Chapter 75: Fruitful Distraction
The door to Karn’s 40th-floor office slammed open with a force that rattled the sleek glass panels. Karn stood framed in the doorway, radiating fury like a physical heat wave. His usually immaculate tie was askew, one hand clenched white-knuckled at his side, the other still gripping the door handle hard enough to make the metal groan. His eyes, usually sharp and assessing, were dark pits of barely contained rage, scanning the room with predatory intensity. The air crackled, thick with the ozone scent of impending violence.
Pete, hunched over Mark’s monitors pointing out a discrepancy in a supply chain algorithm, froze mid-sentence. He slowly turned, eyes widening in genuine alarm. Mark, sensing the seismic shift, jerked upright from his chair, the black collar suddenly feeling like a vise. His skin prickled under Karn’s scorching gaze.
"Shit," Pete breathed, the word barely audible. He leaned infinitesimally closer to Mark, his voice a terrified whisper. "Satan sign. Full red alert. We need to calm him now, or he’ll bite us to death. Literally." The memory of Karn’s terrifying intensity during his infamous ‘wolf’ moods – rare but legendary – flooded Pete’s mind, chilling his blood.
Without a second’s hesitation, Pete sprang into action. Fingers flew to his crisp white shirt buttons, popping them open with frantic speed. He shoved his trousers and briefs down his legs in one frantic motion, kicking them aside. Naked, his skin flushing instantly under the harsh office lights, he darted towards a seemingly seamless section of the minimalist wall paneling. A hidden panel slid open at his touch, revealing a small closet Pete had installed months ago for exactly these emergencies. He yanked out a pair of fluffy white bunny ears, jamming them onto his head. Next came a thin, transparent string attached to a ridiculously oversized, fluffy white bunny tail pom-pom. He cinched it tight around his waist, the tail bouncing absurdly against his bare backside. Finally, he pulled on bunny-feet socks and matching mittens, completing the transformation from diligent Purple Tag to desperate, naked cartoon rabbit.
He grabbed another bundle from the closet and thrust it at Mark, who stared at it, paralyzed by fear and confusion. "Put it on!" Pete hissed urgently. Mark fumbled with the fabric. It unfurled into a simple, child-sized red hooded cape, a pair of sheer white fishnet stockings, and a small woven basket filled with glossy red apples. Mark’s face burned crimson. The humiliation warred with the primal fear radiating from Karn, who hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken.
"Go!" Pete shoved Mark gently but firmly towards the center of the room. "Little Red Riding Hood! Now! To Grandma’s!" Mark stumbled forward, the thin red hood feeling ridiculous draped over his bare shoulders, the fishnets absurdly delicate against his legs. He clutched the basket, his knuckles white. He cleared his throat, trying to project innocence through sheer terror. "Oh, wh-what big eyes you have, Mr. Wolf?" he stammered, his voice cracking. He took another hesitant step towards Karn’s imposing figure.
Disaster struck. Mark’s trembling hands betrayed him. The basket tilted. Apples, glossy and perfect, tumbled out, bouncing and rolling across the polished concrete floor with alarming speed. Several rolled directly towards Karn’s impeccably polished black Oxfords, coming to rest perilously close to touching the gleaming leather.
Mark froze, horror-struck. Pete saw Karn’s jaw clench, the muscles in his neck standing out like cords. The Satan sign flared brighter in Pete’s panicked mind. Move! Acting purely on instinct, Pete dropped to his hands and knees. The fluffy bunny tail bobbed obscenely high in the air. He scrambled forward, ignoring the cool floor against his skin, his focus solely on the apples near Karn’s feet. He lowered his head, opened his mouth, and gently, carefully, took one of the apples between his teeth. He lifted it, shuffling forward slightly on his knees to reach the next one. The tail bounced rhythmically with each awkward movement. He grabbed another apple with his teeth, then another, his cheeks bulging comically, his eyes wide with desperate concentration.
A sound cut through the tense silence. Not a growl. Not a roar. A low, choked huff. Karn’s lips, pulled tight in fury a moment before, had twitched. Just once. His dark eyes, locked onto Pete’s crawling, apple-gathering form, held a flicker of something other than rage – incredulous, dark amusement. The terrifying stillness shifted, replaced by a coiled, predatory interest.
Seizing the infinitesimal shift, Karn moved. He strode past the kneeling Pete and the petrified Mark towards the hidden closet Pete had used. He pulled out a bulky bundle of grey-brown fur. With swift, practiced motions, Karn shrugged into a full-body wolf costume. The fur was dense and realistic, the hood featuring a snarling wolf head with gleaming plastic eyes and sharp, white felt teeth. He pulled the hood up, his own face disappearing into the shadowed maw of the beast.
