The wolf that teleports.

You hadn't meant to end up here.

Really, you hadn't because It had started with a wrong turn—one of those stupid, reckless decisions that felt like a good idea at the time. 

The kind that made you think "what's the worst that could happen?" right before the universe decided to show you exactly what the worst that could happen looked like.

The streets had twisted in on themselves, familiar landmarks dissolving into unfamiliar shadows. The carnival lights that had once seemed so warm and inviting from a distance now flickered with something that felt distinctly hungry. 

And then there was the matter of the tall, purple-horned figure who had simply... appeared.  One moment you were lost. The next, you were found.

And found was a generous word for it, really.

Jester had found you stumbling through the backlot of the Circus, looking like a particularly lost lamb that had wandered into the wrong pasture. 

His massive frame had blocked out the moonlight, casting you in deep purple shadow. His neon purple eyes had regarded you with the kind of clinical interest a zookeeper might give to an escaped penguin.

"Troublesome little thing," he'd murmured, more to himself than to you. "Pierrot will be insufferable if I let you wander off and get yourself eaten."

And then he'd snapped a leash on you.

A beautiful, elegant thing of deep purple leather that glowed faintly with an inner luminescence. It had materialized around your neck before you could even protest, the collar settling against your throat like a question you weren't sure you wanted to answer.

"Just until we figure out what to do with you," he'd said, as if that made it better.

That had been three days ago.

Three days of being Jester's... what, exactly? 

Pet seemed too harsh. Guest seemed too generous. 

Whatever it was, he hadn't been cruel, exactly. Jester wasn't cruel in the way Harlequin could be cruel—sharp-toothed and mocking. No, the Jester's brand of control was far more insidious. 

It was more of a quiet authority of someone who had been in charge for so long that the very concept of being challenged had become foreign to him.

He let you sleep in a small room attached to his quarters—cozy, comfortable, and absolutely, definitively locked from the outside. He brought you meals that were surprisingly good, though he never sat with you while you ate. He spoke to you in riddles and metaphors, testing your intelligence the way one might test a new piece of equipment.

And every morning, without fail, he would attach that purple leash to your collar and take you for a walk.

Yes, a walk, close like a dog.

The first time, you'd been too stunned to protest. The second time, you'd tried to argue, and he'd simply looked at you with those ancient, patient eyes until you'd run out of words.

"You are in my circus now, little one," he'd said, his voice deep and resonant. "You will follow my rules. This is not a negotiation."

And so you'd walked, filling all the embarrassment how you ended up in this situation.

But today was different.

Today, the Jester had been... off. Distracted. Instead of taking you on your usual circuit around the grounds, he'd led you into his private study, which was a vast, cavernous space filled with books that seemed to breathe and artifacts that hummed though.

He'd settled into his massive chair—a throne, really—and produced a book from seemingly nowhere. Old leather, gold leaf, the kind of thing that looked like it would crumble to dust if you breathed on it wrong.

And then he'd attached your leash to his wrist and promptly forgotten about you.

You'd sat there for an hour. Then two, which turned into three. All Jester did was read, utterly absorbed, occasionally making low sounds of appreciation or displeasure as he turned pages. The neon purple glow of his eyes occasionally reflecting whatever text he was devouring.

And you? You'd been forced to sit at his feet like some kind of—well, like exactly what you were, apparently.

A little human that had wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time.

But eventually, your legs had started to cramp.

You'd moved around a bit. Stretched. Even tried to find a more comfortable position.

And then, in a moment of pure, reckless impulse, you'd decided that if you were going to be stuck here, you might as well make yourself comfortable. You'd crawled forward, positioning yourself right next to him on the blanket, using his massive frame as a backrest.

Jester hadn't even looked up.

He'd just continued reading, one massive hand occasionally reaching back to absently pat your head like you were a particularly well-behaved cat as he let out a low hum of his own voice.

Right, he was humming.

It was a slow tune—something that seemed to pulse with an almost physical weight. You couldn't place it exactly, but there was something about the melody that made your hips want to move. The kind of heat that made you forget your own name.

"Mm-mm-mm," he hummed, the sound vibrating through his massive chest and into your back where you rested against him. "Mm-mm-mm..."

The book in his hands was old with pages that glowed faintly gold and text that seemed to shift when you looked at it too long. His eyes traced the words slowly, savoringly, as if he were tasting them.

