Alternate Ch. 01byCandiCame©
I really want to thank Nina 21 for editing this and making it understandable! Thank you so much!
Chapter 1: 3rd Person
When Soko asked him how he got into the business of - what had she called it, a courtesan? - he could give her no answer. How was he supposed to remember? It was hard enough to remember what he was doing for the day, let alone that long ago.
Though, he did remember snippets from his childhood. He remembered the staterooms. He had never traveled much as a child – not that he knew – but he knew those rooms. They were inside his head, still. He had been charged with cleaning those rooms, and he had a tiny map inside his skull which he could trace even now. He was good with that at least, maps.
Another thing he knew was that he had cleaned those rooms well. He had never paid much attention to anything that he couldn't be shown how to do, just so. Cleaning was something you learned, something he could be taught to do well. Lanus always said he was simply afraid to do anything his own way, but that wasn't the case. He was not afraid. He just loved to please. He loved for things to be the way they were supposed to, so that whoever had asked him to do it would be happy.
He could vaguely recall the first time. There was a long time where the whole thing was not a lot different to doing the dishes; it was a chore, something you had to learn to do right. It was something you had to do every once in a while to earn your keep. Then he realized that it was all he was doing. He didn't work in the garden anymore, or the stables, or the kitchens. He awoke one morning to the realization that he couldn't remember the last time he had left his master's bedchambers. He had spoken to none in the same service as he, save for Marge the kitchen girl.
By the God Quislivin, he thought, that was so long ago... before Shiron and Soko...before Gradius and the knights...
That was the first time anything had really happened to him. The first time he had really left the house. He supposed he had not been even 20 then, but he could not remember precisely. It was hard to know when he could not remember when he was born. He did know that he had been a man, no longer a child. He knew that because people were starting to notice. People were requesting time alone with him, telling him how beautiful he was. In an absurd way it had actually made him happy.
Of course, that was before he had fucked everything up.
Still, at the time he thought he must have done something to make himself very lucky. Despite the strict routine he was made to follow every day, he had become very used to it. He stopped sparing it any thoughts and let his body do the work for him.
Every morning, his master would awaken him by shoving the entire length of his cock in his ass, as far and fast as he could. The only way that he could avoid the painful shock was by waking up early so that he could spend the time before the master awoke and try to make him cum down his throat. Sometimes it actually worked. From his years of experience, he had learned that this was because he had a talent for it. On those occasions when he couldn't bring him to climax, he at least had time to lubricate himself properly and so the length of his master's cock would slide in much more pleasantly. If ever he slept in, it was raw and painful, so he tried to train himself to awaken early each morning.
After his master had satisfied himself, he would help him bathe. He was then instructed to clean himself with water, and then soak in a hot oil bath. How he loved bathhouses! Lanus told him later that he thought those baths were more for his fur than anything else. It had taken them forever to find out that they were selling it. Well, he had taken forever. It had come very quickly to Lanus as he knew far more about commerce.
Marge would bring him breakfast, always something delicious - fresh fruit, cakes, syrup, juice. This was far better than any breakfast he was given as a house slave. He knew the others were jealous of him. Save of course the kitchen staff, whom he believed would help themselves to his scraps.
Once he dared to share his concerns with Marge about the way he had been confined. She seemed to think him mad. He had somehow landed himself a lucrative spot, she had surmised, and he should not share these concerns with anyone else lest he jeopardize his highly sought after position.
Usually she stayed long enough to sit to breakfast with him. He was happy to share the food just for a little company that did not involve him taking a cock inside any of his holes. Unfortunately she would talk, a lot, about the big wide world outside his quarters. She cared a lot more about it than he ever could.
When she left, he wouldn't see anyone, for hours, until she brought his my supper. When this arrived he knew, it was time for all that perfume, powder and rouge - the last leg of the routine before his master came home. At least then he would have something to do.
Those long days with no one around and nothing to do were so boring. He would clean everything, to the point of becoming obsessive. He wished he knew how to read. The master had a lot of books, and he might have been able to pass the time with those. He had heard reading was an enjoyable thing. Still, he had eyes, and he could study the pictures. Mostly plants, and different fighting stances. After repeated scrutinizing, even these became a bore. He would open the windows, see that he was in a high tower, and sometimes just stare outside for hours.
When his master did come back, he was so starved for attention that he didn't notice all the terrible things that his friends kept telling him he did. All he knew was that when his master walked through that door, he would have liquor poured into a glass and waiting in his hand, the master's blanket pulled down, and whatever book he had been reading open to the correct page. When the door opened, the master would be greeted by him on his knees. He never asked any questions, never needed a reason to talk.
Master would sit in his chair, by the fire that his servant had made for him, and Xaxac would curl up there at his feet, his back to the fire. He would start with gentle caresses, licking, sucking gently, taking one ball at a time into his mouth and massaging them with his tongue. Massaging until he felt this certain twinge, this change in the way that his master pulled at his hair. It made Xaxac's cock stand straight at once. Then, he would move slowly upward, kissing and caressing, as he moved up to a kneeling position. Always stop and pay attention to the little bundle just under the head, he would tell himself, kissing the tip. Twirl your tongue, tickle his urethra... that always elicited an explosive reaction.
If it were up to Xaxac, when he opened his mouth to suck, he would move down with a series of quick thrusts, the first one going back to the little bundle just below the head. But very often, the reaction he spoke of was the hands around his hair tightening and holding, while master lunged as hard as he could and he would have to spend every ounce of concentration he had, trying desperately not to choke to death on the master's cock. After he learned how to swallow and breathe, that became much easier.
Now that he thought about it, he surmised that his master and a lot of other men besides had actually tried to make him choke. When you're gasping desperately for air, trying to breathe, that's usually when they cum, he pondered. He himself had never enjoyed climaxing that way, but others seemed to like it. And he certainly didn't like to be on the receiving end of a cock thrust into his airway as they spurted their hot cum down his throat.
He liked it when they would pull out, and cum on his face. He wasn't sure why. No one else seemed to understand either, but he loved the stuff. The way it felt on his skin, especially when it first shot over him and was warm. Before it became sticky.
When the master had his release, he would give Xaxac a glass of wine, sometimes three or four, but always enough to make his mouth taste clean. Then he would kiss him, and Xaxac would remain at his feet by the fire while the master played with his hair and went over his books. It was time for bed before he would pay any real attention to his servant again.
Did you know that you could be good at taking it up the ass?