fur. It was quite the experience after building up a sweat with a bored rut.
Wolf warriors came to meet him, dressed lightly for the interior. They looked him up and down, one of them nervous, the other – and older – looking slightly more confident. Asmund smirked at that one.
“Targir send you?” he asked.
“Yes,” the older wolf said. “Come with us; we’ll take you to the throne room.”
“Gonna have it out there, huh? Well, his choice. I like an audience when I take what I want.”
The wolves looked at each other and said nothing. The old wolf waved for him to follow, and Asmund did as he was asked.
When they reached the throne room, Asmund was not impressed. He’d seen three Overthanes in his personal conquests, and each one had had something better than this. More weapons on the walls, greater defenses, and more guards on display compared to what lay before him.
Targir, by comparison, had a total of three bodyguards in attendance in addition to the two that had been sent to fetch him. The silver-furred wolf sat on a throne of wood that, while rare, didn’t have the same grandness as the archaic stone and ice thrones that he’d seen in other palaces and huts. The walls were adorned with tapestries from the south, but none depicted war or the grand traditions of the north. They were all meant to show off the wealth that the wolf Overthane had gathered during his life.
Some would appreciate it, Asmund supposed, but not him.
He walked down the center of the room. To either side, stone steps led up to sets of wooden chairs, high-backed as if offering more height to whatever people that Targir preferred at that moment. Right then, the chairs were empty, and they only served as empty spaces that made the room feel taller and emptier.
The bodyguards stepped to the side, the wolves taking their places at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne. Targir himself leaned on one fist, smiling down at him, dressed in a long wool garment that was halfway between a robe of state and a long tunic, white with gold stitching in places.
“Well, well. It seems that the great bear has come calling,” Targir said, shaking his head as he sat up a little straighter. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Nothing but ambition and desire,” Asmund admitted, shrugging with a smirk on his face. “I came here to take what you have and make it mine.”
“Indeed?”
“Mm. I challenge you to a soul Wager.”
“Hmm. I decline.”
“…Huh?”
Asmund blinked. It was less that the wolf had said no at all, and more just the way he did it. Almost…flippantly. He shook his head.
“Why?”
“Well, there’s certainly no need to say ‘yes’ to a Wager,” the wolf said, shrugging as one of the other bodyguards nearer to him offered him a goblet, one he took a sip from before handing it back. “After all, the Wager doesn’t work without mutual consent, does it?”
“…”
“And while you are a most intimidating beast, I believe that it would take you quite some time to actually take the palace from me.”
“Yeah? You think that?”
Asmund took a step forward. No sooner had he taken it than the two bodyguards lunged for him.
They hit the floor a half-second later, their eyes rolled back from the impact of being knocked together. The other bodyguards reached for their weapons, only for Targir to hold up his hand to stop them.
Asmund stepped forward again, this time putting one foot on each wolf, pinning them to the floor. He crossed his arms over his chest.
“I could take this whole damn place on my own if I wanted. Got a few bodyguards out in the tents that are almost as strong as me. So, you want to fight this out, we can fight it out. People get hurt in a fight, though.”
“…Indeed, they do. You’d risk them?”
“I know what I want.”
“And you want…me, I assume?”
“You and everything you got,” Asmund said, nodding. “Including that little harem of yours. I hear that it’s one of the most choice sluts in the north. Not to mention all that money of yours would go a long way towards getting me what else I want.”
“Indeed, it would.”
Targir waved at the bodyguard with the goblet. He took another drink, seemingly taking more time than he needed to as he swallowed its contents. Asmund continued to tap his foot on the back of the guards beneath him, suppressing a growl of impatience.
Finally, the goblet was handed back and Targir got to his feet. The wolf brushed out his clothes, shaking his head.
“Well, I suppose that, to keep my own men safe, I should give you what you want.”
“Then –”
“However.” Targir shook his head. “Let’s not jump to a soul-Wager so quickly.”
“You gonna make me wait here?”
“Call it my condition, hmmm? If you’re so confident that you can win, that you can beat me and make me Soulbound instead of the other way around, then surely you can’t begrudge me a few extra chances.”
