Date: Sun, 19 Feb 2017 15:58:52 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 5-6

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 quieted and perhaps slipped into sleep for a moment before he lifted me
away. He clearly motioned for me to sit, pay attention, learn words. Before
my exultant and self-loathing gaze, the barbarian stretched out. He pointed
and gave me words for arm, leg, finger, foot, stomach, chest, knee... cock,
ball, bush, scrotum, taint, ass, asshole. I repeated them back robotically,
unable to process. Why teach me when tomorrow I would be thrown aside? It
didn't matter, I would learn, and take what would be my last chance to
worship this man's glory with my eyes. As my eyes began to cloud as
exhaustion clutched for me, he pulled on his own sleep-shorts and pulled me
into his warmth, scent and embrace. With a flick of the cover we were
bedded and I slept as soundly as ever I had before.

*****

The Heathens 5: Verbs Like 'to Learn'

By Bear Pup

M/T; masturbation (self and other)

I woke muzzy with my eyes glued shut. I vaguely recalled that my crying had
caused it, but that really wasn't that rare. It was really, really warm,
which I loved. I wondered if Inkar was out hunting overnight and I had
gotten the kitchen wall. I sighed in contentment. My unmentionable was
harder than the anvil, but so, so warm and happy. I moved a little and felt
it rub so wonderfully. I woke a bit more and tried soooooo hard not to
move. If I messed my sleep-shorts, both of my brothers would tattle and
Mother would go at me with the wingnut switch.

I liked this, though. I'd never felt so relaxed. Why was I happy? An image
came of a huge bear of a warrior coming to the
house. Right. Harcos. Sleeping in his arms, smelling him. That scent-memory
sent another jolt into that part and I tried really, really hard not to let
it. Mother. Wingnut switch. Father and Mother arguing. Shocked. Mother
shrieking. Not rare. Sooooooo warm.

Harcos. Strasta talking. Hygiene. Water and herbs and sandals and so many
things to remember. And all the words. Words and words and words and Harcos
teaching me and stew. Harcos' smell. So wonderful. I can smell it now. Mmm.

With a slight snore, Harcos moved a bit and his hair tickled my back. I
came shockingly, instantly awake. Tent. Harcos' arm around me. I moved
slightly, hoping to find a way to make my boyhood stop
throbbing. Pressure/pleasure/grip.

'Oh, GOD! Please! This can't be happening! Please, Lord hear me! Hear your
servant Shame! Don't let this happen!'

In his sleep, Harcos' massive paw had fallen to my unmentionable parts. He
was, was gripping me. Gripping me THERE! His breathing changed so slightly
when I moved and he rumbled deep in the chest, a purr of contentment. My
earlier comfort had flown on the wings of panic. That redoubled as I felt
his huge hand began to move, to caress, to pet and stroke and excite. With
my mind at a level of despair I'd never felt, my body didn't care and
responded, luxuriating in the forbidden touch. I bit my lip and dug my
nails deep into my forearms, hoping the shock of pain would stop this from
happening. It was much, much too late and my entire body spasmed and I
squeaked like squirrel in a snare.

I exploded, trying desperately to stay still and quiet to reduce the
humiliation and shame of my body's betrayal. I'd had no chance in three,
four days to find the privacy and secrecy to commit that most-foul sin, so
a massive and copious load of hot creamy sin poured forth, soaking my
sleep-shorts and the hand of Harcos. My innards writhed in horror that this
was happening, but I knew from mournful experience that nothing short of
God's intervention could stop this once it's started.

I felt Harcos stir more, still drowsing? Asleep? He had to feel my sin. He
*had* to. I felt his hand move again, more purposefully, moving through the
mess soaking all the way through the fabric. He chuckled sleepily and
nuzzled into my hair, "Nice little Kucuk. Shh, my puppy. Shh," and I heard
him fall back into the depths of peaceful sleep.

I lay for hours in horror. Both of the giant's arms are wrapped around
me. There is no way for me to move, much less run. Sleep? Utterly
incomprehensible! I am trapped both body and mind. Body by the arms of my
new and soon-to-be-former master. Mind by the spiralling visions of what he
will have to do with me when he finds out my depravity. He'll take me back!
A whole new world of horrors erupts at the thought. The beating and the
pain at having failed, at losing the chance to bring a rich young warrior
like Strasta into the family. And when he tells them why, tells them what
I've done...

