I introduced Marshall to Andrew, and the attention of Andrew and his circle of friends focused wholly on Marshall. A smaller knot formed around Bailey, who would himself have been the center of attention in any environment not containing Marshall. I watched as Marshall handled the conversations with aplomb, appearing to make every person who addressed him, male or female, feel as if they were his special friend. Did he learn that at the Academy too?
Every few minutes Marshall's gaze would turn to the stage, with its raised platform in the middle and prominent noose dangling above it. Marshall had let out a gasp of excitement the moment he had seen it, and his hand, perhaps unconsciously, had drifted up towards his neck. During more recent looks at it, his hand seemed to move down toward his crotch. I saw the horse's hand brush as if by accident across the bulge in his trousers.
Melville cleared his throat. "Mister Wynn, there is another guest at the front door."
Why is he telling me? "Who is it, Melville?"
"He says he is Marshall's father. I thought someone in the family should receive him." Well, it was obvious why me — his Father and Andrew both looked very occupied.
A friendly-looking older horse, nearly as old as Father, was waiting in the foyer. "Hi. Kevin Warren. I'm Marshall's dad. You are...?"
I held out my hand. "Wynn Cameron. Welcome to my dad's house, my brother's party. I'm glad you could make it. Marshall seems... well, he's really nice."
He beamed, obviously taking pride in his son. "I'm not too late, am I? Is he still talking to the guests?"
"Oh! Right. If you'll follow me, we'll go see him."
As we came out the back door, Marshall was laughing heartily at something someone had said — probably Dad, from the way Marshall was looking at him. I cleared my throat. "Mar..."
Marshall gasped and grinned. "Daddy!!" He threw himself at the older horse and enveloped him in a crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're here!"
Marshall's father laughed and hugged him back. "What did you think, Your Highness, I'd miss your big day?"
Marshall looked up at him, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Oh, Daddy, that's so funny! You always called me that, and you probably didn't even know I'm a real prince today!"
Kevin looked puzzled. "Eh?"
Marshall whispered in the older horse's ear, "They wanted the captive prince scenario. Never mind, you'll see what I mean." He kissed Mr. Warren's cheek and let go, and frowned suddenly. "Where are the boys?"
"Oh, Marcus is watching them. He's old enough to babysit now."
Marshall shook his head in wonder. "It's so hard to think of him as being sixteen. But I wish they could be here."
"I know, Marsh, and they wanted so much to come and see their big brother hang, but I was thinking the atmosphere might get a little rowdy here for them. I reminded them that Marcus was thinking of going to the Academy as soon as he's old enough. That settled them down a little."
"But you'll take back a souvenir for them, won't you?"
"Of course, Highness! There's no way I'd leave them without something to remember you by."
Marshall hugged him again. "I'm really glad." He waved his arm. "They've got some beer in that cooler over there, or if you want a drink from the bar it's there." He indicated the makeshift bar, behind which the hired bartender nodded at the new arrival.
Dad came over, holding out his hand. "Preston Cameron. Nice to meet you. Quite a boy you've got here."
Kevin grinned. "Always knew it. Kevin Warren." They shook hands as Andrew approached. Andrew shook hands with Kevin rather dismissively and turned immediately back to his friends, summoning Marshall back to the group with a peremptory hand gesture. Ever the asshole.
Dad put his hand companionably on Kevin's shoulder. "Now, of course we own Marshall, but I think his father should get his tail. I'm a father myself."
I couldn't help wincing at the casual way Father talked about skinning that beautiful male. Maybe I should run away from home before I turn into an asshole like my father. Or I could... No, that's crazy. Marshall was just being nice, saying all that.
"Oh, no, really, I don't want to take the best part away from you. If you could just give me a swatch from his leg, that'd be fine."
Dad smiled with evident relief. He'd obviously been thinking of Marshall's tail on his trophy shelf. Andrew, of course, would get the horse's head. "Deal! Get you a drink? I'm buying," he grinned, his idea of humor.
With all this going on, it was easy for me to fade into the background. I wasn't wearing a watch, but I was sure fifty minutes had passed. I drifted slowly across the yard towards the tent that had been erected by Academy workers earlier in the week. I was a little nervous about Andrew noticing where I was going — but older bro's attention was, again, fully occupied, as was that of his friends and their dates. I felt a little more nervous approaching Big Bill. I took a last quick look around and whispered, "Squatcho." I felt a little silly. But the jaguar just nodded and stepped slightly aside. I tried to be casual as I eased through the entrance to the tent.