Asmund narrowed his eyes. For all that Targir was more of a merchant-lord than a warrior one, he could hear the cunning in the wolf’s voice. It was too smooth, too controlled for someone that should have been afraid. Maybe he was just stupid, or maybe he actually believed that he could win, or maybe…
No, there was no way to cheat at a Wager. Once you started playing, you couldn’t just force someone’s hand, and you could only bet something that was actually possible. You picked the rules at the start of a Wager, and anyone that broke them automatically lost. Those protections were the only reason that others would make Wagers with him, because they could pick rules that would give them a chance.
Not a good chance, but a chance, nonetheless.
Eventually, Asmund chuckled and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll take that. Never had the chance to break someone in pieces before.”
“Splendid. Then let us adjourn to the Challenge Pavilion, shall we?”
The silver wolf clapped his hands. The guards disappeared, and were replaced with a small collection of wolf females and slender wolf males. Asmund could only imagine that they were part of Targir’s little harem of wives and butt-sluts, each of them rounded around the hips and with plenty to offer in the rump.
Scantily-dressed, too. Most of them were barely dressed in underwear, and as they turned to face their Overthane, he saw that their garments all but disappeared between their cheeks, pulled tight between rounded rumps. He smirked, licking his lips as he imagined one of them beneath him.
“Signi.”
Targir gestured at one of the females, a white-furred wolfess that stepped forward from the ranks of the others. She bowed her head, her breasts all but spilling out of the small top that she wore.
“Lead us there, and ensure that everyone knows what’s going on,” the wolf Overthane said.
“Yes, my love.”
“Heh, might be calling me that, soon,” Asmund muttered.
The wolfess showed no reaction to his words. Instead, she turned on her heels and walked to the door leading east. Asmund shrugged, following her and Targir. He barely heard the groans of the unconscious bodyguards as he stepped off of them and followed his ‘host’ through the palace.
They passed through several corridors before coming to a door that led to an outer garden of the palace. A small pavilion had been set up outside already, with stitched furs along the top to keep the cold off and various pits of heated woods and embers throughout the garden to keep the snow at bay. Tables were already set out with a number of tools and weapons upon them.
Asmund adjusted his opinion of Targir. Not far, but somewhat. The fact that he had this ready meant that the wolf might be a little more familiar with a Wager duel than he had expected.
Once they arrived, the white wolf bowed her head and left. Asmund watched her go, a little smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth as she swayed out of the garden, and he shook his head as her barely-clothed rump disappeared back into the palace.
“By sunset, I’m going to be pounding some cubs into her,” he muttered.
“Perhaps, or perhaps I will be doing the same to your harem,” Targir said, chuckling. “After all, the game could go either way.”
“Heh, keep telling yourself that.”
“I shall, heh. Now…May I have the right to pick the first game?”
Asmund almost said no; after all, he had already given the wolf enough of a gift by allowing him to stretch this out. But on the other hand…
Why not? Why not give Targir the rope to hang himself? If he picked the games he was good at to start, then there’d be more room for the bear to pick the ones that he was good at later. Just good tactics.
“Sure. Go ahead,” Asmund said.
“Then may I suggest ‘Blade-Cast’?”
“Heh, that old game, huh?”
“It seems appropriate for something between warriors.”
“Between a warrior and a merchant.”
Blade-Cast. It had been some time since he’d played that. It was a simple game that was used by many a warrior to keep their skills sharp during the long darks of winter when they couldn’t go out on raids. Handaxes, daggers, and more were thrown at targets thrown up by someone else, and the winner was whoever managed to get the most points. Points were determined by how many targets – and how many small ones in particular – you could hit during a game.
He smirked.
“Fine. Then I get to pick the stakes first. If I win, then you call all your wives out for me to see, and to watch you lose the other games.”
“A fair price,” Targir said, still wearing that increasingly-annoying smile. “Then if I win, then I get to give you a nose-ring.”
“Hmmph. Why would you want to decorate my face?”
“It is a trifle plain for my tastes.”
“…”
“Shall we?”
He bit back a growl as he nodded. The wolf gestured to the table of weapons, and he walked down the length of it, looking over the offerings. There were short javelins, daggers, long-knives, and more, but he eventually settled on the handaxes for himself. He had more experience with them, and he knew how to work with their weight. More to the point, it was easier to throw them further to hit the more distant targets, and he’d won many a game by purely outdistancing an opponent’s range.
