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I had been at the mansion for a full day, by this time, and I still wasn’t at all sure what I’d let myself in for. I was a sort of “plus-one” to my friend Cory, and I had stayed in his shadow, as I usually did. He’s the self-confident young stallion, with a body that seems to have been born to feature as a centerfold in some magazine that should be called Studs-R-Us. I’m nowhere near that hot-looking, and even though I’ve known rabbits who were about as bulked as Cory is, I just never got bitten by the gym bug. Coaches, back in my school days, tried to get me into track events, but I never joined; stereotyping got my fur up, and besides, I probably wasn’t any faster or better than the guys already on the team. I didn’t need the headaches, so I kept a low profile, there and in college. That was where Cory and I had met, and we’d stayed friends ever since.

…okay, “friends with benefits.” Cory teases me by saying that I was the reason he found out he was gay. I could say the same about him. We found our general interest in males at about the same time; the curiosity got the better of us, and we became each other’s first. A lot of fumbling and short fuses and confusion and, what probably saved us, a lot of laughing. We didn’t freak out, push each other away, pretend it didn’t happen. We liked it too much, even when we were clumsy about it. And we were available to each other, too, and a lot of practice between us helped us gain confidence.

Maybe that’s what bothered me about this place. See, Cory and I found other guys to play with and learn from, and it didn’t take me long to figure out that a lot of guys didn’t laugh in bed; they just wanted hard and fast, getting whatever activity they sought and not staying long after. If there’s such a thing as a living Fleshlight, I probably found a lot of them or became one myself, if that’s what they were after. Not every guy, but most of them were suspicious of spending “too much” time, as if lingering and talking meant that I was trying to lay claim to them, to “trap” them into “the C word.” With the guys that I met, there was no such thing as “commitment”; it was all about getting their nut and taking off. Easy to see how I got bored with them, and quickly.

This long weekend stay made me nervous from the first moments, since it seemed like the entire purpose of it was to schtup as many random fursons as possible, in whatever combinations might be conceivable. The guests were primarily male, although a few had brought female companions who seemed to be amenable to (if you’ll pardon the crudity) sharing their wares. I wasn’t bothered by the idea so much as bewildered. I’d had experience with females also, and they usually required a period of our getting to know each other for a bit before dancing horizontally. Granted, it might happen after a single long dinner, but there was something, at least. How these females could simply lose themselves in sex based in comparative anonymity…

All right, I’m not an idiot. Not all males are one way, and not all females are one way either. Apart from the joke of “going both ways,” it’s simply impossible for all members of so large a group to respond identically. I’m only speaking of my direct experience. Which, actually, is why Cory wanted me to go on this trip with him.

“C’mon, Antony, it’ll do you some good,” he said. “There will be all kinds of fursons there, all of them looking for all the experiences they can find. It’s why the Earl holds these long weekends, to indulge himself and his lover in their various appetites. If you’re lucky, he might choose you for himself, at least once. He’s got quite a reputation for being a passionate lover.”

“It’s not my scene, Cory. I don’t like the idea of indulging in random sex with nameless fursons who measure me only by my physical looks… which are nothing to brag about.”

He scowled gently at me. “I wish you wouldn’t say that. I think you’re cute as hell.”

“Thank you,” I admitted, “but I still want to be more than just ‘cute’ to someone. No, I’m not looking for a lifetime commitment; I just don’t like hook-ups anymore.”

Grudgingly, he admitted the point, telling me that I’d at least get a weekend of good food and, at worst, he would forego any Sunday night forays to be with me. So we arrived midday Friday, were shown to our room, and the weekend began. I tried not to count all 75 hours until our anticipated departure, but it was a near thing, sometimes. I called it a night not long after that first dinner was done. The conversation wasn’t particularly interesting, or maybe I just wasn’t listening. Flirting extended beyond the usual definitions; it was easy to see that some forepaws were under the tablecloth and reaching toward a lap not belonging to their owners. I suspected one sleek female otter of achieving a near-silent yet evident climax from the tall, long-legged puma who sat across from her, slumped slightly down in his chair as if to extend the reach of his hindpaw. The spices of the dishes being served covered most other scents, although I suspected the canines at the table were smiling for other reasons than the food.