When Harcos first stirred and rolled onto his back away from me, I was in a
state of true and utter panic. My breath and heart raced. A moved as
silently, gently as I could, desperate to escape. I untucked the cloth at
the flap just enough to allow my slight frame to escape and slithered out
into the pre-dawn light. I tucked the flap back, shivering in the chill,
and crept silently until I was a dozen spans into the brush, then ran to
the stream. I stripped my sleep-shorts of and sobbed at the mess. I sat
myself into the fast-moving water, nearly crying out with the icy
assault. My horror and humiliation, though, suppled all the warmth that I
needed as I flushed out my sleep-shorts and scratched to remove the last
shreds of drying sin from my hair and shameful parts.

When I could stand the cold no longer, I rose from the stream and moved
quietly back to the camp. I rekindled the fire from the banked coals and
gingerly waved my sodden shorts over the heat, praying for them to dry
before my boy-bits freeze off completely. Frankly, I thought, perhaps that
would be for the best. The punishment they would endure when Mother learned
of my shameful sin, I would be grateful if I had no such parts for her to
whip and thrash. Finally dry (enough), I slipped the thin shorts back onto
my shivering frame.

I had no idea what barbarians ate to break their fast, but I did know warm
water was always welcome. I crept to the cloth flap to sneak in and get the
cookpot. I teased up the lowest, furthest edge of the fabric and with a
suddenness that made me squeal like a girl, the cloth vanished and before
me was a very angry, very ferocious, very savage (and, my eyes betray me
like my body, very rampant) barbarian warrior is there, sword drawn and
ready to kill me.

I prostrate myself before him, forehead to the dirt, and cry
"Please. Harcos, please make it quick!"

"Kucuk? Puppy?" His voice is muzzy with sleep and confusion. I stay put,
weeping into the dust. "Kucuk! KUCUK!" I await the blow and am shocked into
a cry of fear when his arms pull me to him instead. "Oh, my Kucuk! Oh, my
Dasqas! I awoke. You gone. Stranger sneaking into tent! You scared me so,
my little puppy! My tiny jewel! Never again do this! Never!"

Mouth working like a fresh-caught fish and eyes wide staring at him, my
brain simply could not understand the words, not even those in my own (or
similar) tongue. *I* scared *him*? Terms of endearment instead of
dismissal? I could only gawk and gawp.

"Why puppy outside? Why puppy shiver? Why, Dasqas? What do you did?"

"I, I, I," I gulped. "I raised fire from coals, mast- Harcos, sir, honoured
sir. I wanted the cookpot. Water on fire to heat" I was in completely
shock, but proud that I remembered each word he'd give n me the night
before. Fire, cookpot, water, coals, heat.

Harcos rolled back onto the sleep-skins and held me so tight I struggled to
breathe. His own breath shuddered and caught. He let loose a long string of
incomprehensible babble with a few words I knew sprinkled in. Fire, water,
cookpot. Loss, fear, dead/death. Never and his names for me made many
appearances as the words rushed from him. I laid in his arms, speechless
from shock, from confusion, from a complete lack of air. I felt him
nuzzling sand kissing the hair atop my head.

He had feared? For me? He worried about losing me? He was undone, unmanned
by me?

He sat up abruptly and gave me the sternest look I think I'd ever seen. Let
me tell you, Barbarians can SCOWL. It's like they invented the facial
expression. Look away? Not an option. He skewered me with his glare.

"Today, words meaning 'do'."

I shook my head and he loosened my grip. He held me, though, a hand on each
shoulder. He mimed talking and taught me 'to speak' and 'to say' and 'to
converse'. He mimed walking and that word combined with a yesterday-word,
'tent'. Next a long string of terms for 'no' and 'never' and 'not again'. I
nodded and repeated, and he slowly, reluctantly relaxed.

With a fierce frown and lowered brows, he turned to the cart and pulled out
a greyish pack, along with the cookpot that started this adventure. He
moved to the fire and set the cookpot on the edge and said,
"Water. Fire. Heat." He then grumped and growled his way into the
undergrowth and I heard his piss explode into the dust as if even his urine
was angry. Shaking, I filled the pot with water from the second waterskin,
then left to fill both it and its companion.

I returned and Harcos held two bowls, both with some mixture of grain and
dried fruits. I went to eat and he stopped me, his face still a mask of
disgruntled sleepiness. Words like 'eat' and 'wait' came, along with
others. When the water boiled, he dipped each bowl in, scooping a few
sips-worth into each. I was to 'wait' again and let it 'cook' and 'cool'.