Surprisingly, Targir picked the daggers. The polar bear arched an eyebrow at the silver wolf’s choice, but didn’t ask any questions. If he wanted the shortest-ranged weapon, then Asmund wasn’t going to complain.
They took their places at the edge of the Pavilion. More servants came out, each one holding a collection of target disks under their arms. Some were as large as a shield, and others were as small as a man’s hand.
One point for shield-hits, ten points for the palm-sized circles…
He gripped his collection of axes, grinning. Oh, this was going to be good.
“Three…two…one!”
The guards counted down and tossed two random disks in the air. Three shield-sized ones, one palm-sized one. Asmund roared as he swung a hand over his shoulder and flung it forward, the handaxe swinging round and round before slamming hard into one of the big disks.
As it fell back, nearly split in two from the impact, he brough his other hand back and flung it forward. Another axe, another target hit.
He was just getting ready to aim for the third when he heard the soft thwip-thwip of the wolf throwing his daggers. He put it out of his head and just threw his third axe.
“Three…two…one!”
Another set of disks. Two smaller ones, one tiny, one big. He kept up his shouts and throws, putting Targir’s work out of his mind and just focusing on hitting his targets.
And he did. Every single one of them.
The game continued until the targets were depleted. Asmund grinned as he rubbed his sweaty hair back over his face, running his fingers down the braided fur that ran down his chin to his chest.
“Heh…I don’t think you won. I hit more targets than you,” he said.
“Hmmm, don’t get too cocky just yet,” Targir said. “There is a reason I picked daggers, after all.”
“Heh, so you could hit the small targets? That’s not gonna be enough.”
“We’ll see.”
The guards returned with the targets in hand. Asmund and Targir walked over to examine them, and for a moment, Asmund chuckled. He could see his axes in at least three-quarters of the targets, and in every target that was larger than a palm-sized one. Even a few of the tiniest ones had an axe in them. Surely, he’d won.
Then he saw what Targir had been doing, and his eyes widened.
The silver-furred wolf might have hit fewer targets, but he had hit each of his with at least three daggers, clustering them close together in the small core of the target disk. Instead of ten points per disk, he was getting thirty.
Asmund could do the math. He realized in seconds that he had lost, and how. He growled under his breath.
“Well, well. It seems that the first round goes to me,” Targir said, shrugging and smiling all the while. “What a shame that we didn’t do a soul-Wager from the start, hmm?”
“Hmmph. If it had been a true soul-Wager, I would have won; this was pure luck on your part.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps. Heh. Now, come. Let me have my forfeit.”
“Hmmph. Fine. Perhaps it will look good on me, anyway.”
Not that he had a choice; losing a Wager compelled one to give in to what they had agreed to. He was led by his own legs back to the stretch of tables, wondering in the back of his mind how many times Targir had done this. A part of him wondered if he had underestimated the wolf –
No. No, no, no. He’s just lucky. What’s a nose piercing compared to the things I can take from him later?
And yet, he still felt just a little concerned as they reached the table with the various rings and piercings laid out. Again, he wondered how many times they had been displayed before, and how many others might have fled from the Wagers when they realized what sort of things would be on the line for them?
But he wouldn’t run. He would win.
Targir picked up a gold ring and held it up a few feet from Asmund’s nose. The bear growled under his breath, feeling the compulsion drawing his head forward. He didn’t fight it; there was no point.
As soon as his dark nose made contact with the gold ring, it pressed through his flesh. The Wager prevented pain, one of many ways that made it all the easier to submit as a loser at the end of it. Asmund still gritted his teeth as the metal passed through his flesh, his body as malleable as clay as the ring settled between his nostrils and locked into place. The ring itself didn’t have to pierce him, nor did it ache as the wolf pulled his fingers back. It just…rested there, a new weight in his face.
And a strange one, at that. Asmund grunted as he reached up and rubbed his nose, shaking his head as he felt the tingling remnant of it sliding into him, and the very strange feeling of the heavier metal band pulling at his nostrils. It was so strange; the piercing ring was so small, and yet, he could feel it as if someone had hooked a finger through his face and was slowly pulling it down.
