Fate Cries Foul by Renier Larouche (reading list TXT) 📕

and laughter, the sun was setting, and the tiger had returned from her hunt with a deer that the villagers were busy cutting slabs of meat from. Parts were already roasting over an open fire in the clearing. The lion and her cubs were feasting happily on entrails and fat from the animal's belly.

"See how it works out?" Monia said. "She's back, her children are safe and everybody gets fed. You live a strange way, you people of the plains. You hunt and eat another hunter. Why? Their meat is tough, and they are of better use as friends than foes."

"But that is why we're strong. We kill the strong and eat them."

"I don't think that is why. You are strong because you hunt. It doesn't matter if you're hunting a lion or a deer. The lions are strong, but what do they hunt? Not other lions."

He thought about that. "Maybe you're right. Or maybe not. I have no head to ponder that with right now, because my belly is making too much noise. And besides, what I think about that doesn't matter tonight. There are no lions for me to hunt on your grounds."

"But there's fresh meat and fruit to feast on, blue eyes," Monia said and lead him to the fire, where men, women and children had gathered. "You are still my guest. Today, tomorrow and for as long as you care to stay. And I think that what you want more than anything is to remedy that hunger, is it not?"

He nodded in agreement and they sat down on the ground in the warm light. The fire sparkled and crackled, and the fat from the meat sizzled as it dripped onto the glowing trunks. He was no longer a stranger to the villagers, and part from the odd, curious look from the children, nobody made a big affair of his presence. He was the whisperer's guest, and it seemed like that was all the explanation they needed. Someone raised his voice in a song, and children were running round the outer edge of the lit circle, chasing one another and squealing with laughter. It was a scene so close to where he came from, several days away, that Lapis for a moment forgot just where he was. Only the smell from the meat was different. Sweeter, less earthy.

The sated sensation of being spent, and smelling his own body on the woman next to him in that homely setting, that was new too. It was the privilege of the settled. To consummate each other's bodies to the fullest, to breed as it pleased them and sit down by the fire to feast on what the hunters brought home. He wouldn't leave tomorrow. He knew that already. Maybe he had already fathered a child in the pale beauty's belly. But that is another story, to be told somewhere else. I leave them as I leave you there, by the fire, in a short while.

No, he'd stay because she had looked into his mind and made walls crumble. And the things he had seen with his newfound horizons were too wondrous to leave behind. Maybe he'd never scour the plains with spear in hand again. That didn't matter. This was a whole new hunt, one that could last a lifetime.

"Does she have a name?" he asked suddenly.

This time it was Monia's turn to be perplexed. She looked at him with her big, cobalt blue eyes into his almost identical.

"What? Who?"

"The lion."

"She's a lion," Monia said. "They don't have names."

"But she's more than a lion, isn't she? She's your companion, a part of the village, a friend. What kind of a friend is nameless?"

Monia stared at him with a fascinated look. The flames from the fireplace danced in her eyes, and a small smile spread into a wide, happy one.

"I have a name for her. I have kept it under my breath, because I feared I had lost my mind. Because who would name an animal? But you showed me that it's not crazy after all. I call her Tesla. It was my mother's name, but I give it to her now."

"It's a good name," Lapis said and put an arm around her shoulder.

Minutes later, the tender meat was cooked, cut and served with sweet fruit and spicy roots. And for a while, all thoughts of lions, mountains, scouts, pale skin, blue eyes, sapling spears and seed in a womb were shoved aside. One urge at the time. That was more than enough. 

And so I come to an end, to stay here for a while, to be forgotten soon. But I'm a story, and I will hide and listen. One day you will recall, rediscover me in my true form, and see me for what I really am. No words, no names, no places and things. But until then, I hope I amused you for the time being. That is also a worthy purpose.

Forget me now, remember me later. Syn

Somewhere in the deepest recesses of my mind, I knew I had changed. The memories of being a different person were so faint and vague that holding on to them seems so impossible. Delicate as a soap bubble, illusive as a beautiful dream that starts to fade the moment of wakefulness, I can never fully recall who I was before I came to serve Him.

