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There was a certain look he got when he was in the mood. Remy was
completely sensitized to it after being Logan's willing submissive for
close to six months. Heavy brows angled just so, a single canine
flashed, a lupine tongue flicked out and hungry, midnight blue eyes
descended to Gambit's crotch. Lebeau knew when he was wanted and headed
for the cabin as soon as he could.

It was hellish bliss to be The Wolverine's sex toy. He was an incredibly
erotic sadist who demanded absolute obedience. The slightest
transgression resulted in agonizing punishment. It was bad when Remy was
flogged with his thick belt for moving or speaking when he wasn't
supposed to. It was far, far worse when Logan ignored him altogether.
The Cajun would've taken any torture but that. He was addicted to touch,
craved his master like a junkie, needed at least a smutty whisper or a
rough caress every day and probably would for the rest of his life.

Rewards for good behavior however, were substantial. As cruel as Logan
could be, he was just as generous when the Acadian pleased him. Remy now
constantly wore a diamond-studded cock ring for enduring hours upon
hours of silent writhing in the tightest possible bondage, and though he
couldn't show it off, he was nontheless proud to wear it. The many bites
that were inflicted on his tender flesh were always attended to
immediately and oddly, he felt more virile than before. Not just anybody
could survive the Canadian's perverted cravings.

The isolated, abandoned cabin on the fringes of the estate was in sight,
but there was no sign of Logan anywhere. He must've been delayed. No
matter. Remy stripped his clothes off, laid them by the stump per the
normal procedure, knelt down, spread his legs and waited. Prismatic
diamonds flickered a rainbow of colors on the ground. His master liked
him to be hard and ready at all times, so Gambit thought about the feel
of Logan's mouth when he deigned to bless him with a blowjob, not enough
to get him off, just to torment him further into obedience.

They were the same in the sense that both men actively sought danger. In
Lebeau's case, his need was a side effect of years spent stealing and
the possibility of getting caught either by the rightful owners or the
police. For Logan, he'd simply lived so long that anything out of the
ordinary was a rush that made him feel alive. They understood each
other. Two of a kinky kind.

Remy was so deep in thought that his empathy didn't pick up the
thickly-built man stalking him from behind. Logan liked to scare the
piss outta him. Adrenalin turned him on.

"Good dog," he murmured less than an inch from a beautifully fluted ear.
Gambit almost jumped out of his skin, but knew better than to make a
noise. If Logan wanted him to speak, he'd tell him. Rusty eyebrows
quirked skyward as he knelt, splayed wide open on the grass.

"Stand up," the master ordered. Lebeau complied. Logan petted his groin
as a reward. The thief's spine arched outward, nostrils flared with
excitement.

"Easy, boy. Keep it hard. We're goin' fer a walk. Got a little surprise
fer ya. Heel," the Canuck told him, snapping a thick, leather leash onto
the expensive ring surrounding his genitals. Gambit was almost a foot
taller than his master, but he had to hustle to keep up with Logan's
brisk pace. The shorter man was carrying a valise.

Surprise was a dangerous word, especially from Logan's mouth. Remy'd
already been subjected to nipple clamps, cock and ball restraint, hard
spankings, anal penetration and forced ejaculation through the milking
of his prostate. The man was incredibly perverse, knew more ways to
inflict pain than a Spanish Inquisitor, more knots than an Eagle Scout,
more sensuous pleasures than a Creole madam and all designed to
discourage any attempt at escape from the agile thief.

As Gambit trotted to keep up however, the memory of Logan's tenderness
intruded into his thoughts. The Canuck was fascinated with the
Southerner's hair, spent hours running his fingers through it, washing
it, brushing it dry, stroking it. As hirsute as Logan was himself, it
was a strange obsession. Maybe it was the difference in texture. The
master's hair was coarse and wiry. Lebeau's was fine and silky, like a
woman. The Cajun loved the caress of stubby fingers gently massaging his
scalp. It made him feel loved and wanted.

There were a lot of things about Logan that seemed at odds. Brutal one
minute, concerned the next, a hard fuck followed by the most tender
cuddling, insatiably horny and yet soliticious of inadvertent injuries
caused by teeth and claws, unpredictably dangerous and amazingly aware
of Gambit's maximum pain threshold. Even Remy's empathy was confused by
the apparent conflict, but that's what made him so exciting as a lover.
Lebeau never knew what to expect next.

Logan reached the spot he had in mind and stopped walking. Gambit
immediately fell to his knees in the prescribed sit/slave posture,
meeting his dominant's eyes.

