Little One 2

Hello! Here we are once again. Bit of a medium length chapter with a look into Rene's past. This has been in my head for a long time, it just never fit in with LO 1. Without much more ado...
Slinki... glad you are intrigued!
Thank you to all those who have reviewed!

~~


Days after the night Kateri’s husbands had returned to her, after Kaia had been cornered in the alcove by her Empress, Kaia sat contemplating by a window, framed beautifully by the slanting light that streamed in from the window.

She heard movement behind her and turned with a bright smile, knowing who it was before he tapped her shoulder.
Rene helped Kaia to her feet in the main room of the harem; she was having difficulty learning to move in the skirts and dresses she was clothed in each morning. She grasped his arm and smiled, a gesture he returned politely. Hers was filled with sickly sweet warmth.

Camion watched the tender display between the two with something akin to disgust. Rene, for all his careful observations about the people around him, had obviously missed the way the girl had become attached to him.

Camion shook his head, he didn’t have time to worry over the girl’s infatuation. He turned in the direction Rene had gone and slipped quietly into the other man’s personal room. He knocked and entered without waiting for a response.

Rene looked up at Kateri’s general with a small feeling of unease. The other man was much bigger than him, and had always intimidated him.

“Can I help you?” he inquired with forced politeness.

Camion didn’t answer, he stalked to Rene’s side, seized the delicate man by the back of his head and raise him out of his seat. Their lips crashed together and Camion’s hand desperately groped Rene’s backside. This made

Rene squeal into his mouth and jump nearly out of his skin.

“What the hell?!” he screeched after shoving Camion away.

Camion shook his head and reached for him again, pulling Rene close. He buried his face in the slave’s neck and held them tightly together.

Shocked and unsure of what was going on, Rene allowed this. He wasn’t being groped anymore, and he supposed if
Camion just needed to hold him, that was alright too.

That changed when Camion turned his head and began nibbling on Rene’s neck.

“Oh, come on, what is happeneing here? You don’t like guys, why in the world are you doing this?” Rene tried to sound reproving and calm but even to his ears he sounded nervous and jumpy. He was hoping his words would make the larger man come to his senses.

“I really don’t want to talk about it. If you can’t do this, point me to someone who can. And yes, I mean a guy.”

Rene, for all his careful mastery of a million guises to please clients, couldn’t hide the blatant shock at the words. He had known Camion for as long as he had been a part of Kateri’s harem. He had shared women with the man, but those times were tense for the two of them, both trying valiantly to avoid touching each other intimately. The hang ups were mostly Camion’s, Rene had been with dozens of men, and more than a few of them he had enjoyed the company of greatly. There were quite a few he hated, despised, but overall he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the occasional male body.

