Keep Young and Beautiful

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. FICTION. FICTION. FICTION.
Hello all. This is a story about two dudes, Aiden, a cowardly little slave, and Shiva, his jackass master. In the fututre this will be an interactive story (i.e. I post a selection of events and you all vote on what you want to see) but for the first three or so chapters, I'm in charge. Because of the nature of interactive stories, the warnings in the original summary are only for the chapters I have planned so far. I'll post new warnings as they appear.

Nothing bad happens in this chapter But lots will happen in the next one. For now, enjoy Shiva being a creeper and Aiden being a pussy.
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But for the nurse who washed him when he was very young, and the occasional bumping into someone in the hall, Aiden had never been touched. He didn’t think about this fact, even as he saw others touch, be it a hug or a fight or one of the kisses he would accidentally chance upon. Touch, from others, was not something he thought of himself as lacking or wanting. It was just as well that people didn’t seem incline to touch him anyway.

He was almost fully grown at sixteen, with just two inches left between him and adulthood. At five feet and four inches, his thin frame made him look even smaller than he was. Aiden, having never known his beautiful mother or father, was not very aware of his own looks. The one thing he prided himself on was his bright red hair.

He was the only red head in the whole house.

For as long as he could remember, he had been told that he was a slave. Or that he belonged to a person whose name was nothing more than ‘Master.’ However, he had not been brought up with the other slaves, of whom there were many more than he thought. His only interaction with them was with the brusque old woman who had acted briefly as his nurse and his tutors, who were equally impersonal.

His education was looked after by an array of different people, each one spending time with him at least once in the course of a week. Aiden had little time to think of other things but his studies, and after sixteen years of this he would read and write, he knew the basics of science and the whole of history. He knew two languages, Sal and Challte, Sal being the language of slaves and commoners, and Challte being the much more elegant and extremely complex speech of the rich.

At sixteen Aiden became aware of something that, though he had felt the sudden urges that puberty produced, he had always missed. Sex exploded around him.

It started as he saw the other slaves his age, whom he had watched from afar as long as he could remember, start to be open about their feelings for one another.

All of them, raised in slavery and born to work, had the herd mentality of prize cattle. They understood that they were expected to bred others like themselves, that they had been gathered together by some unseen hands, and now it was time to pass on their genes.

The best among them paired off, each of them knowing who their mate was after spending their lives together and testing to see who was superior. From best to worst this happened, with the only quarrels started as the stock grew more mediocre. When the stakes were as low as they could be, the fights became more vicious.

As an outsider, Aiden wasn’t sure if he should be amazed or appalled by the others’ complacency. He watched and understood the smoothness with which the breeding machine worked, but, having been made to read up on the subject of slavery, he knew that such a system was highly amoral.

Inhumane though it was, it couldn’t be stopped by his disapproval. Between lessons, he had to traverse large portions of the manor, cutting through courtyards and winding through halls before he reached a familiar door. In these travels he began to see the others fulfilling their new job.

At first they kept to quiet corners and dark alcoves. They shared kisses and traded pets, sometimes going so far as to whisper to each other. Then they grew more bold, giving one another looks and indiscreet squeezes when they were too busy to bother at that time. Soon it was not unusual to see two people wrapped in each others’ arms, tasting skin and feeling what they could not see.

Once Aiden walked past a closet whose door shook as a woman on the other side groaned.
When sex wasn’t around him physically, it was all he could think about. He replayed the gasps and moans he had chanced to hear, his mind boggled at the idea of so much voluntary touching.

Aiden knew from his tutors that sex was the production of children. What he really wanted to know, though, was why people did it other than that.


He started to take walks in the evening, hoping the still warm air off the desert encircling the manor would clear his addled brains. There was a large veranda on the western side of the manor, which over looked the oasis that dared to obscure the surrounding desert. It was there that Aiden walked, most nights. At one end there were the slave counters, which he never visited, and at the other end were the few residential apartments. These all had an additional terrace built onto the veranda, so that their occupants could look out over the desert should they want to.

Aiden was walking through the beginning of the residential section when he first heard a noise coming from one of the apartments. More than one sounds, it was the combination of male and female voices and the squeaking of bedsprings. He blushed and hurried past the locked door.

He had made it to the next small terrace and planned to go further when he heard a voice call out to him.

“Aiden.”

It was a man’s voice, alien to him though, for he had never heard a voice so smooth and deep. He turned to his left, where it had come from, and saw a large wicker chair facing out over the oasis. It was pushed up a few feet from the stone railing on the terrace. In the darkness he couldn’t make out the occupant, but he could just see a hand on one of the arms and the glowing tip of a cigarette.

