Please be aware that this story is a work of original yaoi/slash fiction. It contains adult themes, coarse language & homoerotic sexual scenes.
fan art ::
zander by zillah
~Prologue~
The room is lit with twelve candles — no more, no less. From one corner comes a soft, sensual crooning, the reflection of the stereo in the mirror. The curtains brush softly over his skin from the open window as he begins to undress, smiling down at the sleeping city below, mocking it, wanting it, flirting with it. First his little black dress, next the purple skivvy, and finally the stockings and suspenders. He never wears underwear.
Here, for the next six hours at least, he can be truly alone. But he can never be free.
He moves over to the mirror, the candles softening his white skin into hues of musk and citrus. He watches his own lips part as, in delicate movements caused by the everlasting fear of getting caught, he begins to run his hands over his neck, down his chest, deliberately tugging on the mandatory nipple clamps to induce a moan of pain and something else as well...
Pleasure, perhaps?
He removes one hand momentarily to wet his fingers with spit, then trails them back over his nipples, over the well-defined rib cage, down the flesh of his stomach, to the first beginnings of pubic hair...
Then he stops, and falls against the mirror, wracked with sobs of pain.
Every night, he stops there. Every night, this bitter conclusion only leads to tears more desperate and bitter than those of the night before.
I know what comes next, as surely as it has been finely scripted and rehearsed and replayed a million times over before my eyes. His hand slips down to upturn one of the crystals on the dressing table, from which he unearths a slip of paper, yellowed with age, worn with being read and reread, the words upon it memorized like a prayer.
A newspaper article. His one reason to still hope, that one day he could fly free, like the bird of paradise he is, trapped within this cage.
He moves away to sit on the bed, head bent over. I can make out his lips moving as he reads the article in silence, tracing over the Kanji with his fingertips, more lovingly than he touches himself. He is ashamed. Ashamed of that which, had he been born into a different life, a different class, would have given him, and so many others, so much pleasure.
Others like me.
But I am trapped too. We are all victims of the masks we wear, the roles we play, our lives nothing more than poorly scripted parts in a play written by those with the ultimate power, the overseers, the decision makers. Every cog fits, everyone has their place, desired or not, everything runs smoothly like a well-oiled machine.
But even machines can break down. All it takes is for one person to throw the old proverbial spanner in the works and...
I sigh, removing the night-vision goggles with no little reluctance as he finally crawls into bed. I lean over and cut off the audio feed from the deck on the wall, having no desire to hear him cry himself to sleep, the nightly ritual that at once leaves me both broken-hearted and elated.
As long as the tears still fall, we have a chance.
I move off into the bathroom, carrying my desire like a soul-destroying shadow. I switch off the light and watch myself unbutton my pants in the full-length mirror, perhaps the one thing that pleases me most about this hotel room. I remove the pants and the underwear, too familiar with my own needs to waste time in gentle caresses the way he does. I grab hold of my dick, cupping my balls with my free hand, and begin to rub up and down the length of the shaft: violent, measured strokes. I am my own lover, my own creation, with no need for foreplay, no need for words of love, no need for the pretension that washes over me like a sea of doom every day.
This city only removes its mask by night, if you know where to look. Rape, prostitution, treachery, torture and tears. All these signs of hope, signs that the entire system is breaking down.
What will they do then? I wonder, as I move my other hand around from under my balls, digging four fingers deep inside my anus, twisting, trysting, panting, sobbing, as finally my dick begins to throb beneath my palm and a long stretch of cum spurts out onto the mirror, the ultimate stain on the face of innocence. His face, I imagine, watching my reflection change to that of a desperate young man with a feral smile. I lean down slowly and lick off all the evidence, before washing my hands and getting dressed again.
Quick, functional, painless. Like everything else in this God-forsaken hellhole.
I stop only briefly on my way out of the room to grab the keys and the night-vision goggles. There will be no more action here tonight. Time to greet the world, and see what other secrets this whore has to show me.
On some days, this is the one thing that seems to keep my heart beating in my chest, the blood flowing through my veins.
Dear, beautiful Meigeharen, I think, as I lock the door behind me. Soon you will be free.
And I will be your saviour, your Christ. The one to release you.
~Chapter I~
Twelve girls lined one wall of the café, each dressed identically in school uniforms. Most of them seemed happy, carefree, as they sat cuddling their pets, or allowing them to do their hair, or put make-up on them. The electronic and consumptive age well and truly dead, now these serene, beautiful boys took the place of tamagotchis and barbie dolls, each of them just as soulless and empty in their own way.
Only one girl sat quietly at the table, her head resting on one hand, her eyes unable to leave the doorway for more than thirty seconds at a time. Periodically she sighed, a deep, heartfelt sigh, laced with both impatience and love sickness. Her pet sat at her feet, obediently silent. She'd long since given up encouraging him to play with the others, even though most of the other girls teased her because they all thought Meigeharen was weird.
"Why don't you take him back — get another one?" they'd asked.
Others had agreed readily, shaking their pretty, long locks. "Obviously a defective specimen. You have a right to report it."
"It's your duty. If I'd gotten one of those, I'd be blind with rage!" That had been Tokie, who had a penchant for being overly-dramatic.
Each time they said something, Polly just smiled and nodded along with them. But she never did anything about it. Trouble was, she liked her pet just fine the way he was, she didn't want a replacement. Perhaps she was becoming too attached?
Speaking of becoming too attached, where the hell is Zander? she demanded silently of herself. It was well after four o'clock now, which meant he was well and truly officially late.
"What's got your goat?" came a voice in her ear, and she turned to see Sylvie and Carrie staring at her.
"Oh, nothing," she moaned, then sighed again. "But Zander's supposed to be here. It's our three month anniversary today."
Carrie nodded her head approvingly. "You're so lucky. Zander's a babe!" Sylvie tittered at her side.