I’m not a prude; the sexuality itself didn’t offend me. The old saw of “a time and place for everything” came readily to mind. If the host didn’t mind, then it wasn’t my place to question it. I didn’t have to be a part of it. I went back to our room and spent some quality time with a good movie (courtesy of our host’s streaming services) and, to help me wind down for the night, a few chapters of a good book on my tablet reader. I woke when Cory came back to the room and crawled into bed with me. He had freshly showered, and he was very gently affectionate toward me. I declined hearing any details of whatever encounter he may have had. He’s always been truthful with me, even before we became more intimately involved. Being sexual was something he enjoyed, but he wasn’t a wanton. I didn’t begrudge him his appetite for others; he’s discreet, discerning, and safe. (He’s also bisexual, and I can’t spontaneously grow “lady parts” for him.) He returned to me to sleep, as he’d promised, and he’s never let me feel somehow “second best.” We kissed and cuddled, and sleep claimed us satisfactorily enough.

Saturday revealed breakfast/brunch to be a well-maintained buffet of various morning foods and a chef to prepare omelets to order. This was available until noon or so, after which guests were invited to visit the kitchen for anything the staff might get for them. Dinner, on each of the three nights, was the only meal scheduled; apart from that, food could always be had in various forms by way of the kitchen. Our host wanted his guests to have their hunger sated, whatever form it might take.

Cory was off somewhere; at worst, we’d meet for dinner. I had just partaken of a sandwich and soda from the kitchen. The staff there asked if I didn’t want something more substantial, but I assured them that I was well used to light, simple fare for lunch. I took the opportunity to compliment them, quite sincerely, on the excellent dinner last night. They seemed to appreciate it.

The most direct route from the kitchen to my room took me past some of the ground floor rooms that were (as I understood it) available for whatever playtime consenting guests might have in mind. Generally, the doors were closed; some were ajar, meaning invitations to watch, perhaps to join in. I kept my eyes down as I padded past, not being particularly interested in being either voyeur or participant. My peripheral vision, as anyone of my species will tell you, is especially good, so I caught glimpses despite myself. The only way to avoid it was to sprint down the hall, and that seemed extreme. That was why I found the bear the way I did.

One door was opened wider than the rest. I’d intended to look away from it, in case I might stumble into a WTMI situation. What brought me up short was the sound of three short, sharp barks of sound that held a note of urgency unrelated to lust. The source of the noises also seemed to be alone in the room, and that struck me as strange, given that he was tied to a chair, apparently unable to move.

I paused there in the doorway, trying to take in the scene. The bear, his deep caramel fur nearly uniform across his body, was huge, even when seated. His muscular frame was on full display, only an orange and white jock strap to cover him. He bore no “six pack” abs, bearing instead what I had heard called a “muscle gut,” and his nipples bore piercings that made me want to cover my own in response to phantom pain. His large arms had been pinned behind him, and his equally powerful-looking legs were lashed to the legs of a large chair that looked as if it had enough weight to make it difficult even the bear to have shifted on his own. He also had a bright red ball gag secured in his muzzle by a wide leather strap. His eyes locked on mine, and he grunted those same three sounds at me again. Spreading my arms slightly, shaking my head, I tried to convey that I didn’t understand. Yet again, the bear made those three grunts, struggling against the ropes.

“I don’t understand.”

He started to roll his eyes, then seemed to gather himself. He jerked his head to one side, and he returned his eyes to meet mine. After another moment, he repeated the gesture, and I finally concluded that he wanted me to come into the room. I padded slowly toward him.

“Am I interrupting anything?”

The bear shook his head, then once more rolled his head to beckon me closer. I kept moving until I stood in front of him. This close, I could smell his sweat and, like his grunts, it held no tone of sexuality to it. I began to get the idea that, despite appearances, this wasn’t a game.

“Gnmnattadis.”

I held up a forepaw. “I can’t understand you. Let me try this. Are you here voluntarily?”

Strangely, he looked doubtful before shaking his head.

“It started voluntarily, and they left you here.”

Vigorous nodding.

“Okay. You want to get out of this.”

More nodding.

“I have no idea how to start. Let me look…”

He seemed to be shrugging his shoulders, then looked over his shoulder as best he could. Being a reasonably bright bunny, I moved around behind him to look at how he was bound to the chair. I had absolutely no idea what I was looking at. I know how to tie a granny knot, and I’ve known a few canines in my lifetime, but that was all I knew about knots. These looked complex enough that they might hurt him if I pulled the wrong thing. Looking at the back of his head, I got a better idea and patted his shoulder gently.

“These ropes confuse the hell out of me, but I know how to unhook a belt. I’m gonna try to loosen that gag.” He grunted once in what I took as acknowledgement. “I’ll try not to hurt.”

