by Faith Ryan
Inhuman Behavior
Carnaval des Ténèbres
Faith Ryan
Copyright © 2020 by Faith Ryan
Editor: Ally Vance
Formatting: Fancy Fiction Formats
Cover Design: Pink Elephant Designs
Illustrator: Burning Youth
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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author, except for the brief use of quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is completely coincidental.
Contents
1. Wren
2. Urijah
3. Wren
4. Urijah
5. Wren
6. Urijah
7. Wren
8. Urijah
9. Wren
10. Urijah
11. Wren
12. Urijah
13. Wren
14. Urijah
15. Wren
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Playlist
About the Author
Also by Faith Ryan
One
Wren
They say ignorance is bliss. That you can’t want what you’ve never had. The Carnaval des Ténèbres is all I’ve ever known. After all, I’m a freak and this is where freaks belong. Considering my deformity, it’s a safe bet to say I wouldn’t last long in the real world.
I am viewed as an animal. A pet. An entertainment for the perverted fantasies of those who call themselves normal. People like those who surround me tonight, with their fat asses hanging over the edges of the bench seats. I circle the crowd, weaving between their legs on all fours. The smell of sweaty feet mixed with old popcorn and the sugary soda that stains the dirt makes me gag, but I hold in my disgust for the sake of the show.
A few laps and shakes of my ‘tail’ and my act is over. I crawl my way out of the tent and immediately stand upright. Cracking sounds as pain zings up my spine. Pretending to be the happy dog I appear to be night after night has begun to take its toll.
I search for Maia, but I can’t find her. The others are worried about her since she ran off after Indigo, but I have every confidence that Maia can handle her own. She’s a fighter, and after what that asshole did to her, I can understand why. I’m sure wherever she’s at Darryn is probably by her side, so it isn’t worth worrying over too much.
The night is clear and warm. The lights from the attractions around me block the stars from sight, but it is still a nice evening. I walk toward the pier while everyone is distracted. It’s not often I get to enjoy such a trivial thing as walking outside. The hair that covers my body denotes me as strange. The constant stares and accompanying horrified reactions when I walk past them are a reminder of the freak I that am.
The pier is quiet without the overly loud noise of humans to clutter it; the waves crashing on the shore and the distance sounds of the Carnaval the only sounds heard. I dangle my feet above the water and the wood slats push splinters into my palms. A Cheshire smile graces my lips, but you can’t tell behind the hair shielding my face.
“Fancy some company?” A rough and accented voice sounds through the silence. I shrug, but keep facing straight ahead, in case he doesn’t realize he’s talking to a freak. Clipped footsteps bring him closer. “I saw your performance. You’re quite the showman. Do you enjoy the petting and attention?”
“Yeah, sure.” I give the expected answer.
The man is a paying customer. No point in ruining his disillusions of the Carnaval. What good would it do to tell a stranger I don’t particularly enjoy being treated like a dog.
The man sits near me, his hand brushing mine when he steadies himself. “I’m sorry if this is impolite to ask, but is it a costume? The dog hair?”
I fist my hands against my thighs and grit my teeth. “No. It is not a costume. This is me. I really am a dog man.” Pushing up from the pier, I take off back to my tent at the Carnaval.
“My apologies.” The man sucks in a few breaths before he continues. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m just curious.”
I stop walking, but I don’t face him. “I get it. You’ve never met a freak before. I’m sure it’s quite fascinating to see one up close, but I am a person, not a dog, despite how I look on the outside or the act I portray beneath those tents.”
A hand squeezes my shoulder, then runs down through the hair on my arm in a caress much different from the petting I am used to. I try not to react, but no one has touched me with such affection since I was a child. Even then, the touches were tainted. I shiver and lean into the caress for a moment, my body silently begging for more, before I jerk away.
“Don’t touch me.”
Hands held up, palms facing me, the man cocks his head to one side. He takes in my body—what the hair doesn’t cover—and an appreciative gleam enters his eyes. I don’t wear clothes most days; my hair is thick enough to cover all the important bits. The man reaches toward my arm again, stopping shy of touching me. “Your hair is a lovely shade of toffee. It reminds me of my wife. She always had such beautiful hair.”
Sadness at his apparent grief duels with the creepiness in which he continues to gawk at me. The hair on my spine noticeably bristles, catching his attention. This time when he reaches his hand toward me, he doesn’t hesitate. He slides his palm down the ridges of my spine, repeating the motion several times and coming closer to my ass on each pass.
I don’t have any sexual experience, and honestly, I’ve never had an interest in it. I had always reasoned it was a manifestation of my genetics, but the way my ass clenches and my stomach tightens with every stroke he makes down my back, completely discredits those assumptions.
“Again, I apologize for any offense. You really are quite lovely.” The man walks away, leaving me staring until he becomes obscured by the lights of the Carnaval.