"Has anyone seen him?" Polly asked now, only to see her eleven companions each stop and shake their heads in unison. And I bet you wouldn't tell me if you had, she added in a resentful silence. She knew each and every one of them was jealous of her relationship with the older student. She'd caught them all at various stages, trying to flirt with him, trying to assure him that they could offer him much more than she could.
But it didn't overly worry her. Life was too short to be jealous. And she didn't think just sex in and of itself particularly interested Zander. In all the time they'd spent together, they'd never done anything more risque than French kiss.
A small tap on her leg from Meigeharen reminded her of where her attention was supposed to be focused, but it was too late. As she turned to look, she suddenly found herself being swept off her feet, into the arms of the tall, lean young man who gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek before brandishing a bunch of white roses in front of her eyes.
White, the symbol of purity, chastity, virginity.
"Sorry I'm late, babe," he apologized casually, leaning on the table. "I had to hunt all over the city to find those." His hand indicated the three roses now held by Polly. "One for each month we've been together."
"Thankyou!" Polly gasped, ashamed at her initial reaction. From beside her, each of the eleven girls suddenly piped up in unison, "Hi Zander!" followed by much giggling and blushing.
Zander shot Polly a look, smiling at seeing her so uncharacteristically mad. "We should go. We'll be late for the film."
Polly's anger and embarrassment dissolved into a smile, and she rose to her feet, allowing her beau to take hold of her arm and escort her from the café. Behind them, Meigeharen got up like a cat and quietly padded outside behind them, his expression eternally unreadable.
Inside the old cinema complex, Polly quickly retired to the rest room whilst Zander purchased the tickets and Meigeharen went off on his mistress' orders to buy popcorn, lemonade and chocolate. Both met up again in the centre of the foyer, as there was still no sign of Polly.
Zander helped himself to a big chunk of popcorn before taking the extra drinks off the boy, who seemed to give them up reluctantly despite all he was carrying. There was a moment of silence whilst Zander whistled cheerily, then said, "I haven't taken you here before, have I?"
No response, not even a flicker of recognition that he was being spoken to crossed Meigeharen's features. As to be expected.
"I've wanted to bring Polly here for a long time. I can't think why I haven't, before now. I like this place, it's one of the few originals still standing from before the war. The only people who come here are tourists and freaks, like myself." He stopped to chuckle, then frowned. Not even a smile out of the boy.
"You're not very talkative, are you? Don't you like me very much, Meigeharen?"
He saw the boy's eyes finally light up as his name was mentioned, and, in a very soft, pain-filled voice, he said, "You know it's against the rules."
"Hey, sorry!" Polly called out, as she came running towards them both. "Only one toilet worked, so there was a queue."
Zander smiled and pretended to remove his attention from Meigeharen, his grin broadening as he noticed the boy's visible sigh of relief. He offered his arm to Polly. "Shall we go in?"
After the film was over, they went back to the café for a cup of coffee, before Zander walked Meigeharen and Polly home. Stopping off to give Polly the briefest of good night kisses, he then turned back to Meigeharen. "Will I take care of this one for you?" he asked sweetly.
Meigeharen's face retained its blankness as Polly beamed broadly. "Gee, thanks, Zander. I was going to call him a cab, but with you around..." She lowered her head. "I don't like the thought of my pet being alone in the city this late. I've heard some of the terrible stories, about what might happen..."
Zander nodded his head seriously, brushing his fingers gently under her chin, lifting her head to look at him. "But we don't know that any of that's true. The government wouldn't allow such things to go on, surely?"
"True or not, it scares me. I don't like being scared."
He smiled sweetly. "I'll take good care of him. I promise. Good night."
"Here's to another three months!" Polly winked, before disappearing into her house.
Zander and Meigeharen walked silently through the streets to the older, more decrepit part of town. Amazingly enough, some of the original buildings still stood, randomly untouched by the war. Those that had been replaced were all shabbily built high-rises, constructed on the cheap in those fearful few years after the global devastation had taken place. Zander always felt an eerie presence lingering like a shadow as he walked among these streets, as though the ghosts of their dead were crying out in pain. Or mocking him, he hadn't yet decided.
It turned out Meigeharen's building was one of the originals, which gave Zander a good excuse to delay him before he simply entered its sanctuary without the briefest thanks or even a farewell.
"This is where you live? Wow, original twentieth century. Amazing."
The boy lingered a moment, his eyes focused on the ground, his hand patiently outstretched towards the doorknob, too polite to simply leave while someone, particularly his mistress' boyfriend, was engaged in something resembling conversation with him. He couldn't talk, but he had to listen. Those were the rules.
For as long as Zander could keep talking. "That film tonight was something else, don't you think? That was all before they even had computers to make all the effects with. It's like, after computers, everybody just gave up. No one makes films any more. Well, I think that's ridiculous. I'm going to make a film. Yep, just decided now. You're pretty cute, want to be my leading man?"
He broke off, seeing Meigeharen's painful attempts to hide his blushing. Something else that wasn't allowed, he supposed. He should stop; he was probably only making the poor boy feel more and more guilty, but a larger part of him didn't want to, and couldn't help it. He had never felt any desires before, let alone lust. The relationship with Polly was an acceptable social practice, like having a job or playing sport. But something about this boy made him realize the loneliness of his own mind, not to mention the intense throbbing in his dick, caged painfully beneath the underwear that it was now fast outgrowing.
Lucky for me there's no lighting in this part of town, he thought cheerfully, and smiled. "Well, I should probably go. Give it some thought, will you, at least? One thing you should know about me is, once I have an idea stuck in my head, I tend to take it pretty seriously. I don't give up easily."
He placed one hand on Meigeharen's shoulders, intending to let the boy know the true meaning of his words.
