6 comments/ 17043 views/ 0 favorites The Unwilling By: owengreybeard This actually happened to me back in 1981, when I was the greensmaster of a large Memorial Park in Southern Oregon. Some names have been changed, but the rest is pretty much how it came down. If you ever have a change to spend time in a working relationship with the deceased, I suggest you do it. It will change you. Please vote! * The wind blew oak leaves down the drive and under the cast iron gate as I fumbled with the lock. The vinyl door of my jeep flapped against the mirror, and the frigid air inflated the fabric top of the CJ like a party balloon. A big, black, frozen party balloon, except I wasn't laughing. I pushed the creaking old gates open and tied them to the stakes beside the hedges. Getting back into the orange Jeep, I held my hands near the heater outlet to warm them. I put the Jeep in gear and started up the drive into Cascade Memorial Park, passing the gate house on the right and starting down the rolling drive to the mausoleum. Gray mist rolled off the reflecting pool, partially cloaking the raccoons sweeping their hopeful paws through the shallow water. They looked up at me hopefully. "Don't look at me like that, you little bastards," I mumbled. "I put the Koi in there; you're the ones who couldn't make them last. If you hadn't eaten them in June, you wouldn't be hungry now." The peach-colored marble facing on the front of the mausoleum appeared through the fog of the late October morning. I noted the muddy footprints on the cheap red carpet leading to the doorway and made a mental note to hose it off later. Unlocking the aluminum doors, I made my way inside, struck as always, by the chilly interior. It is illogical to heat a building used to house the dead, but modern humans are unused to entering a building in the winter-time and finding the inside as cold as the outside. The fluorescent lights in the thirty foot ceilings flickered and buzzed as they responded to the light switches. A quick trip around the inside reassured me that the roof patches had held so far, since the stains on the ceiling hadn't morphed into new shapes since the last time I'd checked. I went to the rear of the building to check on the Bertha room. In a room built for twenty-six permanent occupants, seven of them were named Bertha. I wondered if there had been a special on interments of Berthas, or perhaps there was a glut of bronze Bertha names. Whatever the reason, there were more Berthas in this room than in the entire population of the rest of the cemetery, which numbered some 27,000 strong. Weird. Returning to the main chamber, I checked the other two wings for break-ins or damage, and other than a fallen dead bouquet in the oldest room, all was well. They are so much closer here, these shells of humans. Only six inches of marble and concrete separate the living from the dead, unlike the subterranean residents, who slept silently underneath between two and six feet of earth, concrete and water. "Six Feet Under" didn't film here, in the cemetery placed atop one of the only patches of near-surface shale outcrops in southern Oregon. The only caskets six feet under here were the ones where the crew had been given enough time to jack-hammer for three days. Some were shallow enough that the grass wouldn't even grow, and the buried flower vase had to be placed way up by the headstone, so the bereaved didn't see casket liner when they placed their flowers on Memorial Day. The cold radiated off the marble walls all the way to the false door leading to the crematory in the right rear corner of the main chamber. I opened the wooden door that hid the steel one, and found the key to the cremator chamber on my huge key ring. I inserted it like always, and stood, staring stupidly, as it broke off in the lock. I cursed softly as I started back out the door to circle the building. Around the back, the empty flower pots and discarded wreath shells piled up near the back door to the cremator, and I added another mental note to my list. The Schlage key opened the rear door normally, and I stepped into an environment as surprising as the other end of the building, this one eighty degrees hotter than the inside of the mausoleum. The light switch turned on two feeble incandescent lamps, evenly spaced to provide inadequate lighting to all parts of the thirty by thirty foot room. Built of cast iron and concrete by the Ray Refractory and Foundry Co. in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, this cremator was installed here in 1924. In the eighty years since, uncounted bodies found purifying flame inside its twin caverns. Like a design by H.R. Giger, all ribs and angles, it crouched in the semi-darkness, primordial, waiting to welcome the next travelers to the infinite. The left chamber still radiated heat from the day before, the disposal of various body parts from three area hospitals; ranging from unidentifiable tissues to a perfectly formed right leg. Wrapped in vacuum sealed plastic and complete with delicate toes, their nails a girlish pink, it spoke to my heart as no corpse could. The kneecap showed a small scab, evidence of a recent tumble, and I wished the previous owner a swift return to health and a level of play raucous enough to produce a similar scab on the remaining knee. The Ray accepted all visitors, cancerous or not, young or old.. I flipped the switch for the fuel pump, and heard the rotary pump begin to churn. I opened the heavy iron inspection door to the chimney turbine, and dipped a rag on a steel rod into the coffee can of diesel. Looking around on the shelf for a lighter, I found none. Dropping the rag end of the rod into the diesel can, I turned to go outside to my Jeep for one. As I stepped toward the door, I heard a soft pop, and the fuel pump spun down into silence. I stopped outside the door and opened the power box on the wall. Blown fuse. I screwed the old one out and replaced it, listening with satisfaction as the pump started again. The glove box had a lighter in it, so I turned and went back inside. I closed the switch on the back of the chimney turbine and lit the diesel-soaked rag. Black sooty flame burst into life and the smoke curled toward the darkened ceiling. I put the rag through the opening and twisted the valve open on the turbine. The tornado-shaped fog of diesel burst into flame with a soft Woomp and the brick lattice work on the back of the chimney instantly began to glitter in the orange light. As I waited for the chimney lattice to heat, I pulled the heavy cast iron door open on the left chamber