Moving carefully, I was able to unhook the fastener on the leather straps; the two ends hung limply next to his jowls. I expected him to spit out the ball and talk to me. Instead, he turned his head to look at me as best he could, the eyebrow nearest me raised in a remarkably sarcastic fashion. It was then I realized that the ball was more or less wedged inside his teeth. I made some sort of sound and moved around in front of him. I took his head in my forepaws, looking into his eyes.

“Two sharp noises for ‘stop,’ okay?”

He grunted once and winked. Smiling a little, I used both forepaws to test how firm that overlarge ball was; lucky for me, it had some give. It took a little courage to risk my fingers in that scary-looking maw, but I squeezed the ball carefully and started tugging outward. The bear opened as wide as he was able and, with some maneuvering, I finally managed to get the gag out. His grunt was plainly one of relief, and he took a few large breaths before he spoke.

“Much obliged,” he croaked. Clearing his throat, he turned his head and dry-spat toward the far wall. There was little to show for it; his maw had to be bone dry. He looked back at me, momentarily embarrassed, then he said, “Get behind me; describe the knots to me.”

“I’ll try.” Moving behind him once more, I explained, “This definitely isn’t my scene.”

“It takes trust, and I trusted the wrong people, this time. Okay; what do you see?”

“A visit to Gordium seems appropriate.”

“Since neither of us is Alexander the Great, and you don’t have a sword on you, let’s try a more useful description, shall we?”

Blinking, I said, “Okay, that was impressive.”

“We can talk about my advanced degrees later. Describe what you can.”

“Let’s try Braille.” I used words as best I could, using a finger to trace the places where the ropes and segments of knots touched his body. Someone had done a helluva job on his arms; they were bound with two segments of rope.

“Does it use bights?”

I know what I heard, and my hesitation probably answered for me.

“Loops. Do you see where loops might be passed through other loops?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Highwayman’s. There should be a quick-release. Look for a bit of rope that’s hanging down somewhere, like a loose end. Pull on that.”

“I’m afraid it might make the knot tighter.”

“Okay, then, pull slowly.”

The words didn’t drip sarcasm, but they were moist with it. I pulled slowly anyway, and the first knot slid apart like a snake happy to take a nice stretch after being cooped up in a tight space for too long. I found the loose end of the second one and pulled more quickly. With a sharp grunt, the bear pulled his huge arms back in front of him and used his equally huge forepaws to rub them vigorously. As he expressed a few epithets at his missing tormentors, I squatted on my haunches to find similar knots, therefore similar releases, around his calves. He had his legs free on the instant, and he rose to his full height, padding a short distance from the chair before turning back toward me.

In my position, he seemed immense, in every sense of the word. His jock strap appeared to be even more robust, from this perspective, and the rest of him was no less impressive. I forgot myself long enough that he offered me a forepaw to help me up. Taking it, I fought the sensation of a blush rising up from my toes.

“May I know the name of my rescuer?” he smiled.

“Antony,” I admitted.

“Francesco.” He looked quickly around the room. “I’d like to get out of here.”

“No arguments here. Where are your clothes?”

“Excellent question.” He moved to a nearby table. “Time to improvise.”

Taking up what he found there, he expertly donned the collar around his neck. It had a leash attached, and he passed the end of it to me. He had to shake the loop of it at me before I could snap out of my confusion.

“I’m wearing enough clothing to be seen in the hallways; only genitals need be covered. You’ve noticed that the females are topless, when they want to be?”

“Difficult not to,” I grumped softly. “What’s that to do with…?”

“The furs who left me here might be in the halls somewhere. If you’re holding the leash, you own me, unless you want to give me back to them… and I beg you not to.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t, but I can’t own—”

“You don’t. It’s part of the game. The game has rules, and they didn’t abide by them. You’re not into this, so I’m trusting you to help me get back to my room. I can hide there until dinner. They can’t kidnap me; it has to be cooperative, or the Earl would be furious. Rightly so — it’s unlawful, and he’d have those people arrested in a heartbeat.”

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it, but I reached for the leash. “Will you report them to the Earl?”

“They will probably claim it was just a prank, no harm done.” The bear — Francesco — produced a lopsided smile. “Except for the pain of my muscles being restrained for too long, maybe there wasn’t any harm done. I will let the Earl know about it, quietly; he’ll take action, if he feels it’s needed. C’mon, let’s go. And if we see anyone in the hall, remember, you own me. I’m your slave, so I’ll do what you say.”

Managing a partial smirk, I said, “I promise not to say ‘walk this way’.”

“Now you’re getting into it.”

“Gods, I hope not.”