I toss and turn on the thin mattress I use for a bed. The small rocks and imperfections of the hard ground dig into my body through the slight barrier, but they are not the reason for my fitful sleep. My mind keeps supplying me with the details of my encounter earlier. I close my eyes and again I am bombarded with blue eyes and dark hair, a well-tailored suit that accentuates the body it covers, and the strong but gentle hands that touched me. A light growth of stubble covers his jaw but doesn’t hide the dimple when he smiles. Every feature I refused to acknowledge now invades my thoughts, preventing me from resting.
Foreign sensations overtake my body. A warm and flowing arousal starts in my gut and I fist my cock like I’ve watched men in porn do. I’ve seen the videos that others watch to arouse themselves, but they’ve done anything for me. No arousal, and my cock remained soft, much like now. I’m not hard but the tight grip of my fist amplifies the furor rushing through me. I’ve never experienced a feeling like this. I’m not sure what to even call it. All I know is that it’s consuming me, burning me from the inside out.
I’ve done my research, wanting to be prepared in case I was more canine in some areas, and getting hard is something that only happens when inside of another during sexual intercourse. So, while I’m not worried about the lack of hardness, I wonder what it would feel like to be inside someone. Would it feel better than this? Because I have to say this feels pretty damn good. The sensual sensations make me question why my touch has never felt this good before. Is it because I’m thinking about the man, the first person to cause a stir of attraction within me?
I stroke myself until I double over with the intensity of the pleasure; my hips spasm up off the bed forcing my dick to rock into my tightly fisted hand repeatedly as I come.
My body is still jerking and my stomach contracting several minutes later. I’m covered in sweat and cum, but a sense of relief consumes me, and I close my eyes. The images of the man lull me into a dream of fulfilled desire instead of keeping me awake.
It’s pitch black. I can barely make out the walls of the tent around me. I’m awake, but I don’t know why. A noise, maybe? I strain my ears. Nothing—wait, is that someone breathing? I hold my own breath and listen again. Puffs of air sound over and over near my bed, getting louder the longer I listen.
The breathing is soon followed by a stirring of the hair near my face. Whoever it is they are close enough to touch. I reach a hand out and connect with a cheek.
“You’re awake. That’ll make this a bit more difficult. I don’t reckon you fancy going back to sleep, yeah?” The accented voice drifts into my ear, a whisper of intimacy in the darkness that surrounds us.
“What are you doing? Why are you in my tent? Did you follow me here?” Questions shoot rapid fire from my mouth and I try to sit only to bang heads with my stalker.
“Fuck. You have a hard head. That fucking hurt.”
He grabs at me, seizing a fistful of my hair before wrapping his arms around me and pinning my arms to my sides. He ends up lying on top of me, preventing me from kicking out at him. “I’m really sorry to have to do this, but my wife is sick, and I think a new pet will make her feel better. She’s always wanted a dog.”
“I’m not a dog.” I try to throw my head back and fling my body around on the bed. His hold is too strong, though, and I tire myself out. “I’m not a dog,” I tell him again. “I’m a human and I have a name. I’m not a pet for you to keep.”
He surprises me when he asks, “what’s your name?”
He hasn’t earned the right to know my name, but I feel compelled to tell him. “Wren. My name is Wren, and I’m a man, not a dog. And I’m sure as hell not a pet.”
“Well, Wren, I’m Urijah, or Uri, and you’re mine now. And if I say you’re a dog, my pet, then that’s what you are. Fighting me will get you nowhere.”
He releases me and I scramble across the mattress and onto the dirt. A loud sigh sounds behind me, and an arm wraps around my throat. He squeezes the breath from my lungs. I gasp for air but can’t get the oxygen I need. Black spots dance in my vision that is slowly receding to nothing.
“That was bad. Bad Wren. But don’t worry, I’ll train you to be the good boy I know you are.”
Two
Urijah
Wren is lighter than he appears. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still heavy as fuck, but all that hair hides his thinness. I haul him out of the tent and to my car in a fireman’s carry. Adjusting my grip, I use one hand to hold him around the thighs and the other to open the back-passenger door. Setting him inside, I quickly buckle him in. As I lean across him, I get a whiff of musk and sex. My dick hardens, but I remind it and myself that he is an animal. He’s a dog, a trainable pet. Not a bitch in heat for me to breed. He’s a gift for Amalie. I’ll train him and give him to her, just like I have with the others.
The drive home is uneventful. It’s late, or early depending on how you look at it, and almost everyone in my neighborhood is asleep. I’m able to carry Wren inside and into the basement without incident or being spotted by nosy neighbors.
Wren will have his own room upstairs near me and Amalie, but not until he proves his loyalty. I’ll train him down here, away from prying eyes. I want to surprise Amalie with him. She’s been depressed and lonely lately. I’m not enough to make her feel alive anymore, not like I used to be.
I place Wren on the large doggie bed inside the specially made kennel I bought for him. I’ve been following the Carnaval for some time. The dog boy is a personal fascination of mine. Amalie started my obsession, commenting on the hair and how it was the exact color of her own. The more I saw of him, the more I knew I had to have him—For Amalie.