“Hmmph. I’m sure it suits me,” Asmund muttered, putting the minor embarrassment to the side. “But that’s just the first game. And since you won, I am going to make sure that my first win gets me a little pay-back.”
“I’m sure you will, heh. But perhaps we can take a short break between this Wager and the next. I’m sure that you’d like to…adjust to your new accessory.”
Asmund narrowed his eyes. The more that this got dragged out, the more that he wondered if there was some trickery afoot. Targir was still so confident, so clearly believing that he would be able to win anything that Asmund suggested. It was nothing like any of his other opponents, even in his early days.
What are you planning?
The polar bear shook his head. He wouldn’t get in his own head about it. One way or another, he would win Targir’s soul and turn him into another Soulbound in his camp. He wasn’t going to let this prize get away, not after this little bit of humiliation, and not after seeing the harem members that the wolf had.
“Fine. A short break. But no more than half an hour.”
“That is more than enough. I shall see you again soon, and then…then we shall see how you handle the next wager. If you don’t feel the urge to leave.”
As if he would. Asmund allowed himself to be led out of the Pavilion, taken to one of the guest rooms of the palace by the guards. He sat down on the bed that dominated the center of the room, crossing his arms and looking out the window.
It looked down on the courtyard and the few men that he had brought with him. The Underthane was getting rutted in public, his bodyguards alternating between using the wolf’s rump and putting his tongue to use under their tails. Asmund chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he looked away –
“…Oh.”
He understood. The break wasn’t for some sort of trick, or at least, not the way that Asmund had thought it might be. The break was to give him the chance to think about leaving, about giving up and cutting his losses. If he wasn’t going from one Wager to another, then he’d have time to think about what he lost, how he lost, and he could see how so many other warriors would start wondering if it was worth pushing forward.
Probably how he got half his stuff…
But while that would work on merchants and other warriors that had yet to get a name for themselves, Targir clearly didn’t know him. Time didn’t break his will or his determination; if anything, it only made it stronger.
Satisfied that he had figured out what the wolf’s trick was, the polar bear leaned back on the bed. It creaked under him, clearly not made for his size, and he chuckled as he fondled himself to the thought of what he’d do to punish the silver wolf for his trickery. The nose ring would take some time to come out, if it ever would, and he needed to take a suitable pound of flesh out of the other male for that.
Not quite fat-assed enough for me…
But that was something that could be worked on, and in the meantime, that silver tongue could be put to use somewhere else.
He rolled the flap of cloth out of the way, groping himself once more. His cock rose quickly to the occasion, and he grunted as he stroked himself to a full hard-on. He teased it, rubbing the head back against his stomach fur for a moment before letting it stand out, hard and proud.
I’m going to make you take every last inch of this, eventually, he thought, imagining the proud merchant whimpering under him. And when I’m done, Overthane, you’re going to give me everything that you have in this palace.
There were many things that he could do with that. He already had quite the reputation in the land of ice, but with that money, those people, those connections? He could spread further, take more. The world would be his for the taking, and he could enjoy whatever he liked, as he liked.
Tempting as it was to keep stroking, he took his hand from his cock and let it throb idly over his balls. The last thing that he needed was to use up all his stamina before he had that wolf Soulbound to him. Best not to risk anything, particularly if Targir had any more tricks that he could pull out.
Still…he’s more brains than brawn, he thought. Long as I actually take a second to think, shouldn’t be that hard to beat him. He got lucky with the dagger-throwing; could have been less small targets for him to work with.
Luck, he couldn’t control. Plans, he could. He just had to pick games that didn’t have that same element of luck to them, and he’d be fine.
Asmund rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand as he looked at the wall. He hoped that the half-hour would end soon. He wanted to get back to the games, and the Wagers. More than anything, he wanted to pay back the humiliation of the nose ring. Every time he moved his head, he could feel it dragging at him, the weight just enough to keep pulling his attention back to it.
Soon, he told himself. Soon.
The End
Summary: A little series of a bear coming to make a wager with a wolf, and the number of ways that this can go wrong.