He fell back surprised as a fist lashed out at his face and heard a sob that was not his own. By the time he'd gotten to his feet, the boy had vanished into the depths of the building, and Zander had no means of getting inside. He didn't usually carry all his devices and illegal gear for dates with Polly.
Cheap twentieth century crap, he swore silently up at the building as he began backing away from it, across to the other side of the street. Humanity really lost the plot, architecturally speaking, after the nineteenth.
He allowed his eyes to creep over every window, wondering which one was Meigeharen's. Internally, he despised Polly for keeping this boy on a leash, though he knew he should have been glad for him that it was at least her and not one of those mindless bitches she chose to call her friends. Polly's a nice girl, he told himself grimly. Too nice. She'll never see through any of the lies. She doesn't even know the concept of freedom, let alone want to be free.
Suddenly, a flickering of light from one of the apartments caught his eye, and he dodged quickly back into the shadows as the window on one of the upper floors was opened. Doing a quick count, Zander made it out to be floor number seven.
The curtain swept across the window, and then Meigeharen stood there, looking up into the cloudy night sky. Wind swept his cherry-coloured hair back from his eyes as he raised his arms to the window-frame and leant out. His eyes were closed, and he was naked, two little bones piercing his chest on either side, in the spot where Zander knew his nipples would be.
On the street below, Zander found himself falling to his knees at the sight. He could hear his heart pumping very fast, and caught his hand moving down between his legs before he even knew what he was doing.
Fool! he cursed inwardly, yanking his hand away and watching the boy fall back from the window, disappearing back into the sanctity of his room. Not here.
Turning around, he took in the building at his back. One of the newer ones, it probably wouldn't make it to the end of the next century if the weather stayed still, let alone if another war should break out. A hotel, Zander noticed thoughtfully, taking in the gaudy sign above his head in badly-rendered Katakana. Probably owned by American or Australian tourists who forgot to leave. Those two countries had been hit the worst during the war, with over half the population decimated in the first few days of the outbreak having been announced. The enemy must have been using smart bombs, Zander had thought to himself once, after indulging in a few conversations with some of those who had survived and made the journey across to his home land. Killed off all the intelligent people, leaving only the cretins and the terminally stupid.
But for now, it would suit his purposes well. He wandered inside and asked at the lobby for one of the bellboys to show him a room on the seventh or eighth floor. Once he had found one with a perfect view of Meigeharen's room, he paid for it in full for the next six months before leaving to make his way home, and begin laying plans.
He had a film to make, after all...
For the next six months, Zander and Polly continued to see each other, their relationship as chaste as ever, by Zander's will alone. He could tell this was frustrating the poor girl to the point of tears, but, each night as he took up his spot in the hotel apartment, he forgot that he ever even cared.
After the first week, he had crept into Meigeharen's apartment during the day using his trusty lock-pick, and had carefully and discreetly set up audio bugs all around the apartment. They had cost him almost all of his current allowance, so the video camera was definitely going to have to wait. It didn't matter of course. He was patient. He could wait. He didn't give up easily, was what he had told the boy, and now intended to make it the truth.
Before leaving, he'd spent a few moments checking out Meigeharen's few possessions. Collars, nipple-clamps and other rings, which appeared to be for penile piercings, were all that littered the bathroom cabinet, along with a few items of make-up and some shampoo and conditioner.
In the main room, he lay on the bed for a little while, his head buried face-down in the pillow, sucking in the smell of the boy's hair and skin which permeated the bedding like the scents of rosewater and musk. Then he went to the single closet, caressing and sniffing each of the dresses, T-shirts and skivvies he found there. The boy had a penchant for black, it seemed. So pretty.
There was only a book on the nightstand, a well-thumbed twentieth century manga. Zander flicked through it briefly, smiling at the beautifully drawn images of boys doing things to each other which would have been physically impossible, not to mention illegal, in the real world. So he has desires, he'd thought, pleased. Or at the very least, he understands that they exist.
He was almost on his way out when he realized he'd left the lock-pick on the dressing table. Cursing his carelessness, he went back to retrieve it, and that was when he'd found the article, poking out from behind the hugest rose quartz crystal he had ever laid eyes on. Greedily he snatched it up, then read over it, frowning as he did so. He had read this article before. It had come out only a few months after the whole pet concept had been introduced, and had taken the country by storm. A sad story, if one didn't know the truth. About a boy, a pet, who'd broken the divine rule of chastity, and had met with his instant death. Apparently, the article reported, as they injected the poison into his veins that would drive him to the edge of insanity, pain and sickness before his heart finally gave out, he could be heard screaming the words, "Death is the only true freedom there is" over and over again. There was no burial, and no funeral, his body simply dumped into one of the quarries reserved for all pets once they'd reached the age of eighteen, and their lives were promptly terminated by the internal signal trackers that kept an eye on their every move.
Zander fled the building as a dark shadow crossed his mind. For the first time, he began to wonder just how old Meigeharen actually was.
~Chapter II~
Polly took Meigeharen straight home from school with her one day, instead of their usual daily routine which involved going to the coffee shop with those bimbos and their equally empty-headed pets.
Still, Meigeharen couldn't help feeling worried by the unexpected change in routine. His mistress seemed unusually flustered too, and quiet; she refused to talk to him at all on the way back to her house.
He found himself pondering the cause for her behaviour simply to give his mind something to do, now that he wasn't constrained by her endless strings of words. Did she have a fight with one of her so-called friends? Did she get in trouble? Did she ... break up with Him?
For some reason, he always found himself referring to Zander mentally, not by the young man's name, but a simple pronoun, always reverentially capitalized. He believed that people used to refer to God in a similar way, when there had still been religion, although he had no idea as to the source of this knowledge so he never discussed it with himself.
The thought that perhaps his mistress and her boyfriend had broken up, though, stirred complex, mixed emotions beneath the surface. Emotions he had been trying desperately to ignore for the past six or seven months, ever since that night He had walked him home.