and grabbed the garden hoe from the rack on the wall. Reaching in with the hoe, I scraped the long bones of the little girl's leg toward the trough on the near end of the brick-lined retort, along with other bony bits from the other tissue containers. I scooped them up into a five gallon metal can. We had been promised a cremain (the industry catchword for Cremated Remains) grinder for years, but it, like benefits and raises, had yet to materialize. As I pounded the desiccated bone fragments into suitably minute fragments, I reflected on the term "ashes". When one opens the door of a crematory retort, one finds nothing resembling ashes. What Occupies the interior of the chamber is quite obviously a skeleton. The bones are dry to the point of collapse, and in fact may be partially powdered already, but they are instantly recognizable. They only become "Ashes" if you pound them up with the end of a 2X4 in a bucket. If you're real lucky you'll have a cremains processor, kind of a Cuisinart for bones. I bagged the bits up to be stored for burial later when they would join a casket in a grave in our "Potter's Field", or Welfare section. Again I uttered a silent prayer for the little girl whose leg was taken from her. I suddenly realized that I was not hearing the low roar of the chimney turbine, and went to check on it. Sure enough, the flame was out, and I was amazed to find the valve to the diesel turbine closed so tightly I could not turn it. The valves are quite delicate, so much so that one of the first things I did when training people to use the cremator was to caution them that the valves are to be closed gently, so as not to damage them. I tried the valve again, but this time it turned easily. Whatever. I re-lit the turbine and went to inspect the rectangular cardboard box on the casket stand. The paperwork taped to the lid of the transportation/cremation box stated that the body inside should be that of an 81 year-old Caucasian woman. I filed the paperwork in the date-indexed file box and cut the strings securing the cardboard lid to the pine-reinforced plywood bottom. I lifted the lid off and leaned it against the wall. As I turned back to the container, I was mildly startled to see that the woman's eyes were wide open. Although the image of a deceased person you see on C.S.I. or in the movies is totally unreal, I didn't get many whose eyes were this wide. The frown on her closed mouth combined with her eyes to transform her face into a visage of intense disapproval. For a moment, her eyes appeared to be full and clear blue, but in a heartbeat (mine, not hers), they returned to the flat, milky appearance of the dead. She lay, to her evident disapproval, naked on the box bottom save for a stained sheet underneath her. As was required in the state of Oregon, I inspected her for a reasonable match to the description on the paperwork. I also checked to make sure she had not been fitted for a pacemaker. Some early pacemakers had been powered by batteries containing radioactive elements, and you can imagine that I didn't want one of those being burned in my cremator. I also checked for breast implants. Silicone makes an incredible mess when it explodes under heat. It was painfully obvious that she had not been augmented. This poor woman had been horribly burned at some time in her life. Her legs and abdomen were almost totally covered in swirling scar tissue, as well as the left side of her chest. Her left arm was drawn up against her chest, and the web of thick scar tissue from the elbow to her twisted hand made it obvious that she had lost the use of that extremity completely. Her left breast was incorporated into the scar tissue, almost as if it had melted into the surrounding skin, as perhaps it had over time. The scarring had taken on a paler version of the yellowish skin tone present on the rest of her withered form, although in life, it was probably an angry, livid red. I stood in quiet sympathy of this tragic soul, and wondered if she had ever prayed for the release she'd finally found. The expression on her wrinkled face was definitely not peaceful. The faces of the dead, at least the ones I had seen shortly after their passing, expressed a range of expressions. Some appeared puzzled, as if the final moments of their lives had been quite mystifying. Some plainly showed a rictus of misery, especially those who perished from trauma. Some appeared as if they had seen just what they'd hoped for, their faces composed in total repose, even joy. I liked to imagine that these few had been lucky enough to die at home; surrounded by those they loved, at peace with the world and the afterworld. My inspection complete, I replaced the lid and rolled the cart toward the right hand chamber. I pulled up on the locking lever, only to find it immobile. The lock lever was only a swinging plate of steel with a loop handle, mounted to the door with a bolt; it was not a complicated mechanism by anyone's imagination. The end of the handle fell into a V-notch on the cast iron door frame, but in spite of its elemental design and total simplicity, it had me stymied. Pulling up with both hands and my considerable strength didn't even make it wiggle. I turned back to the table where I'd left the two by four I'd used to crush the cremains a few minutes ago and grabbed it. Inserting it under the outer loop of the handle, I pulled on the end of my lever with all my strength, and with a hollow pop the handle came out of the notch. The great iron gate opened and the portal yawned wide. Reflected in the end of the chamber, through the opening into the chimney, the orange fire danced gaily. I went to the corner of the room and grabbed one of a handful of ¼ inch dowels and placed it across the entrance to the chamber near the edge of the brickwork. This would allow the container to roll into the void without too much effort, as well as sparing the fragile brick from too much wear. I turned and pulled on the end of the cardboard lid, pulling the cart toward me. Apparently, several of the wheels were jammed, and the box came off the cart and fell partly to the floor. Fortunately, I had a good grip on the box bottom, so the body didn't fall out on the floor. I skidded the foot of the box to the opening of the chamber and propped it on the dowel, then went around to the other end and lifted it level. As I slid it in, the dowel skidded and chattered, making a horrid screeching noise. I placed the box inside the chamber far enough that the turbine wouldn't touch it and then I shut the door. This was getting strange. It usually took