We made our way to the door, where I paused, carefully looking both ways, seeing no one wandering about. I looked over my shoulder, signaling that he should follow me. Turning one direction, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and he indicated going the other way. Apparently, he knew an alternate route to get up to the sleeping rooms on the upper floors. He looked down at his hindpaws, apparently making himself look more subservient. Taking the lead again, I took my… prisoner? Slave? Property? This is definitely not my scene. I just hoped that I could help the bear out of his predicament.

Passing various doors, I could hear the sounds of… well, I hoped that they were having a good time, whatever they were doing. One of the doors was open far enough for me to get a glimpse of some fur splayed on something X-shaped, while another waved a flail suggestively with one paw while the other paw held something that looked like a sex toy made to imitate a stallion that would have had to have been at least 250cm tall to merit an endowment of that size. I concluded that one furson’s nightmare could be another’s fantasy. One of my nightmares would be to see it in use.

We rounded a corner, and I realized that we were in the more socially-based section of the house (as opposed to the sex rooms), possibly even in the Earl’s own private spaces. I turned to say something to the bear when I found him leaning close to me.

“Listen,” he whispered, particularly softly, in deference to my sensitive ears, which began to pivot, trying to catch whatever he might be hearing. Distantly, some sounds that might have been staff tending to one thing or another. Movement. Voices.

“It’s them,” he whispered. “Quick, duck in here.”

He opened a door, looked the room over, hustled me in, then closed it softly behind us. He leaned up against the door, straining to hear. Gently, he pulled me closer to him, signaling me to listen for myself. We waited there together, and I heard the voices getting louder, laughter, snippets of conversation. My cheek was pressed against the door, my back against the bear. I could almost feel his heartbeat, and his forepaw on my shoulder was somewhat distracting from our task. At length, the voices passed our door and moved around the corner, back down the hall the way we had come, and the bear let out a big breath that ruffled my headfur more than a little.

“What will they do when they find that the bear has flown the coop?” I asked him.

With a soft chuckle, he said, “That’s quite the mixed metaphor.” Leaning away from both me and the door, he appeared to think about the problem. “I shouldn’t have to hide. I just want to keep away from them for now. My limbs are still a little sore, and I want to avoid a confrontation.”

“I don’t blame you.” I peered into the dark space around us. “Where are we, anyway?”

“The library, I think. I smell books. I don’t want to turn on a light. Pardon my paranoia.”

“Mine, too.”

A few nightlights glowed softly in some spots around the room. I began to make out shapes around us, including a few very comfortable-looking chairs with lamps next to them, more chairs around a work table designed for researching a project, and walls filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves packed full of books, all appearing to be hardbound. I wondered how many might be bound in some exotic covering, perhaps even first editions, perhaps some rare. This room was clearly a labor of love. I had to confess that I wanted to linger here, to let my questing mind find some diversion and devotion to the arts.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Francesco observed quietly, glancing around.

“Makes me want to camp out here for the rest of the weekend.” I turned back toward the bear who, in the dimness, was more of a large substantial shadow, a great presence that was there and yet not. “Advanced degrees, you said?”

“Do you want the whole CV, or just the highlights?” I could hear the smile in his voice, and I could see a dim flash of teeth in the dark. “I’m an academic, through and through. Got to college at 18 and never left. Got the BA at one, my Masters at another, my first PhD at a third, then back to the first for my second doctorate, now teaching at a fourth.” He snorted a bit of a laugh. “Not too bad, considering I’m not 40 yet.”

“Impressive.” I paused before asking, “What do you like about being…?”

“A sex toy?” His laugh, still quiet, was full-bodied. “That would take a lot of time to explain well. How much do you know about Dom/sub and slave/Master play?”

“Only what I’ve glanced at in bad porn.”

I sensed more than saw him nodding. “Not usually good representations, in my experience. I can help you understand better. We’ll find time later.”

The idea seemed worth considering. This obviously intelligent, self-assured bear found some kind of gratification in a sexual game that I couldn’t even imagine being part of. There must be something to it that I’d not figured out in my cursory reading. After a moment, I wondered aloud, “How long do we hide in here?”

“Only for as long as…”

He cut off, looking concerned. I began to notice the sounds coming from further down the hallway. Raised voices, not yelling, but making a fuss. I heard the sound of a door closing a little more firmly than seemed warranted. Both of us quickly had the idea of a search being conducted.

Spinning me around, all but marching me deeper into the room, Francesco spoke quickly. “Ever done any acting?”

“Not really…?”

“It’s a good time to learn. Okay, this is what I need you to do…”

…to be continued