In Service to Daddy: Book Five: Age

Play, Daddy little boy, DDLB, Daddy

Dom, Kinky, Insta-Love, Billionaire,
BDSM, Dom Romance Series
(Billionaire Doms Of Crash 5) Amarra
Skye
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 In Service to Daddy
Billionaire Doms Of Crash Book 5
Amarra Skye

Delightfully Raunchy Books

In Service to Daddy: Book Five in the Billionaire Doms of Crash by Amarra Skye

St. Petersburg, FL 33709

www.amarraskye.com

Copyright © 2022 Amarra Skye

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 Contents

1. Chapter One
2. Chapter One (CONFLICT)
3. Chapter Two
4. Chapter Two (CONFLICT)
5. Chapter Three
6. Chapter Three (CONFLICT)
7. Chapter Four
8. Chapter Five

9. Chapter Six
10. Chapter Seven
11. Chapter Eight
12. Chapter Nine
13. Chapter Ten
14. Chapter Eleven
15. Chapter Twelve
16. Chapter Thirteen
17. Epilogue
18. Dear Reader

19. Sneak Peek: Love Struck

About Amarra
Books By Amarra
 Chapter One

Jax
What was I thinking coming to Denver? Hendrix got me a red-eye flight so I don’t have many
people to interact with. Though forcing Hendrix to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to pick me up
makes me feel like a failure. Hopefully the plane won’t be too full. I hate being a recluse, but it seems
the older I get, the less I can handle people staring at my burns.
It’s funny, but I can’t remember getting burned: just waking up in the hospital and finding out my
dad died and that I was burned. I remember vividly being at school and everyone looking at me, like I
was a freak. It’s a look I’ve been getting ever since.
Hendrix is up to something and I don’t know what. He's too eager for me to come visit. I’m excited
to meet Soren. From the couple of times I’ve talked to him, I think he’s a good fit for Hendrix, but you
can hide so much when you haven’t met someone in person.
I manage not to cry when Hendrix pulls up, but it's hard when I see him smiling at me; it’s clear
he’s far happier here than he was in D.C. He’s had a hard time finding someone who accepts him, and
seeing him so happy just makes me want to find a Daddy who will be as good for me as Soren is for
him.
“Hello Love,” Hendrix says, in his terrible British accent. When we first met and started hanging
out, we watched a bunch of BBC shows and he decided we should call each other Love and other
British terms of endearment. I thought it was dumb and still do, but it makes him smile, and I’ll do
anything to make him happy.
“Yes, Ducky,” I say, hugging him as much as I can while he’s sitting behind the wheel of his car.
“I have to run by the office before I can take you to the house, but I’m off for the next couple of
days. It won’t take long. I’m sorry, but after this you will have my undivided attention,” Hendrix says,
pulling out into traffic.
“Of course, Ducky, whatever you need to do,” I say, trying to push my frustration back. I wish I
wasn’t such a service slut, or I wish I had someone to serve, so I was getting those needs met and was
better able to resist serving people who I shouldn’t be serving. Hendrix would never push me to
serve in ways I didn’t want, but when he asks me to do things, it’s hard to say no, so I end up at his
office when I’d much rather be at his house taking a nap after my flight.
Crash is nicer than Hendrix described. Damn, no wonder he’s going to quit the Army to come work
here. Fuck, they have a whole gaming setup in the break room. If I was the least bit techy, I’d think he
was trying to get me a job but while I love to play games, I’m not that kind of nerd, but it’s clear he’s
up to something, I just have to figure out what it is or wait until he tells me. He’s quick to show me
where everything is around the office. I love him but sometimes I want to spank him and not in a fun
way. What he finds exciting and what I find exciting are different, but the first and third floors were
similar.
Hendrix sticks me in an office with his laptop, and saying he’ll be back soon. The idea of getting an
Uber and heading to his house crosses my mind, but I don’t know his address and if I ask him, he’ll
just feel like shit, so I’ll sit here and think of ways to kill him without getting caught. Who knew
murder shows were good for something? The next thing I know I’m falling asleep on the couch.

Charlie
Since I started talking to Stuckyfan86 online, I haven’t been able to think about dating anyone else. I
know it’s fucked up and creepy to be crushing on a guy whose face I’ve never seen, but we talk all the
time. It started out as light conversations about games and comic books. Now we talk about
everything and play quite a bit online, even though we’ve never met and probably never will. I’ve
brought up meeting several times, and he always gets weird and goes dark for a couple of days. He
lives in a large city on the East Coast and teaches college. I don’t know about his life, but I know
everything about who he is and what he thinks and feels about the world around him. We talk about
everything else in the world and he’s somehow become one of the most important people in my life.
He’s funny and smart and the way he sings: damn, I’m more than half in love with him already. He’s
a nerd who I can talk to about video games or comic books for hours, and he’s a service sub and
Little. Those are two of my favorite kinks. He’s told me he’s single and we’ve even done some play
online. He does a great job of hiding his identity online. Most people will slip up and give you
information you can use to find them if you want to, but he’s incredibly careful and lets nothing get by
him. I’ve resisted the urge to go poking around and trying to play super sleuth, but I want so badly to
turn my online crush into something more.
I’m supposed to have lunch with Soren and his boyfriend today. They’re so in love and happy
makes it hard not to resent them for having everything I want in life. Not that I like Soren like
romantically. I mean, we fucked once in college and that was plenty. Our friendship barely survived a
drunk hookup. No, I don’t want him. I just want what he has.
Walking into Soren’s office for lunch is like getting kicked in the nuts. There is someone I’ve never
met sitting on Soren’s couch, and he’s possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall with
broad shoulders and gray eyes peeking out from under his dirty blonde hair. He keeps his hair in front
of his face so you can almost write off as being coy until he tips his face and I can see his face is a
mass of burns, making his cheek look like melted wax.
My face must show when I see the burns because he goes from passive, sneering at me. “Take a
picture. It will last longer,” he barks, glaring at me, and I can’t stop staring for a completely different
reason. This man with his perfect body and amazing eyes is Stuckyfan86 from TicTok. I know this
lunch was a setup. Somehow Soren found out who my online crush was and got him out here.
The desire to punch Soren in the face is all-consuming. Soren is aware I’m half in love with him
already. How’d he do something like set us up on a blind date? Setups are bad enough, but the shock
of hearing him and finding out he’s my crush paired with the burns makes this setup a disaster and
that’s the last thing I want.
Of course, Stuckyfan86 would think I was staring because of the scars. Not because he’s my online
crush and the most beautiful man, I’ve ever met. The ways he’s glaring at me, it’s clear he’d rather
people not notice him at all. Fuck, how am I going to show him I’m not a dick? Great.
“Where are we going to lunch?” I ask, wanting to talk to him and having lunch seems like the best
excuse I'm going to get. So, I lean into our plan to have lunch instead of doing the smart thing and
leaving. I know the burns shocked Soren. Soren’s a dick, but he’s a lovable dick, and he’d never have
set me or him up for failure like this if he’d known. And worse, I can’t remember if anyone
introduced us. This is going great so far. Just the way you want to meet your crush.
We’re heading to Los Dos Patrios, and I need to think of a way to talk to him. No matter if it’s a
setup or not. “I’m Charlie and you are?” I ask, sticking out my hand, hoping we can get things back on
track.
“I’m Jax,” he says, standing and walking to the door, making it clear he’s done with this interaction.
 I come up with a plan, and it might be underhanded, but what else can I do? The plan is simple: talk
about Marvel and specifically how much I hated End Game. I know we share similar opinions on the
topic because this was the first conversation we had online. I know he’s passionate about the topic
and won’t be able to resist telling me exactly what he thought about the movie.
Apparently, it’s the right move because before I know it, he’s talking to me and while he still tries
to hide behind his hair, it’s less obsessive. The more we talk, the more animated he becomes. I can
see the person who I’ve been talking to all these months. It’s not just the online interactions making
me want to see him again, hopefully alone.
 Chapter One (CONFLICT)

Jax
What was I thinking coming to Denver? Hendrix got me a red-eye flight so I don’t have many
people to interact with. Though forcing Hendrix to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to pick me up
makes me feel like a failure. Hopefully the plane won’t be too full. I hate being a recluse, but it seems
the older I get, the less I can handle people staring at my burns.
It’s funny, but I can’t remember getting burned: just waking up in the hospital and finding out my
dad died and that I was burned. I remember vividly being at school and everyone looking at me, like I
was a freak. It’s a look I’ve been getting ever since.
Hendrix is up to something and I don’t know what. He's too eager for me to come visit. I’m excited
to meet Soren. From the couple of times I’ve talked to him, I think he’s a good fit for Hendrix, but you
can hide so much when you haven’t met someone in person.
I manage not to cry when Hendrix pulls up, but it's hard when I see him smiling at me; it’s clear
he’s far happier here than he was in D.C. He’s had a hard time finding someone who accepts him, and
seeing him so happy just makes me want to find a Daddy who will be as good for me as Soren is for
him.
“Hello Love,” Hendrix says, in his terrible British accent. When we first met and started hanging
out, we watched a bunch of BBC shows and he decided we should call each other Love and other
British terms of endearment. I thought it was dumb and still do, but it makes him smile, and I’ll do
anything to make him happy.
“Yes, Ducky,” I say, hugging him as much as I can while he’s sitting behind the wheel of his car.
“I have to run by the office before I can take you to the house, but I’m off for the next couple of
days. It won’t take long. I’m sorry, but after this you will have my undivided attention,” Hendrix says,
pulling out into traffic.
“Of course, Ducky, whatever you need to do,” I say, trying to push my frustration back. I wish I
wasn’t such a service slut, or I wish I had someone to serve, so I was getting those needs met and was
better able to resist serving people who I shouldn’t be serving. Hendrix would never push me to
serve in ways I didn’t want, but when he asks me to do things, it’s hard to say no, so I end up at his
office when I’d much rather be at his house taking a nap after my flight.
Crash is nicer than Hendrix described. Damn, no wonder he’s going to quit the Army to come work
here. Fuck, they have a whole gaming setup in the break room. If I was the least bit techy, I’d think he
was trying to get me a job but while I love to play games, I’m not that kind of nerd, but it’s clear he’s
up to something, I just have to figure out what it is or wait until he tells me. He’s quick to show me
where everything is around the office. I love him but sometimes I want to spank him and not in a fun
way. What he finds exciting and what I find exciting are different, but the first and third floors were
similar.
Hendrix sticks me in an office with his laptop, and saying he’ll be back soon. The idea of getting an
Uber and heading to his house crosses my mind, but I don’t know his address and if I ask him, he’ll
just feel like shit, so I’ll sit here and think of ways to kill him without getting caught. Who knew
murder shows were good for something? The next thing I know I’m falling asleep on the couch.

Charlie
Since I started talking to Stuckyfan86 online, I haven’t been able to think about dating anyone else. I
know it’s fucked up and creepy to be crushing on a guy whose face I’ve never seen, but we talk all the
time. It started out as light conversations about games and comic books. Now we talk about
everything and play quite a bit online, even though we’ve never met and probably never will. I’ve
brought up meeting several times, and he always gets weird and goes dark for a couple of days. He
lives in a large city on the East Coast and teaches college. I don’t know about his life, but I know
everything about who he is and what he thinks and feels about the world around him. We talk about
everything else in the world and he’s somehow become one of the most important people in my life.
He’s funny and smart and the way he sings: damn, I’m more than half in love with him already. He’s
a nerd who I can talk to about video games or comic books for hours, and he’s a service sub and
Little. Those are two of my favorite kinks. He’s told me he’s single and we’ve even done some play
online. He does a great job of hiding his identity online. Most people will slip up and give you
information you can use to find them if you want to, but he’s incredibly careful and lets nothing get by
him. I’ve resisted the urge to go poking around and trying to play super sleuth, but I want so badly to
turn my online crush into something more.
I’m supposed to have lunch with Soren and his boyfriend today. They’re so in love and happy
makes it hard not to resent them for having everything I want in life. Not that I like Soren like
romantically. I mean, we fucked once in college and that was plenty. Our friendship barely survived a
drunk hookup. No, I don’t want him. I just want what he has.
Walking into Soren’s office for lunch is like getting kicked in the nuts. There is someone I’ve never
met sitting on Soren’s couch, and he’s possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall with
broad shoulders and gray eyes peeking out from under his dirty blonde hair. He keeps his hair in front
of his face so you can almost write off as being coy until he tips his face and I can see his face is a
mass of burns, making his cheek look like melted wax.
My face must show when I see the burns because he goes from passive, sneering at me. “Take a
picture. It will last longer,” he barks, glaring at me, and I can’t stop staring for a completely different
reason. This man with his perfect body and amazing eyes is Stuckyfan86 from TicTok. I know this
lunch was a setup. Somehow Soren found out who my online crush was and got him out here.
The desire to punch Soren in the face is all-consuming. Soren is aware I’m half in love with him
already. How’d he do something like set us up on a blind date? Setups are bad enough, but the shock
of hearing him and finding out he’s my crush paired with the burns makes this setup a disaster and
that’s the last thing I want.
Of course, Stuckyfan86 would think I was staring because of the scars. Not because he’s my online
crush and the most beautiful man, I’ve ever met. The ways he’s glaring at me, it’s clear he’d rather
people not notice him at all. Fuck, how am I going to show him I’m not a dick? Great.
“Where are we going to lunch?” I ask, wanting to talk to him and having lunch seems like the best
excuse I'm going to get. So, I lean into our plan to have lunch instead of doing the smart thing and
leaving. I know the burns shocked Soren. Soren’s a dick, but he’s a lovable dick, and he’d never have
set me or him up for failure like this if he’d known. And worse, I can’t remember if anyone
introduced us. This is going great so far. Just the way you want to meet your crush.
We’re heading to Los Dos Patrios, and I need to think of a way to talk to him. No matter if it’s a
setup or not. “I’m Charlie and you are?” I ask, sticking out my hand, hoping we can get things back on
track.
“I’m Jax,” he says, standing and walking to the door, making it clear he’s done with this interaction.
 I come up with a plan, and it might be underhanded, but what else can I do? The plan is simple: talk
about Marvel and specifically how much I hated End Game. I know we share similar opinions on the
topic because this was the first conversation we had online. I know he’s passionate about the topic
and won’t be able to resist telling me exactly what he thought about the movie.
Apparently, it’s the right move because before I know it, he’s talking to me and while he still tries
to hide behind his hair, it’s less obsessive. The more we talk, the more animated he becomes. I can
see the person who I’ve been talking to all these months. It’s not just the online interactions making
me want to see him again, hopefully alone.
 Chapter Two