about two hours to do an average cremation, and I'd nearly spent that long already. I hit the power for the right side turbine and lit my diesel rag. The moment I opened the lighting/inspection door, though, it went out. I resoaked it and tried again. This time it stayed lit. The turbine mist caught on the first try and bloomed into flame, immediately lighting the face of the cardboard box and burning it away. As the box burned, I turned the flame down a little so it wouldn't cause the chimney to smoke. When the box was mostly gone, I turned the flame back up. When fully formed, the flame extended from the door to a point near the rear wall of the chamber. To my amazement, the flame appeared to bend up at a 45 degree angle toward the roof of the chamber, missing the body altogether. Almost as quickly as it had begun, it curved slowly into a corkscrew shape and returned to its normal pathway. Instantly, the body began to sparkle with heat and the skin began to blister. A little background info: When I hired a person for a cemetery job, the first place I took them was the cremator. Not to gross them out or haze them, but because there is something primordial about seeing a human body catch fire and burn. Frankly, if you can deal with the sights, sounds, and smells of cremation, you can probably deal with most of the other things pertaining to the job. In the 1980's, doing a cremation involved watching the body as it was consumed, so you could be on hand to adjust the flame and watch for smoke. I installed a new cremator in the same room in 1983. By that time, though, it was called a Controlled Pyrolysis Pathological Destructor, and it was computerized, sanitized and produced a Natural Gas flame a foot in diameter and nine feet long. You opened the door, put the body in head first (the greatest mass toward the flame), closed the door and pushed a button. Back to the present: I leaned back to stretch, and three things happened. The chimney flame blew backwards through the inspection hole, setting the can of diesel afire. The door blew open, filling the room with black, sooty smoke. The lights went out. Since it was now mid-morning, there was enough light that I was able to see to grab the can of diesel with a pair of pliers and put it outside, where I found a saucer from a flower pot to extinguish the flames. The chimney was now smoking like a locomotive, since the turbine had blown out, and I had to shut down the main chamber to allow the chimney to reheat. I then relit and refired everything. I had no more mishaps other than far more adjustments than was normal, until finally, around 4:00, the job was done. It had taken five times as long as usual. I went home shortly thereafter, returning just after dark to do my annual Halloween night patrol of the cemetery. Other than a pumpkin launched at the front gate, and the typical high school kids whistling their way across the graveyard in the dark, the night was calm. I repeated my unlocking mantra the next morning, a clear, still Sunday, and soon found myself in the warm crematory. I opened the right chamber, and the skeleton lay as I would have expected, with the exception that the left arm now lay at the woman's side, relaxed and nearly straight. I scraped the remains into the can and reduced them to small fragments. As I poured them out into the white cardboard box, I saw a gleam of light. The ring I found in the box appeared to be undamaged by the heat, which was unusual. Most metal objects, such as gold teeth, were totally destroyed. It didn't appear that it was an expensive piece, but I was no judge of jewelry. It was a simple gold-colored band, with three stones, all different in color. If I were to guess, I would have guessed they were birthstones. I had used a pencil to move the fragments of bone away from the ring, so it rested in a shallow depression in the grayish contents of the box. I retrieved a small manila envelope from the shelf, intending to place the ring in it and tape the envelope to the outside of the box. When I touched the ring, I felt my heart stop. I don't mean flutter or palpitate. I mean stop. I felt no pressure, no pain. No pulse at all. When I recoiled from the box, dropping the ring, I felt my heart restart with a gallop and beat normally. I approached the ring with my fingertip. The closer I got to touching it, the slower my heartbeat became. Accepting the warning, I left the ring in the ashes and boxed and wrapped the contents, putting the name of the deceased on the top in black marker. I felt fine. My heartbeat was normal and strong, I was clearheaded and calm, but I was changed. I looked at the paperwork clipped to the board on the wall and memorized the name. I locked the outside door and walked to the steel door between the crematory and the mausoleum. I turned off the light and locked the steel door behind me, then closed the wooden door. The smell of the mausoleum struck my nose as the cloying smell of diesel left. It was a smell of moldy flowers, dampness and something else, something unknown. The sun was over the mountaintops when I walked out of the mausoleum, and its warmth shone on my face. As I raised my hand to shade my eyes, I noticed our silver Dodge van speeding in through the main gate up the hill to my left. It swept around the curve and approached me, far too fast. I was composing the chastisement I was going to give the driver when the rear wheels locked, and the driver's door opened while the van was still skidding to a stop. Ejected through a combination of inertia and evident panic, my friend Stan launched himself out of the van and toward me at a trot, his tie flapping over his shoulder. As he approached me, he slowed and by the time he saw the box in my hands, he was walking. "Let me guess, Owen. That's Mrs. Smith, right?" I nodded. "And you have no idea how much of a pain in the ass she has been in the last day," I said. I proceeded to tell him, including the discovery of the ring. As I spoke, his face got pale and he started to weave until he finally just sat down on the concrete. "Are you OK, buddy?" I asked. "No, actually, I'm not," he replied. "I just got off the phone with her lawyer in Colorado. They went through the Will yesterday. The ring was in remembrance of her husband and twin daughters, who were killed in the house fire that she barely survived. She hasn't had an open flame in her home since 1956. She was terrified of fire, Owen. The lawyer called to tell me that under no circumstances was she to be cremated." There are those who say that when we die, we cease to exist in any