Please see original story (www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/historical/the-heathens) for warnings and copyright. Highlights: All fiction. All rights reserved. Includes sex between young-adult and adult men. Go away if any of that is against your local rules. Practice safer sex than my characters. Write if you like, but flamers end up in the nasty bits of future stories. Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html to keep the cum coming.
I moved to the side of the stable and spent minutes coaxing my sin-obsessed part to the point that I could finally let loose with my own stream. Halfway through, I began to think of the man -- my new Master? I quivered and moaned softly -- and his own stream. My own piss stopped as if cut with a knife as I stiffened sinfully. What would it be like. NO! No! I will not give in to the Demons of the Great Enemy and their temptation! NO! ...and yet, I could not force myself soft as His image, pissing, caressing, tugging -- LORD HELP ME -- invaded my mind and soul.
The Heathens 2: Puppies & Gemstones
By Bear Pup
M/T; no sex
I was shaking hard and returned to the bed of blankets, at a complete loss on how to handle these demons tormenting my soul. The bear of a man returned and could sense that I was scared and confused. He knelt down and pulled me to him, hugging me lightly as a fellow Christian might, filled with reassurance and caring. I melted into him, momentarily ignoring the guilt of my body's betrayal.
I purred, literally purred as one arm embraced me and the other massive paw caressed down my bare chest. I quivered with shameful, unmentionable need. He stroked the lightly-haired area below my throat and I nearly screamed when his rough but tender hands reached my swollen nipples. I was panting with desire as his hand slid lower and lower, petting the spearhead of hair that disappeared into my pants. I realised just how achingly, sinfully hard I was.
I couldn't bear the thought of this powerful and beautiful man recognising my unpardonable shame and pulled back as his hand reached the top of my sleep-pants. I turned, fighting tears, desperate not to reveal my perversion. My eyes suddenly found those of the servant. They blazed with fire. I could tell in an instant that this coreligionist knew the depths and depravity of my sin. I hung my head, looking at neither of them.
The warrior stood and lifted me like a feather in his incredibly strong and massive arms, bringing my ear to his mouth but leaving me to face the disgust of the servant. I was shocked to find that he actually spoke in a way that I found easy to understand.
"That a brave and special man is, who better than any son for years has served me." His voice was husky, deep; soft and rough, hard and tender at the same time. "He is afraid. He knows he is losing the life with me he has known. He knows you will replace him, the pain it compounds. And he is gravely injured; oh, heal he will and be strong, but for now he can barely walk, and with immense pain then. Pain upon pain upon pain. Can you to comfort him do what you can? Can you for me do that, little pup?"
I finally saw the hurt and misery under the servant's fiery gaze. The warrior was right, this was a person who needed compassion, needed something that finally I was actually able to give. I'd do anything for this mountain of a man, but this was also my duty as a Christian, and might help me focus on something other than the {gulp} aching sin still desperate below my cotton belt.
I went to him quickly, reaching down to help him rise, taking his weight from his injured leg. I recited a prayer that I was confident that he would know. He was shocked and touched, and I could feel him loosen his grief and pain. I murmured calming and soothing sounds. I was not one for herbs, but I was gifted by God with a healing voice.
I also noticed that this young man had one thing in common with me; he was achingly hard. I led him to the outhouse and supported him as he awkwardly relieved the tension in his bladder. The scents of his piss and those of his, um, manly area, rocked through me. The scent was divine, enticing, teasing my own demons almost beyond my endurance. Shamefully, disgustingly, I found myself looking at that part of him. It was long, smooth, looking both silky and stony and inviting. I nearly wept as I felt a surge of need to lean forward and take in my mouth.
He finished and covered himself, more relaxed. He asked, "What is your name, my son?"
I had dreaded this question since the first. My parents had known from my birth, through the intervention of the Holy Spirit, that I was unworthy and would grow into sin. They gave me a name to remind me and force my mind back to God and His holy word whenever my name was called. It was their attempt to save me from the fate that had been ordained, but could be averted through strict and scrupulous adherence to the Laws of God.
"I am Ayib, sir." It was more than a mumble, but not by much. My name meant Shame.
I had forgotten briefly that this was a man of the faith. "That is the name you allow heathens to call you. What is your real name? I am Strasta to the world, including to Harcos my master, but I an Matthaios within the Family of Christ. Who are you, my son, within the flock of the Great Shepherd?"
Oh, how I hated to admit this. This man might not know the subtleties of our local tongue, but he would never, never mistake the meaning of the name I was given in baptism. In a voice more suited to a mouse than a boy, I replied, "Within God's fold I am Boseth." Again, my name is my shield and my curse, I am Shame.
His breath hissed in as he recognised just how disgusting I was. To bear such a name within the Family of God was incontrovertible proof of my sin, my disgrace, my unworthiness to serve the great man that was his master.
