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.
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