form. Until November 1st, 1981, I would have agreed with them. But now I know better. The Unwilling Competitor Sinsxperfection was the most awesome editor ever! ***** Karen smiled brightly at the couple who ordered a pair of cupcakes. Their arms were around one another; they could hardly break eye contact long enough to order. The two made a beautiful pair and were obviously in love, Karen mused, perhaps they were newlyweds. She brought them their order, along with two slices of a champagne pink cake, each with a tiny decorative rose heart, the best in town. They protested the addition, but Karen threw them a sly wink and assured them, "It's on the house." The couple thanked her profusely, making Karen feel pumped for the rest of her day. She made her way back to the counter, grinning ear to ear from her encounter with the couple. She wiped her hands on her apron and reached for a cloth to wipe down the counter. She daydreamed about having a relationship like that, as she mindlessly cleaned one section of the counter. Her last relationship failed miserably after only a year. Henry had been the perfect man, a man she thought she could have a future with. She never would have expected walking in on him between a busty red head's legs, but that's exactly what happened when she went to surprise him after she had gotten off work. The door chime shocked her back to reality. She looked up to greet the customer as she tucked back a coffee colored curl, but what she saw took her breath away. Karen couldn't move or utter a single greeting. She stared doe eyed at the new customer as if caught in headlights. He was something else. He looked as if he came straight out of GQ Magazine, dressed in an exquisitely tailored three-piece suit, but there was an air of mystery and danger to him that just enhanced his appeal. He stood over six feet tall and towered over all the other café patrons. His physique was extraordinary but it was his eyes that stole the show, they were pools of obsidian speckled with gold, which seemed to brighten the longer she examined them. He stole a glance her way before settling into the last vacant table. A blanket of silence fell over the café as the patrons stared openly at the gorgeous newcomer. Most of the customers were regulars with the occasional lost tourist wandering in, but this man was obviously not lost, his demeanor showed nothing but confidence. The staff attempted to avert their eyes as to not make their new guest feel unwelcomed, but there was an unanswered question circling through the minds of the café. What was this man doing here? The silence continued for what felt like an eternity, but the man continued to observe the menu unconcerned, oblivious to the blatant stares of the patrons. The couple Karen had just served were the first to resume their conversation, a sound that snapped Karen from her gawking. The man had an aura of authority that took her breath away, as if she were in artic water and couldn't quite catch her breath. She folded the cloth and quietly put it away. This feeling, has a strange vibe to it. It wasn't professional to feel that way around a customer, especially such a rich one. Perhaps she should stay away from him, she thought, as she snuck in another peek, he was still examining the menu. So why was he here? It wasn't like the cafe was famous enough to warrant attention from this type of man. Karen replenished the doughnuts and disinfected the cash register before she realized she was slowly inching her way towards the mysterious man. She gasped in horror and headed to the back, mumbling something about the bathroom to her coworkers. Before she could took shelter in the bathroom, she caught the man's dark eyes. What she saw in his gaze surprised her. There was a hint of animosity reaching the surface but it was mixed with confusion. There was something else in his stare, something that made her body heat up and her knees weak. She gasped from the heat of his lustful gaze. Before anything else could happen she fled to the bathroom, shut the door and bolted it tight. After a few minutes had passed, Karen slowly opened the door to peek out. She breathed a sigh of relief, the man was nowhere to be seen. His gaze felt like it had penetrated into her soul. It gave her goosebumps with just the thought of it. She still couldn't wrap her head around why he had chosen this café out of all the places he could have gone. Standing at the counter, Mary looked at her in askance, as if she were crazy for having fled to the bathroom. "You totally missed him!" Mary exclaimed. "Did you see him before you ran to the bathroom? He was gorgeous!" She gushed. "I'm pretty sure he was checking one of us out too," she confided to Karen, making her grimace at Mary's bluntness. "I think I have a headache," Karen announced abruptly untying her apron and hanging it on her way to the back room. Mary nodded sympathetically and went about her duties. Karen felt too worn out to finish the rest of the day at the café. She had a quick talk with her boss and explained her illness and her inability to work the rest of her shift. Her boss looked at her sadly, seeing what a mess she was, and allowed her to leave work early. She had to clear her head and Mary's yapping wasn't going to help that at all. She had so many jumbled thoughts and feelings, she needed the privacy of her place to figure out what they all meant. She walked to her car in zombie mode, all life drained, and only one thing on her mind. That mysterious man with eyes like the galaxies and body of a god. She successfully made it home in one piece and headed straight for the tub to switch the water on. She needed a good, hot, bubble bath to calm her nerves and empty her mind. As she undressed, her thoughts drifted to that man again. Thoughts she should not be having about a complete stranger. How his hands would feel caressing her eager body. The way his eyes devoured her without a single touch at the café. What his lips would feel like against her heated flesh. Her body tingled and her pussy moistened at the mere thought. Karen scolded herself and shook the images out of her head. She shouldn't feel this way after just one meeting with the man. Not even a meeting, she reminded herself, more like an avoidance. At last she stepped into the tub and was able to relax. She let all her worries and desires melt away with the lavender scented bath salts coupled with the warm embrace of the water around her body. The bath eventually turned cold, she let herself out to dry off and continued on with her nightly routine for bed. She finished