Jax
There was something fishy going on with Hendrix since we showed up at his office and when
Charlie walked in, it was clear why Hendrix wanted me to visit. We wanted to introduce me to his
friend. I can’t believe he’d pull this shit on me. I hate being setup and he knows how much I hate it.
Even when people are prepped about my scars, they still panic or stare, or worse, pity me. I want to
go home, but I can’t be pissed off at Hendrix since I’m living in his house in D.C. rent-free.
“What the fuck were you thinking, setting me up on a blind date? They always go badly,” I yell as
soon as we’re on the way to the restaurant, but Hendrix keeps saying Charlie is different and that he
was a perfect gentleman when we met and that I’m oversensitive. Maybe Hendrix is right because I
can’t be standoffish with Charlie: he’s talking about End Game. I’m a classic nerd. I get fired up when
I talk about the way they fucked not only Steve but Peggy’s character. How can you not hate that
bullshit?
Before I know it, I’m gesticulating wildly and giving an impassioned speech about women in
superhero movies. Who knew writing my doctoral thesis on the impact of superheroes on American
society would be good for picking up guys? Charlie is eating it up. Hundreds of thousands in student
loan debt for the win.
How’d Charlie know exactly what to say to get me to come out of my shell? I bet the Judas told
him. Although he always prefers talking about X-men and why he thinks new Magneto should be a
Wheger Muslim. If Hendrix coached him, Charlie would’ve probably gone with that and not End
Game.
I can’t get over the fact that he keeps looking at my scars. I didn’t hide that I hate my scars being
stared at. Most people know better than to look, but this dude keeps staring. Just when I think maybe
he’s not a dick, I catch him staring. Maybe I should remind him it’s not welcome, but I’m having so
much fun talking to him I can’t bring myself to snap at him and ruin our conversation.
Fuck, he’s fun to talk to. He designs video games for a living, so no wonder he’s an old school nerd
boy, but damn, it’s fun to talk to him about all this. I only talk to Hendrix and people online about this
stuff. Well, I teach it, but that’s different from talking to people who aren’t just hoping for a class they
can watch movies and read comics for. It’s sad how many people think they can take my class and do
nothing but read comics and watch movies all semester. Maybe if I play my cards right, I can keep
talking to Charlie after today.
The food is great. The steak nachos are delicious. I understand why we came here. My stomach is
telling me to eat all the food, but my brain is saying: take your time, talk to Charlie. After we talked
about comics long enough, even Hendrix was rolling his eyes. We started talking about queerbaiting
in TV shows and before I know it, I’m scheduling a hangout with Charlie tonight so we can watch 9-
1-1. I keep trying to explain why Buck is the more “female character” of the pair. Charlie isn’t getting
it, but he’s never watched the show, so how would he?
I get so caught up in my bullshit that I set a meetup with this guy to watch TV tonight. I love
meaningless sex as much as the next guy, but my face makes things more complicated. I do great at the
kink clubs where my wearing a hood can be written off as my own eccentricities but when it comes to
dating or more than a few random play sessions things get awkward and I like Charlie a lot and the
last thing I want is to make things awkward with him so Hendrix feels like he has to deal with my
drama.
The conversation with Charlie reminds me of Heliosphere, a fan I spend way too much time talking
to online. They’ve been pushing me to meet for a while now. I can’t bring myself to even let them
know what I look like, let alone meet in person. Maybe I should let them see what I look like and see
if they still want to meet with me after they’ve seen the total package. Seeing my only friend pairing
off has me wondering if I’d have a daddy of my own.
It’s better to have something online than for the only person in my life to be Hendrix. It’s fucked up
to keep something fake than to risk it. I just don’t want to get hurt. Hell, maybe I could have something
with Charlie. At least he knows what I look like and is still flirting with me. He’s a lot of fun I could
see spending time with him until he finds someone better.
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: Why did I let my friend talk me into this trip? I love him, but I think
he’s trying to set me up with his boyfriend’s friend and that’s not cool. I kind of like the friend. He’s
super hot and I’m getting a total Daddy vibe from him. You know how I feel about Daddy’s. What the
fuck is wrong with me? I can’t believe I told you that? I’m sorry. It’s just we’re friends and I tell you
everything. Oh my god, I’m such a loser. I’m hiding in the bathroom. I need to get back. I won’t be
able to respond for a while, but I’ll let you know how this goes. Hopefully, you’re having a better day
than me.
The reply message comes in almost immediately, so I pull out my phone and read what Heliosphere
has to say.
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: Oh, you think he’s cute? Tell me more about this man? Is he smart?
Better question, tell me how good his ass looks?
I need to get back, but I can’t leave my friend hanging.
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: He’s hot in a nerdy way, but I have a thing for nerds.
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: A hot nerd, my favorite. What’s he wearing?
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: Khakis and a blue dress shirt. Do you want a picture?
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: I want a picture, but are you sure he’s not wearing a Winter Soldier T-
shirt?
I read the message on my way back out to the table and don’t notice that not only has Charlie taken
off his shirt, but he’s a wearing a gray Winter Soldier T-shirt. The way he’s smiling at me, he thinks
this is a big joke and I feel the adrenaline pushing me to run. How could they set me up like this?
Looking at Hendrix, it’s clear he was the mastermind behind this stupid idea. My adrenaline is rising
and I need to get away. But where can I go? I’m staying with Hendrix and I don’t have a car. Fuck my
life. I don’t even know the address. I can’t even get an Uber.
“Hey, shit, I’m sorry. Hearing you speak in Soren’s office: it blindsided me who you were. I know
I'm getting setup, but not who you were. I didn't know it was you until I met you today. When you sent
me a message from the bathroom, I thought the shirt things would be a funny way to tell you who I
was. Clearly, I’m a dumbass. I’m so sorry.”
“I just want to get away. Can you take me somewhere else? I don’t want to deal with Hendrix. I’ll
forgive him eventually, but not right this minute, and I’m not going to his place until I’m ready to
forgive him.”
“My place or somewhere else? Tell me what you want?”
“Let’s go for a drive.”
 Chapter Two (CONFLICT)

Jax
There was something fishy going on with Hendrix since we showed up at his office and when
Charlie walked in, it was clear why Hendrix wanted me to visit. We wanted to introduce me to his
friend. I can’t believe he’d pull this shit on me. I hate being setup and he knows how much I hate it.
Even when people are prepped about my scars, they still panic or stare, or worse, pity me. I want to
go home, but I can’t be pissed off at Hendrix since I’m living in his house in D.C. rent-free.
“What the fuck were you thinking, setting me up on a blind date? They always go badly,” I yell as
soon as we’re on the way to the restaurant, but Hendrix keeps saying Charlie is different and that he
was a perfect gentleman when we met and that I’m oversensitive. Maybe Hendrix is right because I
can’t be standoffish with Charlie: he’s talking about End Game. I’m a classic nerd. I get fired up when
I talk about the way they fucked not only Steve but Peggy’s character. How can you not hate that
bullshit?
Before I know it, I’m gesticulating wildly and giving an impassioned speech about women in
superhero movies. Who knew writing my doctoral thesis on the impact of superheroes on American
society would be good for picking up guys? Charlie is eating it up. Hundreds of thousands in student
loan debt for the win.
How’d Charlie know exactly what to say to get me to come out of my shell? I bet the Judas told
him. Although he always prefers talking about X-men and why he thinks new Magneto should be a
Wheger Muslim. If Hendrix coached him, Charlie would’ve probably gone with that and not End
Game.
I can’t get over the fact that he keeps looking at my scars. I didn’t hide that I hate my scars being
stared at. Most people know better than to look, but this dude keeps staring. Just when I think maybe
he’s not a dick, I catch him staring. Maybe I should remind him it’s not welcome, but I’m having so
much fun talking to him I can’t bring myself to snap at him and ruin our conversation.
Fuck, he’s fun to talk to. He designs video games for a living, so no wonder he’s an old school nerd
boy, but damn, it’s fun to talk to him about all this. I only talk to Hendrix and people online about this
stuff. Well, I teach it, but that’s different from talking to people who aren’t just hoping for a class they
can watch movies and read comics for. It’s sad how many people think they can take my class and do
nothing but read comics and watch movies all semester. Maybe if I play my cards right, I can keep
talking to Charlie after today.
The food is great. The steak nachos are delicious. I understand why we came here. My stomach is
telling me to eat all the food, but my brain is saying: take your time, talk to Charlie. After we talked
about comics long enough, even Hendrix was rolling his eyes. We started talking about queerbaiting
in TV shows and before I know it, I’m scheduling a hangout with Charlie tonight so we can watch 9-
1-1. I keep trying to explain why Buck is the more “female character” of the pair. Charlie isn’t getting
it, but he’s never watched the show, so how would he?
I get so caught up in my bullshit that I set a meetup with this guy to watch TV tonight. I love
meaningless sex as much as the next guy, but my face makes things more complicated. I do great at the
kink clubs where my wearing a hood can be written off as my own eccentricities but when it comes to
dating or more than a few random play sessions things get awkward and I like Charlie a lot and the
last thing I want is to make things awkward with him so Hendrix feels like he has to deal with my
drama.
The conversation with Charlie reminds me of Heliosphere, a fan I spend way too much time talking
to online. They’ve been pushing me to meet for a while now. I can’t bring myself to even let them
know what I look like, let alone meet in person. Maybe I should let them see what I look like and see
if they still want to meet with me after they’ve seen the total package. Seeing my only friend pairing
off has me wondering if I’d have a daddy of my own.
It’s better to have something online than for the only person in my life to be Hendrix. It’s fucked up
to keep something fake than to risk it. I just don’t want to get hurt. Hell, maybe I could have something
with Charlie. At least he knows what I look like and is still flirting with me. He’s a lot of fun I could
see spending time with him until he finds someone better.
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: Why did I let my friend talk me into this trip? I love him, but I think
he’s trying to set me up with his boyfriend’s friend and that’s not cool. I kind of like the friend. He’s
super hot and I’m getting a total Daddy vibe from him. You know how I feel about Daddy’s. What the
fuck is wrong with me? I can’t believe I told you that? I’m sorry. It’s just we’re friends and I tell you
everything. Oh my god, I’m such a loser. I’m hiding in the bathroom. I need to get back. I won’t be
able to respond for a while, but I’ll let you know how this goes. Hopefully, you’re having a better day
than me.
The reply message comes in almost immediately, so I pull out my phone and read what Heliosphere
has to say.
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: Oh, you think he’s cute? Tell me more about this man? Is he smart?
Better question, tell me how good his ass looks?
I need to get back, but I can’t leave my friend hanging.
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: He’s hot in a nerdy way, but I have a thing for nerds.
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: A hot nerd, my favorite. What’s he wearing?
Stuckyfan86 to Heliosphere: Khakis and a blue dress shirt. Do you want a picture?
Heliosphere to Stuckyfan86: I want a picture, but are you sure he’s not wearing a Winter Soldier T-
shirt?
I read the message on my way back out to the table and don’t notice that not only has Charlie taken
off his shirt, but he’s a wearing a gray Winter Soldier T-shirt. The way he’s smiling at me, he thinks
this is a big joke and I feel the adrenaline pushing me to run. How could they set me up like this?
Looking at Hendrix, it’s clear he was the mastermind behind this stupid idea. My adrenaline is rising
and I need to get away. But where can I go? I’m staying with Hendrix and I don’t have a car. Fuck my
life. I don’t even know the address. I can’t even get an Uber.
“Hey, shit, I’m sorry. Hearing you speak in Soren’s office: it blindsided me who you were. I know
I'm getting setup, but not who you were. I didn't know it was you until I met you today. When you sent
me a message from the bathroom, I thought the shirt things would be a funny way to tell you who I
was. Clearly, I’m a dumbass. I’m so sorry.”
“I just want to get away. Can you take me somewhere else? I don’t want to deal with Hendrix. I’ll
forgive him eventually, but not right this minute, and I’m not going to his place until I’m ready to
forgive him.”
“My place or somewhere else? Tell me what you want?”
“Let’s go for a drive.”
 Chapter Three

Charlie
Fuck, did I read the room wrong? I didn’t know how to tell Jax I was Heliosphere, but it seems my
stupid little game was the wrong way to do it. The look on his face when he understood why I was a
wearing a different shirt was fury quickly replaced with panic. I thought he’d never want to talk again.
It surprised me when he wanted to go with me instead of Hendrix. It makes sense. We’ve been friends
online for a little more than a year, and I’m not the one who talked him into coming out under false
pretenses. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty pissed off at Hendrix as well. The difference is
Hendrix isn’t my best friend. He’s just my friend’s boyfriend. It’s not like he has an obligation to me.
“Did you want to go somewhere, or just drive around?”
“Just drive for a little while. I need to cool down before I deal with Hendrix again,” Jax says,
belting himself in and looking out the window, making it clear he's done talking to me, at least for
now.
Since we’ve been talking online, we’ve played, but online play when you won’t show your face is
limited, especially when you don’t want the other person to know wehre you live.
Now that I know about his burns, it makes sense he never told me who he was. Even if we’d never
played on cam or shown each other pictures, if I’d known his name and where he was I'd have been
able to find him online. I'd have found pictures of him and seen his burns, something he clearly didn’t
want. Not that I’d have stopped talking to him over the burns, but he couldn’t have known how I’d
react. I can understand why he didn’t want to risk me judging him.
It might not be fair, but I know how he reacts to stress. He’ll want me to help him feel steadier, and
a service scene will calm him down. How can I offer a scene and not come across like a tool?
“Would you want to do a service scene this afternoon? Between the flight and everything, I’m
feeling out of sorts and we’ve been doing things online for a while, so I’m comfortable playing with
you,” Jax says, looking defeated not excited. Oh, dear sweet boy, what made you think I wouldn’t
want to scene with you?
“I’d love to play with you. Did you have something in mind? Or I can come up with a scene?” I
love service, but it’s not the most interactive of play styles. It’s a lot of telling them what to do and
then ignoring them or, worse, telling them they are doing something wrong. With the kicked-puppy
look on Jax’s face right now, the last thing I want to do is make him feel worse.
“I enjoy service and cleaning can be good, but since I’ve never cleaned for you before and you
probably have a cleaning person who comes three times a week, I don’t think cleaning would be good
for me today. I can clean, but I don’t know if it will scratch that service itch, you know.”
“I understand, and I have cleaning lady, Barbara, who comes twice a week, but the house is beyond
clean and having you clean it won’t really scratch that itch for me either. I do have an idea, though. I
think you’ll like it,” I say, pulling off the highway and heading to my place.