The interior was dimly lit by two battery-operated lanterns on opposite sides. The backyard grass served as the floor. Bailey had already dropped off his satchel and opened it. A soft but heavy-looking fake-fur robe was hanging from a hook on one wall of the tent. Aside from that, the tent's only furnishings were the satchel and a mattress, the latter covered in sheets — expensive ones, by the look of them — with embroidered curtains hanging down on its four sides from rods mounted above it. There was nowhere else to sit; I parted the curtains at one corner and sat on the edge of the mattress.
I was starting to think I'd come over too early. Then I heard voices coming nearer, Marshall's saying, "Now, give me some time to get ready. I'll give you a signal when it's time for you to come in." I wasn't sure whom that was addressed to — probably Andrew. Then Kevin's voice: "I'm so proud of you, Highness." There was silence for a few beats, terminated by the sound of a light kiss, Marshall saying, "I love you, Daddy. Thank you, for everything."
"Love you too, Your Highness. Go knock 'em dead."
Marshall laughed again. "No, Dad, that's what they do to me."
Seconds later Marshall breezed into the tent, alone. Bailey, presumably, was still "mingling," and now getting his deserved share of admiration
Marshall quickly put his finger to his lips, and whispered "Wait a sec." He listened, and I heard Andrew's voice at some distance. Marshall nodded and said quietly, "Okay, just wanted to make sure nobody important was listening in." He grinned, rolled his eyes and said, "Whew! Glad that part's over. I can hardly wait for the Big Moment."
The horse's enthusiasm was amazing. "I guess it's not really just a moment, is it? Is it true what I've heard, that you can keep kicking twenty, twenty-five minutes or more?"
Marshall's eyes were alight. "Theoretically even thirty-five, but I've never heard of anyone going that long. I'm hoping for thirty. All the third-years have to get to where they can swing and kick at least fifteen minutes. It's a test you have to pass. I was kind of scared of that when I heard about it my first year, but I got to where I can do that easily."
I gawked at him. "Scared? You?"
"Of course! Everybody is. But I just kept telling myself, they let you in this place, they believe in you. And I made myself believe in myself."
"I don't know if I'd believe in myself."
Marshall reached up, put his hands on my shoulders, and locked eyes with me. "Yes, you can. You already do. You just haven't told yourself yet."
I just couldn't pull my eyes from Marshall's. "I could never be in the Hanging Academy, though."
Marshall shook his head in mock exasperation. "Sure you can. You didn't say if your grades are good. But they're all A's, aren't they?"
I looked down. My excellent grades embarrassed me a little. Andrew always called me "the Bookworm," with a snarl — among other less complimentary names. "Well, yeah."
"I could just tell. And..." Marshall led me to a portable vanity in one corner of the tent. "There's always something that needs to be fixed up after we entertain the guest of honor. C'mon, take a look at yourself." I looked, and Marshall took a spray can, a bottle of some metallic-looking powder and a brush out of the satchel. He sprayed a little on my headfur, then shook some of the powder on top. Then he brushed it in with a few upward strokes. At last he smiled. "Okay, imagine your whole body shiny metallic like this."
I just stared, gradually seeing myself in my mind's eye as Marshall described me. I smiled in spite of myself. "Yeah, I've seen guys with an upswept look like that. They always look kind of cute. But you have to have the right face for it. And I've never seen fur that looked like gold-lamé before"
Marshall sighed with exasperation and grinned. "You do, Wynn! You aren't seeing yourself like other people see you. I promise, that would look just right for you."
I looked away from the mirror, to Marshall. I could see the horse was absolutely sincere. "Okay. I'll... I'll try that." But I felt a little nervous at the idea of trying a new look. Would people just laugh at me?
"Great! And they've got professional dressers at the Academy. They could make you look just perfect. Tonight I want you to look at yourself in the mirror again, see yourself that way, and try to see yourself like you were a stranger. See yourself the way I see you. Promise?"
Not quite sure why, or whether I should allow this to continue, I nodded. "I promise. But... well, look, about hanging. I don't know if... well, I mean, it's still kind of scary."
