Date: Tue, 14 Feb 2017 13:34:32 -0500
From: Bear Pup <orson.cadell@gmail.com>
Subject: The Heathens 4

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.

*****

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.

*****

The Heathens 4: The Nouns

By Bear Pup

M/T; no sex

"Tonight we start camping and marching words."

The abrupt change of subject rocked me a bit, and I looked and could tell
he was, in some small way, testing me. "Yes, Harcos. Camping and marching
words." He smiled and I felt my non-existant tail wag. I would do and give
anything for that smile.

As dusk moved into the sky, Harcos' patient but stern voice led me through
the names of things, the nouns. He would repeat as much as necessary until
I was comfortable, but would frown if I forgot later. I dreaded those
frowns more than the thrashing of Mother in a rage or the beatings of
Father when he felt denied or belittled. Those things were of the past, and
were to be endured. The frowns and smiles of Harcos were my future and were
to be earned or learned from.

He talked to me about the tent/cart. Itself a marvel to me. He'd cut only
five small striplings, three his height and the other two half that. By
cleaver leather hinges, a roof of stitched hide rode on a beam strung
between the other two long rods. The two shorter one supported side, from
and back, that was not made up of the cart itself. Hides continued and
formed a floor and back up part of the side of the cart. He draped loose
cloths at front and rear. It made a comfortable shelter but would be quick
to escape from and only a matter of moments to tear down.

We spoke of the fire-ring and the camp itself. I cooked as best I could as
he taught me, trying to recall each word Strasta said that would hint at my
master's likes and tastes. Harcos shifted to words of cooking, fire and
food. When at the stream earlier, I'd set a snare and Harcos seemed
impressed that I came back from a call of nature with a thin but
serviceable hare. He watched as I dressed it, occasionally stopping me to
show a better way, something quicker or less-wasteful.

I built a stew. He watched me closely as I went through the herbs that
Strasta had left; all but one was stringent or medicinal. I darted into the
undergrowth with just enough light left to find what I sought, wild
rosemary and a root that brought a bright, savoury taste to game. The cart
yielded carrots and onions, all soon bubbling with the hare over the edge
of the fire.

He set about his own food-work and I watched as he built a dough or batter,
explaining (at least the nouns) as he went. He found a flat, thin rock and
looked at it closely, then selected another. He pointed at the first rock
and showed me a light-coloured seam and mimed breaking or cracking as he
pointed to the fire. The second had no such flaw. He washed it and he set
it opposite to stew-pot, scraping the dough onto it where I could actually
see it start to puff in the heat.

By nightfall, he was pointing as every object and requiring me to give its
name. I was exhausted both in mind and body, but achieved only six frowns;
Harcos stopped and smiled, and I blushed in joy. He pulled two wooden
scutellae [ED: shallow, shield-shaped bowls or plates] and I dished the
stew onto them as he used a knife to split the heavy, dense, flat loaf
cooked on the flat rock. It was tough, but filling, and was perfect to soak
the juice of the stewed hare.

By nightfall, we were sated. He banked the coals and showed me how to
police the campsite, wash the pot and scutellae and bury any refuse well
away from camp for animals would not disturb us. He pulled me into the
tent, let fall the flap and tucked it in below, then showed me that I could
still get into much of the cart. He pulled out sleep-shorts for himself and
another, not mine but thicker and finer, obviously from Strasta but too
small for him to keep.

I moved toward the flap and Harcos grunted at me, a severe frown on his
face. I realised that I needed to help him first, and blushed in horror. I
would for the first time see ALL of Harcos. I knelt before him and recalled
Strasta's instructions about the intricate sandals and how they held the
pants. I managed to get them undone as Harcos removed his own shirt, then
skin-shirt (something I'd never seen, though he must have changes out of it
the night before). He then watched as I struggled with the fastener on him
belt, fumbling then recalling Strata's words.