Jax
The way Charlie’s cutting in and out of traffic like he’s a teenager reminds me we’ve played
online, but this is the first actual scene. My hang ups meant we’ve never played on video and there
isn’t much you can do via email. I mean, sure, he has me do some stuff, but it’s nice to know I’m not
the only one excited about getting to play.
We’ve both filled out a limit list before and while talking on the phone or seeing each other is
clearly no longer on my hard limits list, he has a good idea of the things I’d enjoy. When we finally
pull up in front of his house, I can’t believe how big the house is. I knew all the owners of Crash were
billionaires and I’ve done enough video calls with Hendrix to know the house would be huge, but
seeing it in person really can’t prepare you for seeing Charlie’s house.
It’s downtown, and it was clearly a church at one-point, stained glass windows and all. I can’t
imagine what his electric bill is in this place. Charlie parks on the street in front of the church.
There’s a huge set of doors that don’t seem practical at all and I know there’s no way he leaves his
hundred-thousand-dollar car on the street regularly, but walking up to the front doors that still clearly
open the way they had when services were held here makes a striking tableau you just couldn’t get if
he’d brought me in through the garage.
“Wow, I wouldn’t have figured you for a goth,” I say, staring up at the vast building in awe of how
amazing it is.
“I’m not at all a goth. Hell, I didn’t even have a goth phase in high school. No, I bought it to turn it
into condos to rent and the architect misunderstood and drew up plans for it to be a single-family
home and I absolutely fell in love with it, so I had it designed to my taste and moved in.”
The front door opens on what was originally the sanctuary, but is now the living room. It’s been
redesigned, but they kept the grandeur of the church. The sanctuary could’ve seated hundreds and now
is an enormous living room. There’s no denying the building started out as a church. It has a huge
vaulted ceiling that makes the room look amazing. They kept parts of the pews, so the couch has these
cool wooden ends, but it looks comfortable and beautiful. I love he kept so many of the original
elements of the church. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the house will look like.

Charlie
It’s been a so long since I’ve had someone in my house who’s never been here before that I forget
it’s shocking to most people. My house is unique. I can’t help but smile as I show Jax around the
house. When I show him the playrooms, it’s easy to see the way he’s staring at the toys and furniture
around the room. The playrooms were originally classrooms, so they run most of the length of the
building opposite the sanctuary.
We’ve talked enough that I know he’s quite fond of pain play, so I’m not surprised by the look of
shock and excitement when he sees all the toys I have and this isn’t even my Little playroom: this is
the room I use when playing with someone who enjoys being hurt. I can’t wait to show him the rest of
my playrooms.
“Did you see something you want to try? I have a scene in mind, but we can do something else?” I
ask, walking up behind him and reaching my hand out and placing it on his back. I feel like I’m taking
advantage of him because I know so much about him even though we’ve never played, but he’s told
me many times how much he enjoys being touched and how touch-starved he feels most of the time.
“I love pain play and I’d definitely love to hurt with you at some point. Today I want to do a
service scene. You mentioned having something in mind. What were you thinking?”
“Have you ever shaved someone before?” I ask, running my hand over his back as I do.
“No, I have seen it done and taken a few classes on shaving, but I’ve only ever shaved myself, but I
think it would be fun to shave you. I might cut you though,” Jax says, sounding so dejected when he
mentions he might cut me.
“I know anything with knives might lead to bleeding, so it’s all good. Why don’t you come to my
closet and we can get everything set up? I love being shaved and I think you will enjoy serving me in
that way,” I say, using my hand on his back to lead him into my closet where there’s a proper barber’s
chair and all the things he’ll need to shave me. When I first got rich, it was hard to spend money on
things. I had no problem going on trips or buying fancy cars, but when I set up my closet with a full
boot-black station, a sink with a barber’s chair, and all the things a service sub could want or need to
serve as my valet, I had to talk myself into doing it.
I had such a tough time letting myself spend money on those things. It was so bad I even talked to
my therapist Jane about why I was having such a hard time spending money on kink stuff. Looking at
my toys, maybe I went too far in the other direction. To buy this many kink toys, I had to admit I was
not only rich but a freak.
“Come, I’ll show you where everything is,” I say, walking into my closet and pulling out the
shaving supplies. There are half a dozen lotions and creams and oils and that’s not counting all my
beard stuff from when I grew a beard last winter.
“Wow, I knew you were rich. I video call Hendrix enough to know the house he lives in, but you
have a whole service set up,” Jax says, looking around.
“I love using my sub as a personal valet, so I have a boot-black station, and a valet station where
they can help me in and out of my suits when I wear them. I don’t wear suits often, but when I do, it’s
fun to have a sub put you into them and even more for a sub to help you out of the suit. I love getting
facials and having manicures and pedicures and being shaved. I have everything you need for those
things as well,” I say, making sure not to put too much pressure on him about him being the sub.
“It’s amazing. I’ve never gotten to do those things for someone, but I love the idea of taking care of
my Dom in those ways. Being useful is something I love to do. I hate when I do things that aren’t seen
or appreciated. I mean, I love to cook and clean, but it’s so different to cook and clean and for
someone versus being of service to them physically. I’ve served people who I don’t think even liked
me much. They didn’t hate me or anything, but I’d go to their house and cook and clean and then I’d
leave, often before they even got home from work. We didn’t exactly spend a lot time spent together.
They made me feel like I could’ve been anyone. They enjoyed having someone who’d cook and clean
for them. I felt interchangeable. So serving you physically sound amazing,” Jax says, walking around
hand outstretched like he’s about to touch everything, but he keeps stopping before he actually
contacts anything.
The look of amazement on his face while he takes in the room is awe-inspiring. I’ve shown this
room to partners before, and they were impressed, but it seemed it was more the money required to
have a room like this and not the service they were excited about. I’m sure Jax can figure out the
money aspect. It’s just he seems less calculating and more like a kid on Christmas than other people
have been.
 Chapter Three (CONFLICT)

Charlie
Fuck, did I read the room wrong? I didn’t know how to tell Jax I was Heliosphere, but it seems my
stupid little game was the wrong way to do it. The look on his face when he understood why I was a
wearing a different shirt was fury quickly replaced with panic. I thought he’d never want to talk again.
It surprised me when he wanted to go with me instead of Hendrix. It makes sense. We’ve been friends
online for a little more than a year, and I’m not the one who talked him into coming out under false
pretenses. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m pretty pissed off at Hendrix as well. The difference is
Hendrix isn’t my best friend. He’s just my friend’s boyfriend. It’s not like he has an obligation to me.
“Did you want to go somewhere, or just drive around?”
“Just drive for a little while. I need to cool down before I deal with Hendrix again,” Jax says,
belting himself in and looking out the window, making it clear he's done talking to me, at least for
now.
Since we’ve been talking online, we’ve played, but online play when you won’t show your face is
limited, especially when you don’t want the other person to know wehre you live.
Now that I know about his burns, it makes sense he never told me who he was. Even if we’d never
played on cam or shown each other pictures, if I’d known his name and where he was I'd have been
able to find him online. I'd have found pictures of him and seen his burns, something he clearly didn’t
want. Not that I’d have stopped talking to him over the burns, but he couldn’t have known how I’d
react. I can understand why he didn’t want to risk me judging him.
It might not be fair, but I know how he reacts to stress. He’ll want me to help him feel steadier, and
a service scene will calm him down. How can I offer a scene and not come across like a tool?
“Would you want to do a service scene this afternoon? Between the flight and everything, I’m
feeling out of sorts and we’ve been doing things online for a while, so I’m comfortable playing with
you,” Jax says, looking defeated not excited. Oh, dear sweet boy, what made you think I wouldn’t
want to scene with you?
“I’d love to play with you. Did you have something in mind? Or I can come up with a scene?” I
love service, but it’s not the most interactive of play styles. It’s a lot of telling them what to do and
then ignoring them or, worse, telling them they are doing something wrong. With the kicked-puppy
look on Jax’s face right now, the last thing I want to do is make him feel worse.
“I enjoy service and cleaning can be good, but since I’ve never cleaned for you before and you
probably have a cleaning person who comes three times a week, I don’t think cleaning would be good
for me today. I can clean, but I don’t know if it will scratch that service itch, you know.”
“I understand, and I have cleaning lady, Barbara, who comes twice a week, but the house is beyond
clean and having you clean it won’t really scratch that itch for me either. I do have an idea, though. I
think you’ll like it,” I say, pulling off the highway and heading to my place.

Jax
The way Charlie’s cutting in and out of traffic like he’s a teenager reminds me we’ve played
online, but this is the first actual scene. My hang ups meant we’ve never played on video and there
isn’t much you can do via email. I mean, sure, he has me do some stuff, but it’s nice to know I’m not
the only one excited about getting to play.
We’ve both filled out a limit list before and while talking on the phone or seeing each other is
clearly no longer on my hard limits list, he has a good idea of the things I’d enjoy. When we finally
pull up in front of his house, I can’t believe how big the house is. I knew all the owners of Crash were
billionaires and I’ve done enough video calls with Hendrix to know the house would be huge, but
seeing it in person really can’t prepare you for seeing Charlie’s house.
It’s downtown, and it was clearly a church at one-point, stained glass windows and all. I can’t
imagine what his electric bill is in this place. Charlie parks on the street in front of the church.
There’s a huge set of doors that don’t seem practical at all and I know there’s no way he leaves his
hundred-thousand-dollar car on the street regularly, but walking up to the front doors that still clearly
open the way they had when services were held here makes a striking tableau you just couldn’t get if
he’d brought me in through the garage.
“Wow, I wouldn’t have figured you for a goth,” I say, staring up at the vast building in awe of how
amazing it is.
“I’m not at all a goth. Hell, I didn’t even have a goth phase in high school. No, I bought it to turn it
into condos to rent and the architect misunderstood and drew up plans for it to be a single-family
home and I absolutely fell in love with it, so I had it designed to my taste and moved in.”
The front door opens on what was originally the sanctuary, but is now the living room. It’s been
redesigned, but they kept the grandeur of the church. The sanctuary could’ve seated hundreds and now
is an enormous living room. There’s no denying the building started out as a church. It has a huge
vaulted ceiling that makes the room look amazing. They kept parts of the pews, so the couch has these
cool wooden ends, but it looks comfortable and beautiful. I love he kept so many of the original
elements of the church. I can’t wait to see what the rest of the house will look like.

Charlie
It’s been a so long since I’ve had someone in my house who’s never been here before that I forget
it’s shocking to most people. My house is unique. I can’t help but smile as I show Jax around the
house. When I show him the playrooms, it’s easy to see the way he’s staring at the toys and furniture
around the room. The playrooms were originally classrooms, so they run most of the length of the
building opposite the sanctuary.
We’ve talked enough that I know he’s quite fond of pain play, so I’m not surprised by the look of
shock and excitement when he sees all the toys I have and this isn’t even my Little playroom: this is
the room I use when playing with someone who enjoys being hurt. I can’t wait to show him the rest of
my playrooms.
“Did you see something you want to try? I have a scene in mind, but we can do something else?” I
ask, walking up behind him and reaching my hand out and placing it on his back. I feel like I’m taking
advantage of him because I know so much about him even though we’ve never played, but he’s told
me many times how much he enjoys being touched and how touch-starved he feels most of the time.
“I love pain play and I’d definitely love to hurt with you at some point. Today I want to do a
service scene. You mentioned having something in mind. What were you thinking?”
“Have you ever shaved someone before?” I ask, running my hand over his back as I do.
“No, I have seen it done and taken a few classes on shaving, but I’ve only ever shaved myself, but I
think it would be fun to shave you. I might cut you though,” Jax says, sounding so dejected when he
mentions he might cut me.
“I know anything with knives might lead to bleeding, so it’s all good. Why don’t you come to my
closet and we can get everything set up? I love being shaved and I think you will enjoy serving me in
that way,” I say, using my hand on his back to lead him into my closet where there’s a proper barber’s
chair and all the things he’ll need to shave me. When I first got rich, it was hard to spend money on
things. I had no problem going on trips or buying fancy cars, but when I set up my closet with a full
boot-black station, a sink with a barber’s chair, and all the things a service sub could want or need to
serve as my valet, I had to talk myself into doing it.
I had such a tough time letting myself spend money on those things. It was so bad I even talked to
my therapist Jane about why I was having such a hard time spending money on kink stuff. Looking at
my toys, maybe I went too far in the other direction. To buy this many kink toys, I had to admit I was
not only rich but a freak.
“Come, I’ll show you where everything is,” I say, walking into my closet and pulling out the
shaving supplies. There are half a dozen lotions and creams and oils and that’s not counting all my
beard stuff from when I grew a beard last winter.
“Wow, I knew you were rich. I video call Hendrix enough to know the house he lives in, but you
have a whole service set up,” Jax says, looking around.
“I love using my sub as a personal valet, so I have a boot-black station, and a valet station where
they can help me in and out of my suits when I wear them. I don’t wear suits often, but when I do, it’s
fun to have a sub put you into them and even more for a sub to help you out of the suit. I love getting
facials and having manicures and pedicures and being shaved. I have everything you need for those
things as well,” I say, making sure not to put too much pressure on him about him being the sub.
“It’s amazing. I’ve never gotten to do those things for someone, but I love the idea of taking care of
my Dom in those ways. Being useful is something I love to do. I hate when I do things that aren’t seen
or appreciated. I mean, I love to cook and clean, but it’s so different to cook and clean and for
someone versus being of service to them physically. I’ve served people who I don’t think even liked
me much. They didn’t hate me or anything, but I’d go to their house and cook and clean and then I’d
leave, often before they even got home from work. We didn’t exactly spend a lot time spent together.
They made me feel like I could’ve been anyone. They enjoyed having someone who’d cook and clean
for them. I felt interchangeable. So serving you physically sound amazing,” Jax says, walking around
hand outstretched like he’s about to touch everything, but he keeps stopping before he actually
contacts anything.
The look of amazement on his face while he takes in the room is awe-inspiring. I’ve shown this
room to partners before, and they were impressed, but it seemed it was more the money required to
have a room like this and not the service they were excited about. I’m sure Jax can figure out the
money aspect. It’s just he seems less calculating and more like a kid on Christmas than other people
have been.
 Chapter Four