off her nightly routine, slipping into her satin babydoll with matching panties, and curled up in bed with her Kindle, in hopes of finding a book to keep her mind off mister tall, dark, and dangerous. This effort was to no avail, and images of him continued to invade her thoughts. She placed her Kindle down and lay in bed unable to get her mind off of this intriguing man. Setting down the Kindle, she massaged her head and turned off the light. That only made it worse. She imagined him in front of her. His hands, eyes and figure. Her body tingled. Karen shook it off. What was wrong with her? She lay in bed, unable to stop thinking about the man. The thoughts started a throb in her that would not stop. She groaned, rolling over. Even in her year long relationship with her boyfriend, she had never felt the way she did now. She gasped softly as she realized her panties were soaking. Her hand drifted momentarily to her pussy, and she drew it away, surprised at herself. Furious at the man for making her feel this way, as well as a little frustrated at herself, she fell into a fitful sleep. He came again the next day. He was dressed in a different suit, but was still heart-wrenchingly handsome. He looked momentarily surprised when he walked in, as if flabbergasted that he had returned. His face quickly assumed a concentrated expression as he surveyed the room for a moment before locking eyes with her. Slowly but deliberately, he stalked towards her. Karen looked at the bathroom longingly, but knew it would be too suspicious if she hid again. This time he didn't hide his interest in her, a hunger in his eyes as he sat, never breaking eye contact. Karen shivered as her body betrayed her, wetness pooling in her panties. She groaned internally, how could she be getting wet just from his eyes roaming over her? Mystery man held the menu in a death grip, as if all his emotions were being taken out on the paper. His jaw was clenched, eyes fixated on her. Karen gulped and bent down, breaking the connection, as she retrieved a stack of cups. She could still feel the man's gaze trailing her every move. She blushed at the thought of the view he had now. She heard Mary's voice, a shade huskier than usual. Karen mentally thanked Mary thousands of times as she stood up to help another a customer. "Can I get you anything, sir?" Mary purred. Karen couldn't help but see them out of the corner of her eye while she handed her customer a drink. Mary was nearly on top of the man, leaning down to show off her assets at the best angle. He seemed unaffected, now staring stolidly at the piece of laminated paper in his hands. "Yes, I would like a blueberry muffin." He replied without moving his gaze. Karen nearly fainted at the sound of his voice. It was masculine, smooth and low. She clenched her lips tightly as she willed herself not to dissolve into a writhing mass as she waved good-bye to the customer. "Karen, could you get a muffin?" Mary called. Karen jumped, noting her position next to the baked goods. Suddenly she was furious. Furious at herself and the man for making her feel like a school girl. She snatched up a muffin and stalked over to where Mary was openly flirting with the stranger. Karen gulped, her anger decreasing with each step. She took a moment to steel herself, before she continued towards the man. At her approach, he turned to face her, completely ignoring Mary. His eyes never faltered as they followed Karen, dark and brooding. His lips turned up slightly in a half-smile. Karen found herself grinning back as she handed him his order. She cursed her traitorous body for responding to him. He reached out and for one electrifying moment, their hands touched. Karen paused for a moment, letting the touch linger before pulling away, surprised at her own daring. The man inclined his head slightly, questioningly. "Thank you." He said, his voice gliding over her skin. "It's no problem at all." She replied, smiling wider than she should have. The conversation somehow seemed meaningful. She turned and walked off with a huge grin still plastered on her face. When she glanced back at the man, he smiled at her and took a large bite of the muffin, chewing deliberately before swallowing and licking his lips clean. Karen was sure she was leaking through her panties. Karen being stubborn, willed herself not to look at the man again until he left. She couldn't believe how much she was behaving like a teen swooning over a boy. ******* The café meetings became a ritual. Every day, the man would come in and sit down at the first table by the window. He would observe her for a few minutes before ordering his usual blueberry muffin. Mary had given up on her advances after her many failed attempts and his blatant disregard of her. Instead, she resorted to giggling and nudging Karen every time he walked in. It became apparent to everyone the reason he came in and rumors flitted around. Karen didn't pay any mind to all the gossip. She looked forward to the short encounters each day when the man came in. A familiar jingle sounded as the door opened. Without looking, she knew who had entered. Mary snickered beside her, but Karen ignored it and smiled to herself. She turned around with a pot of coffee in hand, locking eyes with the man. She realized she still didn't know his name and she'd been serving him all week. He smiled at her, giving her butterflies. Karen didn't want to look too eager, so she finished pouring a customer's coffee then walked to his table. "Your usual?" She asked, grinning broadly. The man studied the menu before ordering a slice of cake instead. Karen hurried off to get it, remembering the couple she had given cake to. When she returned his gaze was sharp and eyes bright, hungry for something that wasn't food. Karen's gaze dropped reflexively and was surprised by what she saw. There was a prominent bulge in his neatly pressed slacks. It was massive, pressing for freedom. Karen stared for a moment, amazed, before remembering the cake. She looked up to see the man staring at her, a knowing expression on his face. He seemed to find the predicament funny, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips. Karen felt her face heat up as a blush crept into her cheeks, mumbling a quiet "here you go," she put the cake on the table and hastily retreated. She immediately busied herself at the cash register, trying to think of anything that would take her mind off of what she had seen outlined in the man's pants. She couldn't relax at all while he was still present. It was only when she heard him leave, that she finally