"Up. Strip me. Don't say nothin'." Remy leapt to his feet and eagerly
began unbuttoning the blue and black flannel shirt. This was a rare
treat. Logan never let him do this and he reveled in the feel of his
hard, developed, masculine body under his clever fingers. Michelangelo
would've killed to have the Canuck as a model for David. His body was
ultimately, supremely male with only a few, faint scars as evidence of
injuries that would've killed any other man. Delicately, he swept over
the hairy nipples. They sprang forward and Logan grunted.

"Suck," he growled. Lebeau had to squat a little to get his talented
mouth at the proper level, just lipping them first until he felt a
strong hand on the back of his head. That was always the signal that he
wanted it harder, faster, rougher. Gambit clamped down a bit tighter as
he unfastened the heavy belt and opened his jeans. Logan was already
hard, the tip weeping with clear droplets. Dieu, how Remy wanted to take
that massive chunk into his mouth and make Logan cum in buckets. The
swarthy hand guided him from one straining peak to the other and the
Southerner was ecstatic at the rumbling moans of pleasure his mouth
engendered. He pushed the jeans down as far as he could while still
obeying.

"Lie down on yer back. Stay." Lebeau complied, letting Logan remove his
own boots and slipping his pants off the rest of the way. La Mère
Sainte de Dieu (Holy Mother of God), he looked incredible standing there
naked over him. Every muscle developed to the utmost, his cock a steel
pipe jutting out of thick, inky frizz, the epitome of a virile man in
healthy prime.

Logan rummaged in the valise, affording the thief a beautiful view of
his furry derierre. Built like a Clydesdale, raw power waiting to be
released, barely held in check. When he turned back toward him, Remy saw
the sheepskin-lined cuffs and the smear of menthol rub under the
Canadian's nose. Those weren't unusual. Lebeau'd worn the cuffs before
and Logan used the rub to diminish the influence of Gambit's charming
pheromones. What was the 'surprise'?

"Spread yer arms and legs. Don't even think 'bout movin'," he growled in
the raspy, deep voice of Le Wolverine. The Cajun's heart skipped a beat.
Sweat popped out on his now-worried brow.
The thinnest possible barrier separated Logan the human from the animal
lurking at the fringes of his soul. Remy recognized both sides and
dreaded when the beast made an appearance. There was no gentleness in
the wolf. Lebeau's role was simply a semen receptacle, an object to be
hurt and used and drained for blood. There was always the possibility
that Wolverine wouldn't let Logan come back and, if that happened, Remy
would either be maimed for life or die from blood loss. The Cajun didn't
even think of the animal as a 'he'. Wolverine was an 'it', a creature of
thoughtless, ravening hungers.

Remy's master cuffed him securely, straddling his hips for a moment so
he could gaze down at the helpless redhead. Two points of crimson glowed
behind the midnight blue. Uh oh. The thief tried to struggle, but three
hundred pounds of adamantium-reinforced mutant assassin was nothing to
dismiss lightly and the Acadian couldn't budge him. It was useless to
even try. The wisest course was to let the loupgarou (werewolf) do as he
pleased and get it over with.

A fanged mouth descended to the Cajun's chest, roughly arousing nipples
which had been much smaller six months ago. Constant sucking and
handling caused them to remain permanently erect. Sharp canines dented
the rosy nubs into an even harder state and Logan ground himself
hedonistically into his slave's urgently-circling crotch.

"Eyes closed," Wolverine snarled. Remy felt the sharp sting of nipple
clamps being tightened, rope being wound through the D rings on the arm
shackles, the same for the legs. The surprise came when he was lifted
upside-down between two, sturdy trees and tied firmly in place with his
limbs split wide apart.

"Please, suh...." A snarling, inverted face came nose-to-nose with the
panicking sub.

"Did I ask ya ta speak, Gumbo??" Logan asked incredulously. Remy shook
his head, gulping hard.

"Then don't. Swear ta God, I'll bite yer nuts off'n leave ya here," he
warned hoarsely. Sometimes, Logan threatened Gambit just to get the
adrenalin scent. This wasn't one of those times. He meant it. Blood
rushed into Lebeau's head, dizzying his vision and blurring his
perception of reality. The Canuck again dipped into the valise and hid
the items in his burly arms, moving behind the upended kid and
separating his ass cheeks with an ominously evil snicker.

Remy's eyes widened at the sensation of something large and hard and
inorganic being inserted into his rectum. Warmish fluid began flowing
into his bowels and his gut began swelling with the influx. Logan left
it there to drain under gravity and reappeared in front of the hanging
Cajun, his erection pulsing and insistant.