You caught a glimpse of the title as he turned a page:

"The Garden of Earthly Delights: A Study of Sensual Transcendence" from what you can gather, it looks like  the text exploring the intersection of physical pleasure and spiritual awakening, filled with illustrations that seemed to move at the edge of your vision. 

Jester's voice broke through your observation.

"You've been remarkably patient, little one," he murmured, his eyes still fixed on the page. "Most humans would have complained by now. Begged for entertainment. Made themselves troublesome."

He turned another page, the sound crisp. "But you? You simply... wait. You observe. You adapt."

A pause. His hand reached back again, fingers brushing through your hair with surprising gentleness.

"It's almost endearing."

You felt the warmth of his palm against your scalp, the weight of his attention even though he wasn't looking at you. It made something flutter in your chest—something you didn't want to examine too closely.

"Would you like to join me properly?"

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, staring at the back of his massive head, at the elegant curve of his horns.

"I—"

"The blanket is large enough for two," he continued, as if you hadn't spoken. "And I find myself... curious. About how you might react to certain passages."

He shifted just a bit, creating space beside him on the soft fabric. His eyes finally left the book, turning to look at you over his shoulder. The purple glow in them was softer now, less analytical and more... inviting.

"Come. Lie beside me. I'll read to you."

It wasn't a command. Not quite. But it also wasn't really a question.

Your throat felt dry. "Read to me?"

"Mm." He turned back to the book, his massive frame settling more comfortably into the blanket. "There is a chapter here, called the dance of durrender, that I believe you might find... instructive."

His voice dropped lower, taking on a quality that made your stomach flip. "It speaks of the power in letting go. In allowing rhythm to move through you without resistance. In trusting the one who guides your steps."

The leash around your wrist gave a gentle tug—not demanding, just... reminding. Reminding you that it was there. That he was there. That you were connected.

"What do you say, little one?"

Jester's voice was patient, almost warm. The kind of patience that came from someone who had all the time in the world.

"Shall we see what you might learn?"

Your throat felt dry. You opened your mouth to respond—to say yes, to say no, to say something—

But the word that came out was: "No."

Jester's expression didn't change. Not at first. Then slowly he closed the book. "No?" His voice was calm and a hint of angerous. "You would refuse me, little one?"

You swallowed hard. The leash around your wrist suddenly felt heavier, "I... I didn't..."

But the Jester was already moving.

You didn't recall exactly how long you were stuck there. Time had a way of stretching and warping around him, like the air itself was thicker in his presence. 

But you remembered the moment when his massive frame turned, when his weight began to settle over you like a mountain slowly deciding to rest.

The Jester's body pressed down on yours, and the world narrowed to the feeling of being crushed.

He was enormous—there was no other word for it. His chest was broad, his shoulders wide, and when he settled his weight onto you, it felt like the entire circus had collapsed on top of your lungs. 

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't move. 

You could barely think.

The panic that should have surged was muted, muffled by the steady pace of his breathing, the slow hum that still vibrated through his chest and into yours. It was like being wrapped in a blanket made of stone—immovable, inescapable, and somehow, impossibly, safe.

He wasn't putting all of his weight on you. 

You could tell that much. There was a subtle shift in his posture, a careful distribution of mass that kept you from being truly flattened. But it was close enough to feel like you were being pressed into the blanket by a living monument.

Close enough to make your heart race.

Close enough to make your hips twitch.

Jester's massive hand, the one that had been holding the book, lifted to prop up his head. The motion caused the leash in his grip to tighten against your throat, a gentle pressure that reminded you exactly how connected you were.

He was muttering to himself, his voice a low rumble you couldn't quite make out. Words about the book, about the illustrations, about something he'd found "particularly inspired."

Then he paused. "Hm." that hum alone vibrated through both of you. "Look at that..." His head tilted down, and you felt his eyes on you for the first time in hours.

"I almost forgot you were there, little mouse.”

A grin spread across his features. It was the kind of smile that made your stomach flip and your thighs press together. "How curious."

He shifted around, adjusting his weight, and you felt the pressure of his body against yours change. He wasn't just lying on you anymore, more like settling.

"I wondered why I was so toasty," he mused, his voice dropping to a register that made your skin prickle. "I thought perhaps the blanket was warmer than usual. But no." He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "It was you, little one. All this time. Warming me with that soft little body of yours."

You couldn't breathe. Still couldn't think nor form words, trying your best to keep the limited air inside you.

Jester's grin widened.

"You said no to me," he continued, his voice almost conversational. "I remember that. I was going to read to you. Offer you something beautiful."He shifted again, his upper body lowering, his weight pressing down even more firmly.