He turned back towards them, fully transformed. The wolf costume was absurdly large and menacing in the sleek office. He looked down at Pete, still kneeling with apples clutched in his teeth and hands, and at Mark, clutching his empty basket like a shield. Karn raised a fur-covered hand. With deliberate slowness, he wiped the back of it across his mouth, collecting the thin line of saliva that had gathered there. The plastic wolf eyes seemed to gleam with unnatural hunger.
A low, guttural growl emanated from within the hood, vibrating in the suddenly silent room. Karn took a single, heavy step forward, the padded wolf feet thudding softly on the floor.
"Time," Karn growled, the word distorted but chillingly clear through the costume's muzzle, "for the meal."
The wolf costume’s low growl vibrated through the office air, thick with the scent of Pete’s fear-sweat and the sharp tang of polished concrete. Karn took another heavy, deliberate step forward, the padded feet thudding softly, his plastic-fanged muzzle aimed squarely at Pete, still frozen on hands and knees clutching apples. Mark stood rigid, the red hood slipping off his shoulder, the basket hanging uselessly from his fingers.
"Grandma’s house," Pete squeaked around the apple in his mouth, his fluffy bunny tail twitching frantically. He shuffled sideways, trying to position himself protectively between Karn and Mark. "Safe at Grandma’s house!" Karn’s plastic eyes gleamed. He lunged.
Not towards Grandma’s metaphorical safety, but straight at Pete. The impact knocked the apples from Pete’s grasp, sending them skittering again. Karn’s fur-covered hands seized Pete’s bare shoulders, fingers digging deep. Pete yelped as Karn’s head snapped forward, the hard plastic muzzle scraping skin before Karn’s real teeth sank viciously into the curve of Pete’s neck. Pete cried out, a sharp sound of pain and shock. Karn bit again, lower on Pete’s shoulder, teeth breaking skin, leaving darkening crescents that instantly welled blood. He shook Pete like prey, teeth tearing at his bicep, his flank, leaving a trail of stinging, bleeding marks across Pete’s trembling skin.
Mark dropped the basket with a clatter, instinctively stepping forward. "M-Master Karn—" Karn released Pete just long enough to whirl on Mark. A furred hand grabbed Mark’s upper arm, yanking him close. Karn’s teeth found the junction of Mark’s neck and shoulder, biting down hard. Mark gasped, tears springing to his eyes as sharp pain radiated from the bite. Karn bit Mark’s chest, his hip, his thigh, each bite sharp and possessive, leaving angry red-purple marks blooming across Mark’s naked body beside the stark black collar. The air filled with the sounds of sharp breaths, bitten-off cries, and the wet sound of Karn’s teeth breaking skin.
As abruptly as the biting frenzy began, it shifted. Karn shoved Pete backwards with surprising force. Pete stumbled, legs hitting the low, sleek leather sofa tucked against the window wall. He fell onto it with a soft ‘oof’, landing on his back, his cock, despite the terror, fully erect and straining upwards. Karn shed the wolf head hood, his own face flushed, eyes dark and intense, saliva glistening at the corner of his lips. He didn’t hesitate. He straddled Pete’s hips, his tailored trousers rough against Pete’s bare thighs, and leaned down, capturing Pete’s mouth in a deep, demanding kiss.
Pete moaned into Karn’s mouth, a confused mix of lingering pain and sudden, overwhelming arousal. Karn ground his hips down, the hard ridge of his own erection pressing against Pete’s through the fabric of his trousers, directly onto Pete’s leaking cock. Mark, trembling, moved behind Karn. His hands, tentative at first, then firmer, began kneading the tense muscles of Karn’s shoulders through the thick fur of the costume. Karn groaned into Pete’s mouth, the sound vibrating against Pete’s lips, his hips rocking more insistently against Pete’s trapped erection.
Karn broke the kiss, panting slightly. His gaze locked onto Pete’s flushed face, then slid down his body. He shifted his weight, sliding down Pete’s torso until his face hovered over Pete’s straining cock. He opened his mouth, licking a long, hot stripe up the shaft before taking the head between his lips, sucking firmly. Pete arched off the sofa with a choked gasp. "Mark," Pete breathed, his voice ragged, urgent. He met Mark’s wide, terrified eyes over Karn’s fur-covered back. "Now. Mouth. Put it in my mouth. Hurry."
Understanding dawned, warring with Mark’s ingrained fear. He shuffled forward on his knees beside the sofa, his own erection bobbing heavily. He leaned over Pete’s face, guiding himself towards Pete’s open, waiting mouth. Pete took him in eagerly, sucking deeply as Mark gasped, his hands tightening reflexively on Karn’s shoulders. Simultaneously, Mark lowered his head, his lips finding Karn’s cock straining against his wolf clothes. He fumbled with the fly, freeing it, and took Karn into his mouth with desperate, clumsy suction.
