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.
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/