"But you refused."

Then Jester's arms crossed in front of you, his massive forearms pressing against the blanket on either side of your head. "So perhaps," he murmured, his hips settling against yours, "I should use one of the other methods I read about."

His lower body pressed into you, and you felt it—the unmistakable pressure of him grinding against you, slow and teasing.

A dry hump, if you could call it.

Jester's grin was still there, but his eyes had gone neon purple to a subtle glow, filled with hunger.

"Let's see how long that 'no' lasts, shall we?"

He rolled his hips against yours, the friction of fabric against fabric sending sparks of sensation through your entire body. The weight of him, just the crushing weight of him has pinned you in place, making every movement feel like a wave crashing against stone.

"Tell me," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, "do you like being trapped like this, little one?"

Another roll of his hips, harder this time.

"Do you like being pressed into the blanket, unable to move?" His mouth found your ear again, his breath hot against your skin.

"Do you like knowing that you can't get away from me?" 

Your body was already responding, your hips twitching against his, your breath coming in shallow gasps. 

"I..."

"What was that?" He pulled back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes. The purple glow in his gaze was bright now, almost blinding.

"I didn't quite catch that, little one. Speak up."

"I like it," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Jester's grin widened. "Good."

His hips ground against yours again, and this time, there was no mistaking the intent behind the motion. He was teasing you. Testing you. Playing with you.

"You've been such a good little pet," he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "So patient. So well-behaved." His hand found your throat, his fingers curling around the collar. Not tight enough to cut off your air but present enough. 

"I think it's time you learned what happens when you say no to me, little one." His hips rolled against yours, and you felt the pressure building in your core, the heat spreading through your body. 

"I'm going to take you apart, pet." He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. And you're going to thank me for it."

Another roll of his hips, and you felt your resolve crumbling.

"You're going to beg for it, aren't you?"

The Jester's body moved against yours, slow and deliberate, each roll of his hips sending waves of sensation through your trapped form. The weight of him was everything—crushing, inescapable, very much maddening. 

You could feel every inch of him pressed against you, the heat of his massive frame seeping through the layers of clothing that separated you.

"You feel that, little one?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating through his chest and into yours. "That desperate little twitch of your hips? That's your body begging for something your mouth won't say."

He ground against you harder, and a broken sound escaped your lips—something between a gasp and a whimper.

"There it is." The Jester's grin was audible in his voice. "That's the sound I wanted to hear."

His hips pulled back, then pressed forward again, the friction of fabric against fabric sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body. You could feel yourself growing wetter, the heat pooling between your thighs, the desperate need for more building with every passing second.

"Tell me, pet," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, "do you know what I was reading about?"

You shook your head, unable to form words.

"The dance of surrender," he continued, his voice taking on a lecturing tone that was somehow even more arousing. "It's a chapter about letting go. About trusting the one who guides you. About allowing yourself to be moved."

His hips rolled against yours, slow and deliberate.

"I think you could learn a lot from that chapter, little one. I think you're desperate to learn from it."

Another roll of his hips, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge—that precipice where pleasure becomes almost unbearable, where release feels so close you can taste it—

And then he stopped.

Jester pulled back, his hips stilling against yours, and you let out a frustrated cry.

"Oh no you don't," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "You don't get to come yet, little one. Not until you've properly asked for it." He waited, his body motionless above you, and you could feel the ache building in your core—the desperate, clawing need for something, for anything.

"Please," you whispered, the word escaping before you could stop it.

"Please what, pet?" His hand tightened on the leash, just slightly. "Use your words."

"Please... please let me come..."

Jester hummed thoughtfully, his hips pressing forward just enough to tease you. "Hm. That's a start." Another grind, slow and torturous. "But I think you can do better than that."

His free hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The purple glow of his eyes was bright, almost blinding, and his expression was one of pure, patient hunger.

"I want you to tell me exactly what you want, little one. Every detail. And I want you to beg for it."

He rolled his hips again, and you felt yourself crumbling.

"I want..." You swallowed hard, your face burning with humiliation. "I want you to make me come. Please. I need it. I need..."

Jester's grin widened. "Keep going, pet. I'm listening."

His hand tightened on the leash, and the pressure against your throat intensified. Not enough to cut off your air—not yet—but enough to make you feel it. To make you know that you were his.

