Inheritance

Mark walked through the tiny arrivals lounge at Newquay Airport as he dragged his carry-on bag behind him. It had been 14 years since his last visit to Cornwall; his parents had brought him here for a long summer holiday, where they had spent his eighth birthday, at his Uncle Charles’ house. He remembered the trip with great fondness, filled with childhood magic and skullduggery. He remembered pestering his parents to take him back, year after year but his mother had told him that Uncle Charles was not a good man.

Mark, now in his early thirties, was somewhat surprised to receive a call from a solicitor in Boscastle, announcing that he had been left his Uncle’s entire estate—house, land and money. Regretfully, he had not even known that his Uncle had died. Mark hoped that Tim Watson, the Solicitor and the person meeting him, may be able to enlighten him.

As he left the airport terminal, there was one man standing, struggling with the wind to hold onto a sign with Mark’s name on it. This was Tim; he was at least six foot tall with a lean build, wrapped in a beige trench coat, with the collar turned up to protect him from the blustery rain. As he reached out to shake Mark’s hand, he smiled broadly, displaying brilliant white teeth, that lit up his darkly stubbled face; his dark brown hair, tousled by the wind.

Tim led Mark to an old Land Rover Defender, which still had the diesel engine tapping melodically. As they got in Mark asked, “How long is the journey to Shallow Hall?”

“It will take us about forty minutes, assuming we don’t meet any sheep or cows,” Tim replied, struggling with the gear stick. “I can never get into first gear, this bloody thing.”

After a period, Tim broke the silence. “What do you plan to do with the estate; if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No. Not at all. We are planning to sell the house to a chain of boutique hotels. I think its cliff top location would make a superb hotel or guesthouse.”

With a look of disappointment Tim replied. “Oh, that’s a shame, Are you not tempted to move down here? After all, the money from the estate would mean that you would never have to work.”

“I guess, but our lives are in London and my partner runs a small ad agency”

“Could he not run his business from here?”

A little startled, Mark ask “How did you know my partner was a man?”

“Well, I just assumed. Your Uncle told me that you were gay,” confirmed Tim.

“I am not sure how he knew? I have not spoken or seen my uncle since I was eight.”

“He talked about you a lot; it was always his choice that you would continue his legacy. Maybe when you review his will, things might be more apparent.”

Mark suddenly felt uneasy; a relative he hardly knew had thought enough of him to bestow his estate but had never bothered to call, write or send a Christmas card. His thoughts were broken as the Land Rover turned into the gates of the house. Mark had forgotten how imposing the building was, with its tall stone Georgian windows and pillared entrance.

“I took the liberty of lighting the coal fire in the drawing room and Constance, your Uncle’s maid, set up the bedroom at the north end of the house and stocked the larder with basic provisions,” Tim said as he removed Mark’s carry-on from the back of the Land Rover.

“Thanks. That’s really kind. Would you like to come in for a drink?” offered Mark.

“No thanks. I have to head into town. There are a few things I need to get done.”

“Are you’re sure? I just wanted to thank you for all your help; it is much appreciated.”

“Well if you want to thank me you can buy me a pint at the pub in the village tomorrow night. We can review your Uncle’s papers then.”

“Sure, see you about seven.”

Mark stood on the steps to the house and watched the broken tail light of Tim’s vehicle disappear down the drive. He turned and walked into the house.

It amazed him how the house had not changed from his childhood memory; the black and white checked floor that met a sweeping stone staircase to the upper floor. To his right he opened double doors to the drawing room, with its wood paneled walls, paintings and roaring open fire. He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a large Scotch, before lying back on the worn leather Chesterfield. He sipped from his drink and watched the flames dance like sprites across the chimney breast. It had been fourteen years since his last and only visit but now he felt like he was home.

As Mark drained the last few drops from his glass, he glanced at his watch, it was 22:45. He decided to go the bed and discover the house in the morning.