Rene closed his eyes and relaxed in Camion’s grip. Despite the other man’s words, it was unlikely he would handle being with another man so well. They knew each other at least, and Rene could recognize his need for comfort. More importantly, Rene knew the importance of discretion needed in this case; one of the harem boys may gossip, and Camion would not want such information spread about.
Hands wandered over his body, tangled in his hair, pressed their faces close enough to kiss again. Rene hung limp, accepting.

~~~~~~

The cat was mangy. Its skin clung desperately to weak bones, fur dull from malnourishment. Two boys threw rocks at it and sent it scampering away from its vigilant search among the refuse for a scrap of food. One rock ricocheted of a nearby brick wall and knocked into the cat that had skillfully avoided all other projectiles aimed at it.

“Hey, hey! Leave her alone!”

The boys turned laughingly to the smaller child rushing towards them in righteous indignation. “She didn’t do anything to you! Leave her alone!”

This did not prove to be the best course of action, the small child would reflect later, as this left the two boys with a new victim to torture.

When the child limped home, a tear fell from hazy green eyes. Long, dirty blond hair fell in front of those eyes and brushed the top of an overlarge, tattered shirt that hid a slender form of a person too often hungry.

The Madam, it was the only name the child had ever consistently heard applied to the large, grandious woman who ran their lives, was in the hall outside their room, and the child, with lowered head, raced inside the room before she could speak. But tiny feet were not quick enough and she caught the lowered chin, tilting a tear streaked and beaten face towards her.

“What happened to you?”

“I got beat up,” fell from thin lips more like ghosted, shaped air than actual words.

“You shouldn’t speak so quietly, I would hate to have to repeat myself to ask you to speak again. Go in, she’s
waiting for you.”

Mother, the skinny, sickly woman, sat on the bed. She looked up at the door opening and held out her hands to greet her only child. The voice of Madam carried through the walls, and she knew of their brief encounter. How often had Madam insinuated that her precious baby was beautiful and delicate enough to join her profession? She wouldn’t allow it, and kept her baby by her side as much as she could. She regretted those times she could not though, for this was not the first time her little child had returned bruised and battered from the boys in the town.

With the tenderness inborn in a mother, she placed the tiny figure on her lap and cradled it softly. So very little, delicate, breakable was her little boy.

He cried in her arms, letting the pain of the boys beating that had nothing to do with the forming bruises and bloody scratches on his body. They had said things, things the whole town said. Some were polite enough to only whisper behind his back, others spoke outright. Either way, no one in the town was willing to give the son of a whore a chance.

She rocked him gently until he stilled; she tucked him into his bed in the corner of rags and pillows. Madam simply would not let him have a real bed; she said it would be allowed when he earned his living as his mother did.

It was morning when he woke, and his mother pushed him out the door onto the streets. She, by nature of her status as a valued whore, and by virtue of her son’s needs, took customers that came by during the day and early afternoon, and over the years had gathered quite a clientele.

He, of course, knew very little of the specifics of his mother’s work, but understood the general idea, and knew it was the reason the townspeople hated him.

When he stumbled into the dirty alley, the first thing he saw was that stupid mangy cat, hanging around the trash again. Frustrated about his beating yesterday he lashed out and kicked a rock, and it scuttled across the ground towards the starved creature. She looked back at him, but did not flinch from the short-falling rock. She looked back at him with trust, he had saved her. Cautiously, the feline approached, wary for more hostile rocks, but when none came she twined herself around his thin legs. His glare would have singed her fur, but the heat seemed to be trapped in the tears that were coursing down his cheeks.

The cat had done nothing to him, but he had tried to hurt her. She, among all other inhabitants of the town, had to understand what it was to be universally hated. That would change, he resolved, from then on he would be her friend, and she would be his.

Summer was harsh that year, and the heat ruined the boy’s appetite, or at least that was his excuse. He snuck the remaining food out the back door to his cat, Melika. The mange was receding from her fur as her ribs receded under a healthy layer of fat and building muscle.
She waited for him when he came out each morning and they would sit in the back alley. He laughed as he played with her fur, uncaring if the mange spread to him as well, the physical touch too dear to him to avoid for any reason.

In fall they were discovered by mother, who had come out to find her boy, no longer anxious to return to her room, now reluctant to leave his cat.

Winter made him bold, and in the late night he tucked Melika under his arm and carried her to his rag bed. As the weather grew colder, her belly grew beyond the generous offerings of food he sacrificed from his own plate.

When his worry grew to bursting, he asked his mother tearfully what had happened to his cat. Smiling gently, she murmured that his Melika was pregnant, and would have little baby kitties soon.

The news was the best moment of his life. He felt like the hard cobblestone’s were wispy clouds, beyond the grey clouds threatening rain he saw the bright clear sky. He would soon have more friends, little ones dependant on him and Melika to survive. That night and every night after he brought her as much food as he could spare.

In the spring when Melika was round and full to bursting of squirmy little kittens, he spent a night in the alley consoling the cat during the birth of three tiny babies.

By summer the boys approached him again, their hurtful words quieted as they inquired about taking one of the kittens each. His heart broke when they picked the furry creatures up, and Melika started at her former attackers handling her offspring.

He reasoned and consoled himself that he had done the right thing; Melika’s body would no longer strain to support them and herself any longer, he would not lay awake fretting over whether a stray dog or raccoon would savage the kittens in the night when they lay in the dark alley.

Fall and winter passed uneventfully, spring following again, and his Melika began to grow large again.

Early fall descended on the town and the boy reveled in the warm weight of newborn kittens in his arms again.

There were only two this time that survived not only birth but the first few days afterward.

He screamed when Madam handed over one of the two to a spoiled little girl to keep her from speaking of where her father spent his days to her mother when the said brat had followed him to the doorstep of the whorehouse.

He clung then, to the last kitten, solid black unlike its tawny mother. A ruff of fur framed its face, and he decided that if this kitten wanted to look so much like the puffed up parrot he had once seen in a picture book, then he would call it Feathers. He, Melika, and Feathers formed a small, tightly knit family in the back alley.

He adored both his cats, and they were both his, he would not hear a plea from the other children to give up Feathers now all his siblings were gone.

