title: Mutual aliases: [] tags: [FA] author: [ArgentVZ] id: [30761278] date: 星期五, 八月 26日 2022, 10:48:43 上午 modified: 星期三, 八月 31日 2022, 10:54:12 上午
[TOC]
Mutual
Xanthos normally tried to hide his signs of frustration and impatience. But today was different. The requests of and disagreements between his realm’s subjects seemed more frivolous and minute than usual. A conflict between two nations here, an act of revolt against his dominion there; all of it immensely irritating but ultimately inconsequential, like an itch that one couldn’t scratch.
He sometimes missed the days of conflict. The centuries of warfare between the heavens, the clashes of gods so powerful that entire worlds simply ceased to exist from a deflected attack or missed strike. Those days had been long over, however. Peace had reigned for tens of thousands of years, and with it had come hundreds of new civilizations and planets to manage, tend to, and cultivate.
The Caretakers put aside their grievances and grudges and set out to fulfill their duty to the universe once more. Some more benevolent ones took the budding species under their sometimes literal wings as they nurtured them into sapience. Those more sadistic simply let their worlds develop naturally until establishing their ironclad rule through swift and bloody conquest.
Xanthos was somewhere in between. He had made himself known when the first trappings of civilization had sprung up in the jungles, forests, and plains of his first, Prime world. Nearly all had knelt before their alien god, with those that required convincing either submitting to his threats of destruction or altruistic fulfilling of their most pressing needs. He mixed between both, depending on his sense of their worth, his own instincts—and often, simply his mood.
All had led to where he sat now, in a temple of his subjects’ creation. It had taken them generations to construct. An entire mountain had been almost completely leveled to supply the raw materials, and a vast urban sprawl completely devoted to him had developed over the centuries. Now, thousands of them toiled within the structure’s walls. Many served as administrators performing functions vital to the maintenance of the dozens of other planets and systems under his control. Others served a more ‘personal’ role to the deity.
It was common for Caretakers to gather a group of servants to tend to their personal needs. Whether acting as aides for the kind or toys for the cruel, they were always hand-selected for their unwavering loyalty and desire to serve.
Xanthos’ was no exception. What was different from most was how many he possessed—only one—and what function it served—an odd mix of pet, toy, friend, advisor, and slave. The amount of dignity and respect he afforded it varied as often as the weather, but was just as predictable. Pleasure made him more gentle and, rather uncommonly for him, affectionate; on the other hand, disappointment and frustration made him, predictably, far more callous with his servant. There were occasionally storms, some more readily forecasted than others, but the creature had always weathered them.
Today was more towards the lower end of the scale. His annoyance with the day’s hearings and the constant need to reinforce his dominance over his subjects’ miniscule lives put his pet in a position it was intimately familiar with—beneath his feet. As he sat on his throne, the little creature found itself buried beneath both of his lengthy soles. It was effortless, given how it hardly reached the height of his knee when standing. Lying against the cool, smooth obsidian of his throne made it little more than a soft, warm stool to rest his feet on as the countless subjects knelt before him and begged for his advice, intervention, or attention.
His pet acted as a stark reminder of their true place, especially when it would nuzzle into the spaces between his clawed toes or plant a tender kiss on the ball of one gigantic foot. The literalization of their subservience often deterred the more self-assured of his subjects. Those who attempted to speak to their god as an equal—or, even worse, as if they were above him—commonly found themselves shrunken to the size of ants before being trodden on as if no different from the dust and dirt that he walked on every day.
As he waved away yet another request, he heard the soft clinking of the creature’s chain as it shifted minutely beneath him. Truthfully, he hated the leash. The anklet the chain connected to grated against his chitin-plated body and the chain often found itself looped around his foot or between his toes. Once he’d nearly strangled his servant with an unconscious bending of his knee. Following the advice of other, more dominant Caretakers hadn’t helped either. Using a ring around his toe instead of his ankle had been far more uncomfortable, and chaining it to his throne made it seem more like a pet than his property—the latter of which was far closer to what he wanted to project to others.