But every night he looked in the mirror, every time he came just that little bit closer to touching... It was always Zander's face that he saw. Looking at him, in his mind's eye, with that knowing little grin, those intelligent eyes that always bored so deeply into his soul, seeming to say, "I know all your secrets, little one. They are mine."
Trouble was, if Zander did know his secrets, could He use them to destroy him?
He'd remembered being incredibly scared when Polly had first announced that she was dating Zander. A lot of guys were jealous of their girlfriend's pets and forced them to terminate them before their required life spans were up, or, depending on how cruel they were, did the job themselves without the aid of the internal signal tracker embedded in every pet that came out of the laboratories. Even when Polly had tried to put his mind at ease, telling him how this man already knew how attached she was to him and would never hurt him, he had continued to be afraid.
But now, he was terrified of Zander for a completely different reason.
They entered Polly's house — the fact that she even lived in a house, not an apartment building, showed off their family's status in this newly born society much more clearly than any possessions held by the previous generations, before the war, could have done. Polly gripped his hand as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom, then locked the door and fell down onto the bed, sobbing helplessly while Meigeharen watched on with no visible emotions.
Finally, he forced himself to sit beside her and stroke the long hair that fell down her back in two braids. Half of him resented her, knowing that he would never have her beauty, or be worshipped for it the way she was. Most of those girls were simple-minded, jealous of her; they wanted to destroy her almost as much as they wanted to destroy him. But Polly was always good to him. Her heart was as pure as her flesh. Polly was the only person in the world of whom he wasn't afraid. It was his duty, as well as his job, to comfort her now, whatever had gone wrong.
"Ssh," he whispered tenderly, moving down to her back and giving her a small hug, then lifting her up into his arms. There was nothing sexual in the hug. Polly was like his mother, had become his mother, there wasn't allowed to be anything sexual in his life, so there simply wasn't. He'd just closed off those emotions altogether.
Except for when the night came. Except for when he saw Him...
"What's wrong, Princess?" he asked quickly, to stifle his own train of thought. No one really knew how much the internal signal trackers actually picked up; even though he was still alive despite "bending" the rules with his own stolen caresses, he certainly wasn't going to push it.
Eventually, Polly's sobs began to subside and she looked up into his face, her eyes still full of tears. Meigeharen pulled out a handkerchief and began patiently wiping the smeared mascara away from her cheeks. Finally, she smiled.
"I have to tell you something," she whispered, lowering her eyes. There was a lengthy pause, then, "I want to have sex with Zander."
It was all Meigeharen could do to keep himself from leaping away from her, off the bed, hiding the outrage that suddenly loomed up inside his heart.
Polly began to show him all the magazines she had purchased in preparation for the act. She must have gone to great trouble and difficulty as pornography was now deemed illegal, a jailable offence, and Meigeharen found himself hoping she hadn't actually purchased them herself, at least not without an elaborate disguise.
She flicked through all the pages, showing him the stark photos of couples in various positions, making comments like, "How do you think that would feel?" or, "I don't think I could do that!" or, "That looks like it might be good."
Finally she looked up at him, her innocent eyes completely unaware of the inner turmoil she was causing, and said, "Well, what do you think?"
Swallowing a little too loudly, Meigeharen forced himself to whisper, "I don't know."
This seemed to make her unhappy. "But you're a boy. You have feelings too, right? Can't you give me any advice?"
"It — it's not allowed." His impenetrable defence, the one wall he had left to hide behind. Four walls, actually, that kept him caged and bitter and alone, ever fearful for his life.
"Oh, come on!" she insisted, grabbing hold of his arm and shaking him like an impatient child. "You've spoken to Zander! Does he talk about me? Does he... does he want me?"
He looked away, disappointed, wondering when she'd gotten in such a rush to grow up. Probably peer pressure had worn her down at last — all her friends bragged about their sexual encounters, and laughed at her when she had none of her own stories to contribute. Or perhaps the pressure was coming from somewhere else... someone else?
"I — I think he likes you," he stated uncertainly, hesitantly.
Polly bounced off the bed, almost knocking him out with her braids as they wildly followed suit, seeming to have a mind of their own. "I know he likes me, dammit!" she practically screamed. "We've been dating for a whole nine months! What I'm asking you is whether he wants me!"
Meigeharen's eyes fell to the floor. "I don't know," he said again, helplessly.
Polly stamped her feet on the ground, her eyes becoming little pin-pricks, reflecting only anger and resentment. "Fine! If you won't help me, I'm punishing you!"
The boy looked up at her, his own eyes widening with fear. Punishing him? Polly was going to punish him?
His eyes darted back to the floor as he realized they were filling with tears. Another forbidden emotion, and he couldn't allow her to see it. In the state she was in, she might even feel obliged to terminate him for it.
"Yes, that's right," she continued, walking over to her dressing table and keying in a number on the little safe beside it on the wall. A moment later it sprang open, and Meigeharen covered his mouth to prevent any sounds from escaping as she pulled out something that resembled a twentieth century television remote. "I'm punishing you all right. You've been very bad. Next time, when I ask you for help, you'll give it to me, got it? I own you, or had you forgotten that?"
He simply continued to sit and stare at her, paralysed by fear, as her fingers moved around the control pad. "Which button is it again?" she murmured thoughtfully, terrifying him momentarily as she hovered over the big green termination switch. Then she smiled. "This one! Maybe in five days you'll have come to your senses."
She pressed a combination of buttons. Meigeharen felt something twitching inside him, almost as though a rat was crawling around inside his belly, but nothing else.
"Leave," she said then. "You have half an hour to get home before you're in la la land for the next one-hundred-and-twenty hours."
So, she'd put him to sleep. Inside, he could feel himself beginning to relax. There were far worse fates than unconsciousness. As long as she didn't find a suitable replacement the moment he was gone.