Jax
Charlie’s house was amazing, but this closet is something else. I’ve always wanted to be a
personal valet, but I’ve never had the chance. It’s one thing to serve someone in things like cooking
and cleaning. But serving like this would be exciting. You can serve someone sexually and most
people would think that’s the most intimate way you could serve, but it’s not.
When you serve someone sexually, they are getting off and taking what they want from you but to
shave them or give them a manicure has always felt like a better way to serve and I never dreamed
someone would want me to serve them like that, but as I watch Charlie pull out all the things I’ll need
to not only shave his face but give him a manicure too, I can’t help but feel proud of myself just
because a man like this would let me serve him in this way.
“You mentioned you’d taken classes on shaving and giving manicures. Do you need me to go over
anything before we start?”
“No, Sir, I’m okay,” I say, turning on the shaving cream warmer as Charlie sits in the big barber
chair. I can see there’s a towel warmer on the counter, so I grab a few towels to get wet so they’re
ready for me to use on his face, so I’ll be able to use as many hot towels as I need or want to use
while I’m shaving him.
When I have everything pulled out, I lean Sir back in the chair and start working his hands. It’s
clear he gets manicures regularly and knowing that someone has been serving him in this way makes
me jealous and I normally don’t do jealousy. Hopefully, he goes and gets them done somewhere or
does them himself and he doesn’t have someone who comes and does this for him.
The towel steamer beeps and I pull out the warm towel shaking it a bit to get it to the right
temperature so I don’t burn Sir, before I lay it on his face wrapping it around his head so it’s covering
his face from around his neck and crossing over on his forehead. I do my best to make sure I don’t
cover his nose so he can breathe, but I must adjust things after I have it laid out on his face so he can
breathe. I use the opportunity to take a few deep breaths myself. I’m holding my breath and I’m feeling
lightheaded. When I have his face covered, I take my time and run my hands over Sir’s, face applying
a pressure giving him a massage while I wait for the hair and skin to warm up so I can give him the
best possible shave.
When the towel has been on his face for a few minutes and is cooling, I get a bit of the pre-shave
oil in my hand before I remove the towel and then I work the oil into Sir’s beard. Only after they’ve
taken my time working the oil into Charlie’s beard do I pull out another towel and wrap that around
Sir’s face again. Letting the heat and steam soften the hair in his beard before I shave him.
While the towel works on Sir’s face, I take the time to make sure it warmed the shaving cream up.
When I’m certain the shaving cream is at the perfect temperature, I remove the towel and start
applying the hot shaving cream on Sir’s face, making sure not to get it to think, so it causes extra
friction.
I don’t think I’ve ever done a scene where I was so focused on serving my Dom as I was shaving
Charlie. You can go into your happy place when you clean, but scrubbing a toilet doesn’t take nearly
as much concentration as shaving someone you desperately want to be your Daddy, but as I make the
first pass with the straight razor over Sir’s face, I can’t even remember what had me so stressed out
earlier. I’m completely in the moment and doing everything in my power to make every hand
movement as perfect as I can so Charlie has the best possible shave.
With every pass of the blade over Sir’s skin, I become more and centered and relaxed. Sure I’m
worried I’ll cut him, but there’s no thought in my head other than how to make this moment perfect for
Sir, and I can relax and just let myself be here with him and not have to worry about anything other
than what my hands are doing right this minute. This is what I love about submission. Sure, I love the
endorphins of a good beating and the relaxation of being fucked just right, but it’s being so focused on
doing exactly what you are doing and nothing that happened before or since that I love about
submission. I could never meditate, but I imagine this is what it feels like when you really clear your
mind in this relaxed Zen moment.
After I finish shaving Sir, I get some of the after-shave moisturizer and ever so carefully work it
into not only where I shaved him but his entire face, using it as a chance to give him a facial. When I
have the lotion worked into his face, I grab another hot towel and put it over his face, using the steam
to work the moisturizer onto his face. I’d love to give him a facial sometime. Because of my burns, I
have to get them regularly and I know how good they feel, and I want to show Sir how good I can
make him feel.
When the towel cools, I get the after-shave masque and apply that only where I shaved him. I’m so
lost in what I’m doing I do not know how long I’ve been at it but I know it’s been at least an hour
because my feet are letting me know they aren’t thrilled with the way I’ve been standing for so long,
but it’s the first time since I started the process that I’ve thought about anything other than what I’m
doing in the moment and the next step in my process.
Grabbing another hot towel, I wrap his face again, giving it only a minute before I work the towel
in tiny circles to remove the excess masque while the towel is still warm. When I pull the towel off
this time, Charlie is smiling and as soon as his face is free and he’s able to talk again, Charlie says,
“You were such a good boy, you did an amazing job shaving me. How are you feeling?”
There is a deep sense of relief and joy at having pleased Charlie so thoroughly. “I feel better.
Thank you, Sir, for letting me serve you in this way. Would you like me to do anything else for you?” I
ask, turning to the sink and putting things away.
“Only if you are still feeling unsettled. If you are feeling better, we can do something else, but I’m
sure I’d find several shoes for you to polish. I always have shoes that need polished. But I thought
watching a movie or go do something more fun,” Charlie says, reaching out and grabbing my hand and
holding me so I have to look at him and stop cleaning.
“I’m feeling better, Sir, but I’d love to serve you more if you would like. It’s been so long since I
was of service to someone,” I say, looking down at my feet. I don’t want to tell him that no one wants
me to serve them in these ways. I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to let him know no one has use of
me.
“Good, why don’t you finish cleaning up in here and then we can go explore the city. I have box
seats at the Buel Theater. We can see what’s playing tonight if you would like or we can do something
else? I’m sure there’s a movie we can see or we can go eat something? Hell, we can go to a bar or
club?”
“No, seeing a play sounds like fun,” I say, still trying to busy myself putting everything back exactly
where I got it from. It’s a silly thing to be so focused on, but turning around and looking at him seems
like more than I can do. Sir seems to know what I’m doing because the next thing I know, his arms are
wrapped around me, holding me tight.
“Maybe you aren’t as settled as I thought you were. Why don’t we stay here? We can watch a
movie, or I can find more ways for you to serve me?”
 Every part of me wants him to find other ways for me to serve him, but I don’t want to be so needy.
No matter how close we were online and how many times I’ve let him center me and calm, he’s not
really my daddy. I pull away from him and look at him. The look on his face is the one I’ve always
wanted to see when someone was looking at me. It’s that mix of love and care and sex all wrapped up
in one and finally someone is looking at me like that way and I can’t help but feel panicked about it.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
 Chapter Five

Charlie
God, this man is making me crazy. I’ve never been around someone who could make me so excited
so easily. Every time his hand touched me while he was shaving me, I had to stop myself from
grabbing him and kissing him. I want to believe that he’s thinking the same. Normally I don’t like to
read into other people’s motives, but the way his hand lingers with every touch, I can’t help but think
he might want to do more than just shave me.
Watching him putting things away, I can’t help but wonder if his anxiety is going back up. He’s
putting a little too much effort into making sure everything is just right with all the bottles he’s putting
back. “Sweet Boy, please bring me the little mirror so I can look at myself,” I say, schooling my
features into a blank mask of neutrality as he makes his way over to me. I want to get his mind back on
what we’re doing and off whatever else is going on in his mind.
I’d felt my face when he was done, so I know he did an amazing job and didn’t miss any spots, but
seeing how he did will give us both something to do. Jax holds the mirror up for me to look at myself,
but I can barely drag my gaze away from him to look at myself.
“Wow, you did an amazing job. I don’t think I’ve ever had such a good shave.” Jax blushes and it
takes years off his age. I’d bet money he blushes to his nipples, and I have to bite my lip to keep from
asking him to take his shirt off so I can see if he blushes as completely as I think he does. I knew in
theory he had a praise kink, but I underestimated it and now I’ll have to tell him just how much I
enjoyed him shaving me and how good a job he did.
“You are such a good boy, I didn’t think you could shave me so well since we’d never played
before, but you did an amazing job,” I say, reaching out to taking his hand and squeezing it and pulling
him towards me so I touch his back. The movement leaves Jax’s hip pressed up against the barber’s
chair I’m still sitting in. God, how I want to pull this adorable boy into my lap and kiss him or do
other things, but I resist.
Jax moves so he can put my legs down and with this old chair, that means he has to bend down and
grab the pin on the far side of the chair from where he’s standing. I don’t know why he didn’t go to the
other side before he tried to put my legs down, but he didn’t and now his face is over my cock and
what little self-control I had evaporates and my cock is rock hard, only inches from his face.
Being the good boy he was, he says nothing about it: only finishes putting my feet down and
stepping around, so he was in front of me. Before I can think better of it, I grab his hand and pull him
into a kiss, leaving him to stand straddling my legs so he can reach my mouth.

Jax
I’m not expecting Charlie to pull me into a kiss. I thought about what it would be like to kiss him
while I was shaving him. Who wouldn’t have thought about kissing his pouty lips while they were
running their hands over his face, but when my lips touch his, it’s like fireworks? At first, the kiss is
gentle and almost hesitant on both our parts. It’s only lips and little kitten licks from me not trying to
push my tongue into his mouth only to allow Sir to deepen the kiss, but Sir is a good kisser and soon
his tongue is running over the seam of my lips and pressing in so just the tip of his tongue is in my
mouth.
He pulls me closer as he slides his hand over the back of my neck. I have a moment to decide what
I’m going to do. I can crawl into the chair with him or I can stop the kiss, but with him pulling me
tighter against him I can’t stay the way I am bent in an almost 90-degree angle with the large foot plate
keeping me from getting to close to him. I’d pull him to standing, but climbing onto the chair and
having my ass pressed into his hard cock is too good to pass up.
It only takes a minute to be in the chair, knees straddling his hips. The only reason it’s not faster is
that I take time to make sure both our cocks are comfortable with how I’m sitting on his lap. God, the
idea of getting off his lap and pulling his cock out so I can ride it properly is too much for me, but
when I pull back Charlie holds the back of my neck slightly tighter, making it clear he doesn’t want
me to move without forcing me to stay. When I stop moving, he deepens the kiss and all higher brain
function leaves me.
His face is so smooth there won’t be any beard burn, and that has benefits, but having proof this
lovely man kissed me stupid would be amazing and I won’t have that lingering soreness to remind me
of someone wanting to kiss me slow after he takes me back to Soren’s house.
Sir’s face smells of the eucalyptus from the after-shave lotion. I taste nothing and for a moment I
wonder if he bought it with that in mind so he’d kiss whoever had been shaving him, but I push those
thoughts aside and focus on the way his fingers are running though the hair on the back of my head.
After a few minutes, Sir’s hand slides down from the back of my head and is running over my ass. I
take his wandering hand as an invitation to move my hands over the firm lines of his chest. When my
hand finds his nipple, I run my fingers over it back and forth, resisting the urge to squeeze it ever so
lightly. Sir must like the way it feels because the kiss becomes less coordinated, and the little bucks
of his hips become thrusts.
Arching my back, I grind my cock into his belly, making sure when I push back away from him with
my cock that my ass is grinding on his cock. Sir stops kissing me and for just a moment I think he’s
mad or that he wants me to stop, but then he leans forward and wraps his arms around me and pulls
me tight against him, so my cock is in constant contact with his belly. I take the opportunity of having
my mouth unoccupied to run my tongue up the side of his neck paying special attention to that dimple
under his ear before I pull the earlobe into my mouth sucking on it before I nibble ever so delicately
on his earlobe making sure not to hurt him.
Fuck how I want to be sucking on other things besides his ear, but he’s holding me to him as we rub
and grind against each other. Sir pulls me away from him, so I’m sitting straight like I was riding his
cock and he runs his hands under my shirt and over my nipples. Where my touch was gentle, his
fingers were strong and not at all tentative. They find those little nubs and squeeze them, rolling them
between his fingers. I can’t help but let out a yip, but it feels like we attach my nipples to my cock
because I almost come when he squeezes them for the first time.
Sir moves so he’s sitting up straighter in the chair and starts sucking on my left nipple. I can’t stop
myself from grinding on him faster as he sucks. When he stops sucking and starts flicking his tongue
back and forth off the sensitive nub, I come hard all over my pants. Sir keeps playing with my nipple,
dragging all the pleasure out of me before his thrust becomes more frantic and he comes flopping back
in the chair, pulling him with me so we’re both leaning back in the chair cuddled together.
Fuck me when the afterglow fades. My cock is going to be sore and not in a fun way, but for our
first time, I don’t think I’d have changed it at all. I lean in, turning my face so my forehead is resting
under Sir’s chin and all I can think is Daddy will take care of me. That I wanted to refer to him as
Daddy even in my head is enough to scare me, but I can’t seem to care enough to run away from this
amazing Daddy holding me after he gave me exactly what I needed today. No, Daddy fits him for
some many more reasons than the amazing sex we just had.
 Chapter Six

