The Incomprehensible Corruption of Innocence

“Whore . . .” The word entered his consciousness, and he knew immediately who he was. What he didn’t know was where he was. He stood straight, and still, as he assessed his situation.

He watched the two men before him, and in a flash, went over everything he’d learned from his various masters and mistresses, yet nothing had prepared him for the two men who stood, wrapped in each others’ arms, mourning the obvious death of someone they had both loved.

They were both quite handsome. It looked like a May/December connection, and was definitely a romance, the way the two of them held each other and mourned. The older man had pale skin, a careworn face, a slender build, and red hair. The younger man was an obvious Latino of some kind, with ebony hair, flashing dark eyes, and a very athletic build.

“H . . .” the younger one suddenly said, as he and the Whore’s eyes met, and the Whore knew he could be seen. However, he had to be seen if he was to learn what his duties were to be, and after a moment, the grieving older man looked up and saw him as well.

It was a relief to know that each one was obviously of above average intelligence, but in the long run, that meant very little as to what kind of treatment he could expect from them.

“Ryan?” The older man asked, and it seemed as if he was asking if that’s who he was. Well, he had to stop that, right away. He definitely wasn’t whoever they thought him to be, and he shook his head.

“Y . . . you’re not . . . Ryan?” The younger man asked, and he seemed genuinely distressed by the negative answer he received.

“Who . . . who are you?” The older man asked, and the Whore inwardly sighed, though he stopped just short of rolling his eyes. They bought him -- they must have bought him. It was the only way anyone could get him, and he wondered why they’d bought him if they didn’t know who he was . . . or more appropriately, what he was. After a minute of silence, he raised his hand and pointed at them.

“Ours?” The Latino asked, and the Whore watched as his eyebrows jumped for his hairline and his voice almost squeaked in his obvious shock. Briefly, the Whore wondered if he should reassess his earlier appraisal about him being of above average intelligence. However, to point out his new Masters' failings was not in his job description, and probably better for him, and far less painful in the end, if he didn’t, so he merely bowed his head in acquiescence.

“You . . . you think we bought you?” Horatio asked, and the Whore inwardly sighed. Why would two men have bought someone if they didn’t know what he was for? But then, the Whore had a rather frightening thought that maybe the two men were testing him, and he was failing the test miserably. He’d failed many tests in his career as a whore, and it had usually resulted in an unimaginable amount of pain. So, to cover himself, and to present the one place they could beat him without making too much of an impression, he fell to his knees in front of them, and pressed his face into the floor, obviously, beyond any kind of question, acknowledging them as his ‘masters’.

“No! Damn it, no! No! No! No! This is NOT happening! Damn it, get up! Don’t ever freakin’ do that again!” The younger man suddenly howled, and the Whore all but jumped. That was not the reaction he had expected.

Usually, they just either grabbed the whip at that point, or they ripped his clothes off and banged the hell out of him until they were satisfied. Definitely screaming as if he’d given them the worst insult he could think of, was not usual, and he risked a look at the calm, older man, and tried not to shrink back as he knelt before him, and held out his hand to him.

The Whore was far beyond confused, and he looked at the older man who knelt before him with his hand out, and he understood that he was meant to take the hand and stand up. However, the last few times someone had held out their hand to him and he’d taken it, he’d been beaten before he could even stand part of the way up. Hoping upon hope that it wasn’t a trick, the Whore hesitantly held out his hand, and was incredibly surprised when the older man actually did help him to stand. And he continued to stand as the older man calmed the Latino down.

“Eric,” the red-head said, and the Whore stored the name in his memory. “You have to stop. This isn’t helping.” The man looked incredibly sad, and for a moment, the Whore wanted to go to the older man and wrap his arms around him . . .an instinct that surprised and shocked him. Most of the other Masters he’d had, he’d wanted to run as far and as fast away from as he could.

The Whore stood stock still as the older man pierced him with incredibly beautiful blue eyes, and he swallowed the lump of fear that suddenly rose in his throat. However, the older man looked away, and over to Eric, and said, his voice as sad as his expression, “and I think I know his name.”

The Whore wished he knew as much about the older man, but made no sound as he looked expectantly at the older man.

“You do?” Eric asked, and the man let out a pent up breath he probably hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding, and the Whore heard and felt the sadness in his voice as he looked at him.

“Your name is Whore, isn’t it?” The older man asked quietly, and the Whore saw the slight tic in his face as he said it, as if it were distasteful to him. No one else would have caught it, but the Whore was used to judging people’s emotions and their state of being, and knew this man hated the name. However, there was nothing to be done about it; after all, it was his name, and there could be no denying it. He inclined his head in acknowledgment of the name, and of the station.