He stumbled out of the front door, already stifling a yawn, and looked at the timer on his watch. Twenty-eight minutes remaining. His home was more than half an hour's walk from here, but he could make it.
He was determined to make it.
Every muscle in his body ached, and his blood thumped like a drum through his ears as he dashed down the final street before coming upon that which would lead him home. I'm going to make it, he continued to assure himself, though the last time he'd checked his watch it was down to five minutes and that seemed an eternity ago.
Maybe she didn't really do anything. Maybe this fear is my punishment. Polly's good to me. Polly doesn't hurt me, he told himself, tripping over some rubbish lying in the middle of the street and falling to his knees, grazing his hands on the way down and skidding to a stop a few footsteps away, gasping for air in pain.
He could barely see with all the sweat trickling down his brow, a veritable river, stinging his eyes like tears. Shaking his head to clear most of it away, he happened to glance down at his watch.
Thirty seconds.
"Shit!" he gasped, no longer caring that swearing wasn't allowed either, and tried to get back on his feet. I can still make it. I can still...
But he was getting more and more tired by the second. He could barely keep his eyes open now, let alone get up again. He was so close, but he was going to lose it here, and God only knew what would happen to his unconscious form in this neighbourhood.
Did it even really matter? he wondered dimly, allowing his eyes to close then jerking up his head again. This was all so pointless. Polly was always good to me. Until I couldn't tell her about having sex with Zander.
So tired...
He tried to keep his eyes open a moment longer, as it seemed that someone appeared to be coming down the street for him. That was quick, he thought, and then his body slumped forward on the dirt, his mind following soon after.
~Conclusion~
I can barely believe my eyes, or my luck, as I carry his body up the stairs to his apartment, laying him down upon the bed.
He's so light, even in unconsciousness — I know that pets are genetically engineered to be so thin, and also not to feel the need to eat.
"We'll change all that soon, little one," I whisper, pressing the record button on a remote I carry in my pocket, which starts the video rolling that I just installed this afternoon.
It will all be over soon. Therefore, I don't want to miss a single frame more than I already have done, each of those nights I watched from across the street — admiring, pining from afar.
This will be my first and only masterpiece. While this government still lays claim to my society, alternately sucking its blood and its dick, there will never be another film quite like mine.
It's almost too perfect that she chose to do this to him now. I don't know and don't care why. I have to work quickly, for I have no idea of when he will wake up, and I don't want my little one to feel any pain.
I just want him to be free.
I open my coat and take out the small kit I'd purchased from the black-market dealer along with the camera and related equipment. From the kit, I remove a scalpel, and stand there for a few seconds, holding it up to the light, holding it up to his neck.
There is only one thing left to do, I determine, as I make my way into the bathroom of my hotel room across the street, washing the last of the blood off my hands before returning to the main area to pick up the telephone.
Three rings before it picks up on the other end, and that voice that strangely stirs so little passion in me by comparison, even after nine months, speaks into my ear. "Greetings! Polly Bloom?"
She always answers the phone in the same way. So silly, so girlish. But she won't be that way for much longer, I know. I've seen the way she's started to look at me. The same way that her friends do. She's beginning to assimilate, to become one of them.
It's time.
"It's me," I say quietly, brushing away some strands of blue hair that have fallen into my eyes.
"Oh, Zander, my sweet! I was just going to call you!"
Perhaps she'll be the one to do it, then. Her voice does sound quite odd — is she nervous?
"Can you come over tonight? I have something really important to show you!"
She's not breaking up with me. Still, I've had my luck for the day, luck that far outweighs anything she could give me.
"What is it?" I ask, not concealing my impatience very well. I have only a few minutes to get back to my equipment, the audio and video setup I've rigged in this room. I can't afford to miss a single moment of it.
"Well... I— I can't tell you now," she whines. "It's a surprise."
"I don't like surprises," I say coldly, checking my watch, turning to keep an eye on the monitor behind me. "Just tell me."
There's a long pause, before she says very quietly, "Well... Zander... I thought — I thought that perhaps tonight, we could, er... I thought tonight might be the one we, er... You know!" she trails off finally.
You think you want to fuck me and you can't even bring yourself to say it. I'd like to see you try, I think with a cruel grin.
"Well, you know, Polly," I say now, twisting the phone line around my fingers like a little rope, "I don't really know how to say this, but..."
Yes you do. You've been rehearsing it for the past six months. The only thing that kept you from ever actually telling her was him, and now...
"I don't think things are really working out too well. I think we should break up."
I pull the phone away from my ear as a huge wail travels down the receiver. It continues for about thirty seconds before I simply say, "I have to be going now" and hang up on her.
Cruel, perhaps. But sometimes, you have to be cruel... to be kind.
I take my place expectantly in front of the monitor, hastily switching on all the audio equipment as the figure on the bed on-screen in front of me begins to twitch and stir. After a few moments, he sits up, wincing slightly, and gets out of bed.
He is completely naked. My idea — well, I am the director, after all. It was all I could do as I undressed him not to allow myself to take myself in my hands, cum all over that beautiful creamy skin, then suck him off myself, sleep or no sleep.
But I didn't want him like that. I want him to be free. He doesn't need to want me. That isn't the point, I assure myself, though from somewhere deep within I find myself wishing that it were.
I lean in closer to the monitor as he stands there, looking about in a daze, trying to equate his surroundings with his last known memories. I worry about whether I could have damaged him, even though the operation seemed a frighteningly easy one. Internal signal trackers my arse, I laugh now. Such an important sounding name for a tiny box that simply injects a variety of drugs into the body at the owner's request, and contains a small radar device that looks positively primitive compared to those they were using up until after the war.
Still... he does look a little too frightened.
"I don't understand," I hear him say at last, holding his hands out in front of his face. He can see that the clock on the wall still records the day as being the one that Polly put him to sleep. "It's still Tuesday. It should be Sunday."