"You have been given THAT a s name both within and outside the Faith? Why?" I could more answer than I could call forth angels. He prodded and probed, not on that subject but others, but my voice had fled in my humiliation and degradation. I could not meet his eyes nor do more than support him as we walked back to the house where his master would pass judgement upon me.
He grabbed the warrior's boot and drew him down to whisper. I could not catch what was being said, but knew to the depths of my soul that the servant was revealing my true self. Any hope that I had of becoming a helpmeet to this magnificent bear of a barbarian was gone, undone in an instant. Tears leaked from my eyes.
Through the servant, the glorious barbarian spoke to my parents. Both voices clear, strong and certain. I looked at no one but the warrior, praying that he would catch my eye and bestow mercy that I knew in my heart that I did not deserve.
"This boy," me, "has no training. He has none of the skills that a warrior requires. I rescind my offer. He is not suitable." I dropped my eyes and simply wept, weak and devastated, but my God-given soul agreed. I knew he was right. I knew that I was less than nothing and beneath his -- anyone's -- notice.
Father and Mother were struck dumb. I didn't really care but took some satisfaction that their plans laid in the same tatters as my own life now did. I could tell they had already decided how to spend the wealth this, in their eyes, ignorant soldier was willing to give in exchange for me, something they would gladly pay to have removed from their home. They were frantic.
"This young one has great worth and great potential. He is more than wor..."
The man I had hoped to serve cut him off with a curt and loud, "NO!" and spoke through the servant again.
"Does he know the healing herbs? No. Can he fight? No. Does he know marching, camping? No. Is he skilled with the horse or the mule or the wheels? The armour and weapons and kit? NO!"
Every sentence was a knife to my heart, a fatal blow to my tattered soul. Not because they were hurtful, spiteful or mean, but because they were true. I knew this, and my family did as well.
"And above all that, what do YOU have to offer my beloved Strasta? I promised to treat this young man as my own. How could I leave him in," voice dripping derision as he scanned the humble, dirty home, "this place? What can he expect for a future among you? Nothing. NOTHING!"
I was, however, deeply satisfied with the looks of shocked and horrified disbelief on my parent's faces. Inkar, my eldest brother began to speak, looking for a way to grab some small victory. He drew Ismet, whose name (if not intention) meant Chasity, into the fray and between them they concocted a plan.
"We will give your surrogate son our eldest daughter, pure and true in body and faith, and embrace him in our family and our faith as if born to us. What else do you want, honoured lord?"
"Strasta," the servant again indicated himself as he translated the warrior's words, "is a strong man with many skills were learned at great cost. He will enrich and protect your family. That scrawny little puppy of a boy has no skills at all and limited potential, but he is... moderately attractive." I could sense my family's disgust riding alongside their greed.
I ceased to listen. The barbarian shrewdly lauded the virtues of his servant, building the greed in the hearts of my family. The massive man spoke of his protection, the strength of his name, the value of being good to one he considered a son. On the matter of Father's offer of my eldest sister, Harcos openly sneered at Ismet, something that I would cherish to the end of my miserable days. He told that he would give the money intended for me to his servant instead to use a dowry and explained that if Strasta met anything other than happiness and fulfilment, his wrath and retribution would be swift and merciless.
My head snapped up though, when I realised the import of one phrase, "Further, I will unburden you of the boy-child that you so obviously despise." I looked at the warrior in shock and desperate, gnawing hope. "Until I find better, he will be my servant and I will treat him as I have Strasta, which is more than he received in your dubious care. Is this agreed?" Was he a god and my faith unfounded, or was he an avenging angel of the One True God? That answer would have to wait...
My family exploded in cacophonous speech, talking across one another in a flurry of panic. Inkar, like Mother, wanted me gone and quickly; if this fool could not be tempted to pay for me, at least he would take me away. Ismet, along with my twin sisters and Pakliq and Safliq and the youngest girl, Etiqad fought for Father's attention, as they each seemed determined that they could capture the out-Christians' heart (and all-important dowry).
Father was unconvinced by any of the arguments and leant forward, set on negotiating a better deal for himself and, by extension, his family.
My world, so recently rebuilt, shattered into dust just as suddenly. Harcos did not let Father utter a single word. He sneered and said, "We go!" and scooped his servant into his arms as if he weighted no more than a child. I watched my hope turn with him, draining into the floor of the home I so hated and the family that so hated me in return.
It was Mother's voice that came next. She had firm hold on Father's shirt, restraining him with force. "Agreed! It will be as you say! We will do as you instruct!"
For the first time since we arrived, my Mother and the rest of the family actually looked at me. They saw first the tears, then realisation struck that they were tears not of grief but of joyous release. I felt like the condemned man set free. Mother saw it and exploded in a shriek, using the local dialect that none would likely know, "GO! You useless, filthy creature. Take yourself and your shame and serve this godless heathen!"