Marshall looked thoughtful for a moment. He put the mirror down. Still looking at me, he said, "Don't get panicked about what I'm about to do. Don't resist. Just go with it. I won't make any sudden moves. I'll take it really slow. And I'll know when to stop, I promise."
I didn't understand what Marshall was talking about. But he reached forward slowly and put his hands on the sides of my neck, his thumbs over my windpipe. He let them rest there, and asked quietly, "Trust me?"
I nodded. I was beginning to understand what was happening.
Marshall began to squeeze, tightening his grip on my neck by tiny degrees. I felt my pulse pounding in my neck, my heart pumping more quickly by the second. Marshall, his voice as soft as a breeze, said, "Relax, Wynn. No need to be tense. Just let it happen, let it happen..." His voice trailed off to nothing at the end.
I took a slow breath; my internal tension was easing. Marshall began squeezing harder.
I felt myself getting lightheaded. It was harder to breathe, but somehow that didn't matter. My whole body was becoming weightless, as if I could float to the top of the tent if Marshall weren't holding me down.
At last I couldn't breathe at all. I was floating, I was sure of it. A feeling of... I couldn't think of the right word, but it was spreading through my body. Exultation. Something like that.
There was a buzzing in my ears, a red tinge creeping in from the sides of my vision. Suddenly Marshall let go. I brought my hand up to my throat, gasping for breath, completely amazed.
Marshall beamed, and hugged me. "You're definitely Academy material. No doubt about it."
I felt breathless again, for a different reason now. "You really do think so, don't you? You aren't just saying it?"
Marshall threw up his hands, grinning. "Wynn, what am I going to do with you? Look, maybe this will convince you." He began rooting in the satchel again, in a side pocket finding a folded form and a pen. "We always carry these around in case a recruiting opportunity comes up."
He spent a few minutes writing intently on the form, then handed it to me. "Wynn, go down to the Academy as soon as you can. Take off school if you need to. Look for the Admissions Office, and give them this. You'll have to send transcripts later, and have an interview, and pass a test that's a lot like the one I just gave you. But with everything else you have going for you, a recommendation from an Academy student, especially a graduate, is going to carry a lot of weight. I can't promise you anything, except to say you've got a really good chance. And that's the honest truth."
I read what Marshall had written on the form, and reread it, hardly believing it. Then I folded the form carefully and put it in my pocket. "Thank you." I reached out and hugged Marshall. Then I realized how much time had passed. "I'm sorry! You told them you needed time to get ready, and I've been taking it all up!"
Marshall smiled and shook his head. "I don't need any time getting ready. I just wanted them to think that. This hasn't been my time. It's been your time."
I couldn't think of anything to say. I just looked at him.
"I better get on with the next part of the show, though. Your brother and your dad get to spend a little time with me, in here. Look..." Marshall looked around. "See where the side of the tent kind of folds in a little, over there? Duck into that, and it goes without saying, be quiet as a mouse." He grinned. "I want you to see another thing you can learn at the Academy: how to wrap somebody around your little finger."
"A real person, maybe. Not Andrew. You aren't going to be able to play with him."
Marshall smiled knowingly. "Just watch." He gestured to the hiding place.
Marshall looked at me and watched until he was satisfied I was properly hidden. He went off toward the tent entrance. I couldn't hear him say anything, but a few seconds later I saw Andrew come in, look at the bed, and stroke the expensive sheets with a smirk on his face. He gestured imperiously "Okay, slave, strip."
Marshall took a step closer to him, looking up at him with an expression somehow submissive, innocent, yet fully self-possessed at once. In a soft voice, projecting desire, he responded, "Are you sure you don't want to take it slower, Master? We have all the time we need, and I just want to make you feel good." He gave a half-smile, inclining his head forward but still keeping his eyes aimed upwards at my brother. He gave Andrew a shiver of a wink.
Andrew snorted. "It's not about what you want, bitch. I own you." He gestured again. "Take it off."
Marshall stepped still closer, his eyes never leaving Andrew's. His voice, still silky but growing husky, said, "Master, I am yours to command. But I must tell you this. When I do my rope dance later, I can do much better if I'm allowed to take my own sexual pleasure beforehand. It calms my body, fills me with good air, helps me kick longer. I know my master would want his friends to remember the show at Andrew Cameron's all their lives, as the best they've ever seen." Stepping still closer, he slipped his arms around Andrew, pressed himself against the dark-gray-coated squirrel, looked up and kissed him softly.