The last few audiences passed without incident. A collection of medieval-age townsfolk from a different planet begging for help in fixing their all-important dam and waterwheel were granted a dozen of his artisans, a pair of warring heads of state from another were cowed into submission and peaceful settlement by the threat of complete annihilation, and finally a despotic king was simply told to reap what he’d sowed in neglecting his now-revolting population. Xanthos had taken far too much pleasure in sneering down at the monarch, watching him squirm as the sympathy he’d hoped to gain from his ‘fellow’ authoritarian ruler was completely denied. Xanthos had actually sent some of his agents to foster popular resentment among the tyrant’s people, as the man was far too disloyal and uppity to deserve even a modicum of respect from the god.
As his honor guard pulled the man away, still trying to fall to his knees and beg for help, Xanthos sighed. Yet another day of his public service was over, and he could start to take on more interesting matters than the frustratingly trite requests of his subjects.
He waited for the guards to depart his chamber before he shifted his feet off of the creature. It sat up, and, in a move that likely would’ve shocked any of his subjects and servants, reached over to gently unclasp the ring from his master’s ankle before doing the same with the one around his neck.
There was no intricate mechanism, no magical force holding them in place; a simple pinned catch was all that held the rings closed, one which the creature could operate without any input from Xanthos.
He’d long ago realized that the chain was unnecessary. It wasn’t as if his pet was going to flee, or needed to be broken into submission by being relegated to the status of jewelry. The creature would’ve rested at his feet and served him just as loyally without the physical linkage. It was entirely for the visualization, the reminder to others of the chain that they too had around their necks—one which Xanthos could pull tight whenever he desired. As long as they were obedient, he wouldn’t ever have to.
And his pet was very obedient—as well as perceptive. It knew that he was frustrated and tired, both problems that some tender worship from his favorite attendant could certainly fix. After detaching itself, the little thing immediately lowered down and began stroking at his ankle. Its hands continued downwards along the glossy chitin of his foot as it shifted around to sit before his toes. The digits lifted as Xanthos followed the creature’s motion in a ritual they’d undergone many times before. It shifted back and down a step on the throne as the alien’s foot came to rest on its heel, leaving the entire length of Xanthos’ dark, leathery sole exposed in the open air.
He didn’t need to encourage it to continue. Only a moment passed before he felt its short breaths against his toes; an instant later its head slipped under the long digits, the creature’s little head the perfect size to nuzzle into the arches of each. Xanthos purred and flexed his toes, wrinkling the firm flesh and enveloping his pet’s head with them. He felt the ecstatic tremble through its hands as it was briefly smothered, as each was grasped tightly around the sides of his foot for leverage.
Xanthos had never been sure of when his pet’s fondness of serving his master’s feet had developed. Whether it was something always present in its mind or a later development of its servitude had always eluded him. While he could’ve found out by either asking or simply extracting the information from its mind, the deity had found himself uninterested in uncovering the truth. What mattered more was the way its pleasure and desire made it all the more effective in serving his.
The soft nuzzling resumed as the god splayed his toes to allow the creature access to the spaces between them. Its head slipped between the digits and, after a few gentle rubs of its face against the suppler flesh between his long toes, it began to lick. Another submissive tremble wracked its little body as it tasted its master’s skin, the surface earthy and bitter from padding around the lightly-dusted stone floor and his earlier wilderness stroll. He’d already washed his feet from the latter, but minute flecks of dirt stubbornly remained caught in the wrinkles and minute crevices that formed on the alien’s leathery, firm flesh.
Its master continued to watch from above. A faint smirk had appeared on the alien’s features, his emerald eyes alight with deep, indescribable pleasure at watching his favorite pet submit to him. It never grew old. The sensation of its tongue against his soles, the way it prostrated before him; it was all just as pleasing as the very first time it had laid its trembling body before him and followed his first command:
“Lick.”
It had been years since he’d needed to give the creature any orders. Xanthos’ pet was loyal and intelligent enough to understand his alien—yet often familiar—mannerisms and appearance. The creature knew what he desired and what he despised; it knew when to lower itself beneath him and when to gently rest against him; and most importantly it knew when to be a passive piece of jewelry and when to be active worshiper. And with the two of them alone, it was certainly time for the latter.
