Nandi's Pets

I. Ellie M.

p e r v e r t e d . i n t e l l e c t u a l g m a i l . c o m

A/N: I don't usually do fast, *cutesy* stories but for some reason I'm really caught up in writing this. But I've always wanted to do a harem story as one of may main guilty pleasures are Dating Sims. Just because I enjoy them doesn't necassarily mean I can write them though so I'll be mindful of any reviews you guys give me. This is a reader directed story, so starting from chapter one, popular vote will decide the main character's actions. Fiction Press doesn't allow Choose Your Own Adventure Stories but I think that's a formatting issue. There won't be alternative choices here; what the majority decides upon the entirety gets so it will end up as a traditionally structured story by the end and for later readers. Hence I'm not using a beta. I really wonder if I can do this well. There are so many stories out there with cotton fluff for content that just make readers and writers feel good. I want to be able to do that. Let me know where I can improve okay? (I mean after the prologue, which is just slighty angsty.)

Between this I'm going to try and finish an essay that I'm working on but I need to do a lot of fine tuning to some of the chapters sitting on my hard drive that lack my usual outrage. So if you're waiting for that, you're not doing so in vain. I hope you enjoy this story like I enjoyed writing it.

Prologue

Your world's an odd one but I think I might like it more than mine. This is my home, where I know exactly what's right and what's wrong and act in full control of myself. If I came into your world, where men had female ears and no tails and were 100% people and were, well, in control, I think I would feel much like Alice, tumbling down the rabbit hole.

But maybe it's better. In my world we raise and keep men much like your Ancient Greeks and South Asians kept slaves and livestock. As babies, they look like humans but as they grow their personalities define them. Those of hot blood become lion eared, and their hair turns to gold. Those sly children who are quick to hide and quick to deceive grow the orange ears with the blackened tips of a fox, as well as the tail.

I think I would like your world better you see. Because in your world men can keep their thoughts hidden. Women can learn to know them slowly and know them in all things, rather than judging them, first and only, on their ears and tails.

I would like to be in your world because in your world it would be considered human and it would be illegal to treat me with the cruelty that my mistress shows me. But here in my world I am-

"-just a filthy, fucking rat!"

Glister lay bleeding on the floor. His mistress stood over him. He had had run away again which was tricky. If Tobias or Saibot had escaped, tracking would have been easy. Men's ears didn't only inform their owners personality. A man's ears were the first stage of his transformation to complete animal form. A dog or a wolf boy would have been easy to track but a man with the ears and tail of a rat could turn into a rat and a rat could get into some very unexpected places. Like his mistress' bedroom.

"Why even come back Glister?" breathed Madame Bathory. She was angry so she bled him. She could smell the iron from the blood. It choked her nostrils and charged her with that deep, visceral response that blood has in a person. In short the blood made her angry so she made him bleed more.

"Why Glister," she asked between whip cracks, "would you desert me for so short a time? Why bother at all? I think I know why. I think it's because you're a rat and I'm the only one who'll take you in. I think it's because They know, They see you and They know that you're a disgusting piece of filth. And they're right."

Madame Bathory stopped and handed the cat-o-nine tails to Scrofa, a large, fat pig boy with mild blue eyes who had stood attentively to the beating, just as Bathory had told him to.

"I look at you," said Bathory to Glister, with her own eyes of slate blue, "and I see filth. You're filthy!" she cried excitedly. "Your abdomen is hollow. I can see your ribs. You've probably been eating garbage off the street. I can see from here how dirty your mouth is. It's filthy and you're filthy and you've eaten filth. Fuck, you must have rolled in it! What's that on your face? You smell like you've rolled around in the sewer. LOOK AT ME!"

Glister looked up. His mistress wasn't flushed with anger anymore. She looked at him like a germ on a petri dish. "Every which way I look at you I just see filth. When I look at your clothes I see filth, when I look at your body I see this wasted thing in front of me and I wonder who could possibly want it? Maybe that's why no one comes to help you? You're useless! You can't move any muscle. You're just a rat! Only twenty seven and look at you. I don't think anyone would want to fuck you. Twenty seven and you look like that? Filth? You're probably diseased. I wouldn't be surprised if you died untouched. I think even your right hand's repelled by you."

Scrofa looked down at the whip that he still held in both hands. He hadn't been given permission to leave yet. Glister looked past him to the cages on the walls, their beds, and really looked at nothing much at all.

Bathory gave him a swift kick to his ribcage. "LOOK AT ME! Look at me you piece of filth!" screamed his mistress, in her heat again. He did, only in time for her boot to reach his face.

Bathory waited patiently for the redness to cease its explosions over her slave's vision before she went on in a whisper. "I really do believe it Glister; that you are a piece of filth. Otherwise why wouldn't anyone help you?" She paused. "Well why not Glister? What do you think?"

"I think it's because, under the law, I'm a slave," heaved Glister over the soreness of his throat and the dryness of his lungs. "I think that's why," he said quietly and noticed his saliva was tinged pink.

"But why would you be unprotected by the law? Intelligent, thinking, studious, composed individuals have rights don't you think? I have rights. And even then, why wouldn't anybody help you? Surely there are people who have helped men like you before, to get somewhere, to achieve something. But you, no one helped you. Maybe that understood what I see? And I see filth Glister. What do you see?"

"Filth Mistress. I'm filth. I deserve to be filth."

Bathory giggled and struck a pose. "No silly. I asked what you see, not what I see." She waited.

"I see a beautiful woman Mistress. She's gorgeous and she doesn't deserve filth."

"Ah!" she cried as if struck by the idea. "Then why do I bother with you? Come on Scaofa, let's not waste our time here anymore. He can be fed on Tuesday," she said as she left the room. Scaofa didn't look at Glister as he followed her, it was easier.

"Good night Mistress," moaned Glister as the only light to the room was extinguished, because that was easier too, and then he lay in the dark, contemplating the filth of his face, of his hands, of his eyes and of his body. Because that was becoming easier than wondering why the God he thought he knew would let him live in this world where not one woman cried out that she would help him.