The Whore also saw that from the tightening of Eric’s body, the name was as distasteful to him as it had been to the older man, and the Whore steeled himself for the blow he was sure to come. However, the older man placed his hand on Eric’s arm, and quieted him. The Whore’s estimation of the older man rose a notch, as he realized that it took someone incredibly special to tame such an obviously wild stallion.

“Eric, stop. We have to do this slowly.”

“I’m not going to call him whore, H. I refuse,” Eric’s eyes blazed, and the man the Whore knew to be ‘H’ for some strange reason, nodded, which confirmed the fact that neither one liked his name.

Again, the Whore almost rolled his eyes, but he controlled himself with a mighty effort. It seemed the two men were finally coming to realize who and what he was, and it was about time. However, he still couldn’t figure out why they wanted to buy someone they so obviously weren’t ready for.

“And neither am I,” H said, and looked at the Whore with a patience he had never before experienced, and the man said, “I don’t like that name. We’re going to change your name.”

Okay. That was fine. They had the right. He did belong to them, after all. If they wanted to change his name, it really didn’t mean much. His designation was the same, no matter what his name, and he inclined his head again to let them know he understood, and accepted their decision. Eric and ‘H’ exchanged a look, and then the older man named him.

“We’re going to call you Ryan. Do you know that name?” He asked, and the Whore shook his head.

No, he didn’t know that name, but they obviously did, and he was finally starting to see why they’d purchased him. It wasn’t too much of a stretch of the imagination to see that they’d had a ménage-a-trois with someone who had died, and he’d been purchased to replace that third person.

No, he didn’t know the name, but if that was what they wanted him to be, he would be that person, and he inclined his head, obviously acknowledging the change.

The younger man, Eric, seemed to finally get a handle on his emotions, and he gazed at the Whore with no less sadness than the older man had, and though the Whore could see the anger and the helplessness in the dark eyes, his voice was calm and even. “Ryan, can you speak?”

The Whore – Ryan – nodded, but he couldn’t stop his lips from narrowing and compressing into a thin line. He could speak, but there was no way anyone was going to make him do it -- ever. Though it had earned him some really very painful punishments, he absolutely refused to do so. It was the only thing in his world he could control, and he needed to control something. And, as most of his Masters and Mistresses had discovered, his mouth was much too talented at other things to worry about whether he could speak, and/or wanted to, or not.

However, he raised his head a little more proudly than he knew was good for him, and he tried to regain the humility he needed to avoid a potential beating, but it did no good. He watched Eric and ‘H’ as they exchanged another look, and then looked over at him.

“You aren’t going to, are you?” ‘H’ asked, and the Whore really wished he knew the man’s full name.

The Whore decided, definitely unwisely, that he was going to test these two men before him and see what he could get away with. He met their gaze head on, and with his entire being, got it across to them that there was absolutely nothing they could do to him that would make him utter even one word.


“We’re not going to try to make you,” ‘H’ said, and Eric nodded, and the Whore knew that they had just reached an agreement, and he instinctively knew that he wouldn’t be beaten for not speaking.

“But you need to know that you are not our whore or our slave. We rescued you from that, and we’re here to help you,” Eric said, and the Whore’s entire being seemed to sink into himself. He’d heard that before, a lot of times before, and each time it had been proven to be false. As with the others, he just knew that it was merely a matter of time until these two mens' resolves would be broken, and he would be beaten. It happened all the time.

Well, before that happened,again, he could just go away again, and they could have what they really wanted, anyway, which was his body. He felt his expression harden, and he started to let darkness take over his mind. However, ‘H’s’ voice broke into his mind, and he couldn’t ignore the pleading tone in it, no matter how he wanted to.

“Ryan, no, please, don’t go back to wherever it was you were. We can’t help you if you go where we can’t reach you with even our words.”

The Whore blinked, and forced the darkness back to wherever it came from. He gazed at the pained expressions on both Eric and ‘H’s’ faces, and for some reason, couldn’t bear to know that he had placed that sadness there. He knew the only way to let them know that he fully acknowledged them was to drop to his knees, which he did.

“Okay,” the Whore heard Eric growl, and he realized that Eric was using an enormous amount of self control not to sound angry, though it didn’t work, and the Whore closed his eyes, as he waited for the blows. “If I have to make it an order, then fine,” he ground it out from between his clenched teeth. “You are not allowed to bow to us any more.”

An order? He made it an order? An order to not bow down to them?

He looked up at them, unable to keep the surprise and shock from showing on his face, and he blinked, obviously confused as ‘H’ smiled and once more helped him off the floor. “I know," he said. "I know this isn’t what you are necessarily used to,” his smile was gentle. “But we want you to learn to trust us.”

Trust. Oh how he hated that word.

Trust was something he didn’t think he’d ever give them, but at least they hadn’t beaten him . . . yet. The longer he went without a beating, the better for him. He had time to heal from the last one, get used to his new surroundings, and find out, exactly, what these two men wanted from him.

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