He walked cautiously over to the chair, emitting a quiet ‘Yes, sir?’ as he approached. He stopped some feet behind the chair, now seeing the top of a blonde head. From the size of the chair he guessed that the man most be quite tall. A hand emerged and gestured for him to come closer. He did, stopping not a foot from the arm of the chair now.

He could see a proud profile in the faint light, the gradient of the hair from near white to a dark gold color, and in the darkness the followed between the head, hands and where he knew the ground to be, he saw his assumption of size was correct.

“No, boy.” The voice was annoyed, speaking Challte. A hand springing into view and pointing in front of the body. “Here.”

Aiden swallowed, scurried to where he was told to go. He watched his feet and remembered his place as a servant.

“What can I do for you, sir?"

The light moved as the man in the chair drew from his cigarette. He sat up, the chair whining under him as he leaned forward for a better look at Aiden.

“Lookit me.”

Aiden looked up, seeing the outlines of the man’s face and the hard gleam in his eyes.

The face ceased in a smile, smoke flowing out of the nostrils and blowing upward in the windless air. Aiden could make out a strong nose and cheekbones, and big straight teeth holding the cigarette in the mouth. His gaze moved back up to the eyes, the light flaring as the man breathed in.

They were almost completely black, though there was a strange grey circle right around the pupil. Aiden swallowed again, not sure that eyes could do that.

“How old are you, Aiden?”

He blinked, wondering how the man knew his name.

“Sixteen, sir.”

“You’ve lived here your whole life.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man sat back, took the cigarette from his mouth and blew forth a cloud of smoke.

“Have you ever thought,” he started, snubbing the cigarette in what was either a small ashtray or the arm of the chair, “about who owns all this?”

Aiden shook his head, feeling suddenly cold as the darkness and the night set in.

“No, sir, not much.”

The man hummed.

“Why not?”

“I just… never did.”

The man moved, crossing one leg over the other. Aiden heard the chair squeak again.

“You’re a slave, Aiden.” Somehow he knew there was a finger jabbing at him through the gloom. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, sir. I know.”

“So what’s your job here?”

Aiden licked his lips and shivered.

“Sir?”

“Every slave has a job, something they do for the rest of the house. What’s your job as a slave?”

Despite the calmness of the man’s voice, Aiden could feel he was being laughed at in some odd way. He looked down.

“I don’t really… have one, sir.”

“You ever think about why?”

“No, sir.”

A laugh flowed from the darkness, rhythmic and soft. Aiden blushed as the hair on his airs stood up.

“Well,” the voice strained now, the chair suddenly protesting loudly as the man stood. In the light from the house, Aiden saw the silhouette grow up from the chair, finally stopping some two feet above him. He froze, feeling his legs grow small under him.

Light bounced off the man as he stood, coloring his hair and making it look like his head was surrounded by a wavy hallo. He looked down at Aiden, the sides of the face catching bits of light as he smiled again.

Aiden had stepped back, now pressing against the railing. The man, towering so close, reached out with both hands and took hold of Aiden’s head. He yelped and squirmed, first at the sudden unbelievable coldness of the man’s hands, and then trying to avoid contact at all. He tried to pull the hands away but they held on. He hated touching other people.

The man held on, keeping Aiden’s head still with ease despite his attempts at thrashing. He leaned down, eye level with the boy, and within an inch of his face.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

Aiden, holding both hands at their wrists, stared at the man. He could just make out the eyes in the little darkness between them. They were focused completely on him.

Mesmerized, he shook his head.

There was another laugh, vibrating through the man as he slipped one hand into Aiden’s hair. The long fingers unfolded there, making his shiver as the other hand, pushed his head back. The man stood up straighter, still bending over Aiden and watching him.

“I’m surprised. You look just like your mother. And she had a tough time avoiding kisses.” One icy finger reached down and stroked his neck, while the other hand played with his hair.

Aiden closed his eyes, freezing under the hands.

“Cold?”

“Yes.” He squeaked.

He could feel the man’s breath on his face, smell the freshly smoked tobacco and the musk of what could have been cologne. He was shaking all over, clinging to the man’s wrists for no other reasons than needing their support.

“If you’re cold,” the hands suddenly released, shaking off Aiden as they pulled away, “you can go inside.”

He opened his eyes, moving slowly away as the man watched him calmly. He put five feet between them, ten, fifteen, he turned back the way he had come, ready to run past the lovers and forget the meeting had ever happened.

He heard the man’s voice drift through the air as he hummed again.

“Aiden.”

He stopped, frozen some ten feet from the noisy love nest. He didn’t turn to see if the man had followed him.

“Tell those lovebirds that Master says to keep it down.”

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Welp. There's your first chapter. Like I said earlier, this is going to become an interactive story, but for now I'm going to work out the first few chapters. Tell what you all think, I hope to have the next (much dirtier chapter) up soon.