Mark undressed and was surprised by the warmth of the bedroom, as he stood in his underwear. He thought the old house would be cold and that draughts would leak from every corner, but again he felt warm and at home. As he slipped under the covers he turned off the light, plunging the room into darkness, only occasionally illuminated from the lighthouse further up the headland. The gentle patter of rain and the howl of the wind blowing past the sash window soon lulled him to sleep.

A noise awoke Mark. It was a low chanting, and it sounded like it was coming from the landing. Tentatively, he slipped out of his large wooden bed and walked towards the bedroom door. From underneath the door he could see a warm yellow glow, intermittently broken by what looked like shadows; the chanting was becoming more audible. Mark surveyed the room, looking for inspiration or for an object that could protect him.

The bedroom door opened and in from the darkness emerged four intruders, carrying candles and dressed in long brown Druid robes, adorned with a hood to disguise their faces.

“Who are you?” asked Mark nervously, stepping backwards towards the bed.

The intruders did not respond, they just kept moving forward towards Mark, until they took his arms and dragged him on to the bed. They continued to chant, faster and faster, whilst Mark tried to object and free himself from their grasp.

Soon, Mark felt as if the chant was in his head, strangling his ability to move or object, leaving him lifeless but awake. In his immobilized state, his wrists and ankles were tied to each corner of the wooden bed frame. Three of the intruders stood by the side of the bed chanting softly and calmly, as the fourth, removed Mark’s underwear. Next, he held a small stone pot up towards the ceiling and the other three intruders fell to their knees, humming softly. He lowered the pot and wafted the contents under Mark’s nose; the smell was electrifying, musky and sweet. Mark’s muscles clenched, raising his hairless chest and torso, off the bed and towards the ceiling, his groin pointing towards the heavens. Slowly his penis awoke from its resting position on his blond pubic hair, becoming painfully erect, he gasped as if all the air had been evacuated from his lungs.

The intruder started to apply the contents of the stone pot to Mark’s chest, abdomen, and then massaged the liquid into his groin, up his erect shaft and around his thighs. Mark moaned and groaned as the lotion energized and enthralled his skin. Finally, the intruder stopped massaging the lotion and dipped his index finger into the pot, before embedding it into Mark’s rectal passage, massaging his prostate. Mark writhed around on the bed in pleasure as the pressure built from the internal massage. He opened his eyes to see his penis bobbing to the rhythm of the massage but pleasure soon turned to horror as he saw hair crawl over his chest, like waves crashing over a beach. Within seconds his hairless chests had become cover with thick blond fur-like hair, that spread towards his groin, wiry and unkempt. As the massage brought him closer to climax, the hair growth slowed and his dick quivered as a blond, hairy sheath grew over his penis. As it reach the top, Mark came; the intruder catching some of the seamen in the stone pot as it fell.

* * *

Mark sat up in bed with a start, sun was pouring through the window. He jumped out of bed and looked at his body and to his relief, he was slim and hairless. With trepidation he pulled down his boxers to find that his penis was normal. He stared down into his underwear and realized it had only been a dream, a wet dream.

After consuming a full English breakfast and investigating the house and out buildings, Mark decided that he would head out for a hike across the cliff tops, to make the most of the brisk, sunny winter’s day. He had forgotten how stunning the countryside looked, the ruggedness of the cliffs and the sharp black, jagged rocks that reached out of the frothing sea below. After several hours of undulating walking, up and down the cliffs from cove to crest, he sat on the edge of a stone wall to admire the view. He could understand why his Uncle had wanted to make this place his home, the house, the scenery and the solitude.

He stared out to sea, thinking of his life in London, with his partner Jake and wondered if they could move down here and leave the hustle of the city behind. He smiled to himself, thinking that with this much solitude they would almost kill each other. They nearly divorced after spending seven days in the Maldives for their honeymoon.

His concentration was broken, when a young couple, equipped with hiking boots, sticks and a Cocker Spaniel, gestured “hello”.