He nodded finally and I scooped the mixture into my mouth. It was warm and
filling, the broken grains and fruits had bloomed in the boiled water. I
attacked it as only a boy-man can do and I was rewarded with, if not a
smile, at least a grin before the frown came back.

He returned to the tent/cart and returned with tunics, one for himself and
one for me. He called them 'camp clothes' and I immediately understood;
this is what his people wore when they did not plan to fight, forage or
travel. He then pulled me to the brambles and lifted his tunic. I blushed
furiously and he impatiently motioned me to do the same, giving me terms
for 'uncover' and 'undress'.

When I was in the same state of undress as my master (though not the same
state at all as I was harder than ironwood), he taught me the words for
'piss' and 'pissing'. Miming, I learned 'shit' and 'shitting'. As he
released I was unable to hold back, even though I normally could never piss
when in a state of sin. My hard member, however, sent a fountain nearly
vertical before crashing to the leaves. Harcos laughed and got a wicked
gleam in his eye. Still unloading the night's water, he reached a finger
and ran it through my stream. I gasped in shock and then again as he
brought his finger to his lips, smelled deeply then licked and sucked the
finger dry. I suddenly realised I needed to learn the term for 'swoon'.

To see another piss had rocked me to my core. When his piss finally drained
away and he took his member in his hand, however, I was dumbfounded. With a
slight smile, he began to pet and stroke himself, teaching me so many, many
words for which my only referent was 'sin'. He used his other hand to
fondle his balls or tease his nipples, giving me words for those as well. I
stood transfixed, heart beating a tattoo within my chest and barely
breathing. My vision contracted until all I could see was his
massive... cock. All I could hear were the words he taught as he... jacked
himself.

When I thought that my body and mind could take no more, he growled like an
angry and wounded bear and his... cock exploded with huge ropes of
sin... of 'cum' and 'jism' and 'seed' and 'semen', he taught me. This was
'cumming' or 'completing' or 'getting off' and so many more terms. When his
breathing returned to normal, I was completely undone when he reached down
and with two swift strokes of my achingly-excited... dick, Harcos 'brought
me off' explosively.

In the midst of my sin it struck me. This entire "lesson" had been nothing
but a way to expose my deepest and most horrible need. He wanted proof not
only that I sinned in that horrible way the night before, but that I did so
because I was excited by men, not women. It was a test and one I'd failed.

My next thought was how the world had gone a dingy greenish-brown. I was
again lying in the tent, this time curled in Harcos' massive lap. His legs
were fashioned into a basket of sorts. He crooned to me and petted my
hair. I suddenly remembered the night, then the lesson and my shame. I
tried to sit up and he held me firmly. I wept and begged that he simply
leave me, not take me back to my parents. That he trade me or give me to
someone as a simple slave. Barring that, to simply kill me. Apologising
between each plea. He said nothing, waiting for me to slow down. I finally
ran out of breath, and out of tears.

"Kucuk, my Dasqas, you find it..." He frowned, searching for a term we
might both know, "an not-goodness?" I furrowed my own brow to match his and
nodded vigorously. "You have never 'masturbated'?" I started to deny it but
could not lie to this gentle giant.

I choked out, "I have done that sin."

"'Sin'? This word means?"

I wracked my brain and cobbled together some terms. "When God says do not."
I then used the term for cult (proper religious observance) and one of the
many negations. Still not getting through, "Most terrible wrong, compete
not-goodness."

His brows lifted and he stared at me as I would have a three-headed calf. I
could see it taking time for my master to even wrap his head around a
concept that, for me, was more ingrained than my name or how one
chews. Harcos finally just shook his head.

"What is {negation} 'sin', Kucuk?" I used our word for piety, rightness,
goodness.

He parroted back, then said, "Much that you call sin is such that. It is
'right' and 'pure' and holy'," teaching me his words. It was my turn to
look at him as he'd looked at me, utter incomprehension. The basest of sin
was holy? Was up to be down? Was truth to be falsehood? Would animals speak
and trees weep for lost fruit in the new and strange world of my barbarian
master? Suddenly, as if a dam burst within me, I no longer cared. Harcos
was my master. I would live in whatever world and by whatever rules he felt
mete.