Jax
Thank god Daddy has a fancy shmancy washing machine because by the time we get out of the
chair, I have more than a dozen texts from Hendrix asking me when I’ll be at the house and how sorry
he is and how worried he is. Part of me wants to let him stew for a while, but with as much as I’m
enjoying spending time with Charlie, I want to get a little distance from him. Today felt like NRE
(new relationship energy) and I want to think about today when I’m not all floaty and blissed out, but I
also didn’t want to show up in Charlie’s clothes or with a come-stain on my pants. So, we stalled
long enough to wash and dry my clothes and then head over to Hendrix’s house.
Charlie talked to Soren, so Hendrix would stop worrying. I’d have let him panic a little longer, but
Daddy overruled me and for the first time in a long time I don’t care enough to fight. I almost always
have the energy to fight, but something about Charlie makes me want to relax into the warmth of him
and not fight. Fuck, I’m lost on this man.
On the drive over to Soren’s house, we pick up food. When Charlie asked me what I wanted for
dinner, I thought we were going to grab food on the way. I guess we did that, but I thought it would be
just the two of us eating together, not picking up food for everyone. I might have said something, but I
don’t want Charlie to think I’m an ass, so I bite my tongue and accept that I’m going to have to talk to
Hendrix and make nice with him.
Walking to the door of Soren’s house, I can hear Hendrix yell that we’re here and I know the
moment I hear him speak that he’s Little. From all the talking Charlie and I did online before, he
knows I’m a Little. I also know he’s a Daddy, but I’m still floaty and I’ll slide into my Little
headspace if I’m around Hendrix in his Little headspace for too long. What will he think of me if I go
all Little around him? Hendrix and I have been Little together too much for me to stay big when I’m
half in subspace and he’s Little.
The last thing I want to do is embarrass him but when I hear the thump of Hendrix banging into the
door in his rush to answer the door, I can already feel myself sliding into my Little headspace.
“Hi Jax, I’m sorry. You’re set up like that by me. I knew how much you both enjoyed talking to each
other online, and if you remember, I told you to meet with him months before I moved out here and
knew who he was. I just wanted you to be happy. I’m sorry,” Jax says, head down and twisting
around, so he’s swaying on his feet and playing with the bottom of his shirt. I want to be angry, but
when I think about how much fun I had today with Charlie, I can’t help but feel like I should have
agreed to meet him long before I did. I’m not ready to tell Hendrix I’ve forgiven him yet, but I will
cave soon.
“I know you want me to be happy, but you tricked both of us. I don’t know if I would’ve come if I
knew you were setting me and Heliosphere up, but it would have been nice to know you knew him
and then I could’ve made my choice, but I don’t hate you or anything. I’ll get over it. I just felt
ambushed,” I say, reaching out and grabbing Hendrix’s hand and pulling him into a hug.
“Now, let’s go eat our dinner before it gets cold,” I say, letting Hendrix lead me to the kitchen by
the hand he’s still holding. If he’d been big when I got here, I probably would’ve talked to him more
about it or at least stayed mad longer, but with him looking so cute and Little, telling him off only to
forgive him wouldn’t have done anyone any good.
Charlie seems almost as comfortable here as he was in his own home. Watching him pull out
silverware and plates, it’s clear Charlie spends plenty of time here. He dishes up the food for
everyone, even cutting up the steak in bite-sized pieces for Hendrix. When he looks over at me, I’m
still holding Hendrix’s hand; I’m still big but I can feel myself sliding into my Little headspace and
I’ll be Little by the time we’re ready to eat, so I nod at Daddy and watch as he cuts my steak up into
bite-sized pieces.
When Charlie sets the plates on the table, both Hendrix and I have our food on divided plates and
our steak cut into bite-sized pieces and the last part of me that was still big slides away and I’m fully
in my Little headspace. It’s one thing to be Little with someone who might tolerate it but not embrace
it, but a whole other thing when they so clearly want you to be Little.
Soren and Hendrix are sickeningly cute together. Soren manages to not feed Hendrix like a baby,
but you can just tell he wants to fly his steak around like an airplane. I love being Little but not that
Little and the last thing I want is make Charlie think I want that sort of thing, so I make sure to always
keep my hand on my fork. I know I’m being ridiculous, but the last thing I want is for Charlie to grab
my fork and try to feed me. I might be Little but I’m never so small I need help to get my food into my
mouth. No, thank you. I’m a big boy.
After dinner is over, Hendrix grabs my hand and drags me off to another part of the house. The last
thing I want to do is to have Daddy leave me without saying goodbye, but he’s busy talking to Soren
and I don’t want to be naughty and annoy Daddy by interrupting him when he’s talking to another
Daddy, so I follow Hendrix upstairs.
When I see the room Hendrix is taking me to, I can’t describe how excited I am by the room. It’s a
playroom, but someone clearly designed it for Little play. The floor is all soft mats so you can crawl
on the floor or sit on the floor without getting sore. There’s a table in the room that’s brightly colored
but also the right height to sit on the floor and use. There are shelves all around the room with boxes
of toys. One side of the room has an easel and every kind of art supply you could ever want to play
with.
The other side of the room has a big bean bag and couch that was designed for two large people to
cuddle on in front of a TV. In one corner there’s another bean bag and an entire shelf of books with
books for every age group on them. I want to look around the room and play with everything, but I
also want to go look at the books and pick a couple in case Daddy will tuck me in and read to me. I
don’t want to be greedy, but I’ve never had someone read me a bedtime story, and I’d very much like
it if my Daddy would lie in bed with me and read me a story.
“Lets play Lego?” Hendrix asks, pulling out what must be enough Lego to build an entire city out of
one bin in the room. Lego isn’t my first choice, but it sounds like fun, so I plop down next to him and
start building. I’m big enough to want to build something and Hendrix seems to just want to make a
tower as tall as he can before he knocks it down. At some point Daddy and Soren come into the
playroom, but they are sitting on the couch and talking. After the fifth time Hendrix smashes what I’m
working on, I cry.
I didn’t mean to be a crybaby, but it was just too much for me to handle and I might cry. Hendrix
tries to hug me and apologize but I must be overtired because I push him away and won’t let him get
near me. I know I’m being silly: we were just playing, and he meant nothing by it, but after him
springing Charlie on me earlier, I can’t handle him and I just want to get away from him. I run over to
where Daddy is sitting on the couch with Soren.
“What’s wrong?” Daddy asks, pulling me into his lap.
 “Hendrix was mean to me; he wouldn’t stop knocking down my Legos. I didn’t want to play smash.
I told him to stop, but he didn’t. He kept breaking what I was working on. I don’t want to play with
him anymore.”
“That wasn’t very nice of him. How about you and I do something else?” Daddy asks, hugging me.
“Okay,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Could we read a story?”
“Do you want to read a story in here or do you want to go into the room you are going to be
sleeping in while you’re here and I can read you a story and tuck you into bed? I bet you are ready for
bed, aren’t you? It’s late in D.C., isn’t it?” Daddy asks, pulling me so I’m not just sitting in his lap but
I’m leaning against him, so my head is on his shoulder and I’m curled up in his lap. Mr. Soren must
have gone to talk to Hendrix because he’s gone and Hendrix sounds like he’s in trouble on the other
side of the room. I hide my face so Daddy can’t see me smile, but I can’t help but smile that Hendrix
is in trouble. He was mean to me today. He deserves to be in trouble.
“Will you cuddle with me while you read me a story?”
“Of course, I’ll cuddle with you while I read you a story. Why don’t you go over and pick out a
couple of books for us to read and you can get ready for bed and then we can read a story,” Daddy
says, as we get up and make our way over to the bookshelf. I pick out a couple of books and then
Daddy takes me to the guest room, where all my stuff is already put in the drawers and closet.
Someone put a pair of train pajamas on the bed. I don’t know if I should be excited or mortified,
but I go with excited and let Daddy help me put them on. I’m not exactly feeling Little but I’m not
exactly big, so I lean into letting Daddy take care of me and before I know it, I’m small again. Daddy
even puts my toothpaste on my toothbrush before he leaves me to get ready for bed. I want to let
Daddy put my jammies on me, but then he’ll see all my scars and I’m just not up for dealing with that
right now, so I take them with me to the bathroom and get dressed on my own.
When I come out of the bathroom, Daddy has pulled the blankets down so they are ready for me to
get under the covers and not only that, but he has changed into a pair of sweatpants so I can cuddle
him and not be uncomfortable.
I run and jump on the bed, making the whole bed bounce when I land. Daddy shakes his head at me
and before turning off the lights and pushing me so there’s room on the bed for him before he climbs
in next to me. As soon as Daddy is in the bed, I move so I’m laying with my head on his chest so I see
the book Daddy is going to read to me.
The first book Daddy reads is a book I’ve read before. It’s called Llama Llama Red Pajama. It
sounds like a Dr. Seuss book all rhymes and it’s silly, but Daddy makes funny voices and pretends to
be all exasperated when the mamma llama is frustrated with the baby llama, but when the book is
over, I’m still awake so Daddy gets a different book. This time it’s Charlotte’s Web. I never read it as
a kid, but I saw the movie, so I can’t wait for Daddy to read it to me. I’m asleep before Daddy gets to
the end of the first chapter.

Charlie
I can’t believe how cute Jax is when he’s Little. He was a lot of fun to play with when he was
serving me. I can definitely see us doing things like that again, but I also had fun when he was just
being a Little and playing with Hendrix. I should’ve known better than to get caught up talking to
Soren when the boys were playing. Jax had a hard day and I guess it was just too much for him to
have Hendrix disrespect him when they were both Little, but he calmed down and did not let it ruin
the rest of his night.
When he got ready for bed, I so badly wanted to help him into his jammies, but I can see where he
wouldn’t want me to see his burns for the first time when he was Little, but he just looked so cute in
them. When he jumped in the bed, I thought I’d lose it over how adorable he was, but what did me in
was how cuddly he was. We talked a lot about how brief his experiences with being touched were in
his life, and I can see it. He melts into every touch but especially when he’s in his Little space. I
mean, the way he attached himself to me like a little monkey when he got in the bed was just so cute. I
can’t believe how cuddly he was.
He fell asleep a chapter ago and I can’t bring myself to leave yet. Maybe he’s not the only one who
needs more touch in their life. If things work out maybe, we can give each other the touch we both
need. When I start the third chapter after he fell asleep, I make myself get up. Before I go, I find his
phone and put it on the charger by his bed so he can reach it, then I crack the door to the bathroom and
turn on the little night light so he can find the bathroom if he needs it in the middle of the night.
When I get downstairs, the house is empty, so I head home. When I get home, I shoot Jax a message
asking him if he wants to hangout today, before I make my way to bed thinking if I play my cards right,
maybe I won’t have to sleep alone for too much longer. Could I be so lucky to get to have this amazing
man in my life? He has a job, but I know he teaches mostly online classes and it’s not like I don’t
know people at both DU and CU. I hate to be a dick, but I can totally use my wealth and status to get
him a job out here if that’s what he wants.
 Chapter Seven