relaxed. ******* When she left the café that night, she mulled over what had happened. It was proof that he wanted her, at least as much as she craved him. It wouldn't be a terrible idea to let him have her, she thought crossing the street to her car. His smoldering eyes danced in front of her. She sighed longingly, busy thinking about all the things he could do to her, that she didn't see the car barreling down the street until it was too late. ******* James reminded himself he wasn't stalking her. Instead, he told himself, he was looking after her wellbeing. He followed her scent, catching glimpses of her light hair in the streetlights. He walked into the café that first day simply because it was the only decent café he could find that wasn't completely crowded. Then he had met her, Karen. Her scent drew him back day after day, sometimes unconsciously walking about, but ending up in front of the café. Her smile and blush enamored him. He had never felt anything like this towards any other woman, only her. Then to top it off, her reaction to his arousal had mystified him. He knew by her scent that she wanted him, so why did she seem embarrassed? He growled quietly, humans were utterly confusing. Slowly, he prowled through the streets, staying undetected in the shadows. The scent of her wafted toward him and he inhaled deeply, savoring her enticing scent, the scent that drew him to the café time and time again. He imagined the way her coffee colored curl always falls into her face, the way her eyes illuminated and dilated at the site of him. Just remembering the smell of her wetness made him harden and think what he would do if he had the good fortune to taste her. When he would taste her. "James." A voice spoke in his ear, startling him from the start of his fantasy. Silently, he cursed the telepathic connection that kept him connected with the rest of his pack. "What is it?" he demanded sharply. A woman's voice was on the other hand, Ki, he thought. His sister and manager while her was gone. "We need you back at the Den now, brother" She spoke crisply. James clenched his hands into fists, looking longingly at the direction of the girl. Pack came first, he reminded himself. Besides, Ki wouldn't contact him unless it was crucial. "On my way." He growled. He didn't have a chance to take another step, when he heard a deafening scream. Without a second thought, he raced in the direction of the scream knowing exactly who it was. He abandoned all thoughts of Ki as he loped towards the sound, straining to hear if anything else happened. His wolf erupted changing him mid-stride. He looked around the direction the scream came from but saw nothing. His heart raced and his breath quickened as questions began to swirl in his head. Could someone have kidnapped her? Where did she go? His human battled its way back to the surface, morphing him into human form once again. Finally, he spotted a prone figure lying on the street. His chest tightened at the thought of losing her. He rushed to her aide and checked for injuries. She was limp as James held his breath and brought his ear to her face. A oily scent enveloped him; a car. He sighed in relief as he heard faint breathing. She must have thrown herself out of the way in time. Karen moaned and turned towards him, huddling into his warmth unknowingly. He gingerly scooped her into his arms in the dim street and held her close, breathing in her scent, savoring the closeness. After all the adrenaline wore off, James recalled Ki's request and rushed back towards the Den. A man sitting among the dump for warmth rubbed his eyes furiously. He could have sworn he had just seen a pure black wolf lope past with a girl on its back. The wolf had looked at him with obsidian eyes, sparkling with gold. On its forehead was a solitary white star. Then it was gone. The man sighed and settled himself back into the trash. It must have been a hallucination. ******* "You brought a human back to the den?" Ki shrieked. James shrugged in reply. As a current alpha female in absence of his future mate, she had certain rights and was in charge of a lot of things, though her behavior was uncharacteristically annoying. She began to pace not knowing what to say. Her mouth opened and closed sporadically, too angry for words. "Do you know how poor of a decision this is?" She demanded after a moment. James shook his head, still holding Karen. He placed her tenderly on his bed, silently relishing the thought of her being on his things, therefore making her his. "I just authorized a competition between the pack families for a bride for you! Now she appears out of nowhere!" James stood up, leaving Karen behind to stand next to his sister. His eyes had become cold and black. "What?" He demanded through clenching teeth as he looked down at her. Ki rubbed her temples in frustration. "Five families wish for you to bed their daughters. It was in agreeance; you are to have a month to select your mate once they arrive. They gathered together in secret and delivered us a contract demanding we sign it, with an army at their backs. They have boundless supporters among the other packs. We were just waiting on your return." She explained. "Now she shows up," she blurted disheartened, pointing at Karen's limp body, "against her will." She sighed in defeat, "What are we going to do? How will we explain this?" She asked questioningly. James inhaled sharply and swore. "How did I not know about this?" He asked, a deathly calm in his voice. Ki looked at him grumpily. "I didn't even know until this morning." James stepped forward, his eyes blazing. The wolf inside him roared with anger at being the last to be informed of this awful new development. "Call a meeting." He ordered, gritting he teeth as he turned around fuming. Ki took a step back, sighing in exasperation at the thought of more work. "Yes sir!" Ki answered. "And Brother," she began. James snapped his head growling in her direction, teeth bared. "The girl needs medical attention. Humans are frail, they hurt easily." James waved a hand to show he had heard. Ki knew the dismissal and sighed in exasperation before heading out to complete the numerous tasks at hand. James waited a moment before he lifted Karen. He nuzzled his nose in her hair for a moment. She smelled like blueberries. It was a fresh, light scent that made him feel happy and carefree. If only he could feel that way all the time. He knew she needed medical attention and he should bring her to the medical ward, but he didn't want to let her go just yet. He was worried, but being around her made