“Hello boy,” said Mark reaching out his hand towards the dog. The dog curled its lip and snarled, the hair down its back standing on end.

“Sorry, he’s not normally like this,” exclaimed the woman, dragging the growling hound away by the collar.

Mark stood up and stared at the dog with intensity, in his mind thinking, ‘Come on pooch, bring it on.’ The dog stopped growling, whimpered and hid behind the woman; Mark continued to stare.

The couple walked away and he could hear them whispering to each other, “Did you see him stare at Boris? He never growls like that.”

It was almost like he was telling the dog what to do. He guessed, it must be all the body language he had learned from five years traveling the London Underground.

Mark looked at his watch and noticed the time, 17:15. “Shit” he thought, he was supposed to be meeting Tim at 19:00 in the pub. He would have to set off walking straight away to get there in time. He quickened is pace as the sun slipped behind the headland and once again saw the intermittent illumination from the lighthouse. He thought about the odd dream, it seemed so real and so erotic. The thought of it made him erect; he had to keep adjusting himself as he walked, the touch of his cold hands on his hot dick made him want to stop and stroke his organ. At one point he stopped and opened his jeans before realizing he was about to have a wank on a cliff path; he could not understand why he was so horny.

Mark entered the pub about twenty minutes late, to find Tim sat at a small table by a roaring open fire. On seeing Mark arrive, Tim stood up, smiled and shook his hand.

“Can I get you a pint of local brew?” enquired Tim

“Sure,” agreed Mark, taking off his coat and removing his jumper.

Tim placed the beers on the table and sat down, running his hand through his dark brown floppy hair. He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans that hugged his arse and a burgundy shirt, open at the neck to show a thick hatch of dark brown hair, that reached up to his Adam’s Apple. As Tim talked, Mark drank in his features, the stubbled chin, the high cheek bones, the ice white teeth, his deep dark eyes and the way his thick brown eye brows met together at the top of his nose. Mark was erect again.

“This is the letter your Uncle left you” Tim handed the letter.

Mark unravelled the paper and read the document.

Dearest Mark

I am giving you the most wonderful gift, that made my life truly extraordinary. I believe that you are the one who is deemed to continue my legacy; I saw it in your eyes, all those years ago.

The gift comes with a price and it is to protect its integrity and the integrity of those around you. You have to be the master and maintain control and be empathetic to the community, respecting their ancient rights.

Tim will help you with the gift and guide you on your path.

May your life be as colourful and rich as mine.

Uncle Charles

“I think my Uncle wants me to keep the house and maintain its place in the community,” confirmed Mark.

“The gift your uncle is referring to is bigger than the estate,” corrected Tim.

“What is the gift then?”

“I’m going to have to show you. Come, bring your coat,” said Tim getting up and heading towards the door.

“Where are we going?”

“To my place, it’s only round the corner.”

Mark followed Tim down the cobbled street and into the small fisherman’s croft. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back in a moment”

Mark surveyed the small living room, with its low beamed ceiling and cast iron range in the fireplace. It was so quaint and charming, with rustic furniture and subdued lighting. Mark walked over to a small table in the corner, he recognized something; a small stone pot, just like the one in his dream. He picked it up and inhaled. The strange musky, sweet smell of his dream filled his nose; he froze as Tim walked into the room. He was about to ask about the pot when he was hit with a wave of nausea, that made him double over.

“I.. I need to use your bathroom.” said Mark rushing by Tim.

He barged into the bathroom and threw up into the toilet. As he recovered, he washed his face and felt stubble but when he looked in the mirror his face was cleanly shaven; confused he turned over his hands and saw short bristly dark blond hairs on the palms of his hands.

“I have them too,” came a voice from behind. Mark turned to see Tim, holding out his palms, they too were covered with hair, only his was thicker and dark brown.

“I don’t understand?”

“Come,” instructed Tim, leading a confused Mark from the bathroom, into the bedroom.