"I don't understand," he murmurs again, then turns to catch sight of himself in the mirror, and gasps to see himself, naked and beautiful. That bitch wanted to put him out for five days? I ask myself, barely noticing my hand moving down beneath my pants, taking hold of my dick as he stares at the mirror, at himself, and, to the untrained eye, right at me — I'd set the camera up inside the mirror, using a number of clever tricks to keep it concealed.
He looks back at the bed now and crawls back upon it, then promptly bursts out into a fit of tears, not the way he usually cries, but much, much worse. This isn't the reaction I wanted. What have I done? I wonder, horrified, taking my hand off my now limp penis and hesitantly reaching over to switch on the internal microphone.
He's sobbing about nothing being worthwhile any more, that Polly doesn't love him any more, and fears of termination. I can't bear for him to be afraid a moment longer than he has to be.
"Things are different now, little one," I whisper into the microphone, my eyes glued to the screen as I watch him jump up, huddling into a fetal position as protection from his nakedness, eyes darting wildly about the room. I can sense that he wants to get dressed again, but he can't — I burnt all his clothes, though I did keep one of the dresses — that which he was wearing the night we first met — and a pair of stockings and suspenders.
They might come in handy, if he ever decided to stay...
Stop that! I snap at my mind, my hands shaking with rage. I draw in a deep breath away from the microphone to compose myself.
"Who's there?" asks Meigeharen now, pulling the sheets up over his body with a shiver.
"Someone who wants to unlock the door to your cage," I respond without hesitation. Though, in truth, I've already done that. You just have to want to fly out.
"Who are you!" He's screaming now, tears filling his eyes. Why do I feel such... pain, when I see him this way?
"Go to the window," I say slowly, "and look outside."
I wait till he's crawled off the bed before getting to my feet and moving to my own window, lifting up the sill and leaning out casually, smiling at him as our eyes meet from across the street. He turns a little paler.
"You can hear me?" he gulps.
"That's right. Feel like letting me in this time?"
He never had done so, willingly, before. Every night I walked him home, though the response wasn't as unfriendly as the first night, he always refused to even let me in at the door. Instead he kept me out on the street while I waffled on, and probably would have let me do so until sunrise, if I'd had the patience and hadn't cared how important the night time was to him.
"Why am I awake?" he demands now.
I sigh. "Do you really want me to tell you from all the way over here? Seems a bit impersonal, don't you think?"
It's his turn to sigh, as he lowers his head. "Do I have a choice?"
"A lot more than you realize," I murmur, as I switch off the microphone and the other recording gear and make my way out of the apartment once more.
He answers the door, wrapped only in a sheet, and backs away from me fearfully as I advance towards him, into the room.
Taking a quick look around as though I've never been inside the place before, I sit on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror, gazing at my reflection momentarily as I remove my jacket and my shoes, then loosen my black and blue hair from its bindings, allowing it to fall around my shoulders. I've spent enough time in front of mirrors to wear down any natural feelings of resentment or shyness. By now the novelty has well and truly worn off, so I return my gaze to Meigeharen again, before ripping the sheet from his body and pulling him down onto my lap, forcing him to face the mirror.
He tries to pull away, but I hold fast, so he simply sits there and whimpers as I run my fingers over his chest, tugging gently at the nipple-clamps. I have the advantage, after months of careful observation, of knowing what turns him on.
Sure enough, despite his fear, I can see him growing hard in the mirror. Grabbing one of his hands, I force it down onto his dick, force him to touch himself, his balls, his thighs, his beautiful, soft, silken skin flowing under both our hands.
"Please don't," he whispers, though his breathing has grown ragged in his throat. "Please... they'll kill me. Do you truly want me to die?"
No, little one. But, all things die eventually, don't you realize?
"How old are you, Meigeharen?" I whisper into his ear, moving our hands back up to his shaft, tickling his foreskin with my thumb as I force him to stroke himself, growing hard myself with the mixed expressions of pleasure, guilt and fear dwelling in his eyes.
"Seventeen years and four months," he chokes out, trying to pull away again but only succeeding in allowing me to adjust my position slightly so he rests against my own hard-on.
"Seventeen years and four months," I echo in a whisper. "Why, that would mean you have only eight months to live, little one." Somewhere beyond my overwhelming desire, I'm shocked at the knowledge. He looks so much younger. But then, I guess that's the whole selling point. "If you know you're going to die anyway, why not go out by your own hand?" I smile at the implications of this as I increase the intensity of our stroking somewhat.
"The story," he whispers now. "I always thought I could, but I'm so afraid... such a horrible death."
Ah, your beloved newspaper article, I recall. The one thing that gives you hope, yet the only thing that really keeps you down. Now I truly understand their reasoning.
"A fabrication," I tell him with a smile, as he jerks away from me slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"There was never any Ferdinand, or whatever his name was —"
"Fenrir!" he snaps, correcting me with a frown, then lets his gaze drop down to the floor. "You're saying it's a lie? How can you know that?"
Instead of answering him, I simply say, "Tell me, have you ever seen another pet die?"
His eyes snap up again, to glare at my reflection. "Of course not! It's a secret ceremony, everyone knows that!"
"And then what happens?"
"Then we get put out to sea. We dissolve in the waves. We become part of the ocean, the one constant life force that washes over the earth."
Such a beautiful, romanticized notion. My heart almost breaks, hearing him speak this way. For a moment, I can't bring myself to say anything.
Then, "No, little one, that's not the way it happens at all. When you turn eighteen, your body will be injected with a drug so powerful that it makes what they did to your fictional Fenrir look positively merciful by comparison." I can't bear to look at him now as I conclude, "And then they take your bodies, and they bury them in an old dumping ground and set them alight, like garbage. Every pet is born on a particular day, depending on the production cycle. That makes it more economical. They can dispose of them periodically in a six month —"
"Stop it!" he screams now, freeing his hands to cover his ears. I hold him tight as he bursts into another fit of sobbing — terrible, heart-wrenching sobbing.