Jax
Far too early I’m awakened by a beeping from my phone. I didn’t put my phone on the charger last
night before I went to bed and it makes my heart beat a little faster.
Grabbing it, I see I have a bunch of messages from Hendrix and one from Charlie. I check what
Hendrix has to say first because I know if I look at Charlie’s first, I won’t remember to deal with
whatever I need to do with Hendrix. He’s apologizing for last night and asking how things went
yesterday with Charlie. What am I supposed to tell him? If I say we played he will want to know at
least some details and while we’ve always talked about things like that in the past, I don’t want to
risk what I have with Charlie over telling Hendrix, so I jump over to the text from him and smile
when I read it.
Charlie to Jax: I had fun with you today. Do you want to hangout today? Message me when you get
a chance.
How did he know just want to say to make me feel special and cared about? I shoot him a reply.
Jax to Charlie: I had fun with you yesterday as well. I’d love to hang out with you. Did you have
something in mind?
As I wait for Charlie to respond, I go down to the kitchen to see if Hendrix is around. I want to talk
to him now that we’re both big, but I’m nervous about how it will go. He’s my best friend, but I will
not lie. I’m hurt. If he’d have gotten me to meet Charlie in so many other ways that wouldn’t have
been so upsetting, but I don’t want this to end our friendship so I’ll have to talk to him to I can move
on.
“Hey, can we talk about yesterday?” I ask, walking into the kitchen trying not to think about last
night and how good it felt to have Charlie take care of me when I was Little.
 “Absolutely. Do you want any of this omelet I made?”
“Since when did you learn to make an omelet? I know your daddy has been teaching you, but
seriously, is it safe to eat that? Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, asshole, I’m not trying to kill you. I’ve learned a lot about cooking since I’ve been living with
Soren. You won’t die, I promise, and if I was trying to kill you, I could have done something way
more interesting than feeding you something. Remember, I went to military college.”
“Dick,” I say, laughing as I make my way to the table and sit down to eat breakfast. I want to talk to
him more about what happened yesterday, but things seem to be on the mend, and I don’t want to upset
him or start a fight. I just want to eat my breakfast and go meet up with Charlie.
“You seemed to get along with Charlie yesterday? How was your time with him?” I guess we’re
going to talk about it. I want to be pissed at him, but I really want to talk to him about it and see what
he thinks. Also, he’ll have a million questions when I tell him I want to go see him today. There’s no
way he’ll let me leave to see Charlie before I have a full inquisition with him about what we did
yesterday, so I might as well lean into it and see what he thinks about the situation.
“We got along well.”
“What did you do while you were hanging out with him? You went into your Little space pretty fast
last night and you normally don’t do that when you aren’t already feeling floaty. I wouldn’t have been
Little when you got here if I thought you’d played with him. But tell me how it went?”
Fuck, why does he have to know me so well? I should’ve known he’d be able to tell I’d played
with him before we got here last night. “I was really upset.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve told you I knew who Heliosphere was,” Hendrix
interrupts, looking lost and like he’s waiting for me to jump on him about what he did. The elephant is
in the room.
“I’m pissed. Hell, I still am, but I never would’ve agreed to come if you’d told me. I’d have put it
off and never actually met him so while I’m not happy you did what you did, I can at least see why
you did.” Saying it out load to Hendrix, I can feel that what I’m saying is true. If he’d told me he knew
who Charlie was, I’d never come to visit, and I’d have pulled away from Heliosphere online because
I’d known who he was.
“I’m sorry, but I’m glad you don’t hate me. So, tell me what you did yesterday. I want to hear all
about what you did to get all floaty?”
“Asshole. Fine, I’ll tell you all about it.” When I tell him about shaving Charlie, I can feel my cock
getting hard and I want to rush through the story so I can go tell Charlie to come get me, but I need my
best friend’s opinion about what I should do even though I know what I want to do. Why do I need
approval so badly? Hendrix loves and cares about me. He’ll tell me to pursue Charlie. I know what
he’ll say, but I need to tell him what happened, so he gives me permission to go after what I want.
Maybe I should go back to therapy. I shouldn’t need approval like this. Although the idea of relaxing
and letting Daddy tell me what to do sounds so nice, I still need to be strong enough to do things on
my own.
“I think you should go after him. He ticks all your boxes, and he’s a great guy, and you’ve been
talking to him for what, a year already. He’s a good guy who will treat you right.”
“You’re right, he’ll treat me well; I just can’t seem to accept that anyone like him would want
someone who looks like me.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you act like you’re Quasimodo. You are super-hot. I know you got made fun as
a kid and I know people haven’t been able to see that in the past, but you are hot and Charlie can see
that. Why do you think he was staring at you yesterday?”
“He was staring for the same reason everyone stares. I’m hideous.”
“No, you’re not. They are a part of you, but they don’t make you ugly. You’d be a ten without them.
They are just part of who you are.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No, I’m not,” Hendrix says, leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away from him and
pinning me with a stare.
“Fine, you are crazy. I still don’t know what to do with Charlie. When I was shaving him yesterday,
he knew exactly how to get me out of my head and put me into my headspace, and all he did was let
me serve him.”
“Why do you say things like that? Of course, it was more than just you serving him it was because
it was him. You’ve been playing online for almost a year. Of course, he knew how to get you into your
headspace. He’s been doing it from across the country for months. When are you going to see him
again?”
Fuck, I knew he wouldn’t let me stay here, not when he’d tell him much fun I had playing with him
yesterday. “Well, he asked me if I wanted to hang out with him today. I wanted to make sure you
didn’t have any plans today before I said yes.”
“Go see him, spend time with him. You love spending time with him and if you get with him, maybe
you will move out of here. Don’t think I was completely altruistic with all of this. I miss you and want
Another random document with
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Again the impetuous wild thing, she seized one of the bags of nuts
before I had had time to stop her, and went darting off before me
along the forest track, while I was left to follow slowly in a sober
mood.
 Chapter VIII
THE BIRDS FLY SOUTH
It was early in October when the mystery of the Ibandru began to
take pronounced form.
Then it was that I became aware of an undercurrent of excitement in
the village, a suppressed agitation which I could not explain, which
none would explain to me, and which I recorded as much by
subconscious perception as by direct observation. Yet there was
sufficient visible evidence. The youth of the village had apparently
lost interest in the noisy pastimes that had made the summer
evenings gay; old and young alike seemed to have grown restless
and uneasy; while occasionally I saw some man or woman scurrying
about madly for no apparent reason. And meantime all bore the
aspect of waiting, of waiting for some imminent and inevitable event
of surpassing importance. Interest in Yulada was at fever pitch; a
dozen times a day some one would point toward the stone woman
with significant gestures; and a dozen times a day I observed some
native prostrating himself in an attitude of prayer, with face always
directed toward the figure on the peak while he mumbled
incoherently to himself.
But the strangest demonstration of all occurred late one afternoon,
when a brisk wind had blown a slaty roof across the heavens, and
from far to the northeast, across the high jutting ridges of rock, a
score of swift-flying black dots became suddenly visible. In an
orderly, triangular formation they approached, gliding on an
unwavering course with the speed of an express train; and in an
incredibly brief time they had passed above us and out of sight
beyond Yulada and the southern peak. After a few minutes they
were followed by another band of migrants, and then by another, and
another still, until evening had blotted the succeeding squadrons
from view and their cries rang and echoed uncannily in the dark.
To me the surprising fact was not the flight of the feathered things;
the surprising fact was the reaction of the Ibandru. It was as if they
had never seen birds on the wing before; or as if the birds were the
most solemn of omens. On the appearance of the first flying flock,
one of the Ibandru, who chanced to observe the birds before the
others, went running about the village with cries of excitement; and
at his shouts the women and children crowded out of the cabins, and
all the men within hearing distance came dashing in from the fields.
And all stood with mouths open, gaping toward the skies as the
successive winged companies sped by; and from that time forth, until
twilight had hidden the last soaring stranger, no one seemed to have
any purpose in life except to stare at the heavens, calling out
tumultuously whenever a new band appeared.
That evening the people held a great celebration. An enormous
bonfire was lighted in an open space between the houses; and
around it gathered all the men and women of the village, lingering
until late at night by a flickering eerie illumination that made the
scene appear like a pageant staged on another planet. In the
beginning I did not know whether the public meeting had any
connection with the flight of the birds; but it was not long before this
question was answered.
In their agitation, the people had evidently overlooked me entirely.
For once, they had forgotten politeness; indeed, they scarcely
noticed me when I queried them about their behavior. And it was as
an uninvited stranger, scarcely remembered or observed, that I crept
up in the shadows behind the fire, and lay amid the grass to watch.
In the positions nearest the flames, their faces brilliant in the glow,
were two men whom I immediately recognized. One, sitting cross-
legged on the ground, his features rigid with the dignity of leadership,
was Abthar, the father of Yasma; the other, who stood speaking in
sonorous tones, was Hamul-Kammesh, the soothsayer. Because I
sat at some distance from him and was far from an adept at Pushtu,
I missed the greater part of what he said; but I did not fail to note the
tenseness with which the people followed him; and I did manage to
catch an occasional phrase which, while fragmentary, impressed me
as more than curious.
"Friends," he was saying, "we have reached the season of the great
flight.... The auguries are propitious ... we may take advantage of
them whenever the desire is upon us.... Yulada will help us, and
Yulada commands...." At this point there was much that I could not
gather, since Hamul-Kammesh spoke in lower tones, with his head
bowed as though in prayer.... "The time of yellow leaves and of cold
winds is upon us. Soon the rain will come down in showers from the
gray skies; soon the frost will snap and bite; soon all the land will be
desolate and deserted. Prepare yourselves, my people, prepare!—
for now the trees make ready for winter, now the herbs wither and
the earth grows no longer green, now the bees and butterflies and
fair flowers must depart until the spring—and now the birds fly south,
the birds fly south, the birds fly south!"
The last words were intoned fervently and with emphatic slowness,
like a chant or a poem; and it seemed to me that an answering
emotion swept through the audience. But on and on Hamul-
Kammesh went, on and on, speaking almost lyrically, and sometimes
driving up to an intense pitch of feeling. More often than not I could
not understand him, but I divined that his theme was still the same;
he still discoursed upon the advent of autumn, and the imminent and
still more portentous advent of winter....
After Hamul-Kammesh had finished, his audience threw themselves
chests downward on the ground, and remained thus for some
minutes, mumbling unintelligibly to themselves. I observed that they
all faced in one direction, the south; and I felt that this could not be
attributed merely to chance.
Then, as though at a prearranged signal, all the people
simultaneously arose, reminding me of a church-meeting breaking
up after the final prayer. Yet no one made any motion to leave; and I
had an impression that we were nearer the beginning than the end of
the ceremonies. This impression was confirmed when Hamul-
Kammesh began to wave his arms before him with a bird-like
rhythm, and when, like an orchestra in obedience to the band-
master, the audience burst into song.
I cannot say that the result pleased me, for there was in it a weird
and barbarous note; yet at the same time there was a certain wild
melody ... so that, as I listened, I came more and more under the
influence of the singing. It seemed to me that I was hearing the voice
not of individuals but of a people, a people pouring forth its age-old
joys and sorrows, longings and aspirations. But how express in
words the far-away primitive quality of that singing?—It had
something of the madness and abandon of the savage exulting,
something of the loneliness and long-drawn melancholy of the wolf
howling from the midnight hilltop, something of the plaintive and
querulous tone of wild birds calling and calling on their way
southward.
After the song had culminated in one deep-voiced crescendo, it was
succeeded by a dance of equal gusto and strangeness. Singly and in
couples and in groups of three and four, the people leapt and
swayed in the wavering light; they flung their legs waist-high, they
coiled their arms snake-like about their bodies, they whirled around
like tops; they darted forward and darted back again, sped gracefully
in long curves and spirals, tripped from side to side, or reared and
vaulted like athletes; and all the while they seemed to preserve a
certain fantastic pattern, seemed to move to the beat of some
inaudible rhythm, seemed to be actors in a pageant whose nature I
could only vaguely surmise. As they flitted shadow-like in the
shadowy background or glided with radiant faces into the light and
then back into the gloom, they seemed not so much like sportive and
pirouetting humans as like dancing gods; and the sense came over
me that I was beholding not a mere ceremony of men and women,
but rather a festival of wraiths, of phantoms, of cloudy, elfin creatures
who might flash away into the mist or the firelight.
Nor did I lose this odd impression when at intervals the dance
relaxed and the dancers lay on the ground recovering from their
exertions, while one of them would stand in the blazing light chanting
some native song or ballad. If anything, it was during these
intermissions that I was most acutely aware of something uncanny. It
may, of course, have been only my imagination, for the recitations
were all of a weird nature; one poem would tell of men and maidens
that vanished in the mists about Yulada and were seen no more;
another would describe a country to which the south wind blew, and
where it was always April, while many would picture the wanderings
of migrant birds, or speak of bodiless spirits that floated along the air
like smoke, screaming from the winter gales but gently murmuring in
the breezes of spring and summer.
For some reason that I cannot explain, these legends and folk-tales
not only filled my mind with eerie fancies but made me think of one
who was quite human and real. I began to wonder about Yasma—
where was she now? What part was she taking in the celebration?
And as my thoughts turned to her, an irrational fear crept into my
mind—what if, like the maidens described in the poems, she had
taken wing? Smiling at my own imaginings, I arose quietly from my
couch of grass, and slowly and cautiously began to move about the
edge of the crowd, while scanning the nearer forms and faces. In the
pale light I could scarcely be distinguished from a native; and, being
careful to keep to the shadows, I was apparently not noticed. And I
had almost circled the clearing before I had any reason to pause.
All this time I had seen no sign of Yasma. I had almost given up
hope of finding her when my attention was attracted to a solitary little
figure hunched against a cabin wall in the dimness at the edge of the
clearing. Even in the near-dark I could not fail to recognize her; and,
heedless of the dancers surging and eddying through the open
spaces, I made toward her in a straight line.
I will admit that I had some idea of the unwisdom of speaking to her
tonight; but my impatience had gotten the better of my tongue.
"I am glad to see you here," I began, without the formality of a
greeting. "You are not taking part in the dance, Yasma."
Yasma gave a start, and looked at me like one just awakened from
deep sleep. At first her eyes showed no recognition; then it struck
me there was just a spark of anger and even of hostility in her gaze.
"No, I am not taking part in the dance," she responded, listlessly. And
then, after an interval, while I stood above her in embarrassed
silence, "But why come to me now?... Why disturb me tonight of all
nights?"
"I do not want to disturb you, Yasma," I apologized. "I just happened
to see you here, and thought—"
My sentence was never finished. Suddenly I became aware that
there was only vacancy where Yasma had been. And dimly I was
conscious of a shadow-form slipping from me into the multitude of
shadows.
In vain I attempted to follow her. She had vanished as completely as
though she had been one of the ghostly women of the poems. No
more that evening did I see her small graceful shape; but all the rest
of the night, until the bonfire had smoldered to red embers and the
crowd had dispersed, I wandered about disconsolately, myself like a
ghost as I furtively surveyed the dancing figures. A deep, sinking
uneasiness obsessed me; and my dejection darkened into despair
as it became plainer that my quest was unavailing, and that Yasma
had really turned against me.
 Chapter IX
IN THE REDDENING WOODS
During the weeks before the firelight celebration, I had gradually
made friends with the various natives. This was not difficult, for the
people were as curious regarding me as I would have been
regarding a Martian. At the same time, they were kindly disposed,
and would never hesitate to do me any little favor, such as to help
me in laying up my winter's supplies, or to advise me how to make a
coat of goat's hide, or to tell me where the rarest herbs and berries
were to be found, or to bring me liberal portions of any choice viand
they chanced to be preparing.
I was particularly interested in Yasma's brothers and sisters, all of
whom I met in quick succession. They were all older than she, and
all had something of her naïvety and vivaciousness without her own
peculiar charm. Her three sisters had found husbands among the
men of the tribe, and two were already the mothers of vigorous
toddling little sons and daughters; while her brothers, Karem and
Barkodu, were tall, proud, and dignified of demeanor like their father.
With Karem, the elder, I struck up a friendship that was to prove my
closest masculine attachment in Sobul. I well remember our first
meeting; it was just after my convalescence from my long illness.
One morning, in defiance of Yasma's warning, I had slipped off by
myself into the woods, intending to go but a few hundred yards. But
the joyous green of the foliage, the chirruping birds and the warm
crystalline air had misled me; and, happy merely to be alive and free,
I wandered on and on, scarcely noticing how I was overtaxing my
strength. Then suddenly I became aware of an overwhelming
faintness; all things swam around me; and I sank down upon a
boulder, near to losing consciousness.... After a moment, I attempted
to rise; but the effort was too much; I have a recollection of
staggering like a drunken man, or reeling, of pitching toward the
rocks....
Happily, I did not complete my fall. Saving me from the shattering
stones, two strong arms clutched me about the shoulders, and
wrenched me back to a standing posture.
In a daze, I looked up ... aware of the red and blue costume of a
tribesman of Sobul ... aware of the two large black eyes that peered
down at me half in amusement, half in sympathy. Those eyes were
but the most striking features of a striking countenance; I
remembered having already seen that high, rounded forehead, that
long, slender, swarthy face with the aquiline nose, that untrimmed
luxuriant full black beard.
"Come, come, I do not like your way of walking," the man declared,
with a smile. And seeing that I was still too weak to reply, he
continued, cheerfully, with a gesture toward a thicket to our rear, "If I
had not been there gathering berries, this day might have ended
sadly for you. Shall I not take you home?"
Leaning heavily upon him while with the gentlest care he led me
along the trail, I found my way slowly back to the village.
And thus I made the acquaintance of Karem, brother of Yasma. At
the time I did not know of the relationship; but between Karem and
myself a friendship quickly developed. Even as he wound with me
along the woodland track to the village, I felt strangely drawn toward
this genial, self-possessed man; and possibly he felt a reciprocal
attraction, for he came often thereafter to inquire how I was doing;
and occasionally we had long talks, as intimate as my foreign birth
and my knowledge of Pushtu would permit. I found him not at all
unintelligent, and the possessor of knowledge that his sophisticated
brothers might have envied. He told me more than I had ever known
before about the habits of wood creatures, of wolves and squirrels,
jackals, snakes and bears; he could describe where each species of
birds had their nests, and the size and color of the eggs; he
instructed me in the lore of bees, ants and beetles, and in the ways
of the fishes in the swift-flowing streams. Later, when I had
recovered my strength, he would accompany me on day-long climbs
among the mountains, showing me the best trails and the easiest
ascents—and so supplying me with knowledge that was to prove
most valuable in time to come.
It was to Karem that I turned for an answer to the riddles of Sobul
after Yasma had failed me. But in this respect he was not very
helpful. He would smile indulgently whenever I hinted that I
suspected a mystery; and would make some jovial reply, as if
seeking to brush the matter aside with a gesture. This was especially
the case on the day after the firelight festivities, when we went on a
fishing expedition to a little lake on the further side of the valley.
Although in a rare good humor, he was cleverly evasive when I
asked anything of importance. What had been the purpose of the
celebration? It was simply an annual ceremony held by his people,
the ceremony of the autumn season. Why had Hamul-Kammesh
attached so much significance to the flight of the birds? That was
mere poetic symbolism; the birds had been taken as typical of the
time of year. Then what reason for the excitement of the people?—
and what had Yulada to do with the affair? Of course, Yulada had
nothing to do with it at all; but the people thought she had ordered
the ceremonies, and they had been swayed by a religious mania,
which Hamul-Kammesh, after the manner of soothsayers, had
encouraged for the sake of his own influence.
Such were Karem's common-sense explanations. On the surface
they were convincing; and yet, somehow, I was not convinced. For
the moment I would be persuaded; but thinking over the facts at my
leisure, I would feel sure that Karem had left much unstated.
My dissatisfaction with his replies was most acute when I touched
upon the matter closest to my heart. I described Yasma's conduct
during the celebration; confided how surprised I had been, and how
pained; and confessed my fear that I had committed the
unpardonable sin by intruding during an important rite.
To all that I said Karem listened with an attentive smile.
"Why, Prescott," he returned (I had taught him to call me by my last
name), "you surprise me! Come, come, do not be so serious! Who
can account for a woman's whims? Certainly, not I! When you are
married like me, and have little tots running about your house ready
to crawl up your knee whenever you come in, you'll know better than
to try to explain what the gods never intended to be explained by any
man!" And Karem burst into laughter, and slapped me on the back
good-naturedly, as though thus to dispose of the matter.
However, I was not to be sidetracked so easily. I did not join in
Karem's laughter; I even felt a little angry. "But this wasn't just an
ordinary whim," I argued. "There was something deeper in it. There
was some reason I don't understand, and can't get at no matter how
I try."
"Then why not save trouble, and quit trying?" suggested Karem, still
good-natured despite my sullenness. "Come, it's a splendid day; let's
enjoy it while we can!"
And he pointed ahead to a thin patch of blue, vaguely visible through
a break in the trees. "See, there's the lake already! I expect fishing
will be good today!"