Soft snoring reverberates through the room, and gives my soul a sense of comfort. His snoring, his rest and rejuvenation. It is His time to dream, but not mine; my whole life has become somewhere between dream and the twilight of wakefulness. When He is home, I serve Him regardless of if He is conscious or not. It's bliss to touch my Master and bring Him comfort, and He has been kind enough to let me do that all night.

When He is home and He doesn't have a lady caller, I am to lay by his feet and gently trail my fingers over His soft skin. I am to keep my feet up by his head, so that I can touch more of his body. Sometimes He has me caress His balls for hours, or His feet and legs, and other times His cock. I am to service Him only if He grabs my hair and uses my throat like the human Fleshlight I am. It isn't my place to take Him into my mouth without a direct order, and I am not to use my tongue either. Just slow, gentle touches to help Him sleep unless otherwise instructed.

Tonight He has instructed me not to use my tongue, although I so desire to. A need to lick and suck was trained into me, so at night He has me gagged with a small dildo. I want to lick His feet and hear His pleasure, I yearn to be a dirty slut and bring him satisfaction. Little soap bubbles of thought tell me it's not normal to only care about someone else's desires, but that seems like such a strange concept. Only His pleasure matters, His orders should be my only thoughts. Slut pets like me don't have independent needs, only people have needs. I am not a person, I am a pet.

The fragile soap bubble of thought burst when Master groaned a small grunt of approval, and all connection to the past vanished. My reality shifted and became clear, all that exists for me is my Master. So badly I want to lick Him, it's driving me wild. In the past He's allowed me to use my tongue, softly lapping at His feet while He slept. He enjoys my torment, it brings Him amusement to see me writhe and be brought to new levels of humiliation from edging. The slight chance of increasing His happiness makes my cunt pulse, and wetness grow between my legs. I suck on the dildo in my mouth with more intensity.

Although I am forbidden to cum without permission, edging is for good pets. And I desire to be a good pet, the best pet. It would be so tempting to hump my cunt on his knee, so debasing and perhaps it would please him. He's never told me if I could, and His disapproval would hurt so deeply. Better not to risk it. With one hand I rub my clit, the other I gently caress his balls. It's humiliating, being reduced to a horny slut edging myself and touching a half asleep person, but the possibility that He might like it is too alluring.

The air under the blankets is stuffy and hot, but He prefers when I stay covered from sight. I continue for countless hours, edging myself and stopping only to run my fingers over him with both hands. A long time ago, I learned he quickly wakes of my touches stop for any length of time. *How long ago was it? How long have I been like this?* The thought comes and goes so quickly, I can't hold onto it. Other pressing matters are more important, like making sure my nails trail over His balls.

Hours pass, hours that feel like days of the inky darkness under the covers. My stomach yells at me for food, and my abs are sore from edging. None of that matters though, the discomfort feels delicious. Discomfort might mean my Master will be pleased. My cunt is sore and so wet, and I want release so badly. I did this to myself, at the slight chance it might please him, it's completely my fault and I feel foolish for that.

The sound of his alarm chimes. Most mornings He has me crawl between His legs to pleasure His cock and balls with my tongue, so I position myself to do just that. I'm so excited to finally use my tongue on him, and hear more noises of appreciation. My small frame fits perfectly between His legs, even more so after He started to control my diet and exercise. Dumb pets can't be allowed to take care of themselves, after all.

"Morning, pig." His voice cracks over the silence of the room. I'm so glad to hear His voice, the only interaction I've had for eight hours. "Ready for breakfast?" With the gag in my mouth, I can only make a small pleading whimper. "You've been such a good girl, I think I'll even let you use your throat interested of making you lick my cum up after I jerk it. Would you like that slut?" I whimper louder, more enthusiastically.

In front of my face I see his hand move to his cock, pumping it a few times. I want to be the one bringing Him pleasure, but know it's not my place. For the moment I can only watch in disappointment. Thankfully, He stops and undoes my gag, slowly pulling it out of my mouth with an audible pop. My tongue free, I dive at His cock with wreckless abandon. It's a treat to feel His hardness down any hole, and after edging for hours it felt even better.

"Dumb little slut. Probably thought edging was your idea. Such a corruptible little mind you have, so easily influenced. You don't even remember your last session when Master told you what to do, do you?" Strong