The Pet 8

Brunette waves spilled over the edge of the bed, laying on the stolen silk carpet. Longer than Squirrel, the hair lay everywhere, fanned out over his Master's bed, invitation. Not just his hair, but his whole body took up the bed, spread out like a cat in the sun. The curve of his calf , tangled in the black silk of the sheet traveled up to a slender, yet strong thigh, to a thinly covered ass of firm curves. As a pet, he'd been designed as a library companion for a sick child, but since that child no longer need him and he'd been rescued from the reformatting center, his new owner had stopped the sexual inhibitors and his body had matured. Black silk bunched over his back, pooling at the slight valley at the small of his back.

Lash marks criss crossed over pale skin, healing nicely, but still red, still raised, but whatever pain remained was not reflected in his face. Soft red lips, parted gently, still retained the hint of a smile. Facial structure like the standard male pleasure pet, even in sleep there was a tension to his face, with long thick chestnut lashes that some how made him look curious. On hand reached towards the head of the bed, the other out to his computer interface. Curiosity does not always give one preparedness though.

He'd been with his first master for almost all his life. Since he'd been unsealed at a maturity level of two human years, until the disease had claimed his master a little past his Master's 18th birthday. That death would have been his own death too if his current Master had not committed acts of piracy on the ship that had been carrying him. The six weeks with his current Master had given him a level of freedom he'd never imagined, introduced him to sexuality in blistering degrees, and he'd learned a new level of happiness that he was pretty sure pets were not supposed to know about. Living with pirates was all together new. His life before had been so safe, living in a palace where the only real danger came from his owners.

The door to his Master's room opened, silent, but the scent that slipped through the unsealed door was loud. Sharp blood, laser burned flesh and metal, the dream of his first capture screamed back and he moved before he was even awake. Crouching at the head of the bed, draped in black silk and chestnut hair, he listened intently.

Slow, deliberate boot footfalls, moved around the bed, as unprotected hands, or very lightly gloved hands opened cabinets, closets. The breathing was deep, but not winded, slow and comfortable, so the person was likely neither drugged nor wounded, but was also not his Master. The steps were long, so this person was probably male, probably taller than his Master, lighter, perhaps. Squirrel shifted, getting off his hair, making it easier if he chose to spring off the bed, make a run towards the door. He kept his face down, hiding his eyes, which were still closed.

"Disdai'kura," the man said, questioningly, not a name.

It was not a language Squirrel knew. All Human languages had passed through his thoughts, even dead ones. The voice sounded Human though. Slowly, moving with a grace that only intensified when he was frightened, he shifted off the bed, his hair falling around him, cascading to reveal tight abdominal muscles, smooth legs.

"Speak Gate. I don't understand you," he demanded, refusing to take a secondary position to this person who was not his Master.

"My name is Madison," the man said, moving closer.

The snap of a holster being closed announced the change in scene to Squirrel. He couldn't smell them, doubted this new person could either, but pets don't just respond to sensation; powerful pheromones stimulate desire in those around them. The built in aphrodisiac became strongest in times of fear or stress. "Madison," Squirrel said smoothly, not bowing at all, no submission. "Where is my Master?"

"Dead," Madison said rather proudly. "What was his, is mine."