Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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The boy was leaning against the far wall, knees up to his chest and head down. He seemed to be in a half-dozed state, probably dizzy from hunger. Arthur had fed him a meal (or two, if he felt generous) a day every day since he had arrived, but often it was leftovers and scraps. It was barely enough, but it was adequate. And what harm was it if he forgot a day here and there? The Englishman found that the boy was more submissive and desperate during those times.
The Chinaboy was kept clothed in Peter's old clothes, ones that would have been thrown away due to holes or size. Arthur bathed him when it was convenient for him (or when the smell got too strong); meaning he was cleaned maybe every two weeks. The room in which the boy lived had a worn wooden floor, a thin cot, and a small desk (with no chair). Not terrible, but not wonderful.
The dark haired boy looked up slowly, as if trying to register the fact that Arthur had come to visit him. His eyes were dead (if a little red) and his face was blank. Arthur reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a package. He waved it.
It was bread and butter, with an apple. The boy's eyes took on a longing look, and loud stomach grumbles were audible.
"You want this?" the man said, smirking. Chinaboy's face was clear enough. Arthur took a few strides and squatted next to the boy.
"You can have this," he whispered, "if you do a special thing for me." Well aware that the boy usually only understood half of what he was told, he also knew that on this occassion, every word was crystal clear. Arthur smiled and stood back up, walking to the desk and seating himself upon it (setting the glorious package by his side.)
Without getting up, the boy slid his loose pants down, placing it aside. His shirt followed soon enough. Knowing just what was expected of him, he leaned back against the wall once more. He spread his legs wide, and reached for his member.
You're so depraved.
The boy gave his member a quick squeeze, and ran his fingers down its length. Arthur could see everything, of course. One of his hands drifted up slowly, touching and ghosting along his stomach and sides. Chinaboy gasped shallowly, nearly inaudibly. His small fingers curled around his cock and started to slide up and down in a tentative rhythm, lightly.
Where is your pride? Your shame?
His free hand found his nipple, and started to rub at it, while the other hand stroked his halfmast member. The boy rubbed at the slit and gave a moan. He wasn't really into it, but he would do anything right now for food that hadn't been ready for the trash. Giving another loud moan, he saw Arthur watching intently. It shouldn't have, but the Brit's gaze aroused him further.
You were bought for such a low price.
The hand teasing his arousal left to go to his mouth. He started slurping on them obscenely while the hand on his chest continued to roll and knead at hardening nubs.
"Mmmm," he hummed around his fingers. He pulled them out with a wet pop, and reached behind himself to rub at the small pucker. He felt his face heat up and redden as he pressed his middle finger in slowly until it reached to the second knuckle. He hissed quietly at the slow burn.
You do unspeakable things just for some spare food.
The finger withdrew, only to be joined with a second finger. They scissored and thrusted, stretching him efficiently. He didn't need to look at Arthur to know that his green eyes were darkening with lust. If he did this well enough, he would be rewarded in the end.
Crooking his fingers suddenly, he gave another loud wanton moan. This moan was one hundred percent legitimate. The fingers were stroking at his prostate, and pumping in and out of his body. He put in a third, and his back arched high.
What are you? Just a cheap slut. You're nobody.
His orgasm came, and for a moment, everything was white pleasure. His sex-induced high crashed around him quickly, and he was left more miserable than when he began. Looking up, Arthur was no longer in the room.
But the food still was, and that was all that was important.
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Marianne's food was divine. He was probably biased because of Arthur's cooking, but it was like a plate of heaven every mealtime.
Now that he thought about it, Marianne was really like his mom. Peter never did know his mom, but then again never really had any need to know. He remembered thinking that Marianne was his mom until he was three. Now, it was obvious that she wasn't his mom of course; she had red hair and brown eyes, and normal eyebrows. She had also explained that she wasn't to him several times.
While Arthur's scoldings meant nothing, he actually felt guilty when he wronged her. Peter also hadn't had many good friends his own age, and often followed her around when he wasn't exploring.
She excused him from the kitchen, feeling slightly annoyed that he was eating the food just as quickly as she finished cooking it. She warned him not to get into trouble, and the voice in the back of his mind slapped him on the wrist. He made it so it appeared he was going to his room; he passed Arthur on the way to the stairs and saw that he was dressed for travel.
Arthur went on a ton of trips, usually for a week or so. Peter felt bad about it, but he loved it when his father wasn't home. He and Marianne had a much more enjoyable time without him. The last time Arthur went on a trip however, he came back depressed and inebriated. Marianne got pulled into a yelling match with him, and he had to slink upstairs so as to not be dragged in as well.
He did feel a tinge of something when he approached servant's quarters.
--
Chinaboy was scarfing down the food, nearly inhaling it like oxygen. He had gotten dressed, of course, but he still felt filthy as he ate and ate. Before he knew it, the bread was gone and the apple was bare to the very core.
Hunger was a strange thing. If you remained hungry enough for a long enough time, it numbed itself out and you wouldn't feel the emptyness. If you did eat, however, it reawakened the gnawing monster within and you would feel your hunger doubled.
He immediately regretted eating it all at once, knowing that he should have saved it to last several days. Sighing, he climbed onto the small cot and started to sing a sad little tune to himself.
Xiǎo yàn zi, chuān huā yī
nián nián chūn tiān lái zhè lǐ
wǒ wèn yàn zi nǐ wèi shá lái
yàn zi shuō zhè lǐ de chūn tiān zuì měi lì
Little swallow, dressed colorfully,
Comes here every spring,
I asked her, "Why do you come here?"
She said, "The spring here is the most beautiful.
The children's song is terribly unfitting to his current situation, yet he can't help but sing it. The cheerful tune took on a melancholy tone in his small rough voice, and images of red rooms with low tables swirled in his mind's view. Images of his family appeared: his father, his siblings. HE tried to shut them out, knowing full well that he would only feel more depressed.
Xiǎo yàn zi gào su nǐ
jīn nián zhè lǐ gèng měi lì
wǒ men gài qǐ le dà gōng chǎng
zhuāng shàng le xīn jī qi
huān yíng nǐ
cháng qī zhù zài zhè lǐ
Little swallow, let me tell you,
It's more beautiful here this year.
We've built large factories,
And equipped new machines,
Please live here forever.
This song has never made sense to him. He couldn't imagine why anyone would choose the cold, European-sounding world. Nothing was beautiful here.
---
canyoufeeltheplotbecauseIknowI'mfeelingaplot
Probably last update until day after tomorrow~ Thank you to those who've read and commented thus far~ AZNAnon out.
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I'm neither AZN nor British but this piece of work is awesome **
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I will update. (Repeat x9000) + (Facedesk x9000).
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I'm terrible orz.
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...but you will not be terrible if you give us an update...
pweeeeeeeeeeease?
This was shaping up to be a REALLY GOOD fic. And I'm picky, so that's really a compliment coming from me.
how dare you bait me with such good writing and then abandon me? *sob...* come backkkkkkkkkkkk
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My GPA will have to wait. <3
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