him feel safe. Right now, he didn't want to care about any other females or any families knocking down his door. All he wanted was her and only her. He groaned at her smell as he felt a familiar tightening in his pants. She moaned softly and he shook his head ridding it of any sexual thoughts. There were plenty of things that still needed to be done. The Unwilling Competitor "I'm sorry I dragged you into this," he murmured as he lifted her off of the bed and brought her to the door. The Unwilling Slut She lay silent, listening for any hints for incoming threats. On the run, this was nothing new to her. Ever since she had gotten in with the wrong crowd at high school, her life had been non-stop running. Running from a crazed lover, hell-bent on keeping her as his slave. In the past, she had fantasies about submitting to a powerful man, but she wasn't sure about actually doing it. In the distance she heard voices approaching, recognizing one of them as Stuart's. Poised on her hands and knees, she got ready to run. "Find her," Stuart demanded. "She can't be far away. Check all the undergrowth properly." His men spread out, eyes peeled for any movement. One of them caught a glimpse of a white t-shirt just beyond a tree in the distance. "Over there Sir!!" the man yelled. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get after her!!" Ali knew she had been spotted. "Shit" she murmured under her breath as she ran. She knew there was a road around here somewhere. If she could just get over it, she could lose them in the denser woods on the other side. Without warning a man stepped out from behind a tree and made to grab her. In a blind daze, Ali swerved at the last minute, lost her footing and slipped. Expecting to hit the floor, she got ready to run again. Instead, Ali felt nothing. Thin air. Oh crap, she thought as she began to roll and slide down the hill face. With a squelch, she hit and sank into the mud at the bottom. Looking up, Ali saw a multitude of men looking down at her before she passed out. When Ali woke, she was acutely aware of a sharp pain in her shoulders. She tried to move to adjust her position and realized with a jolt she was no longer laying in the mud. Her arms, she figured, were tied above her head and her feet didn't touch the floor. "Shit" she murmured again. Looking around into the gloom, she waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the light. She was in a small room, looked like a dungeon. Various torture instruments decorated the walls and floor. A light click of a door opening made her turn her head, desperate for a glimpse of who was approaching. "Well, well," Stuart's voice echoed. "Nice to see you again." His eyes roamed over Ali's slender body. She'd kept it well, all the running, he thought. Her large 34DD's pushed against her muddy t-shirt from the position she was stretched into, and her rounded ass looked firm and squeezable. Fuckable, he thought. "First things first, let me help you out of those filthy clothes." Stuart looked at Ali's face, trying to gather a reaction, but her big, brown eyes remained staring and glazed. He removed a knife from the belt around his waist and reached up to her throat with it. He pressed the flat of the blade against it and was certain he saw a flash of fear across her face. Satisfied, he dropped the blade to the collar and in one swift movement, he sliced the thin cotton open. His lips opened in anticipation as her voluptuous breasts burst forth, covered in a delicate black lace bra. In another movement, he released the juicy globes from their prison and watched with lust as they settled into a lovely position on her chest. Ali closed her eyes while Stuart continued to reveal her naked body. Her trousers and panties slid easily down her legs when enticed by Stuart's eager hands. He stood back to admire her. Hanging her head in shame, she realized she was actually enjoying some of this. Being tied up and used wasn't really her thing, but having a man drool over her helpless body was another matter. "What do you want?" Her voice shook with fear. "Oh Ali," Stuart laughed. "What kind of a question is that? You know the answer. I want what I did two years ago when you decided to run. I want you as my slut. You are my slut." Opening her eyes, she chanced a look at Stuart. He was attractive, she had to admit. He had powerful, strong arms and a chest to die for. From her previous sexual activities with him, she knew his cock was thick and long, at least 9 inches. "You want that, don't you?" He continued. "You can't deny it anymore. You wanted to get caught. Stop playing hard to get." "I don't want that, Stuart. I never did. That's why I was running. I'm not any form of slut." In an instant, he was stood in front of her." Even if that's true," he hissed. "You will be." She felt his hardening cock pressing against her thigh and against her desire, she felt a slick of wet on her pussy. His hands ran across her flat stomach, one moving upwards to feel her nipples and the other sliding downwards towards her mound. A slight moan escaped her lips, not so much one of pleasure but one of fear. She felt her nipple hardening under his rough, experienced hands, felt the probing finger sliding along her wettening pussy lips. Looking at Stuart's face, she saw a slight smile cross his lips. "See? You can't hide from me," He said. "Your pussy betrays you." He pulled his hand away from her mound and held it to her face, before tracing her lips with his wet fingers. "Suck them." Ali shook her head. She wasn't going to be humiliated in this way. Anger spread across his face as he forced his fingers between her lips. The intoxicating aroma and taste of herself filled her mouth while he circled his finger around her mouth and over her tongue. Finally, he pulled it out. "Good slut. I'll have my men come and let you down soon. Your initiation is tonight." ------------------------------------- Ali waited. There was nothing else to do. She was starting to get cold, just hanging there naked. Her nipples were rock hard from the temperature. She wondered when and what the initiation was going to be. A shudder ran down her spine as a cold draft washed over her. Trying to look around, she was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. Everything went black as a piece of soft fabric was pulled over her eyes. Then fingers began prying at her lips, forcing them open, before a long phallus shaped object was slid inside. A click signaled that the gag was secured. Her eyes rolled wildly under the blindfold. She suddenly felt even more vulnerable than