I pulled them down and off the tree-trunk legs, covers in dense fur. I
looked up and gasped, eyes wide, at the thick hair that matted his
magnificent chest, arms folded, strong and virile. He looked down at me
with curiosity. My hands shook visibly as I reached for the simple knot
that held his loincloth. As it fell away, all breath left me.

Intimacy of any kind was the ultimate taboo in my family's
increasingly-fanatic faith. I had never seen another boy or man exposed. I
certainly never imagined what I saw. I had achieved manhood years before
and had hair in those expected places (as cryptically and evasively
explained by Father). My most-sinful part hung about one hand-span long
when soft, a condition it has lost entirely when I started to strip the
giant.  Harcos was easily twice that size and thick, so thick. The head was
covered in a thick sheath of meaty skin. I had never heard of such a thing.

And the smell! Oh, God Above, thank you for that smell. It shivered me and
send a wave through my innermost soul. My belly quivered and my
unmentionable parts became so rigid as to actually cause me pain. I sucked
in lungfuls of air as close as I could get, praying beyond hope that this
mountain of a man would not notice.

"You, Kucuk!" I looked up, appalled and desperate. He wanted me to
strip. Here. Now. In front of him. My rock hard sin could not be concealed
even if I merely stood, much less disrobed. I stood frozen until he
frowned, puzzled and softly said, "Kucuk, do."

My hands trembled in terror. I had done so well this day and come to adore
the gentle barbarian bear. And now, before the first night, I was to be
revealed and discarded for the filth I knew myself to be. I did truly live
up to my name; my parents had been right to call me Shame. I could not look
at the man and began to shed silent tears and I pulled off my shirt,
thinking to use it as a shield when I stood. As I rose, though, Harcos too
it from me. I looked down and saw a rod of wood sticking obscenely forward
in my pants. There was no humiliation left to be had, so I loosened and
stepped out of the simple garment, exposed and mortified in my dishonour.

Harcos drew in a hissing breath. I still could not look at him, but could
not avoid (nor did I want to avoid) the sight of his mighty manhood in
front of me. I watched in growing awe as blood flowed into it, the head
eventually emerging as it thickened and grew. I was again the hare in the
gaze of the adder, but this one looked ready to strike me, consume me. To
my horror and shame, I thirsted to be thus consumed.

I felt my master's hand on my chin. He drew my face up until I had not
recourse but to meet the eyes that I knew would hold the disgust that I so
richly deserved. I would now learn the words for running and refusal and
leaving and shame and filth and... and pervert in his high tongue.

What I saw instead was compassion and affection and sadness that nearly
undid me. He handed me the sleep-short of Strasta, smiled ruefully and
patted my head. That last was more than I could bear, and I fell at his
feet weeping and using every term for 'I'm sorry' that I knew in each and
every tongue I'd heard in my short life. He lifted me like a feather and
slipped the shorts onto my quivering body, then laid down with me clutched
to him. I had nothing in me but tears, and he held me, rocking and cooing
in his unintelligible tongue, soothing clearly his desire and intent. I
roiled with remorse at failing him, and wept my disgrace that he saw and
still had the tenderness to let me stay, if only for the night.

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.

<eof>

I know this one is painfully short. I'm sorry, but I got to this point and
Kucuk refuses to tell me what happens the next morning. Harcos is no more
helpful; teases, both of them.

As always, let me know your thoughts, please. And don't forget that the
newly-dubbed Kucuk is able to tell this story through me solely because
Nifty exists: donate.nifty.org/donate.html

*****

Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay...
Canvas Hell: 12 chapters, more coming, .../camping/canvas-hell/
Karl & Greg: 15 chapters, more coming, .../incest/karl-and-greg/
The Heathens: 4 chapters, more coming, .../historical/the-heathens/
Beaux Thibodaux: 4 chapters, LOTS more coming, .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/
Mud Lark Holler: 4 chapters, more coming, .../rural/mud-lark-holler/
Turntable Rehab: 4 chapter, more coming, .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/