Amalie has an affinity for animals. Whenever she loses one, I make it my mission to find her another. I’ve given her a cat, a mouse, a bunny, and even a bear, once. This will be her first dog, and as I watch Wren sleeping in the kennel, I think I may have outdone myself this time.
I shut the door to the kennel and lock it with a new padlock. The basement is empty besides the kennel and the few items I’ll need for training purposes. I leave the light on, but close and lock the basement door on my way out. The basement entry is off the kitchen and I stop to make a sandwich before heading upstairs to Amalie.
Amalie is dead to the world when I climb in beside her. Her skin is cold as ice and her body stiff to the touch. I’m afraid she’s mad at me again, but I haven’t the slightest idea what I’ve done to earn her ire this time. Ignoring her cold shoulder, I envelope her in my arms and wrap the comforter around both of us.
“Goodnight, Amalie. I love you.” I kiss the top of her head and drift off into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Sweat pours from me, the sun’s rays shining brightly onto my bed. Amalie is still sound asleep, so I pull back the comforter gently and slip from the bed, hissing when my feet touch the icy floor.
I take care of business in our en suite and grab a pair of gray sweats from the chest. Shutting the door behind me, I pull my sweats on as I walk down the hall, falling into the wall a few times. A sight to see, I’m sure.
Coffee is a must for me in the mornings if I plan on functioning like a normal human. Setting the carafe under the faucet, I fill it with water. I scrub a hand through my hair; the ends are sticking out in an impressive display of bedhead judging by my reflection in the window above the sink.
The cheap coffee maker gurgles as it begins to percolate. My mouth opens wide in a yawn and my jaw pops at the stretch. I jump when a loud metallic banging sounds from across the room. Cocking my head, I stare at the closed basement door. My sleep addled brain takes a moment to remember the events of last night. The Carnaval. The pier. Wren.
Wren is apparently awake and is trying his best to escape the kennel judging by the sounds drifting up the stairwell. Sighing, I glance longingly at the now finished pot of caffeine. With any luck, I’ll be back to enjoy the bitterness before it turns to sludge.
The lock mechanism clicks as I unlock and open the door, alerting Wren to my presence. He can’t see me from the corner he’s in, but I can see him. He’s gripping the bars of his cage and sweat drips from his hair, mixing with the dirt and matting it to his body. I’ll have to give him a bath soon.
The thought of washing him and exploring his body under all that hair invades my mind and causes my body to react. I can’t seem to get it to listen when I remind it I’m not interested. He is for Amalie, not me, but maybe I can have some fun while I break him in for her.
“You’ll never get out that way. In fact, you won’t get out unless I let you out, so it’s in your best interest to do as I say,” I tell him as I make my way fully into the basement.
“Let me go, you fucking son of a bitch!”
“Language. I will not be talked to like that, and I will not allow you to speak so disrespectfully around others.”
“Fuck you!” Wren spits in my direction.
“It’s too early for this, Wren. I haven’t even had my coffee yet. I suggest you lay off the escape attempts and the foul language or I’ll be forced to punish you.”
Wren glares at me, his dark eyes spewing hatred in my direction. “I’ve told you before, I’m not a pet. You can take your mother fucking punishment and shove it up your ass. Let me the fuck out, right now!”
He pries at the bars again. Sighing at the inconvenience, I reach over and push a button I had installed recently. Immediately Wren drops to his knees, convulsing as he clutches the bars. The electricity running through him is enough to be painful and incapacitating, but not enough to do permanent damage. After a few seconds
, I release the button and Wren falls back from the bars of the cage to the floor, curling protectively into himself.
“I warned you. Now, I’m going to head upstairs to have my coffee. Do try to be a good boy until I get back.”
He says nothing, but a glare overtakes the pain in his eyes for a moment. When he squeezes them shut and rolls to face the wall, I smirk with satisfaction and climb the stairs to the kitchen.
I inhale the deliciousness that fills the room and pour myself a cup of the dark and rich brew. Standing at the counter, I sip the nectar of the Gods and look out the window above the sink to the backyard. It’s fenced in and blocks the view from my neighbors. Wren’s training will begin in the basement, but eventually I want to run him through the obstacles I’ve set up outside. There are hoops to jump through, toys to fetch, and tricks to perform. Wren will be the perfect pet once I’ve finished with him.
“Hey, asshole!” The shout startles me, and I almost drop my mug. The liquid splashes over the side and onto my hand, lightly burning the skin. I set my mug aside and run some cold water over the spot to wash away the coffee and soothe the burn. I grab a towel and dry my hand as I stomp my way down into the basement.
“What?” I growl at him.
“I have to piss.”
I gesture to the puppy pad lining the far corner of the cage. “Have at it.”
Wren looks to the pad and back to me. “What part of I’m not a fucking dog do you not understand?”