She was shocked to silence when the servant spoke in a strong voice and a passable version of the same lingo as he laid still cradled in the masculine bear's arms, "Never again will you speak to boy Ayib in such voice. Never yours the power to shame him, or chance to do so. Harcos is to whom he belongs, a mighty warrior of Rome. And my master's threats aside, if you test me, his anger will not be your greatest worry. I learned not only herbs and war, but mysteries so deep of the One True Faith. Be Ye Warned!"
My new master beamed with pride at Strasta who turned his head just enough that the family could not observe his wink but I could. I looked at the mortified faces of my family and nearly laughed. I took a last look at the shithole that had been my only home then looked to the servant (still afraid to look at my new master). Harcos turned and walked and I scurried to follow. The hissed or whispered imprecations of my "loved" ones fading to irrelevance.
When we reached the cart, I helped to steady and support Strasta as he and my new master divvied up items. The giant warrior kept up a running stream of things that were obviously endearments as the servant blushed furiously over and over. Some must have been promises, as Strasta would go thoughtful and look to the middle distance as his hands mechanically sorted items. I was shocked at the tenderness of the rough-hewn soldier; a giant paw would wipe away a tear from the servant's cheek or pet him affectionately on the neck or back. It was a tenderness that was alien to me. I'd never seen that kind of warm intimacy between any two people, certainly not my parents!
When they were done separating the items that Strasta would keep from those what would stay with the master and me, the huge bear leant down and pulled the servant's face to him. Staring deeply into his eyes, the warrior spoke earnestly and with apparent love. Strasta got more and more emotional until he was sobbing openly. The massive, powerful man finally stood, caressed the servant's cheek and muttered about going into the woods to cut a crutch. I saw a tear roll down the mighty warrior's cheek as he turned and strode away.
Strasta turned to me and gently took my chin in his hand and made me look at him. His red eyes shone with sincerity as he told me about the prowess of Harcos and his truthfulness, tenderness, goodness and especially his unshakable loyalty. My new master, he said, would give those things gratis but Strasta would haunt me if I did not take it upon myself to earn them as well.
"Harcos is the most wonderful person that I could ever wish to have known, much less served," Strasta was crying again with the words. "You, Ayib, the luckiest man-child in the Empire of Rome. You have been given a gift from the Lord God on High; as with all His gifts, you now must work to deserve it."
My eyes still wide, Strasta pulled himself together like a true warrior and went from sentimental to business-like in a heartbeat. He started to teach me at breakneck speed. I tried to remember everything he told me and repeated it back often so he could correct me. Herbs, wounds, precious water, spices. Massaging life into wounded muscles, clothes with impossibly-arcane assembly instructions, how to care for each type of weapon and clean gore from various types of armour, leather and cloth. Of being ready when the master woke, dressing him and 'taking care of all needs' (I wondered at that). Being ready at each moment for sudden danger and violence. Who to trust and learn from, who to avoid or ignore when possible. The dangers that might impact Harcos that I alone could spot and remove.
This went for what seemed an eternity as the sun slowly climbed the sky. As it reached its zenith, we could hear Harcos rustling in our direction. My head swum with info, with question I longed to ask, with things I was sure I had not understood. As Harcos approached, Strasta switched gears and began to ask me about the pit of vipers in which he'd landed.
My voice dripped venom as I described Mother's cruelty and control and Father's tyranny as he struggled with her dominance. How any form of intimacy was the ultimate taboo and fiercely, violently suppressed. Of Inkar's growing fanaticism in the warped version of the One True Faith, of Etiqad's quiet but fierce rejection of his beliefs. The scheming of the twins and the lustful desperation of Ismet. Where to hide when Mother was in a rage and to whom he could turn if Father became irrational. I left him wide-eyed, worried but resolute, when Harcos returned with a branch he had measured, stripped, forked and even padded for his use.
Just before Harcos was in earshot, Strasta leant forward and whispered, "Call him Harcos. He has never liked the idea of being someone's 'master'. And... and let him love you. He is a true gift from the One True God. And never, never tell him I said anything."
He wiped his eyes and suddenly Harcos had him in those massive arms. I caught very little, but one phrase rang through, "I will miss you so much my little rooster." Both shed tears at the parting of the ways. The warrior wiped the tears from his servant's face and simply ignored those on his own. I helped Strasta onto his crutch, and walked with him to the door of what had become his home. I whispered, "May you find all of the love in this home that I have missed," and gave the young man the chaste kiss of the Brotherhood of Christ.