I couldn't see Andrew's face, I could tell from his posture that he was battling within himself. Marshall had certainly found exactly the right button to push. Andrew would do anything to tower above his friends, to be an object of their awe. But I understood that after living with Andrew for eighteen years. Marshall had somehow seen into the depths of my brother's being in an hour.
Marshall slipped his arms farther around Andrew, resting his chin on brother's shoulder. His hand behind Andrew's back, Marshall twirled his little finger in a circle for me to see.
I jammed my fists into my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
Andrew heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay, so what do you need to do?"
Marshall turned his head and kissed Andrew's neck. He breathed against Brother's throat, "Oh, Master, what I need is what we both need. Just lie back on the bed and I'll satisfy both of us."
Andrew backed towards the bed, momentarily tangling himself up in the curtain before irritably brushing it aside and sitting on the bed. Marshall nodded encouragement, and he lay on his back, looking up at the stallion. I'd be willing to bet that Andrew had never let anybody else be on top before.
Marshall knelt on the bed straddling Andrew's hips, and began rocking his own hips as he teasingly began pushing the bottom of the shirt upward. When a little more of Andrew's stomach had been revealed, he leaned forward and kissed the soft fur, sighing as if just being able to touch Andrew were his fondest dream. Brother raised his arms as he pushed the shirt up higher, until it eventually cleared his head.
I was absolutely sure Andrew had never let someone else take control like this.
Marshall smiled, his eyes half-lidded, and whispered, "I think we need to get even." He unbuttoned his golden shirt, and slowly pulled it upwards from the bottom. He rippled his abs as he did so; it must have taken twenty or thirty seconds for the shirt to come off.
I couldn't see Andrew's face any more. I wished I could somehow sneak out and see his expression, but he would have spotted me for sure. From the sound of his breathing, I'd say his mouth was hanging open.
Marshall reached up and ran his hands down his own flanks, emphasizing his ribcage and abdominals. The latter did not form a six-pack, but they were obviously rock-hard. "I love touching myself, and rubbing my hands on my body. But it's even more fun when somebody else does it for me."
Andrew's hands shook as he reached up to play with the horse's fur.
Marshall undulated from side to side as he leaned farther and farther forward, until his nipples were brushing across Andrew's mouth. He stopped moving at last to let brother suck. This went on for several minutes, while Marshall groaned in pleasure.
Andrew moaned as Marshall straightened up, scooted a little ways down the bed and reached for Brother's crotch. "Let's see what's under here. Maybe you've got something for me." He unzipped Andrew's pants. The bulge had already been obvious, and more so when only covered by his undershorts.
"Oh, I love how that looks! Let me get a better look." He pulled down the shorts, freeing Andrew's erection to spring up towards the ceiling like a jack-in-the-box. Ignoring it for now, he pulled his pants and undershorts the rest of the way off, leaving him the first in the room to be naked.
He inched forward along Andrew's body again, and as he leaned ahead onto his arms, his eyes closed, his cock brushed against my brother's as they kissed.
Suddenly Brother clenched his hands into fists and grunted urgently, "Shit!" A cascade of squirrel semen shot from his cock, making a sticky streamer along his belly and on Marshall's thigh. I suppressed another burst of laughter, as Andrew pounded his fist once on the mattress in frustration.
Marshall said quickly, "I'm sorry, Master! Let me clean that up for you! We don't want you all messy." As Brother started to wave him off angrily, he bent forward and started licking the ejaculate off Andrew's stomach.
Brother protested, more weakly this time, but seemed unable to resist the sight and feel of this heavenly body licking him clean.
Marshall started from the far end of the stream, and slowly approached Andrew's cock, now deflating and lying on its side like a punctured sex doll. When he reached it, he took the flaccid thing in his mouth, moaning to the accompaniment of wet sucking sounds.
Once more Andrew looked as if he was starting to push the horse away, and once more stopped, as if Marshall's sensational sexiness and relentless attentions were overwhelming the sudden shortfall in his sex drive. In a few minutes Marshall was bobbing his head up and down on a newly reinstated erection. I was just astonished. It seemed as if Marshall could do absolutely anything.