before. A pair of hands began fiddling with the clasp holding her to the ceiling and before she had time to steady herself, she fell to the floor with a dull thud. The person who had freed her chuckled, and lifted her up. With her last ounce of strength, she pulled away from the arms and made a blind dash. Before she even took one stop, a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back, grabbing for the other arm. Quickly, they were bound behind her back. Ali groaned in defeat and allowed herself to be lifted over a muscle bound shoulder. "So, what's going to happen tonight?" Scott asked Stuart. Stuart looked at his best friend. He knew Scott wanted to fuck Ali as much as he did, but he wanted to be the first. "We've got a group coming in to witness the initiation. Twelve of them, all of them as horny as the next. It seems Ali has a fan club." Scott chuckled. "Are you going to train her?" "I don't know. I've been thinking about that. It'll be fun, but I figure it might be more fun if we let her learn the hard way." "What's the hard way?" "Letting her work out for herself what is going to get her punished." "Evil. I like it." Ali felt herself being carried for what seemed like forever. She was disorientated and scared. She knew full well that what Stuart wanted, Stuart got. She remembered back to the beginning of their relationship, before she ran. He wanted a threesome, and reluctantly, she had agreed. He managed to find an extremely attractive, big breasted woman for the night. About a week after, Ali had walked into a room in his house to find the same woman bound and gagged. Shocked, Ali had tried to help her by removing the gag from the poor woman, who had then told her that Stuart had tied her up like that 'in case he wanted her services again'. Ali had let the woman go. And now, by the looks of things, it was her turn. "Welcome guys. I'm glad you all got my invitation. As you may have gathered, we captured Ali yesterday and she is ready to accept her fate." The crowd murmured their approval. "As we speak, she is being brought here for her initiation. I trust you're all ready to pitch in?" The crowd nodded in unison. As if on cue, the guard carried Ali in, still over his shoulder, ass and pussy bared for all to admire. A gasp went round the room. Stuart smiled. Ali heard the gasps and panicked. She was naked and helpless in front of a lot of people. With a thud, she hit the ground and groaned into the gag on impact. She heard whispering and decided it was best to sit up. A sharp pain in her right cheek knocked her back down. "Here she is," boomed Stuart. "What you've all been waiting for. You'll have to forgive her rudeness. She hasn't learned right from wrong yet." He poked Ali's hot pussy with a toe and the unexpected arousal made her moan against her wishes. The crowd sniggered. "As you can see, she has already taken a liking to her new position of household slut." Ali hung her head in shame, feeling her cheeks burning a bright red. She was disgusted at herself; couldn't understand why this was turning her on. Stuart reached down and untied the blindfold, letting it fall away from her face before removing the gag. She blinked rapidly at the sudden intake of light and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She realized that she was in the middle of what appeared to be a lobby. Fourteen men stood around staring down at her, their arousal obvious from triangles in their trousers. She recognized Stuart, who was stood the closest to her, and Scott next to him, who had his hands shoved shamelessly down his trousers as he leered at her. Quickly she looked away. "Shall we begin?" Stuart asked the crowd. They murmured their agreement. Kneeling down so his face was level with Ali's, he gently lifted her face to his. "Behave." He stood up and began undressing himself. She watched as he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal his rippled chest and swallowed hard as he began to unzip his jeans. Before the zipper got halfway down she knew what was coming. He never wore boxers, so immediately his throbbing, angry cock lept out. She felt her pussy tingle and realized she was becoming wetter by the second. Out of the corners of her eyes, she could see the other men following Stuart's lead and undressing. Fourteen huge monsters were suddenly glaring in her direction. Many of the men started bringing themselves off, stepping closer with each stroke on their gigantic cocks. Stuart leaned towards her, his eyes darkened in his state of extreme arousal and pulled her head towards his glistening head. "Open." He growled. She dared not disobey. No sooner were her lips slightly parted, his cock was thrust roughly inside. She knew she must suck, and right then that was all she wanted to do. Stuart moaned with pleasure as her lips began massaging his long shaft. From previous experiences, he knew she gave good head and he knew, if he chose, she would swallow every last drop. He looked down at the top of her head and lifted both hands to the back. Another jolt of pleasure shot through his shaft and for a moment he thought he was going to come. He began pushing and pulling Ali's head faster, setting an extreme pace for her to keep up with. He pushed deeper with each thrust, testing her gag reflex. Looking around in ecstasy, the sight of 13 other man wanking off sent him on the final spiral. He wasn't going to come in her mouth, so he pulled out quickly, and holding her head with one hand he carried on stroking his cock with the other. Looking at her, he was sure he caught a glimpse of anger in her eyes but he had to close his eyes. With a groan, he let his load out. And what a load! It splattered all over Ali's face; from her lips to the tips of her eyelashes. His orgasm seemed to signal to the others that they were now allowed to cum, and before Ali knew it, thirteen men began to shake and spurt their offerings in her direction. Scotts was the worst; his white goo hit her square in the forehead before trickling down her nose onto her breasts. "Are we all done?" asked Stuart, after his friends appeared to be empty. A grunt of pleasure was the reply. He glanced at Ali, still kneeling on the floor, covered now in various male juices and watched as a tear cleared a path down her cum streaked face. He clicked his fingers, and the guard who carried her in appeared. "Remove my slut. Clean her up and take her to her room. I'll see my guests to their accommodation and join her shortly." The guard stepped towards where Ali was now crying uncontrollably. The Unwilling I heard it from the wind.