“The Dream?”

“I am going to help you through this, but you need to do as I say,” said Tim removing his shirt, revealing a dark brown pelt of hair that extended from his groin to his chest. “Remove your shirt,” he ordered.

“What the fuck is going...” Mark fell to the floor grabbing the edge of the bed “Oh fuck. Oh... Shit!” shouted Mark, stretching up his neck as if his jaw were trying to pull away from his face. Tim, crouched by his side

“The first time is always hard, I am here for you,” reassured Tim, unbuttoning Mark’s shirt.

Mark slowly stood up and caught his reflection in the mirror. His mouth and jaw protruded about two inches away from his face, which was now covered with dark blond stubble, that ran down his neck and onto his chest. “What have you done to me?” expressed Mark, struggling to talk with his new longer tongue.

He looked down at Tim who was trying to remove his jeans; he could not believe what he was seeing, Tim’s back was now cover with dark brown fur and was thick like a mane, around his shoulders.

“Trust me, it’s going to be fine.” growled Tim looking up into Mark’s wild eyes.

“Ahh, shit, my feet” screamed Mark, losing his balance and falling onto the bed. He tried to reach down to rub his feet but was shocked by the thick long hair that grew on his arms and the clawed finger nails that adorned each finger. His eyes filled with tears of agony as his feet stretched away from the heal, his toes curling to form paw like features.

Tim helped him stand on his new feet, Mark trying to balance and rationalize what was happening. His attention turned to the sudden feeling of lust and passion, emanating from his groin. He looked down and watched as a sheathed cock slid up towards his belly button, covered in the same blond fur that he saw in the dream; he tried to pull the sheath away from his abdomen but realised from the sharp pain that it was attached. Tim, now almost unrecognizable as human, kneeled down and licked Mark’s shaft, causing a pink penis to rise out of the sheath. Tim continued to lick with his long, animalistic tongue, making Mark shudder with ecstasy, as he watched blond fur pour from his groin, down his legs, slowing as it covered his elongated feet.

He suddenly felt more balance and as he looked over his shoulder, he noticed a long, pink piece of skin extend from his spine. As it grew it began to involuntarily sway and grow the same blond hair. As Tim continued to lick his cock, the fur crept up Mark’s chest, growing thick and corse around his shoulders. As Mark came, he howled, throwing his head back, his ears stretching towards the ceiling, covering with fur. In the distance, Mark could hear what sounded like hundreds of howls, echoing throughout the valley.

Mark turned and saw his reflection in the mirror; he was not human, he was a wolf stood on two legs. He looked down at Tim and tried to talk; all that came out was a growl and a whimper. Lust started to build again and he picked up Tim and pushed him, face first onto the bed; he then lifted Tim’s tail and slid his cock into his arse; he growled with pleasure. As Mark’s strokes increased he nibbled the fur on Tim’s shoulders and nuzzled and nipped his ears with his new muzzled jaw. The thrusts increased and Marks body spasmed as he came inside Tim, with another triumphant howl.

He lay on top of Tim exhausted and spent and as he tried to withdraw, Tim whimpered in pain and Mark realised that the knot in his penis had bonded the two of them together. Gently, they rolled over as Mark waited to be released, but soon he fell asleep.

Mark awoke slowly, surveying his surroundings; another strange dream, he told himself. He opened his eyes fully, this was not his room.

“Shit,” he exclaimed, jumping out of bed. The mirror on the wall confirmed his fears; he was human but he was not the same. His face looked different, somehow fuller and his jaw looked more pronounced; he opened his mouth to show sharp white teeth, with extended canines. His eyebrows were now thick and met at a knot in the centre.

He looked down at his chest and it was covered with thick dark blond hair, he could hardly see the skin underneath. With trepidation he looked lower but to his relief his penis was normal but his pubic and leg hair looked dense. Slowly he turned over his hands to find a patch of hair on his palm.

