Chapter Two

The Gifts from the Mount

That one night the naughty Mara came to Kalesh, but that one night only. He was indeed beneath notice, after all. With strange emotions the orphan outcaste watched from his humble lean-to as the village bad-girl crept some dark nights among the silent huts and tents and used her mouth to do the thing that made the whole tribe hate her, even the men and boys who wanted her the most.

Yes, he knew that even as they shuddered and gasped and poured themselves in grateful stuttering gouts down her hungry throat, those men reviled her, almost as much as they reviled the unwanted Kalesh. She was a nothing and a no one. She was easy to have, and therefore worthless, and so she was easy to hate. But no matter what people said, she never made a response. Perhaps, like Kalesh, she knew she dared not speak. For what could come of it but more evil words, fists, sticks and sharp stones?

And yet with Mara it was different somehow. Kalesh was low, and he knew it. He had no family. He had no friends. When the wicked Haramop sneaked in to his lean-to, then he, too, had to do bad things with his mouth, and he was ashamed. He could never lift his head, never. But with Mara it was different. It was like how a man would not make a response to what a worm or a snake or a toad might think. She was lower than low, and everyone knew it, and yet in her secret way she seemed to look down from some great height. Only Kalesh sensed it, though. But he did not understand.

And Kalesh, of course, could not help wanting her, too. This strange girl, black-haired and dark-eyed like he, was dirty and shameful. She was skinny and not very clever at anything, and she had come to him that night only as an afterthought, her cunt awash in the fishy juices of her own excitement, her mouth still slippery with the cum of so many others. She took his seed, she swallowed, and she left. That was all, he tried to tell himself—she was just a dirty whore. He had had no reason, he knew, to clasp the cock-grabbing hand of one such as her. He had had no reason to touch the dripping lips of one who used the soft red things the way she did. He had had no reason to speak any more than a curt, dismissive word of parting. Perhaps, he imagined, squinting sheepishly into the past, he never really had…

Helplessly, though, the poor boy rubbed at himself as he remembered what the terrible girl had done to him. He could not forget. Ah, that warm wet mouth, those huge dark eyes, and the dainty little fingers that danced and squelched and swirled through hairy, salty-sweet pink all the while! The mere thought set the guilty boy hard at once. He would touch himself then. And he would not stop—could not,could not—until he had squirted. More often than not, after he was done, he got excited again, and then he had to do it again, maybe two or even three times, until his poor wiggling little thing could take no more, no matter how hard he pinched and pulled in his frustration at that thin, stretchable skin now grown red and sore. That was the way it was with this thought.

And oh, what a mess he always made! He longed for that sweet sticky mouth that would give only pleasure and take away all care, but instead he could only spill the seed upon his belly, his chest, his face in cool, lonely glops. Usually when he had to do it so many times right in a row, he did not wipe right away—he left it all there so he could see just how much cum he had made. It was a proud and dirty thing. And then at the end, when he saw how bad it was, he imagined what it would be like somehow to get that stupid skinny girl he hated and toforce her now to take it all away.

Mm, to slap her and call her bad names, and hopefully she would struggle so that he would have to slap her more and maybe tie her little wrists behind her back with cord. He would do things to her body then, strange things. He would make her moan and whimper and writhe, and she could not stop him. Yes, and then he would grab her by her beautiful long black hair, hard, and drag that cringing face all over him, her mouth sucking and slurping like a pig over every single piece of his flu