His servant continued on; having fully ‘explored’ the alien’s toes, it was time to move down to his long, sleek soles. More dark flesh awaited its attentions there. The creature started just below Xanthos’ toes in an oddly sensitive part of his foot, a place that never failed to get a satisfied purr from the alien deity when firmly nuzzled or tenderly licked. This time was no different.
Xanthos’ foot began to bob back and forth ever so slightly as his muscles resisted his pet’s more fervent efforts. The soles of his feet were coated in tougher, less sensitive flesh than what was between his toes—and it made the creature have to exert slightly more effort to give his master the sensation he desired. The more muscular ball and firmer heel needed the most, with the smoother connecting arch needing hardly any more than his toes’ folds.
The deity’s little pet continued licking; the only pause in its worship coming as it rewet its tongue inside of its mouth. Dark patches and streaks of quickly-drying saliva followed behind it as the creature thoroughly explored the tough ball of Xanthos’ foot. It made sure to firmly push into the subtle valley between the two muscled sections of the alien’s sole, as well as wrap around the sides of the foot to nearly touch the edge of his chitin plates. Not a single square inch of the god’s sole was missed. The creature wasn’t afraid of punishment; it simply sought to be thorough and complete in its worship.
It took a longer pause to allow some more liquid to accumulate in its mouth; during the wait, it continued to nuzzle into the unwetted flesh on Xanthos’ arch. His pet’s hands remained active as well, the two stroking along the sides of the alien’s feet. They rubbed onto the edge of his armorlike chitin as its thin fingers slipped into the gaps between to push and scratch at the stony plates. Any sensation it could give to its master to show its submission and devotion was strived for and desired.
The creature’s tongue returned to the deity’s dark, dusty flesh with all the enthusiasm and energy as before. Xanthos’ arch was sleeker and smoother than the rest of his sole, while still retaining its tough, leathery quality. It made for a wonderful place for his pet to force its face into, and an even better one for the deity to casually smother the little thing with when he so desired. For now, Xanthos contented himself with simply curling and splaying his toes. The wrinkles and folds that formed on his arch with each flex provided an alluring texture for his pet to explore.
Yet again it lapped its tongue across the entire expanse of Xanthos’ sole, with no part of his foot going untouched by the creature’s tongue. Stroke after stroke left streaks of sticky saliva along the alien’s tough flesh. After seeming to finish his arch, it nuzzled upwards into the base of his ball as it took another short break. The creature’s breaths were hot and fast against his tongue-dampened, warm flesh.
Only a few seconds passed before it resumed. Its head lowered to the final part of Xanthos’ foot—the tough, rounded heel resting on the cool stone of his throne. The creature’s tongue played around its curvature, its strokes short and circular. Many a former subject had found themselves beneath it, and Xanthos couldn’t help but smile as his pet’s attentions reminded him of all those onceuppity insects he’d crushed beneath it. The whole surface of his foot—really, both of his feet—had claimed plenty of lives, but he had a particular fondness for his heel. The toned, firm flesh seemed to make a particularly satisfying impact when dropped on some disobedient mortal.
His servant’s motions began to slow as it drew nearer to the center of the rounded end of his sole. It seemed as if it wanted to savor each lick, as its strokes became long, slow, and thorough. Xanthos purred—as both encouragement and a show of satisfaction. He wouldn’t discourage it from showing him more attention.
With a few final, long licks that began at his heel and stretched the entire length of his sleek sole, only ending at the undersides of his toes, his pet ended its worship and shifted backwards. It sat, panting, its little eyes watching Xanthos’ features for any sign of disappointment or annoyance. As with nearly every time it so fervently devoted itself to its god, there was none.
A contented smile played across Xanthos’ face—which soon morphed into a smirk as he shifted in place. His right foot dragged back closer to his throne as his left extended, coming to rest on its side. Xanthos slid his foot out to the edge of the step, and barely suppressed a chuckle as his servant’s eyes flicked back and forth between it and his face. Its eyes lifted to him, wide and filled with its never-ending desire to serve and excitement at being given the opportunity to do so. Its body, however, exuded exhaustion and fatigue. But as always, Xanthos knew which would win the day.
“Go on,” he purred, amused. “You know what to do.”
And so it did.