If I had required further proof that my wits had surrendered to

Yasma's charms, I might have found evidence enough during the
days that followed the tribal celebration. Though smarting from her
avoidance of me, I desired nothing more fervently than to be with her
again; and I passed half my waking hours in vainly searching for her.
Day after day I would inquire for her at her father's cabin, would
haunt the paths to the dwelling, would search the fields and
vineyards in the hope of surprising her. Where had she gone, she
who had always come running to greet me? Had she flown south like
the wild birds? At this fancy I could only smile; yet always, with a
lover's irrational broodings, I was obsessed by the fear that she was
gone never to return. This dread might have risen to terror had the
villagers not always been bringing me tidings of her: either they had
just spoken with her, or had seen someone who had just spoken with
her, or had observed her tripping by toward the meadows. Yet she
was still elusive as though able to make herself invisible.
Nevertheless, after about a week my vigilance was rewarded.
Stepping out into the chill gray of a mid-October dawn, I saw a
slender little figure slipping along the edge of the village and across
the fields toward the woods. My heart gave a great thump; without
hesitation, I started in pursuit, not daring to call out lest I arouse the
village, but determined not to lose sight of that slim flitting form. She
did not glance behind, and could not have known that I was
following, yet for some reason quickened her pace, so that I had to
make an effort to match her speed.
Once out of earshot of the village, I paused to regain my breath, then
at the top of my voice shouted, "Yasma! Yasma!"
Could it be that she had not heard me? On and on she continued,
straight toward the dark fringe of the woods.
Dismayed and incredulous, I repeated my call, using my hands as a
megaphone. This time it seemed to me that she halted momentarily;
but she did not look back; and her pause could not have filled the
space between two heart beats. In amazement, I observed her
almost racing toward the woods!
But if she could run, so could I! With rising anger, yet scarcely
crediting the report of my eyes, I started across the fields at a sprint.
In a moment I should overtake Yasma—and then what excuse would
she have to offer?
But ill fortune was still with me. In my heedless haste I stumbled over
a large stone; and when, bruised and confused, I arose to my feet
with an oath, it was to behold a slender form disappearing beyond
the shadowy forest margin.
Although sure that I had again lost track of her, I continued the
pursuit in a sort of dogged rage. There was but one narrow trail amid
the densely matted undergrowth; and along this trail I dashed,
encouraged by the sight of small fresh-made footprints amid the
damp earth. But the maker of those footprints must have been in a
great hurry, for although I pressed on until my breath came hard and
my forehead was moist with perspiration, I could catch no glimpse of
her, nor even hear any stirring or rustling ahead.
At length I had lost all trace of her. The minute footprints came to an
end, as though their creator had vanished bird-like; and I stood in
bewilderment in the mournful twilight of the forest, gazing up at the
lugubrious green of pine and juniper and at the long twisted
branches of oak and ash and wild peach, red-flecked and yellow and
already half leafless.
How long I remained standing there I do not know. It was useless to
go on, equally useless to retrace my footsteps. The minutes went by,
and nothing happened. A bird chirped and twittered from some
unseen twig above; a squirrel came rustling toward me, and with big
frightened eyes hopped to the further side of a tree-trunk; now and
then an insect buzzed past, with a dismal drone that seemed the
epitome of all woe. But that was all—and of Yasma there was still no
sign.
Then, when I thought of her and remembered her loveliness, and
how she had been my playmate and comrade, I was overcome with
the sorrow of losing her, and a teardrop dampened my cheek, and I
heaved a long-drawn sigh.
And as if in response to that sigh, the bushes began to shake and
quiver. And a sob broke the stillness of the forest, and I was as if
transfixed by the sound of a familiar voice.
And out of the tangle of weeds and shrubs a slender figure arose,
with shoulders heaving spasmodically; and with a cry I started
forward and received into my arms the shuddering, speechless,
clinging form of Yasma.
It was minutes before either of us could talk. Meanwhile I held the
weeping girl closely to me, soothing her as I might have done a child.
So natural did this seem that I quite forgot the strangeness of the
situation. My mind was filled with sympathy, sympathy for her
distress, and wonder at her odd ways; and I had no desire except to
comfort her.
"Tell me just what has happened, Yasma," I said, when her sobbing
had died down to a rhythmic murmuring. "What has happened—to
make you so sad?"
To my surprise, she broke away, and stood staring at me at arm's
length. Her eyes were moist with an inexpressible melancholy; there
was something so pitiful about her that I could have taken her back
into my arms forthwith.
"Oh, my friend," she cried, with a vehemence I could not understand,
"why do you waste time over me? Have nothing to do with me! I am
not worth it!" And she turned as if to flee again into the forest; but I
seized her hand and drew her slowly back to me.
"Yasma! Yasma!" I remonstrated, peering down into those wistful
brown eyes that burned with some dark-smoldering fire. "What has
made you behave so queerly? Tell me, do you no longer care for
me? Do you not—do you not love me?"
At these words, the graceful head sagged low upon the quivering
shoulders. A crimson flush mounted the slender neck, and suffused
the soft, well rounded cheeks; the averted eyes told the story they
were meant to conceal.
Then, without further hesitation, my arms closed once more about
her. And again she clung close, this time not with the unconscious
eagerness of a child craving protection, but with all the fury and force
of her impetuous nature.
A few minutes later, a surprising change had come over her. We had
left the woods, and she was sitting at my side in a little glade by a
brooklet. The tears had been dried from her eyes, which were still
red and swollen; but in her face there was a happy glow, and I
thought she had never looked quite so beautiful before.
For a while we sat gazing in silence at the tattered and yet majestic
line of the forest, a phantom pageant whose draperies of russet and
cinnamon and fiery crimson and dusty gold were lovely almost
beyond belief. A strange enchantment had come over us; and we
were reluctant to break the charm.
Yet there were questions that kept stirring in my mind; questions to
which finally I was forced to give words.
"Tell me, Yasma," I asked, suddenly, "why have you been behaving
so queerly? Why were you running away from me? Is there
something about me that frightened you?"
It was as if my words had brought back the evil spell. Her features
contracted into a frown; the darkness returned to her eyes, which
again burned with some unspoken sorrow; a look of fear, almost like
that of a haunted creature, flitted across her face.
"Oh, you must never ask that!" she protested, in such dismay that I
pitied her even while I wondered. "You must never ask—never,
never!"
"Why not?" I questioned. "What mystery can there be to hide?"
"There is no mystery," she declared. And then, with quick
inconsistency, "But even if there were, you should not ask!"
"But why?" I demanded. "Now, Yasma, you mustn't treat me like a
five-year-old. What have I done to offend you? Tell me, what have I
done?"
"It is nothing that you have done," she mumbled, avoiding my gaze.
"Then is it something someone else has done? Come, let me know
just what is wrong!"
"I cannot tell you! I cannot!" she cried, with passion. And, rising
abruptly and turning to me with eyes aflame, "Oh, why must you
insist on knowing? Haven't I done everything to protect you from
knowing? Do you think it has been easy—easy for me to treat you
like this? But it is wrong to love you! wrong even to encourage you!
Only evil can come of it! Oh, why did you ever, ever have to come
among our tribe?"
Having delivered herself of this outburst, Yasma paced back and
forth, back and forth amid the dense grass, with fists clenched and
head upraised to the heavens, like one in an extremity of distress.
But I quickly arose and went to her, and in a moment she was again
in my arms.
Truly, as Karem had declared, the ways of women are not to be
explained! But I felt that there was more meaning than I had
discovered in her behavior; I was sure that she had not acted
altogether without reason, and, remembering all that had puzzled
me, I was determined to probe if possible to the roots of her seeming
caprice.
"You have never been the same to me since the firelight celebration,"
I said, when her emotion had spent itself and we once more sat
quietly side by side in the grass. "Maybe something happened then
to make you despise me."
"No, not to make me despise you!" she denied, emphatically. "It was
not your fault at all!"
"Then what was it?" I urged.
"Nothing. Only that Hamul—Hamul—"
In manifest confusion, she checked herself.
"Hamul-Kammesh?" I finished for her, convinced that here was a
clue.
But she refused to answer me or to mention the soothsayer again;
and, lest the too-ready tears flow once more, I had to abandon the
topic. None the less, I had not forgotten her references to Hamul-
Kammesh and his prophecies.
But I still attached no importance to the predictions—was I to be
dismayed by mere superstition? I was conscious only that I felt an
overwhelming tenderness toward Yasma, and that she was
supremely adorable; and it seemed to me that her love was the sole
thing that mattered. At her first kiss, my reason had abdicated; I was
agitated no longer by scruples, doubts or hesitancies; my former
objects in life appeared pallid and dull by contrast with this warm,
breathing, emotional girl. For her sake I would have forsworn my
chosen work, forsworn the friends I had known, forsworn name and
country—yes, even doomed myself to lasting exile in this green,
world-excluding valley!
In as few words as possible I explained the nature of my feelings. I
was able to give but pale expression to the radiance of my emotions;
but I am sure that she understood. "I do not know what it is that
holds you from me, Yasma," I finished. "Surely, you realize that you
are dearer to me than my own breath. You made me very happy a
little while ago when you came into my arms—why not make me
happy for life? You could live with me here in a cabin in Sobul, or
maybe I could take you with me to see the world I come from, and
you would then know where the clouds go, and see strange cities
with houses as tall as precipices and people many as the leaves of a
tree. What do you say, Yasma? Don't you want to make us both
happy?"
Yasma stared at me with wide-lidded eyes in which I seemed to read
infinite longing.
"You know I would!" she cried. "You know I would—if I could! But
ours is a strange people, and our ways are not your ways. There is
so much you do not understand, so much which even I do not
understand! It all makes me afraid, oh, terribly afraid!"
"Do not be afraid, Yasma dear," I murmured, slipping my arm about
her shoulders. "I will protect you."
"You cannot protect me!" she lamented, withdrawing. "You cannot
even protect yourself! There is so much, so much from which none
can protect themselves!"
Not realizing what she meant, I let this warning slip past.
"All that I know," I swore, passionately, "is that I want you with me—
want you with me always! Let happen what may, I want you—and
have never wanted anything so much before!"
"Oh, do not speak of that now!" she burst forth, in a tone almost of
command. "Do not speak of that now! First there are things you must
know—things I cannot explain!" And she sat with eyes averted,
gazing toward the scarlet and vermilion dishevelled trees, whose
branches waved like ghostly danger signals in the rising wind.
"What things must I know?"
"You will have to wait and find out. Maybe, like us, you will feel them
without being told; but maybe time alone will be your teacher. The
traditions of my tribe would stop me from telling you even if I knew
how. But do not be surprised if you learn some very, very strange
things."
"Strange or not strange," I vowed, "all I know is that I love you. All I
care to learn is when—when, Yasma, you will say to me—"
"Not until the spring," she murmured, with such finality that I felt
intuitively the uselessness of argument. "Not until the flowers come
out from their winter hiding, and the birds fly north. Then you will
know more about our tribe."
Without further explanation, she sprang impulsively from her seat of
grass. "Come," she warned me, pointing to a gray mass that was
obscuring the northern peaks. "Come, a storm is on the way! If we
don't hurry, we'll be wet through and through!"
And she flitted before me toward the village with such speed that I
could scarcely get another word with her.
 Chapter X
THE IBANDRU TAKE WING
As October drifted by and November loomed within two weeks'
beckoning, a striking change came over Sobul. The very elements
seemed to feel and to solemnize that change, which was as much in
the spirit of things as in their physical aspect; and the slow-dying
autumn seemed stricken with a bitter foretaste of winter. Cold winds
began to blow, and even in the seclusion of the valley they shrieked
and wailed with demonic fury; torn and scattered clouds scudded like
great shadows over granite skies, and occasionally gave token of
their ill will in frantic outbursts of rain; ominous new white patches
were forming about the peaks, to vanish within a few hours, and
appear again and vanish once more; and daily the dead leaves
came drifting down in swarms and showers of withered brown and
saffron and mottled red, while daily the flocks of winged adventurers
went darting and screeching overhead on their way beyond the
mountains.
But the stormy days, with all the wildness and force and passionate
abandon of wind and rain, were less impressive for me than the days
of calm. Then, when the placid sky shone in unbroken blue, all
nature seemed sad with a melancholy I had never felt among my
native hills. There was something tragic about the tranquil, ragged
forest vistas, shot through as with an inner light of deep golden and
red, and standing bared in mute resignation to the stroke of doom.
But there was something more than tragic; there was something
spectral about those long waiting lines of trees, with their foliage that
at times appeared to reflect the sunset, and at times seemed like the
painted tapestries of some colossal dream pageant. More and more,
as I gazed in a charmed revery at the gaudy death-apparel of the
woods, I was obsessed with the sense of some immanent presence,
some weird presence that hovered intangibly behind the smoldering
autumn fires, some presence that I could not think of without a
shudder and that filled me with an unreasonable awe.
Certainly my feelings, uncanny as they were, were to be justified
only too fully by time. Already I had more than a suspicion that the
season of southward-flying birds was a season of mystic meaning for
the Ibandru, but little did I understand just how important it was. Only
by degrees did realization force itself upon me; and then I could only
gape, and rub my eyes, and ask if I were dreaming. Stranger than
any tale I had ever read in the Arabian Nights, stranger than any
fancy my fevered mind had ever beckoned forth, was the reality that
set the Ibandru apart from all other peoples on earth.
As the weeks went by, the agitation I had noted among the natives
was intensified rather than lessened. I was aware of a sense of
waiting which grew until the very atmosphere seemed anxious and
strained; and I observed that the men and women no longer went as
usual about their tasks, but flitted to and fro aimlessly or nervously or
excitedly, as though they had no definite place in the world and were
hesitating on the brink of some fearful decision.
And then, one day when October was a little beyond mid-career, I
thought I detected another change. At first I was not sure, and
accused my imagination of playing pranks; but it was not long before
I ceased to have any doubts. The population of Sobul was dwindling!
Not half so many children as before were romping in the open
among the houses, not half so many women could be seen bustling
about the village, or so many men roaming the fields—the entire
place wore a sudden air of desolation. And in more than one cabin,
previously the home of a riotous family, the doors swung no longer
upon their wooden hinges, but through the open window-places I
caught glimpses of bare floors and dark walls innocent of human
occupancy.
When had the people gone? And where? I had not seen anyone
leave, nor been told that anyone was to leave; and I witnessed no
ceremonies of farewell. Could the missing ones be victims of some
terror that came down "like a wolf on the fold" and snatched them
away in the night? Or were they merely visiting some other tribe in
some other secluded valley?
These problems puzzled me incessantly; but when I turned to the
Ibandru for information, their answers were tantalizing. They did not
deny that some of their tribesmen had left, and did not claim that this
had been unexpected or mystifying; but they were either unable or
unwilling to furnish any details; and I was not sure whether they felt
that I was probing impertinently into their affairs, or whether some
tribal or religious mandate sealed their lips.
I particularly remember the answers of Karem and Yasma. The
former, with his usual jovial way of avoiding the issue, advised me to
have no worries; the whole matter was really no concern of mine,
and I might be assured that the missing ones were not badly off or
unhappy. By this time I must have learned that the Ibandru had
queer ways, and I must prepare for things queerer still; but, until I
was one with the tribe at heart, I must not expect to understand.
Yasma's answer, though vague enough, was more definite.
"Our absent friends," she said, while by turns a sad and an exalted
light played across her mobile features, "have gone the way of the
birds that fly south. Yulada has beckoned them, and they have
escaped the winter's loneliness and cold, and have hastened where
the bright flowers are, and the butterflies and bees. See!"—
Ecstatically she pointed to a triangle of swift-moving dots that glided
far above through the cloudless blue.—"They are like the wild geese!
They flee from the biting gales and the frost, and will not return till
the warm days are here again and the leaves come back to the
trees. We must all go like them—all of us, all, all!"
"And I too—must I go?" I asked, never thinking of taking her words
literally.
Yasma hesitated. The light faded from her eyes; an expression of
sorrow, almost of compassion, flooded her face.
"That I cannot say," she returned, sadly. "You must feel the call within
you, feel it as the birds do, drawing you on to lands where robins
sing and the lilac blooms. No one can tell you how to feel it; it must
come from within or not at all, and you yourself must recognize it.
But oh, you cannot help recognizing it! It is so strong, so very strong!
—and it takes your whole body and soul with it, draws you like a
rainbow or a beautiful sunset; and bears you along as the wind bears
a dead leaf. You cannot resist it any more than you can resist a
terrible hunger—you must submit, or it will hurl you under!"
"I do not understand," said I, for despite the ardor of her words, I had
only the dimmest idea of the overmastering force she described.
"Perhaps," she returned, gently, "you cannot know. You may be like a
color-blind man trying to understand color. But oh, I hope not! I hope
—ever and ever so much—that you'll hear the call thundering within
you. Otherwise, you'll have to stay here by yourself the whole winter,
while the snow falls and the wolves howl, and you won't see us
again till spring!"
Her emotion seemed to be overcoming her. Fiercely she wiped a
tear from her cheek; then turned from me, to give way to her
misgivings in the seclusion of her father's cabin.
But I was not without my own misgivings. Her words had revived
haunting premonitions; it was as if some sinister shadow hovered
over me, all the more dread because formless. What unhallowed
people were these Ibandru, to go slinking away like specters in the
night? Were they a tribe of outlaws or brigands, hiding from justice in
these impenetrable fastnesses? Or were they the sole survivors of
some ancient race, endowed with qualities not given to ordinary
humans? With new interest I recalled the stories told me by the
Afghan guides before my fateful adventure: the reports that the
Ibandru were a race of devils, winged like birds and with the power
of making themselves invisible. Absurd as this tale appeared, might
there not be the ghost of an excuse for it?
As for Yasma's predictions and warnings—what meaning had there
been in them? Was it indeed possible that I might be left alone all
winter in this desolate place? And was that why Abthar had advised
me to make ready for the cold season while his own people had
apparently done nothing to prepare? But, even so, how could they
escape the winter? Was it not a mere poetic vagary to say, as Yasma
had done, that they went to lands where robins sang and the lilac
bloomed—how cross the interminable mountain reaches to the semi-
torrid valleys of India or the warm Arabian plains? Or was it that, like
the bears, they hibernated in caves? Or, like the wild geese that they
watched so excitedly, were they swayed by some old migratory
instinct, some impulse dormant or dead in most men but preserved
for them by a long succession of nomad ancestors? Although reason
scoffed at the idea, I had visions of them trekking each autumn
across four or five hundred miles of wilderness to the borders of the
Arabian Sea, surviving on provisions they had secreted along the
route, and returning with the spring to their homes in Sobul.
Unlikely as this explanation appeared, nothing more plausible
occurred to me. But as the days went by, my sense of mystery
increased. The people were fleeing almost as though Sobul were
plague-ridden—of that there could be no further doubt! Daily now I
missed some familiar face; first a child who had come to me of
evenings to run gay races in the fields; then an old woman who had
sat each morning in the sun before her cabin; then Yasma's brother,
Barkodu, whose tall sturdy form I had frequently observed in the
village. And then one evening when I inquired for Karem, I was told
that he was not to be seen; and the people's peculiar reserved
expression testified that he had gone "the way of the birds that fly
south." And, a day later, when I wished to see Abthar in the hope
that he would relieve my perplexed mind, I found no one in the cabin
except Yasma; and she murmured that her father would not be back
till spring.
But did I make no effort to solve the enigma? Did I not strive to find
out for myself where the absent ones had gone? Yes! I made many
attempts—and with bewildering results. Even today I shudder to
think of the ordeal I underwent; the remembrance of eerie midnights
and strange shadows that flickered and vanished comes back to me
after these many, many months; I feel again the cool, forest-scented
breeze upon my nostrils as I crouch among the deep weeds at the
village edge, or as I glide phantom-like beneath the trees in the cold
starlight. For it was mainly at night that I wrestled with the Unknown;
and it was at night that I received the most persuasive and soul-
disturbing proof of the weirdness of the ways of Sobul.
My plans may not have been well laid, but they were the best I could
conceive. From the fact that I had never seen any of the Ibandru
leaving, and that more than once in the morning I had missed some
face that had greeted me twelve hours before, I concluded that the
people invariably fled by night. Acting on this view, I hid one evening
in a clump of bushes on the outskirts of the village, resolved to wait if
need be until dawn. True, no one might choose tonight for the
migration; but in that case I should lie in hiding tomorrow night, and if
necessary again on the night after.
As I lay sprawled among the bushes, whose dry leaves and twigs
pricked and irritated my skin, I was prey to countless vexations. The
night was cold, and I shivered as the wind cut through my thin
garments; the night was long, and I almost groaned with impatience
while the slow constellations crawled across the heavens; the night
was dark, and fantastic fears flitted through my mind as I gazed
through the gloom toward the ghostly line of the trees and cabins.
Every now and then, when some wild creature called out querulously
from the woods, I was swept by desire to flee; and more than once
some harmless small beast, rustling a few yards off, startled me to
alarm. But in the village nothing stirred, and the aloof, shadowy huts,
scattered here and there like the monsters of a nightmare, seemed
to bristle with unspeakable menace.
Yet nothing menacing became visible as the long reaches of the
night dragged by and the constellations still swung monotonously
between the faint black line of the eastern ranges and the equally
faint black peaks to the west. At length, lulled by the sameness and
the silence, I must have forgotten myself, must have drowsed a bit,
for I have a recollection of coming to myself with a start, bewildered
and with half clouded senses.... The night was as tranquil as before,
the trees and houses as dark; but as I glanced skyward I detected
the merest touch of gray. And, at the same time, I had a singular
sense that I was no longer alone. Intently I gazed into the gloom—
still nothing visible. But all the while that same shuddery feeling
persisted, as if unseen eyes were watching me, unseen ears
listening to my every motion. Again I felt an impulse to flee; my limbs
quivered; my heart pounded; instinctively I crawled deeper into the
bushes. And, as I did so, I saw that which made me catch my breath
in horror.
From behind one of the nearer cabins, two long lithe shadows
darted, gliding noiselessly toward me through the darkness. No
ghost could have shown dimmer outlines, or walked on more silent
feet, or flooded my whole being with more uncanny sensations.
Straight toward me they strode, looming gigantic in my tortured
imagination; and as they approached I hugged the bushes more
closely, trembling lest the phantoms discover me. Then suddenly
they swerved aside, and passed at a dozen paces; and through the
stillness of the night came the dull rhythm of sandalled feet.
For a minute I watched in silence. Then, encouraged by the pale
radiance which was swallowing the feebler stars and softening the
blackness above, I choked down my fears and crept stealthily out of
the thicket. Before me the two shadows were still vaguely visible,
gliding rapidly toward the southern woods. Like a detective trailing
his prey, I stumbled among the weeds and rocks in their wake. But,
all the time, I felt that I was pursuing mere wraiths; and, though I
walked my swiftest, I found it impossible to gain upon them. They
were several hundred yards ahead, and several hundred yards
ahead they remained, while I put forth my utmost effort and they
appeared to make no effort at all. And at last, to my dismay, they
reached the shaggy boundary of the woods; merged with it; and
were blotted out.
With what poor patience I could still command, I took the only
possible course. While dawn lent gradual color to the skies, I
hovered at the forest edge; and in the first dismal twilight I began to
inspect the ground, hopeful of discovering some telltale evidence.
But no evidence was to be had. I did indeed find the footprints I was
looking for; the trouble was that I found too many footprints. Not two
persons but twenty had passed on this path, which I recognized as a
trail leading toward Yulada. But all the tracks were new-made, and
all equally obscured by the others; and it was impossible to say
which were the freshest, or to follow any in particular.