He had never been happier his whole life, nothing had ever made waking up worth while.

Melika grew big again, but not as she had before, it was a bloating, hollow of the tiny lives that had previously resided in her. The boy held her when she vomited over his arm. He hadn’t cried in so long, but when his cat closed her eyes and breathed once, last, deeply, he could not stop the hot flow that cascaded down his face and soaked into his shirt.

Had Feathers not been there in the alley waiting for him, he thought his world would have ended. But the black kitten’s plaintive mews wrenched his heart, and he knew he still had some part of Melika to hold onto. He had buried his cat, his friend, in the back alley in the dark of night. The cobblestones were loose, and the ground beneath soft from recent rains. Dirt remained under his nails from his hurried task; her grave was dug without shovels, just one little boy’s hands.

The last cobble stone he laid over her that early winter day, he carved the word Melika into, and in his eyes it was the most significant head stone ever carved.

Feathers wound around his feet, hungry stomach outweighing all else. Vaguely the boy wondered if he would feel this deep sadness if he lost his mother.

Spring returned, and the rest of the town blossomed into renewal. Madam led him into a room while his mother was busy one morning. There had been a man waiting, pants already down, and the boy turned and tried to run from the room. He was seized by the Madam, and she forced him to his knees before the man.

Tears ran like acid this time. They fell quickly into the water basin he was bent over, scrubbing out his mouth, trying to forget the taste of the man. Fearfully he refused to tell his mother; she would be hurt, and probably angry.

The Madam came for him several times a week, leading him to a room where a man waited, and afterwards he would throw up into the water basin in the corner of the room when the man was long gone. The Madam monitored his encounters he discovered when one of the clients lifted him effortlessly and placed him on the bed. The man’s hands were tugging on his waistband when the Madam arrived.

“No, none of that, you agreed to it when you arrived, if you want that, I’ll get you a different boy. Not him.”

It confused him. Over the past few weeks he had discovered more about sex than he ever wanted to. He knew what the man had tried, but why had she stopped him?

Feathers was larger now than his poor mother had ever been. The boy couldn’t stomach food nowadays, and almost his entire plate went out to the back alley to the black cat.

Summer passed, fall passed, winter and spring again.

The boy did not remember a hotter summer. The town was choking over with merchants and travelers. The press of the people and the beating the sun laid down on them drove the residents into a frenzy. The local shops, taverns, and inns couldn’t keep up with the inrush of people, and neither could the local whorehouse.

He found himself on his knees time and time again; it was a rare moment he could spend in the alley with Feathers. It was during one of those quiet soft moments that recalled a time before he had the imprint of carpet in his knees the Madam came and pulled him to a different room than the one he normally occupied.

He passed his mother’s room, a loud wanton moan a testament to his mother’s preoccupied state.

When Madam pushed him through the door before him he glanced up with disgust, hoping the man she had dragged him to wasn’t too horrid.

The sight that greeted him however, was far from horrid.

There was a man, tall and imposing, framed against the rooms sole window. He slouched casually, but his eyes warily swept over the boy. He was dark haired, but his eyes were pale grey, frighteningly close to white.

Immaculate clothes fit perfectly to a slightly portly body; he was perhaps a few years past his prime, but the fashionable clothes hid it well. A woman was next to him, long silvery hair draping over sturdy but feminine shoulders. Her dress was of the softest looking silk material, royal blue in color. It threw blue shadows into her hair and against her face, tanned and aged. Between them stood the most interesting member of the party.

She couldn’t have been much older than he was. Black hair with gentle curls framed her delicate white face, lips pouting and pink, blue eyes trained on him. When their gazes met, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Are you sure about this?”

The boy jumped at the man’s voice.

“Yes, it will be for the best,” the woman responded gently.

“Fine, get him ready to go, we need to move along.”

Go? They were making him leave? He felt his heart stop, and before he knew what he was doing, his feet carried him out the door and to the alley. Feathers mewled at his appearance and he scooped the cat up.

The Madam was fast though, and as soon as his face was buried in Feathers’ warm fur, her hand caught him by the upper arm and tried to wrench him back inside.

“NO!” he screamed.

“Put that damned mangy animal down and move it, you will go, I said put that filthy thing down!!!”

“No, I’m not leaving with anyone! I won’t leave him!” Feathers was squeezed in his arms, and the frightened cat scrambled in his arms, raking bloody lines down is arms.

“Brat! Don’t be an idiot!”

“Let him take the cat!”

Madam froze, and the boy looked up. The girl had chased them both and stood in the doorway. She looked afraid, and it took him a moment to realize that her fear was for him, his safety. She straightened and said again, “Let him take the cat.” She turned to her two companions, the scowling man and the smiling woman, and said in a hushed voice “Please, it won’t be too much trouble, I’m sure. Please, let him take it.”

“My dear,” Madam began, voice wheedling, “you don’t want to deal with this… mangy creature.” The look on her face said she felt the boy was imbued with the same vile infection she accused the cat of.

“He’s not mangy!” the boy cried.

“Shut up!”

“You see, he isn’t mangy,” the girl chimed in to her two companions, ignoring the Madam’s words.

“But,” Madam began again.

“It’s fine, let him take the cat,” the woman cut them all off.

The girl smiled triumphantly. Madam gaped. The woman came around and caught him by the shoulder. Firmly she steered him around the front of the building, the man and girl following.

A carriage waited and he nervously bundled Feathers and his bloody arms closer to his body at the opulent display.

The man and woman sat on the front seat beside the driver, and the girl clambered into the carriage itself. She motioned for him to follow her when he looked questioningly after the two who sat in front. When he sat on the plush seat he looked at her again, eyes wide with wonder.

The girl was smiling, and as the carriage began to move she stretched out her hand.

“My name is Kateri, what’s yours?”

“Rene.”

~~

His hips were lifted off the bed with one particularly hard thrust. Camion was carefully tuned to the slight whimpers coming from the slave. He eased back, slowing his pace when he wanted to drive harder and faster.

Rene didn’t have to do this; there had never been any real friendship between them, but something said this went
beyond his duties as a harem slave.

When Camion sobbed dryly into his shoulder Rene ran soothing hands over his shoulders, whispered senseless words to the man whose cock was buried deep inside him.

After the long night, Camion lay curled in Rene’s arms, sunlight slanting through the window onto their twined bodies. Wrapped in the warm comfort, he knew that even without mentioning it to Rene, word of this night would never leave that room.


~~


So, wha'dya think?
KaS