I returned to the barbarian. I walked beside him as he pulled upon the laden cart and we moved toward the main road around which the miserable town huddled, trying to siphon off what trade they could. I watch him and little else as we walked. I followed in his wake -- or to his side and a pace back -- and watched the muscles move under his shirt, his pants. His shoulders and arms and thighs and... parts. He smelled of... I pondered that carefully and for a long time, relishing his scent and the despising the tightness it brought to my shameful parts. I finally decided on three things: He smelled of adventure. He smelled of ferocity. He smelled of work yet to be done.
We had travelled away from the straggly edge of the hamlet perhaps three hours, perhaps halfway to dusk, when the Warrior moved to the side of the track, pulling me and the cart into the bushy growth. He trudged for a dozen yards or more before coming into a halt in a clearing surrounded by thickets. I could hear the faint tinkle of water and recalled some of the advice that Strasta had given. Without thought to permission or propriety, I grabbed two large water-skins and cookpot from the cart and dashed to the little stream.
I returned with all three filled with fresh and startlingly-cold water. I stepped into the clearing and came up short. The warrior had arranged a sort of half-tent covering the cart and a wide section next to it, easily room for us both to sleep. The beginnings of a fire cracked with no smoke at all. He sat on his heels and simply stared at me. His brow close and his barbarian features unreadable to me. I froze, torn between Strasta's assurances, the imposing and terrifying presence of this massive bear of a man, and my own disgusting and shameful desires.
He watched me. I could no more move than a hare in the gaze of an adder. Finally he grunted and dropped his eyes, and motioned me forwards. I stumbled to him and shyly, not daring to look, offered him one of the icy water-skins. He drank deeply then doused his head and shoulders and huffed at the cold.
"We learn talk to each other now. Today. Tomorrow." He looked at me expectantly and I nodded. He smiled and made a 'more' gesture and I blushed, realising I'd stayed mute even though the topic was supposed to be communication.
I shyly said in my best high-toned language, "Mas... Harcos, I would like to learn from you."
He laughed and said. "I told Strasta not talk you about what I like, but I see he told about Master." A look of love and loss filled his face, "I will miss that boy, little one." I hung my head, knowing that I would need years to fill Strasta's shoes.
His voice became harsh, but kind. "I cannot say Ayib and will not use your sacred name. They both offend me." My head snapped up to his eyes; they were filled with concern, anger and kindness. "If you want called those names, ask others. I need a word for you."
He tilted his head left, then right. I was both elated and terrified. The next few moment might well shape my life. "In your strange tongue," he said in higher language, "what call you the lovely son of the dog?" I was shocked and pleased. I felt like a puppy around this enormous 'dog' of a man. How could he have known this?
"We call such a one Kucuk [Ed: see * below], ma-, Harcos, sir."
"You are Kucuk to me then. And I know have you sacred name, shared with those belonging your faith. I will name have you that we will share to none. You will be my Dasqas*.
[*Kucuk is more-or-less pronounced koo-CHOOK, and is actually spelt k - u umlaut - c-cedilla (the c with the question-mark under it which can be ch or ts) - u umlaut - k. Dasqas is, for this, DAHSS-kahsh Da - s cedilla (sss or sh) - k - s cedilla. Note: I fucking HATE everything about ANSI encoding!]
I fell at his feet and cried. He called me puppy, and his sacred name for me was gem or jewel. I had lived as Shame, both within and outside the Brotherhood of Christ, my entire life. This powerful man -- this godsend, this warrior, this complete stranger -- saw me as a rare gem and an adorable puppy. I wept away a lifetime of self-loathing.
And he let me.
A lifetime later, he pried me from his boot and sat me upon his knee. He looked with sombre and knowing eyes into my red, puffy and childish ones. "We left that place and never you looked back. Never you cried. Never you hesitated. You wanted to with me go?"
"More than anything I wanted, ever. I will serve you, Harcos, in all things. Please let me! Please teach me! Please let me become, in time, your Strasta."
A cloud passed over his face. "You will never be Strasta." My heart died in that moment, but rejoiced the next, "You my Kucuk will be. You my Dasqas will become. Strasta has life anew, and so thus you." I hung my head at this, overcome with the knowledge that Strasta had been right. This was a gift from the One True God.
As you know, I am a very new author. I started posting less than six weeks ago. Input and comments from readers like you have really made a difference in my stories and my style. Please let me know what you like, don't like and don't really care about. It will make my stories better.
Stories so far, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Canvas Hell: 11 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/ Karl & Greg: 14 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/ The Heathens: 3 chapters, more coming, .../historical/the-heathens/ Beaux Thibodaux: 3 chapters, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ Mud Lark Holler: 2 chapters, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler Turntable Rehab: 3 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services Off the Magic Carpet: 1 chapter, not sure yet, .../military/off-the-magic-carpet Temple Street: 5 chapters (on hiatus), .../authoritarian/temple-street/ Virtual Master: 1 story (not a series), .../authoritarian/virtual-master