"I need..." Your voice came out in a gasp, the words tumbling out of you like water breaking through a dam. "I need you to keep moving. I need to feel you grinding against me. I need... I need to come so badly it hurts—"

"Mm." Jester's hips began to move again, slow and torturous, grinding against you with a rhythm that made your eyes roll back. "That's better. That's my good little pet."

His weight shifted, pressing down harder, and you could feel the pressure building again—that desperate, aching need for release—

"But I don't think you're quite there yet," he murmured, his voice almost conversational. "I think you need a little more... persuasion."

His hand tightened on the leash.

The pressure around your throat increased, just enough to restrict your airflow, and the sudden lack of oxygen made everything sharper—the feeling of his hips grinding against you, the weight of his body pressing you down, the desperate ache in your core.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice sounding distant through the haze of sensation. "Feel that, little one? That's you losing control. That's you falling apart for me."

His hips ground against you harder, faster, and you could feel yourself spiraling toward the edge—

"Not yet," he said, his voice sharp, and he pulled back again.

The leash loosened, and you gasped for air, your body trembling with frustration and need.

"Please," you begged, the word torn from your throat. "Please, I can't—I need—"

"You can," Jester said, his voice patient but firm. "You will. But first, I want to hear you say exactly what I want to hear."

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I want you to tell me whose pet you are." The humiliation alone burned through you, hot and shameful and achingly arousing.

"I'm... I'm yours," you whispered.

"Louder."

"I'm yours!" you said, your voice stronger this time.

"And what do my pets do?" His hips ground against you slowly, a reminder of what was waiting for you.

"They... they obey," you gasped. "They ask nicely for what they want."

"Good pet." Jester's voice was warm with approval, and the praise made something bloom in your chest. "Now tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."

Your face burned, but the words came anyway—spilling out of you like a confession.

"I want you to keep grinding against me. I want to feel you pressing me into the blanket. I want you to take me apart until I can't think straight. I want—I need you to let me come. Please, please let me come—"

Jester's laugh was low and dark, vibrating through both of you. "There it is," he murmured. 

"That's what I wanted to hear."

He began to move again, his hips grinding against yours with a rhythm that was faster now, harder, more demanding. The pressure in your core built almost immediately, the desperate need for release clawing at your insides.

"I want you to remember this moment, little one," he murmured, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "I want you to remember the feeling of being crushed beneath me. The feeling of having no control. The feeling of giving yourself to me completely."

His hand tightened on the leash, and the pressure against your throat intensified—just enough to make the edges of your vision go hazy, just enough to make every sensation feel like it was amplified a hundred times over.

The friction of his hips against yours was everything—the way his body moved against yours, the way he pressed you into the blanket, the way he controlled every aspect of this moment.

"You're mine," he murmured, the words a hot breath against your skin. "All of you. Every twitch, every gasp, every desperate little whimper. You belong to me."

His hips ground against yours, harder, faster, and you could feel yourself unraveling—

"Don't come yet," he said, his voice sharp. "Not until I tell you to."

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the pressure building to unbearable levels—

"Please," you gasped. "Please, I can't—"

"Yes you can," he said, his voice almost gentle. "You're stronger than you think, little one. Now tell me who you belong to."

"You," you gasped. "I belong to you—"

"And what do you want?"

"I want to come," you begged, the words tumbling out of you in a desperate rush. "Please, please let me come, I need it so badly, I need you to let me come, please—"

Jester's grin was the last thing you saw before the world went white. “Then come for me, pet," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Now."

The orgasm hit you like a wave, crashing through your body with a force that left you gasping. The Jester's hips kept moving against yours, grinding through the aftershocks, drawing out every last moment of pleasure until you were trembling beneath him.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice soft with satisfaction. "That's my good pet."

The pressure on your throat eased, the leash loosening as Jester's hand relaxed. You gasped for air, your body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release.

"Beautiful," he said, the word almost reverent. "Absolutely beautiful."

His weight shifted, and for a moment, you thought he was going to let you up. But instead, he simply repositioned himself, settling more comfortably on top of you, his body still pressing you into the blanket.

"But we're not done yet, little one," he murmured, his voice taking on a darkly amused edge. "I told you I was going to take you apart. One orgasm is just the beginning."

His hips began to move again, slow and deliberate, and you felt the heat building once more, forming that same desperate, aching need returning with a vengeance.

"Let's see how many times you can come for me before you're too exhausted to beg," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. 

"I have all night, pet. And you're not going anywhere."

♤ — 𝓉𝒻𝒸 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