He seemed to see it in my eyes and I was again granted the blessing of his
wondrous smile. For that smile, I would overturn the universe. Next to that
smile, the soul that Mother and Father cherished so much was... dust to me.

The rest of the day was spent with learning, beginning with the word 'to
learn'. I gambolled about like the puppy he called me, taking any chance to
please or amuse him. Harcos was shocked and pleased at this sudden,
exuberant change.

*****

Author's Note: If Kucuk had been a teensy bit more forthcoming, this would
have been in the last post. I can understand, though, why he was so shy
about it. As always, let me know your thoughts, please.

*****

NOTE: You get two chapters because, for some reason, I forgot to hit [Send]
the other night.


The Heathens 6: What are Rabbits For?

By Bear Pup

M/T; spanking; masturbation; oral

[I beg your noble pardon for this interruption. I told my Kucuk that I
would allow him to write our story as it pleases him. However, some things
need a bit of... perspective.

Darling Kucuk tells of that first night a bit differently than I
recall. Yes, my 'massive paw had fallen to [his] unmentionable parts' and I
was, indeed, gripping his ferocious and delectable little cock. And he is
certainly right that I was purring in contentment; who could have done
otherwise in my position? I wasn't, perhaps, quite as asleep as he might
have wanted to pretend as I moved 'to caress, to pet and stroke and
excite.' And he surely does not lie at all about how he 'responded,
luxuriating in the forbidden touch'.

My trouble, kind sirs, starts when his 'entire body spasmed and [he]
squeaked like squirrel in a snare,' and then 'exploded, trying desperately
to stay still and quiet.' By his and every other God, if that was him
trying to be still and quiet, I am a blushing virgin. He humped my fist
like the hare we had for dinner and made noises that, while endearing and
adorable, were about as quiet as the field of battle and damned near as
long-lasting. I 'chuckled sleepily and nuzzled into [his hair] saying,
"Nice little Kucuk. Shh, my puppy. Shh," because I was frankly concerned
that he would draw every raven and vulture for miles to what each would
have to assume was an epic carnage of squeaking, barking, crying and
moaning little forest creatures.

Please excuse my unpardonable interjection. -Harcos.]

[Kucuk: HUFF!]

Through the day, he went through the entire contents of the cart, even the
strongbox built above the axle. He named each thing and for many
demonstrated their use. We lunched upon trail jerky and steaming tea. We
rested for the hottest hour of the day as was common here. He then pulled
out a long price of flat wood ('trainer' and 'wood-sword') along with a
short metal one ('pugio' and 'dagger'), dull and dented from much use. He
handed me the one of metal and instructed me to attack.

I was horrified. Attack my master? Attack the man I worshipped? Harcos
finally growled in impatience, "Kucuk. Do! NOW!" I half-heartedly moved the
dull blade toward him and the wooden one whacked my hand and I dropped the
pugio. "Again!" After Harcos had whacked my hand or arm four or five times,
I moved forward more quickly and found myself flat on my ass in the dust. I
stood and brushed myself.

"Again!" I made another weak attempt and again found myself on my
fundament. Living god or not, he was beginning to piss me off. Three more
humiliating brush-off and I rounded on him and tried to actually get inside
his guard. He parried easily.

"Finally! The tiny puppy growls! Again, soft little puppy!"

'Tiny puppy'? SOFT? I rounded this time in a whirl of fury, slashing and
thrusting. Harcos parried and laughed, but had to step backwards twice. He
finally made a complex manoeuver with the sword that flipped my dagger all
the way near the tent. I was breathing like a bull, and mad as one, too.

I damn near bit his hand as he moved to pat my head. "Now we train Kucuk on
words for 'to fight'."

The entire afternoon, Harcos pushed me and taught me. How to watch, how to
listen, how to move. How to put my dagger where another would not want
it. Perhaps three hours in, I jerked suddenly aside of a parry and nicked
his arm. I dropped my dagger in horror and rushed to see how bad my
precious master was hurt. I ended up across his knee, tunic up, being
spanked like a naughty and stupid child.

And Harcos knew how to spank. This was not long and loving stroke of a kind
father (something I'd heard of but never known), it was open-palmed and
amazingly loud slaps that HURT! Not in the vicious way of Mother's wingnut
switch, nor the punishing blows of Father in a tirade. These were meant to
sting, both body and soul. This was punishment, intending to embarrass and
smart, imparting a lesson. When I was well and truly red and crying in
shame and rage and pain, Harcos lowered my tunic and lifted me to stand
before him.