When I returned to the village, not a person was stirring among the
cabins; an unearthly stillness brooded over the place, and I could
have imagined it to be a town of the dead. Had I not been utterly
fatigued by my night in the open, I might have been struck even
more strongly by the solitude, and have paused to investigate; as it
was, I made straight for my own hut, flung myself down upon my
straw couch, and sank into a sleep from which I did not awaken until
well past noon.
After a confused and hideous dream, in which I lay chained to a
glacier while an arctic wind blew through my garments, I opened my
eyes with the impression that the nightmare had been real. A
powerful wind was blowing! I could hear it blustering and wailing
among the treetops; through my open window it flickered and sallied
with a breath that seemed straight from the Pole. Leaping to my feet,
I hastily closed the great shutters I had constructed of pine wood;
and, at the same time, I caught glimpses of gray skies with a
scudding rack of clouds, and of little white flakes driving and reeling
down.
In my surprise at this change in the weather, I was struck by
premonitions as bleak as the bleak heavens. What of Yasma? How
would she behave in the storm?—she who was apparently
unprepared for the winter! Though I tried to convince myself that
there was no cause for concern, an unreasoning something within
me insisted that there was cause indeed. It was not a minute,
therefore, before I was slipping on my goatskin coat.
But I might have spared my pains. At this instant there came a
tapping from outside, and my heart began to beat fiercely as I
shouted, "Come in!"
The log door moved upon its hinges, and a short slim figure slipped
inside.
"Yasma!" I cried, surprised and delighted, as I forced the door shut in
the face of the blast. But my surprise was swiftly to grow, and my
delight to die; at sight of her wild, sad eyes, I started back in wonder
and dismay. In part they burned with a mute resignation, and in part
with the unutterable pain of one bereaved; yet at the same time her
face was brightened with an indefinable exultation, as though
beneath that vivid countenance some secret ecstasy glowed and
smoldered.
"I have come to say good-bye," she murmured, in dreary tones. "I
have come to say good-bye."
"Good-bye!"—It was as though I had heard that word long ago in a
bitter dream. Yet how could I accept the decree? Passion took fire
within me as I seized Yasma and pressed her to me.
"Do not leave me!" I pleaded. "Oh, why must you go away? Where
must you go? Tell me, Yasma, tell me! Why must I stay here alone
the whole winter long? Why can't I go with you? Or why can't you
stay with me? Stay here, Yasma! We could be so happy together, we
two!"
Tears came into her eyes at this appeal.
"You make me sad, very sad," she sighed, as she freed herself from
my embrace. "I do not want to leave you here alone—and yet, oh
what else can I do? The cold days have come, and my people call
me, and I must go where the flowers are. Oh, you don't know how
gladly I'd have you come with us; but you don't understand the way,
and can't find it, and I can't show it to you. So I must go now, I must
go, I must! for soon the last bird will have flown south."
Again she held out her hands as for a friendly greeting, and again I
took her into my arms, this time with all the desperation of impending
loss, for I was filled with a sense of certainties against which it was
useless to struggle, and felt as if by instinct that she would leave
despite all I could do or say.
But I did not realize quite how near the moment was. Slipping from
my clasp, she flitted to the door, forcing it slightly open, so that the
moaning and howling of the gale became suddenly accentuated.
"Until the spring!" she cried, in mournful tones that seemed in accord
with the tumult of the elements. "Until the spring!"—And a smile of
boundless yearning and compassion glimmered across her face.
Then the door rattled to a close, and I stood alone in that chilly room.
Blindly, like one bereft of his senses, I plunged out of the cabin,
regardless of the gale, regardless of the snow that came wheeling
down in dizzy flurries. But Yasma was not to be seen. For a moment
I stood staring into the storm; then time after time I called out her
name, to be answered only by the wind that sneered and snorted its
derision. And at length, warmed into furious action, I set out at a
sprint for her cabin, racing along unconscious of the buffeting blast
and the beaten snow that pricked and stung my face.
All in vain! Arriving at Yasma's home, I flung open the great pine
door without ceremony—to be greeted by the emptiness within. For
many minutes I waited; but Yasma did not come, and the tempest
shrieked and chuckled more fiendishly than ever.
At last, when the early twilight was dimming the world, I threaded a
path back along the whitening ground, and among cabins with roofs
like winter. Not a living being greeted me; and through the wide-open
windows of the huts I had glimpses of naked and untenanted logs.
 II
Blossom and Seed
 Chapter XI
THE PRISONER
When I staggered back to my cabin through the snow-storm in the
November dusk, I could not realize the ghastliness of my misfortune.
My mind seemed powerless before the bleak reality; it was not until I
had re-entered the cabin that I began to look the terror in the face.
Then, when I had slammed the door behind me and stood silently in
that frigid place, all my dread and loneliness and foreboding became
concentrated in one point of acute agony. The shadows deepening
within that dingy hovel seemed living, evil things; the wind that
hissed and screeched without, with brief lulls and swift crescendos of
fury, was like a chorus of demons; and such desolation of spirit was
upon me that I could have rushed out into the storm, and delivered
myself up to its numbing, fatal embrace.
It was long before, conscious of the increasing chill and the coaly
darkness, I went fumbling about the room to make a light.
Fortunately, I still had a half-used box of matches, vestiges of the
world I had lost; and with their aid, I contrived to light a little wax
candle.
But as I watched the taper fitfully burning, with sputtering yellow rays
that only half revealed the bare walls of the room and left eerie
shadows to brood in the corners, I almost wished that I had
remained in darkness. How well I remembered Yasma's teaching me
to make the candle; to melt the wax; to pour it into a little wooden
mould; to insert the wick in the still viscid mass! Could it be but a
month ago when she had stood with me in this very room, so
earnestly and yet so gaily giving me instructions? Say rather that it
was years ago, eons ago!—what relation could there be between
that happy self, which had laughed with Yasma, and this forlorn self,
which stood here abandoned in the darkness and the cold?