Since when did I ever learn or allow myself to feel such emotions?
After ten minutes or so have passed and the tears have subsided, I whisper in his ear, "Do you see, now, that there really is no point? No point in being afraid? I've watched you every night for the past six months, my beautiful Meigeharen, denying yourself that which would truly make you free, and —" And?
"It breaks my heart to see you do so," I finish at last.
I know I am being cruel for not revealing the entire truth. But he can't know yet. He has to want this, above and beyond everything else. He has to want his freedom, no matter what the price.
I let go of him now, and for a moment longer he remains on my knee before getting to his feet in front of the mirror. I gaze up at him, unable to conceal my own longing. Somehow he seems to feed off this, for I see his dick stirring again, slowly returning to the magnificence that I admire.
Strange that they would allow them to be so well-endowed, knowing they'd never be able to...
"Do you think I'm beautiful?" he asks me at last.
His question surprises me. I almost blurt out, "Of course you are!", but force myself to play the role that I'd come here to play. "Do you think you're beautiful?" I ask, getting to my own feet and standing close behind him.
We both gaze at his reflection in the mirror, as his dick reaches its full length. "I don't know," he confesses quietly, as I put his hand on himself once more, stroking him, then, the final moment, when I let my own hand fall away...
He continues to stand there, touching himself, caressing his nipples with his free hand in the mirror, running his hands over the length of his shaft. I move away from the bed, out of range of the camera, covering my mouth with my hands as I watch, hearing him begin to moan slightly as his rhythm intensifies. I am the one who wishes for death, I realize, as a wave of something so powerful sweeps over me it almost knocks me off my feet.
He turns to me now, his sea-green eyes closed, but a smile on his face as he spreads his legs and carefully works one finger inside himself, hissing in a mixture of pleasure and pain. I can see moisture dripping off the little silver ring on his dick, running over the chain that travels around to the other side and buries itself in a mound of cherry-coloured pubic hair. He falls back a little as he begins to sob, this time with ecstasy, not terror or despair. I drop gently to my knees on the floor, looking up at him, worshipping him, not even able to touch myself.
If you love something, set it free...
No, my mind protests again, as very slowly he withdraws his hand from his arse and opens his eyes, focusing on me. "Do you want me?" he whispers slowly, taking my breath away.
Yes, very much so. However, I have to remember my role. "Not yet," I force myself to choke out, starting to feel very light-headed, all the blood in my head having drained and moved elsewhere. "This is yours now. But, if you still want me, I'll be -"
I force myself to stop. What was I going to say? If you still want me, I'll be yours too. But that wouldn't be fair. He needs this self-discovery, this self-love, just like I did, he needs to be...
So alone?
He returns his attention to the mirror, his hand working very fast now, tugging relentlessly upon his cock, rubbing the chain against the skin, pulling away his foreskin with the little ring. His breathing quickens and he starts to moan, his eyes rolling back in his head as finally he cums, his neck falling backwards, little spurts of white dripping upon the crystals, the mirror and the floor.
For a moment, he simply stands there panting, then turns to look at me with an incredible longing in his eyes, no longer blemished by fear. I get back to my feet, feeling extremely wet myself beneath the cover of my underwear, and watch as he slowly sticks each finger of one hand in his mouth, licking off his own cum, letting it slide over his tongue and trail down his chin and throat before swallowing.
I can't have let go completely then, or he's certainly something else, I think with a smile, feeling myself growing hard again almost instantly.
"So... how was that?" I ask at last, my smile broadening into a grin.
He smiles and lowers his head, turning away from the mirror and stretching out upon the bed like a cat. "Worth dying for, I think," he murmurs, and rolls over onto his stomach, his head on his hands. After a moment, he glances back at me over one shoulder, a cheeky glint in his eyes. "But I'm not sure I've decided yet. If you still want me..." He lets the words trail off, and his eyes drift down to my crotch.
At last it's my turn to feel genuine fear, as I strip off the remains of my clothing and move on top of him, licking my fingers before poking one gently inside. He tenses slightly beneath me, so for a moment I don't move, not wanting to hurt him, before he lets out a little hiss of air. "Please......."
I continue moving inside him, building up a rhythm, until I can tell his gasps are of pleasure, then I allow one more finger to gain entry, repeating the pattern until he seems ready for three.
I wonder if I'll even be able to get inside... without cumming all over that beautiful arse. I curse myself for not planning ahead completely and thinking to purchase some lubricant as well, but I'd never expected to be here, like this...
"This will hurt you," I whisper in his ear, warning him. "But once I'm inside you, I'm not going to want to stop." I'm not inside you yet, and I don't want to stop. "There'll be lots of blood," I add, remembering my first time...
Every masterpiece has a little blood. It's what carves the word humanity upon our souls.
"It's okay," he whispers in response, and I raise him up off the bed slightly, forcing him up onto all fours, before parting the flesh around his hole and forcing myself inside with a need I couldn't have known I possessed.
He screams loudly as we practically crash against the wall, his nails running down the wallpaper, digging in to the pillow cases. For a moment he tries to escape but I shift under him slightly, allowing myself to penetrate him even further, not ever wanting to lose this but knowing I am too close.
I run my hand around under his stomach, feeling for his penis once again, though having some difficulty doing so with the darkness of desire blooming across my mind and soul. His hand is there as well, I realize, as our fingers meet — again he is already hard, and I wonder about the modern miracles of genetic engineering before we both scream out so that I almost imagine the mirror shattering in a thousand tiny pieces, revealing me, revealing my soul, as a wave of warmth and release crashes down upon me.
I lay there on top of him, above him, for a very long time, feeling our hearts racing and slowing in tandem, not ever wanting to move.