I rubbed my sore bottom (and sore ego) and scowled at Harcos. "Attend,
Kucuk! Never. Never drop weapon when another holds his. Never! Worried
about hurt? Yourself? Your comrade? Use other hand. Never pugio on the
ground. Never! I will not lose my Dasqas to some worthless creature because
I did not this teach him!"

He was seriously angry. Far more than I was at my punishment. And not
simply because I had failed, but that I put myself in a position where *he*
might lose *me*. I dropped my eyes (and my buttock-rubbing hands), "I am
sorry, Harcos. I will not again."

"Go! Again!" I looked up in time to see that wooden plank thwack into my
abused backside and yelped, scrambling for the dagger and getting two more
solid smacks with the flat of the 'blade' before I turned to defend myself.

Harcos was no longer letting me attack. He was coming at me to poke and
slap with that long and highly-effective blade. His target of choice was my
throbbing ass, and he got fewer and fewer blows in as I improved and saw
how he moved, how he looked, how he faked one way, looked another and
struck a third. Perhaps another hour passed and he went again for my ass,
and I put the tip of my pugio right where his hand would have to pass and
let him come to the blade.

With a loud hiss, Harcos pulled back. He howled in agony and I nearly made
the same mistake. Instead, I held my pugio hard, but my voice shook with
fear and worry, "Harcos?"

He looked at me and laughed. "Good scratch, Kucuk. You *do* have the sharp
teeth of a puppy! And you did not fall for my act." I scowled in
outrage. "You did give me a scratch, though, my darling Dasqas. Come to me
and let us work with the medicinal herbs." I went to turn toward the tent
and froze. Eyes slitted, I watched that wooden sword with caution.

Harcos laughed long and deep. "Aha! Red ass gets puppy's attention and he
*learns*. This I will learn and use, my little Kucuk. We will put the
weapons down together, yes, and move to the tent?" He did so with (in
hindsight) melodramatic slowness as we ceased to be combatants and returned
to master and servant.

We went to the tent and Harcos pulled out the tightly-wrapped bundle of
pockets that was the herb-kit. He sat cross-legged and indicated for me to
do the same. I did and yelped as one of his many sword-welts hit a crease
in a blanket and my entire buttocks flamed again from their tanning. He
chuckled at my scowl and turned my attention to the herbs.

I looked at the relatively-clean slice and pointed questionably to three,
attempting the names Strasta had said to me. He corrected each, but was
impressed how close I was. He chose two of those, explaining that they
fought infection by lesser demons and another that would help to heal
without scarring. The third I'd chosen, he explained, was for wounds that
bled freely and his was already stopping. He told me to prepare them and
watched and corrected me as I cut and wet two with hot water from the
cookpot and mimed chewing the third, at which he smiled and nodded. All
mixed together, the poultice was applied to the utterly insignificant (to
him) and shamefully-dire (to me) wound.

Harcos had also set snares the night before or we would have had a hungry
night. Nothing had tripped into my crude ones. He showed me how he tied and
looped his differently as we collected and dispatched two fat
bunnies. Again, Harcos guided and improved my technique at skinning,
cleaning and carving. Tonight we would roast them, he indicated, something
about which I knew nothing at all. After my quite-good stew the night
before, this surprised him.

He showed me how to cut green wood for a tall skewer to dangle the meat
over the cookfire. How to season the meat with precious salt and peppery
herbs. How to turn the rabbits gently and rarely to cook them evenly. We
ate at twilight and the rabbit was unbelievably transformed. Eat bite
succulent and dripping with rich juice. He grunted disapproval when I went
to drop a bone or throw a piece of fat or gristle, admonishing me about
night animals and waste.

He banked the fire and had me bury the trimming and bones, but not the
fat. That he put into a tiny cauldron atop the banked coals and allowed it
to hiss and sizzle as he taught me more words on actions and things, mostly
around fighting or moving. As the last of the light fled, he poured the
rendered fat into a small skin made from what looked to be the dried but
supple stomach of some small creature, perhaps a rabbit not unlike those
whose fat dripped into it. Tied at the bottom, Harcos carried it to the icy
stream and dangled it into the water until the fat solidified. We took care
of bodily needs on the way back to the tent.