The room dissolved into a tangle of limbs, muffled groans, and wet, sucking sounds. Karn sucked Pete relentlessly, his own cock thrusting shallowly into Mark’s mouth. Mark bobbed on Karn, his own cock buried deep in Pete’s throat, Pete’s muffled moans vibrating around him. The rhythm built, frantic and desperate, fueled by adrenaline, pain, and Karn’s overwhelming need. Pete’s hips bucked uncontrollably against Karn’s mouth. Mark shuddered, his movements on Karn becoming jerky. Karn’s own thrusts into Mark’s mouth grew harder, faster.
It hit them almost simultaneously. Pete came first, a strangled cry escaping around Mark’s cock as hot pulses flooded Karn’s mouth. The vibration triggered Mark; he tore his mouth from Karn with a gasp as his own release surged into Pete’s throat. Pete swallowed convulsively. The sensation of Mark pulsing in his mouth, combined with Karn’s relentless suction, pushed Karn over the edge. He groaned, deep and guttural, his hips snapping forward as he emptied himself into Mark’s mouth.
Silence descended, heavy and thick, broken only by ragged breathing. Karn slowly pulled back from Pete, wiping his mouth with the back of his fur-covered hand. He stood up, adjusting his clothes with brisk, efficient movements. The terrifying intensity was gone from his eyes, replaced by a calm, almost cheerful detachment. He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if loosening stiff muscles. "Refreshed," Karn announced, his voice perfectly normal, light even. He walked past the sofa without a glance at Pete, still gasping, covered in bite marks and drying saliva, or Mark, kneeling beside him, trembling and spent. Karn settled back into his chair at the sleek conference table, pulled his tablet towards him, and began scrolling through reports as if nothing had happened. Pete and Mark remained on the sofa, discarded, the scent of sex and blood mingling with the sterile office air.
The silence after Karn’s storm was absolute, thick and cloying like spilled syrup. Pete lay gasping on the cool leather sofa, the sharp sting of fresh bite marks blooming across his neck, shoulder, and thigh a counterpoint to the dull ache in his jaw. Mark knelt beside him, trembling, the taste of Karn still sharp on his tongue, his own body humming with spent adrenaline and the nauseating cocktail of fear and unwanted arousal. Karn’s cheerful humming as he tapped at his tablet, already immersed in work, was the most terrifying sound of all.
Pete groaned, pushing himself up on unsteady arms. The movement made the bite on his shoulder throb. "C'mon," he rasped, his voice shredded. He grabbed Mark’s wrist, his grip surprisingly strong despite the exhaustion. "Help me up. Desk. Behind the bookshelf. Now." He stumbled, forcing Mark to bear some of his weight as they shuffled away from the sofa and the lingering scent of sex and violence.
They navigated around the sleek conference table where Karn sat, oblivious, and towards the towering, minimalist bookshelf masking the back corner of the office. Pete practically collapsed onto the thick carpet behind it, hidden from Karn’s direct view, pulling Mark down beside him. He pressed his back against the cool wood, eyes squeezed shut for a second, breathing hard. "Fuck," he whispered, the sound raw. "Someone. Must have really pissed him off. In that executive meeting. Just now."
Mark huddled closer, his bare skin pebbling with gooseflesh despite the office warmth, the black collar suddenly feeling heavier. "Is he... always like that?" he breathed, the memory of Karn’s wolf-muzzled snarl, the sharp pain of his teeth, still vivid. "The... biting? The... the..."
Pete cracked an eye open, looking impossibly weary. "The Satan sign? Yeah. Sometimes. When the pressure cooker blows." He managed a weak, shaky smirk. "Be fucking grateful... we weren't the root of it. This time." He winced, touching a particularly angry bite on his bicep. "Just the... pressure release valve."
Mark swallowed hard. "The... root? What happens to them?" His voice was barely audible.
Pete’s smirk vanished, replaced by a sudden, deep-seated dread that made him look older. He leaned in, his whisper dropping even lower, urgent. "The root? Gets the hellish revenge no one could think of. Karn gets... creative. Vicious." He shuddered, a full-body tremor. "I was the root once. Early days. Minor screw-up, but it pissed off the wrong shareholder. Karn... took it personally."
He paused, the memory clearly visceral, painful. "He rode my cock. The whole night. Wouldn't let me come. Not once. Just... kept going. Hard. Until I was raw. Shaking. Couldn’t... couldn't erupt a single drop more. Dry. Empty." Pete’s voice cracked. "Left me useless for days. Every move hurt. And the look in his eyes..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if to dislodge the image. "Not human."
Mark froze. Utterly still. The color drained from his face, leaving him ashen. The Nova Forge presentation felt like another lifetime. The black tag probation, the collar, the nudity – suddenly trivial horrors compared to the abyss Pete had just described. His own cock, half-turgid from the recent encounter, shriveled completely. A low, involuntary murmur escaped him, more to himself than Pete: "I must not make Karn angry. Ever."
Pete met his terror-stricken gaze, his own exhaustion etched deep. He nodded once, a grim finality in the gesture. "Yeah, Mark," he breathed, the word heavy with shared understanding and residual fear. "That’s the right decision."