Finally, he says softly, "So... how long does it take?"
I rise off him slowly, both of us gasping a little as I slide out of his hole, now well-lubricated with blood and cum that stains the remainders of the bedding, and those beautiful soft thighs. Not understanding the question, I roll him over to face me, staring deep into those beautiful sea-green eyes, brushing the cherry-red hair away from the cold sweat of his brow. So... perfect.
"How much time do I have left?" he asks now, seeing the frown of incomprehension on my face.
I hadn't told him yet, about my other gift, I recall. He still thinks he's going to die and go to hell for committing such a terrible sin.
With a deep breath, I rise up to my knees, then pat him on the leg. "Come on," I instruct, getting off the bed with some difficulty.
Now it's his turn to frown, as he follows me into the bathroom.
Opening the bathroom cabinet, I produce a small plastic bag, within which, still coated with blood, lurks the internal signal tracker, now as impotent as my own dick.
"Do you have any idea what this is?" I ask, handing it over.
He takes it somewhat reluctantly, stares at it momentarily, then shakes his head.
I sigh, running my hands through my hair. "The scar was gone by the time you woke up," I start to explain, as I lead him back into the other room and sit beside him on the edge of the bed. Once more we face each other in the mirror, gazing into one another's eyes, our reflections.
"I took it from you," I continue. "It's... it's something I had done to me once, which is how I knew... what to do." Why am I confessing that, now?
Seeing his eyes, I can tell he still doesn't understand, doesn't dare to understand. "It's your internal signal tracker," I conclude finally. "You're..." I stifle a sob, not sure why I should feel this sudden need for tears.
"You're free, Meigeharen."
Finally the light dawns in his eyes, as he realizes that what I'm telling him is indeed the truth. I smile weakly and get back on my feet, striding over to the other side of the room to retrieve my clothing, and start to get dressed. Time to roll the credits, I suppose, feeling in my jacket pocket for the camera's remote.
"I should be going now."
"Wait!" he calls out, as my hand reaches the door knob. I freeze but don't turn around.
"I don't understand," he says, approaching me and taking hold of my arm, forcing me to face him again. "You had it done to you? You were one of us? How... how is that possible?"
I laugh, glancing up at the ceiling. "I was a previous model. One of the prototypes. When people still felt the need to protest such things... I was lucky. I was supposed to have been destroyed, like all the others." I try to look away, try to ignore this pain in my chest, but he pulls me back over to the bed with a strength I couldn't have known he possessed and now forces me to look at myself in the mirror.
"Why did you do this for me?" he demands.
He thinks I want something from him. I can't really blame him. Your freedom, in exchange for your soul? "Because," I can barely whisper, "I wanted to set you free."
"Why me?"
"Why not?"
He frowns at my logic and pushes away from me, falling back onto the bed, his eyes not leaving my face, those eyes piercing the depths of my soul, as he says, "And now you're just going to leave?"
I shrug, trying to remain detached, externally if not internally. "That's what freedom is. To no longer need to fulfill any roles, to no longer have any expectations placed upon you. To no longer desire to fool yourself that people feel love, stay loyal, feel truly happy with the one they're with." I force myself to keep looking at his face as I say, "To no longer be someone's possession, but choose your own path."
I turn to face him now, watching him shake his head. "That's why I watched over you. It's why I watch over them all. But you're the only one... the only one I thought deserved to be saved."
"So my God is deserting me," he murmurs, as I once again attempt to make it out the door.
This is too much for me to simply ignore however. "What did you say?"
"You created me, you gave me this freedom, and now you're running away!" he elaborates in a spiteful tone of voice. "You think I don't understand love? I don't understand happiness? They exist, Zander."
I almost stop breathing; it's the first time he's ever spoken my name.
"I understand how it feels not to have them, but to want them. You don't understand at all. You don't understand what it is to need..." He closes his eyes, getting to his feet, naked and beautiful as the sunset begins streaming in through the window, complementing his hair and skin so perfectly.
"I don't want your freedom," he renounces at last. "Put it back in. Let me die, the way fate ordained. Better that than this."
"Meigeharen," I hiss, shocked and disappointed and a million other things I couldn't even begin to name, but now he's heading towards the window, leaning out of it just like the first time I saw him, naked in all his glory.
"I'm asking you to stay," he says finally. "That is the path that I choose. But I won't force you. Leave, if that's what you desire."
He's dismissed me now, I can tell from the way his shoulders sag and he lowers his head, looking down upon the street. This certainly isn't the ending I had planned for my masterpiece theatre.
It's hard for a pet, I tell myself — the first couple of months, especially. No longer being kept, no longer being "legal", but a feeling of great excitement too, as though the world, or what remains of it at least, is your oyster. No time bomb looming over your head. No fear of desire, no fear of remorse. If you can get past the first few months, which are filled with loneliness and terror.
The rest of your life, I correct myself now, realizing that I had never truly gotten over any of it. All I'd really managed to achieve in that time was the assimilation into a society I despised.
"Tell me now," I say eventually, "do you think you're beautiful... Meigeharen?"
I see his shoulders start to shake, and wait for him to fly at me in a fit of rage, or punch me the way he did that first night. But instead, he calmly confronts me, a fire burning in his eyes as he spits out the word, "Yes."
I smile, folding my hands in my lap. "It took me five years after they freed me before I could answer that question in such a way."
Together, we walk towards each other, into the centre of the room. Finally we stand so close together we're touching, and I bow my head, resting against his, toying with the nipple-clamps once again. "I think you're beautiful too, little one." I close my eyes, reaching into my pocket once more.
"Very well. If that is your wish, I shall stay."
Now all I can feel is relief as Meigeharen flashes a beautiful smile, reflected in the mirror, the eye of the camera, and we slowly embrace, falling backwards upon the bed.
Cut, I think to myself, and switch off the record button on the camera's remote.
~ fin ~