Five minutes could hardly have passed before Marshall whispered, "Are you ready for my ass now?" Andrew nodded weakly, and moaned. Slowly, sensuously, Marshall slid up again, sat on Andrew's hips and guided Brother's erection into himself. He looked up at the ceiling of the tent, his eyes closed, and began using his legs to lift his weight slightly and then drop, letting Andrew's cock partly leave him and then slide its full length back into him again.
After just a few minutes, Andrew grunted and jerked, as Marshall stiffened and let out a soft cry of pleasure. He continued riding Andrew as his cock spurted onto big brother's soft belly fur, then smiled down at him and raised himself enough to release the shrinking squirrel-cock from his anus with an audible pop.
Out of breath, he leaned over Andrew, supporting his weight with his arms, and asked, "Did I give you pleasure, Master?"
Andrew breathed out an inarticulate "Unnh," squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear it, and finally managed to get out, "Uhh, yeah, yeah, definitely."
Marshall sighed with happiness. "I'm so glad!" He bent down to kiss my brother, and rolled to the side, lying down beside him and stroking his stomach with his arm. "I hope you'll always remember me when I'm gone." With a wry smile, he asked, "Will there be anything else, Master, or are your friends getting eager for the show?"
Andrew looked at Marshall as if not quite remembering what he was referring to, and suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! Right." He got up and started looking for his clothes.
Marshall got up as well, and pulled on his briefs and jeans, then his shirt. "Don't go before I get you your costume." He jumped up and felt around in the satchel, pulling out a few items. "Do you want to put these on now, or take them back into the house and wait until it's time?"
Andrew still seemed partly stunned. "Ahh, I'll put them on now, I guess."
He nodded. "Okay. You shouldn't put your shirt on, then." He handed Andrew a rough suede vest. "Here, this will make you look like a rugged revolutionary." He smiled.
Andrew shrugged into the vest. There was no front closure for it; it simply hung open displaying his bare chest. Once he'd finished discovering and accepting the absence of buttons, Marshall handed him a complicated set of wide leather bands studded with rifle bullets. "Ammunition bandoliers. Do you see how this goes on?" Andrew fumbled with it for a moment, and the horse said, "Here, let me help you with that."
Satisfied that Andrew was suitably attired at last, Marshall handed him the last item, grinning. "Can't be a successful revolutionary without plenty of firepower." It was a wooden rifle, skillfully crafted and painted to look very authentic. "Now, you've got that little script card, right? In case you forget your lines?"
Andrew took the rifle, and spent a moment getting a feel for its balance and finding a way to carry it casually. "Are we going out there now, or do you need time to get ready?"
"Well, I will need some time, but first I'm supposed to see your dad, remember?"
"Oh, yeah." He smiled. "Getting impatient, I guess."
The change in Andrew's behavior was just... I couldn't recall him acting this politely with anyone, and certainly not a slave.
Marshall stood on his toes and kissed Andrew one more time. "If you're going now, could you tell your dad to come in?"
Andrew grinned. "Sure. See you later." He made an improvised salute with the rifle, laughed, and walked out of the tent.
Marshall breathed a sigh. I started to leave my hiding place, but Marshall shook his head quickly and waved me back. He put a finger over his lips and turned back towards the entrance just in time to see Father come in.
Marshall grinned and reached up to put his arms around the Dad's shoulders — Andrew was just a few inches taller than Marshall, but Dad was at least a full head above him. "I'm so glad to have a chance to spend some time with you alone."
Dad looked at his watch, as he so often did, and Marshall caught the look. He looked up at him with a pout. "I think you should put that away in your pocket, sir. Don't you want to get your money's worth?"
I almost gasped out loud. Marshall knew Dad's buttons too!
Later on I thought that my commitment to entering and passing the Academy started right then. I had been thrilled earlier when Marshall considered me worthy of trying to follow his path through life. The hanging part was a little scary, of course. But after seeing Marshall deal so easily with the men who had dominated my life... If the Academy was a place I could go to be half as smart as Marshall, to be half as self-confident, to feel half as fulfilled and half as happy, then that was where I would go. And if the fullness of Marshall's life derived from his focus on being hanged, then that would be the focus of my life.