“Glad you’re awake,” said a voice in the doorway. Mark looked to see Tim stood in a his underwear, only now he was smooth, he was cleanly shaven and not a trace of hair on his chest.

“What the fuck did you do to me,” accused Mark lunging with his fists at Tim.

“Steady on,” calmed Tim, holding Mark by the arms. “Will you let me explain?”

Mark eased his assault and realised how turned on he was by Tim’s embrace. Tim looked down at Mark’s expanding penis. “OK, stay focused. There will be plenty of time for that later.” Mark blushed.

“Your Uncle chose you to take over the house and his legacy. This is his legacy” explained Tim. “The owner of the house is the leader of the pack; the alpha wolf.”

“What? This is ridiculous” dismissed Mark

“You did not think it ridiculous last night.”

“I don’t want this. This is not me; I didn’t even want the bloody house” bargained Mark

“Unfortunately, this is you, and it can not be changed. Trust me, you will learn to love this life. When your uncle first converted me I had the same reaction; now I live for the moon.”

“I don’t want to look like this,” he said pulling at his chest hair.

“You wont have too. The alpha can control his transformation; you will learn to fully revert to human form”

“Like you? Yesterday you were hairy.”

“I can only be transformed by your command or the moon, although the closer the cycle gets the more characteristics I take on.”

Mark sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “I have to go into town, I’ll leave you to think for a while and then I’ll take you to meet the rest of the pack, tonight.” With that Tim dressed and left the croft.

Disorientated and bewildered, Mark decided to walk back to his house, hoping the morning breeze would wake him from the nightmare. He walked the cliff path, up towards the headland and on reaching the crest of the cliff stood and looked out to sea, his eyes filling with tears.

“It’s a curse, not a gift,” came the voice of an old woman stood behind him.

Mark turned round, to face her as she leaned on a walking stick. “I’m sorry?”

“They tell you its a gift but it isn’t. The alpha wolf can only be controlled by a strong human.”

“How do you know?”

“Your Uncle was a good man but as he got older he could not control the beast and it consumed him. I can see you are not as strong as him, and it will consume you. Just look at yourself”

Mark raised his hands to see that the fur had covered his arms and over the backs of his hands. “Tim told me that I could control the transformation. I will learn.”

“He will tell you anything to get you to do what he wants. Did he tell you that if there is not an alpha wolf for more than one cycle of the moon, he and the others would permanently change into wolves and lose all human characteristics and will.” offered the old woman.

“I did not want this. I just want it to end,” sobbed Mark

“You need to control the beast.”

“How can I control the beast?” pleaded Mark.

“I can help you, but I need you to close your eyes”

Mark complied, tears dampening the hair that had now grown under his eyes. The old woman lifted her walking stick above her head and swung it down, hitting Mark firmly in the stomach. He doubled over and stumbled backwards, losing his footing on the cliff path. He stumbled again and fell backwards off the edge of the cliff; his screams drowned out by the crashing waves. The old woman walked over to the the edge of the cliff and watched as his body washed out to sea. “The only way to control the beast is to kill it!” she snarled.

* * *

Jake stood in the hallway of the Shallow Hall, as Tim brought in this bags from the car.

“What time is the service tomorrow?” inquired Tim “I only knew him a short time but I would like to pay my respects”

“We are meeting up on the cliff at noon. I am sure that it would mean a lot to Mark if you came”

“I will, thank you. I know it may be too soon but do you have any plans for the house, now it is yours? I know Mark fell in love with the place”

“Its too early to think; I’ve just lost the man I love,” sobbed Jake.

Tim consoled him and reached his arm across his shoulder. “ Here take this, I’m sure it will help you relax” assured Tim handing Jake the stone pot.

“Thank you. What is it? Said Jake sniffing the contents.

“It’s a local massage cream, it is said to help relax and fix tired minds. Just massage it onto your chest before you go to sleep”

“I will, it smells amazing,” promised Jake.

END

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