I went to sit and hit the same weal on the same blanket-seam and chuffed
with discomfort. Harcos pulled off my tunic and drew me across his knee as
if to spank me again and I tensed, looking at his face in worry and
confusion. "Shh, Kucuk. My Dasqas very well did this day. Comfort now you
get." I watched as he squeezed a bit of the thick rabbit-grease out and
began to rub it into my still-red ass and the bright stripes and spots
where his wooden sword popped me earlier.

The relief was instantaneous and I sighed in bliss. His rubbing, though,
had an inevitable result and my... cock stiffened. Harcos smiled at me and
continued to rub and soothe my ass and the few other places his sword had
connected. My voice became a long, sustained sigh of pleasure as the rabbit
who had so masterfully assuaged my hunger now did the same to my smarts and
stings. I said a fervent prayer than his tiny soul would rest with God that
very night.

I barely noticed when Harcos rolled me over and his huge paw continued with
the rabbit fat on my chest and arms. I noticed most intently, though, and
stiffened in alarm as that hand began to greasily massage my unmen... my
cock, already hard and needful. I looked up in terror and humiliation and
was met with a smile of love and concern. "Relax, my Dasqas. Enjoy this my
gem, my jewel." A million sighs gushed forth and my lungs emptied
themselves of air and guilt that I never knew I carried.

It took mere moments of this blissful pleasure before I felt myself nearing
my shameful si... my release at the hands of my beloved master. For the
first time in my young life, I cried in ecstasy with no shame, guilt or
fear as my seed erupted from me. My belly clenched and released as the
sensations rolled over me. I finally fell back, spent, and Harcos chuckled
as he wiped away my semen.

I rolled toward him and noticed his own massive rod was hard, red and
leaking. I looked to his face again in fear and longing, and saw nothing
but a carefully-neutral countenance. My soul roiled in torment, desperate
to give him this pleasure, this wicked and forbidden pleasure; terrified to
offend my master; horrified that I had no idea how to do it at all.

"May? Harcos May I?"

"What is it that my Dasqas wants? What does my puppy ask?"

"Is it wrongness for me to do, for you, this thing?"

"Does it feel wrong, my little jewel?" His face might be blank, but his
eyes shone and glinted, all the answer that I needed.

I swiped rabbit fat from myself and began to stroke and massage the mammoth
monster before me. Harcos sighed and purred, sounds that I would gladly
take in exchange for something as inconsequential as my Christian soul. I
reached with my spare hand and took the skin-vial from Harcos and squeezed
a dollop into my palm, then allowed it to join the other in worshiping my
warrior.

And it took two hands. His rampant prick was a thick snake, hard and
throbbing, and I felt Harcos' pulse race though the meaty skin. My hands
caressed, stroked long and far, teased the head and nudged his balls. I
watched as the rabbit-fat glimmered and glistened, and my work was rewarded
by a drop of fluid, the essence of my master, beading at the very tip.

There was no thought other than need, no volition other than to please. I
leant forward and took the fat-slicked and leaking head into my
mouth. There was the rabbit that had been our dinner, a background note and
easily dismissed, but not unwelcome. The overwhelming flavour, though,
was... indescribable. It was burning sunshine and mellow hearthstone. It
was thunder and the sound of waves. It was the fury of battle and the
relaxation of a warm spring. It was that smell that had so intoxicated me,
distilled and concentrated to a perfect, holy, heavenly liquid.

I set to like a man-child dying of thirst at a trickling spring, desperate
for more and determined to find it. My tongue drilled as deeply as it
could, seeking any vestige of that divine flavour. My licking and probing
tongue dove next into the meaty skin to seek and explore, and it found a
wealth of my liquid god in the folds of his skin... then my senses
exploded. My tongue had found a nugget of taste so rich and musky and dark
and deep and profound that it undid me and I attacked the area like a wild
creature. I could feel Harcos trying to pull me away, but it would have
taken a dozen strong men to prise this precious prize from me. With a loud
bellow, Harcos began to erupt like a forge of Vulcan, his lava-like seed
engulfing my mouth, my soul, my universe. He panted and cried out as I
nursed, sucking great gushes of this sacred liquid into my own body. This
was my benediction. My consecration. My baptism in my new faith, the
worship of my master, Harcos.

<eof>

Quick sanity check: Is anyone still reading this thread? I'll still write
it because I like the characters and want to see where they go, but I
wonder if I'm writing for anyone other than myself. Positive and negative
(non-flame) ideas welcome. orson.cadell@gmail.com