Chapter 3

I never wore clothes. I don't like them. They're confining and itchy and uncomfortable and I can feel them pushing down on me the entire time. And if I have to change forms, it's a totally pain in the ass. This quirk was never a problem at home, where I was never forced to wear anything- with the notable exception of a couple presents from clients, I was allowed to just roam around in my skin.

But here- I've decided that I like my comfort zone. I've got no desire to travel- everything makes me nervous- everything makes me jump. Nothing is familiar but the taste of the wine. There are tables and loud music that really only needs to be played at festivals- hell, maybe it was a festival, I don't know. Remembering my first outing ... I was so scared. I must have looked like a complete dumbass. Shiron says that he likes the look of stupidity I have so often in situations like that- he thinks it's innocence. Because I'm fucking oozing innocence.

Anyway, I was wearing this outfit- this shirt that tied in the middle and really constrictive pants- those knee-socks and boots- and not the boots like the field workers wear, but black knee-highs with buttons; fancy shit. And I hate fucking clothes. I was walking cautiously behind my master, running the name-tag on my collar over and over through my fingers as if it were a Thesian symbol of faith.

We were walking through what looked like a Midway, with people filling out, but from what I've seen of Satre since then, it seems to just be kind of what those motherfuckers do on a daily basis. See, since then I've become much better acquainted with the city- hell, I love that place, but then I was so overwhelmed; the crowds, the beggars, the street performers, the street-walkers- the torches burning with red fire, giving off pulsating light from herbs magic men tossed from carpetbags.

I was so thankful when we headed off the busy street into a crowded, smoke-filled building. The lights were dim and the rooms were small, but there were many of them, each separated by a red curtain in different fabrics. A man dressed in yards of the ridiculously expensive-looking material came from nowhere (or much more likely, I hadn't been paying attention and didn't see where he came from) and began to speak to my master.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, then began discussing the festival. Apparently, the man worked with the cage fighters that my master owned or managed or something that I didn't give a flying fuck about, but after what seemed like an eternity, they finally turned and headed into one of the many rooms.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't what I saw. The room was small, scarcely larger then a passenger carriage compartment, and filled with people, all of them dressed like the man we had met in the hall. In the center of the room was a device that reached to my waist, a glass sculpture with tubes coming out the top of it. The men sitting around were smoking from the tubes as if they were pipes. My master sat down in the circle and pulled me into his lap.

"I don't think you've ever smoked, have you Xacky-boy?" he asked, and I was taken aback as the man we had met stared hard at me.

"no, master," I replied simply, and took the tube he handed me.

"Inhale slowly and deeply, like you do on an upthrust," he advised, and smiled knowingly at his friends.

One of them laughed, "That'll hit him pretty sweet if he's not used to the poppies."

My master put an arm around me and whispered, "hold your breath."

I tried, but after a few seconds, my lungs felt like they were burning and I fell into a coughing fit. He took the tube from me and laughed. I couldn't catch my breath for a long time, it felt like someone had punched me in the lungs. Then, something amazing happened. The tingle, the amazing feeling that washes over my body during really hardcore sex- it was starting. I could feel the edges of my senses washing away. I could feel the happy fog gathering in my head. I reached for the tube and he handed it back to me laughing. I had to have more!

"Do you like that?" He asked.

"Yes sir," I spoke while inhaling.

"I thought you would." he ruffled my hair and kissed the back of my neck.

I shuddered- it felt so good that I let the air out of my lungs. The cloud of smoke matched the others. It was getting easier.

"Damn, Max, you weren't fucking around, he's gorgeous. And he's a Lupin?" One of the others asked.

"He's a Lapin," My master corrected and I felt a confusing sense of pride as I took another hit. Every touch was causing the tingling now, not just choking. It was amazing. I wondered how much I was allowed to have. I wanted to breath it instead of air; which was fortunate because the air seemed to be filled to the brim with smoke. It rolled visibly out the opening at the top of the curtain.

"He's so tiny! He can't be matured!" Another of them praised as I took another hit and held it without coughing- my head was swimming and I was beginning to feel more pride then I had in a long time.

"That's what I was telling you. Fully matured. Adult. And still looks like this." He grabbed my hair and pulled me roughly backwards, placing a kiss on my forehead, "How you feeling, baby?"

"Amazing," I nuzzled into him.

"Then why don't you get off and show our guests what I've been bragging about."

"Yes master," I nuzzled him again, I would be so happy to get out of those clothes. Especially after the opium, I could feel them against my skin.

I stood and slowly undid the belt that kept the robe-like top together. I knew that most sex-slaves stripped but I didn't usually wear clothes and didn't really know how. I also felt so tired and relaxed that moving quickly was out of the question. I reached down to unbuckle the boots and he stopped me.

"Not those, leave those and the leggings on." he instructed, so I moved back to the pants, slowly wiggling my hips to get them off. The top caught on my cock because it had jumped up while the drugs were kicking in, so it sprung up when I slid them down.

"Nice."

"Beautiful."

"So obedient to."

There were more compliments, but my master bid me to sit back next to him, so I did.

"And he heals?"

"Of course he heals," my master seemed insulted, "You know that."

"Can we see it?"

"You can feel it," he smiled, "Why don't you give him a test run? If everyone here were to gang up on him, you know that he would be stretched and unusable. Maybe even ripped and bleeding. Give him an hour and you would swear that you were fucking a virgin. Works on his throat to, hell- it works everywhere. We're talking all kinds of fun- temporary piercings, stretching, even cuts if they don't scar." I felt his grip tighten protectively, and nuzzled into him, "No permanent damage."

"If that's true, I'd gladly pay your outrageous stud fee," one of the men considered and the rest echoed it.

"Of course it's true." my master laughed because I had taken the tube from him and taken another hit.

"So who won the bid to be the first to try him out? He's obviously been ridden, but I swear to you you'll never be able to tell."

"That would be Tao," the man who had escorted us in said in introduction as my master shook hands with someone while I exhaled. They spoke for a few minutes in some other language, most likely the one I had heard before, before Tao reached for my head and forced it to his groin. I hadn't dealt with his type of clothing before, but I didn't have to work very hard; his member stuck up at me. The mere anticipation must have been enough to get him standing.

He let his hands drop while I went to work on his cock. He had shoved me right to the tip and I had opened my mouth to take him in, but he left me with no indication of what to do. I didn't want to move myself, so I wrapped my lips and sucked, hollowing out my cheeks. I swirled my tongue around his piss hole before I moved down from the tip to base of his cock, this time spinning my head from side to side. Of course, on every stroke I made sure to flick the little bundle of nerves under his head, tickle his piss hole, and stop for a few seconds to let him fill my throat while I fought to control my gag reflex. He wasn't as thick as my master, but he seemed to be a little longer and hit the back of my throat in the same fucking spot.