Chapter 3: Budding Rebellion

My plan, as you may have surmised, was crude but cruel. After re-shaping the Trog female to become my sister's twin, I clapped her in chains. I almost wasted an opportunity by beginning to order my Thralls to escort her back to her cell, but I was instead seized by an inspiration; I had begun to sculpt a cartilage beast into a library at the far end of my personal suite. After extinguishing the nearby torches, that corner of the room was cast into deep shadow, a gloom that only my enhanced senses could penetrate. From within that patch of darkness, however, one could easily see out into the rest of the great chamber. Manipulating the cartilage beast's pliable flesh with now-practiced ease, I fashioned a hook to hold my sister's arms above her head, and a bar to keep her legs apart. Then, one hand violating her sex as she whimpered for mercy, I detached a chunk of metamorphic flesh from the dull creature, using it to fashion a gag that would prevent her from crying out.

This done, I prepared for the arrival of my mother, amusing myself by reshaping my sexual organs to a grotesque size, adding flaring ridges in the manner of a fish's bones as I did so. Looking down at my handiwork, I demurred; I wanted the rape to be a torture, physical and mental, but not to the point of execution. I wanted to revel in her debasement, force her to yield to me and savour her transformation over time from unwilling to ardent bedmate. I subsumed much of the extraneous flesh I had manifested, reducing my size to the length of my forearm, and perhaps half as wide around; the ridges, however, remained, bony striations that would allow my mother to know just how far she had taken me into herself.

When she finally arrived, I set tonight's entertainment in motion. The Trog, unable to reason its way through the situation it found itself in or deal with its new-found and voluptuous form, was a sobbing mess on the floor. It moved weakly now and again, but had evidently entered shock and was near-catatonia, unable to escape. The tainted wolf prowled around it, snarling as though it intended to attack.

I ordered my Thralls to unchain my mother and depart. She was transfixed by the sight before her; I could hear her heart, hammering furiously in her chest. As planned, she was terrified not for her own sake, but that of her daughter. I approached slowly, allowing her to take in my own naked form, my hardness bobbing with each step, hypnotic as a swaying cobra before its prey. As I circled behind her, I stepped in, closing the gap between us; I bought my hands up to cup her breasts, sagging slightly without the support of her customary corset. She gasped, feeling my ribbed penis brush against her. Speaking my mortal name, she spun to face me, arm raised to slap me for my impertinence.

I merely allowed my control of the wolf to slip, causing it to lunge at the Trog with a guttural snarl. The Trog screamed in pain and fright, though the bite could do little lasting damage to her altered flesh. Shocked into motionlessness by the sound of her apparent daughter in agony, she lowered her hand, fell to her knees, and begged for forgiveness.

She was level with my penis, and I considered abandoning my baroque intrigue, grabbing her head and fucking her mouth, taking her by force. But no; that would not do. She would have to violate herself in order to assuage my anger. In order to pay for the pain her failings had caused me so long ago, in a life I would divorce myself from by her humiliation and eventual servitude. I allowed myself to enjoy her pleas for clemency, allowing her to believe I might be swayed by sentimentality. Finally, when she had run out of words, I ordered her to stand at watch the show.

I fed the prowling wolf a measure of my growing arousal across our link, causing it to become visibly erect, an angry red length of penis slipping free of its furred sheath, seeping fluid and jerking about with the intensity of the mating urge it now felt. Glancing to the darkened reaches of the hall, I watched my sister fight to free herself from the stony grip I had fashioned, tears streaming down her face. For a moment, I watched her breasts bounce this way and that, one of the few parts of her body that could move, although hardly the way she wished them to. Favouring her with an icy smile that revealed bone-white, razor-sharp teeth, I tore my gaze from her and back to the scene in front of me.

The wolf continued to circle the Trog, growling deeply as it moved. The Trog, for its part, had curled up into a foetal ball on the floor, weeping uncontrollably. With a roar, I ordered it to get on all fours; dumbly, conditioned to follow my orders, it obeyed. With the merest brush of my thoughts over its, I could silence its piteous mewling; instead, I heightened its terror, feeding it back upon itself until it began to visibly shudder in fear. The wolf took up position behind the Trog, eager to sink its shaft into anything to slake its animalistic needs.

Lydia, my mother, turned again to face me. This time, she was pretending to be humble, pretending that the scene before us had not demonstrated that I could simply take what I wanted. Again, she began to beg, offering me every conceivable blandishment to spare her daughter the pain and degradation of being mated with by my canine companion. I merely smiled lazily at her, waiting until her promises grew suitably overwrought. I took pains to exaggerate my facial expressions, pretending to ponder what she had said rather than simply bark out the words that would escalate the situation, consigning her to damnation and pleasure both.

"Hrmmm..." I rumbled, tapping my chin as though in deep thought. She grew hopeful, her eyes daring to show me a loathsome spark of triumph, as if a creature so pathetic as her could outwit a Wamphyri Lord. Resisting the urge to strike her down where she stood for that insult, I tabled my offer. "Perhaps ... perhaps I may relent. If you are willing to offer yourself in exchange."