"Blow me good, Gumbo." Gambit took the huge breadth of cock deep in his
mouth, already cramping with the enema still streaming into him. That
wasn't the worst, not by a long shot. Logan held a large piece of ice in
his hand and began sliding it across the thief's exposed testicles,
periodically pulling the paranoid penis into his carnivorous maw. He
reached around Gambit's slim body to drive the nozzle deeper, fucking
him plastically as the last of the liquid burbled in.

Remy knew better than to groan, but oh krot (shit)!!! This was true
torture, the ecstasy of 69 counteracting the ice and the artificial
thing flooding his belly. Pressure began building to dangerous levels,
but he forgot about that as Logan began sucking him in earnest. Melting
icewater dripped down his body across his aching, tightly pinched
nipples as he was aroused and tormented mercilessly.

Logan smiled to himself as the thief's mouth grew more desperate.
Lebeau'd gotten into his head that as soon as he came, he'd be off the
hook, but the Canuck had plans for him today. Big plans. He was gonna
learn what it really meant to be owned. The ice was gone. It was time.

The feral X-Man abruptly pulled out of Gambit's mouth and turned back to
the valise. Remy breathed a half-relieved sigh. Perhaps Logan would take
pity on his suffering toy and let him relieve himself in the woods.

"I ain't ever started with yer disobedient, little ass," Wolverine
gritted bassly. Lebeau inhaled at what he thought he saw, terrified by
the possibility.

"Suh, please, don' do Remy laike dat!!!!"

"Can't charm yer way outta this one, Cajun," Logan chuckled nastily,
attaching the electrodes to the Southerner's shrunken balls and
recoiling cock, "Nobody told ya to stop suckin'. Get me off a couple
dozen times an' I'll think about lettin' ya down. If ya cum, ya stay
here an' shit yerself all night. Unnerstan'? Answer."

"Yes, suh," Gambit whispered, cowed. There was nothing to do but hang
there or obey. He took Logan's bulky penis deep into his throat and
sucked for all he was worth. What he couldn't see from his angle was the
little device Logan held in his hands. He began turning a dial, sending
a profoundly sexual buzz into the Cajun's genitals that grew
progressively more intense as the setting went higher.

It felt like two, very soft mouths, one on his frigid testicles and the
other around his rod. Remy began thrusting his hips and slurping loudly
on Logan's cock with the steadily increasing urge to cum, his guts
twisting into knots with the need to shit. The perverted Northerner made
things rather more urgent by moving the greasy enema nozzle slowly in
and out of Lebeau's spasming anus.

"Oh, yeah, kid. Harder. Faster," the master prompted for the fourteenth
time in as many minutes, pistoning his hips into the thief's with a
frighteningly strong hand in his hair. He drove the blunt dildo further
into the whining Cajun. The kid took his cue from that, almost weeping
with relief when the fucker grunted and came hard again, spurting half a
dozen strong jets down his plaything's strangled and protesting throat.

"Speak, Gumbo," he panted, recovering.

"Please, suh, let Remy dahn a'fore he sheeut hissef." By the time he'd
finished the sentence, Logan was ready for more, but the kid'd done
good. He removed the electrodes, took out the nozzle, untied him and
went once more to the valise while Gambit squatted and crapped out
everything he'd ever eaten in his whole life.

Logan stood upwind from the foul stink, watching with a roll of toilet
paper in his hand. As much cayenne as the Cajun ate, must've burned like
a bastard in Hell. He tossed the roll to him when he'd finished, waiting
patiently as he cleaned himself. An idea formed in Logan's head as he
stood there. His nose wrinkled as he took a deep sniff.

"You need a bath, boy. C'mon," the Canadian said, patting his thigh.
Gambit trotted to him like the trained nympho he was, let himself be
unclamped, re-leashed and led to a streamlet near the cabin, where Logan
often bathed during his frequent absences from the mansion to escape the
noise and chaos of the students.

Remy stood quietly as he'd been comanded, gladly submitting to soapy
hands all over him. Logan was very picky about grooming and washed his
sweaty hair and lathered his body generously, careful around the sore
places. When the bath was finished and Lebeau was clean to his
satisfaction, Logan dried him with a big towel, rubbed lotion on his
skin to keep it as soft as he liked, wrapped a worn robe around his
property and laid him flat across his lap, face up. Burnished, cinnamon
hair was brushed and fondled as it dried in the sun. A low rumble that
could almost be called a purr vibrated against the Cajun's flushed
cheek.

The master wrapped his knowledgable, moisturized hand around the
Acadian's elegant penis and made him cum with but a few strokes and
four, tenderly-growled orders. Logan didn't have to say it. Perhaps it
was Remy's inherent empathy that told him what the beautifully cruel man
was thinking.

Good dog.