Self-Worth [NSFW-ish]

emeraldbay

Self-Worth

    Getting paid for that contract was almost like a dream. A Dunmeri client — thin, male, hooded, and well-dressed, almost condescendingly so — dropped the promised sack of coin directly into Desert’s paws with a metallic jingle as if it were nothing, staring at the cat with dark crimson eyes. Contrary to the indifferent glare usually associated with the Dunmer as a whole, this mer bore an expression that might just resemble contentment. Those dark-furred paws trembled just slightly, but seemed to steady once they registered the weight against their palms.

    It was midnight in central Morrowind, but the twin moons refused to show their faces, hidden by thick ashfall. The constant rolling of nighttime waves surrounded the two males where they stood, positioned at the edge of a pier at the Ebonheart docks. The scents of ash and sea salt swirled through the air with each land-bound breeze, and Desert’s dark fur was littered with once-airborne cinders which now clung desperately to his form. By this time, most of the dock workers were either gone or quickly getting there, ships wouldn’t be docking again until morning, and even the guards and Ordinators avoided the area, likely choosing to idle at the local tavern instead.

    “Thank you,” Desert offered in a relieved sigh, deep shades of amber-gold lifting their gaze to meet this first-time client as careful paws tucked the pouch away in a pocket, safe and sound. It felt like enough. It was certainly more than he’d gotten from previous jobs, so he had no intention of complaining.

    “No,” the Dunmer replied, shaking his head slowly. “Thank you. Now, run along, cat.” With this, he shooed Desert off with an easy wave of his hand, sending the helpful cat back towards the city proper. Without a word of protest, the Cathay did as he was told.

    Guided by hanging lanterns which lined the docks every few feet, Desert made his way towards the city of Ebonheart, his footfalls nearly silent as he stepped across the wooden planks. He could buy a room with that money, he figured, eyes focused downward as he padded along. Then, maybe, he’d lay low for a while. Taking jobs too frequently could make him easy to find, and — he gave his pocket a searching pat, just to ensure that his pay remained — he had enough to make it for a short time on his own. Coming upon a stone staircase leading up to the city proper, Desert kept going, his steps slowing as he made his ascent.

    “You there,” cooed a feminine voice from the top of the stairs. Furrowing his brow, the Cathay continued, only stopping when he stood just a few steps below the source. A Dunmeri female stood with a hand on her hip, staring down at the Khajiit with a raised brow, a smirk, and seductive eyes of bright crimson hues. She wore very little — a cropped, sleeveless shirt which exposed the greyish skin of her slim midriff, a pair of tight shorts ending halfway down her thighs, and boots which were comparatively long, almost up to her knees. Her rose-colored hair was pulled up into a bun at the back, though a few rebellious locks hung down, jostled by each gentle breeze. “Haven’t seen you around here.”

    Frowning thoughtfully, Desert was silent for a short time as he examined the female. She didn’t have any weapons, and she wasn’t exactly dressed for combat. The look she gave him didn’t tell him she was after a new slave, either. “...Can I help you?” he questioned uncertainly, doing his best to suppress the Khajiiti speech patterns he’d been taught, his tail giving apprehensive flicks through the ashy breeze.

    For some reason, the Khajiit’s reply seemed to amuse the female, causing her to utter a brief, quiet chuckle. “You might,” she offered simply, lifting her shoulders in a casual shrug. “Want to earn yourself a few shiny coins, kitty?” The perking of Desert’s ears told the woman she’d hit the nail on the head, and she beckoned the feline closer with a single finger. Her nails were painted — red, to match her eyes.

    Continuing up the stairs, Desert settled at the woman’s side, looking down at her warily. She was shorter, just barely, but that didn’t seem to affect her confident smirk and friendly body language. It was almost condescending, but Desert was used to such from the Dunmer by now.

    “So you can follow commands, how nice.” Lifting a dark-skinned hand, the mer raked gentle fingers through the fur on Desert’s cheek. “You’re a soft kitty, too...” she mused, focusing her attention to a pierced ear to scratch at its base. Her voice was soft, almost melodic, teasing skillfully at the desires and insecurities of her prey.

    “...What do you want?” Desert muttered, his brow furrowing further as he watched the mer. If he didn’t appear uncertain beforehand, the attention to his features made it much more obvious, causing ash-covered ears to twitch and flush subtly.

    “For you to come with me and do as I say,” the Dunmer said simply, trailing the scratching hand downwards, tracing the contours of the cat’s neck and shoulder before gripping at his arm. He followed without question, but despite the obvious answers to unvoiced questions, the gears in his head continued to turn as he studied the mer’s movements. As he might’ve expected, her gait was confident, feminine, and she certainly seemed to know how to display herself properly. With each step, her hips swayed effortlessly, her boots clacking against the stone pathway with her new plaything at her side. “Got a name, kitty?”

    The pair passed by merchant stalls, mostly abandoned, and large structures of dark stone composure. Deciding against trying in vain to further assess the female, the Cathay’s eyes wandered, only returning for a brief moment before he voiced his answer. “Krin,” he lied; his father’s name, and the one he used for more illicit deals.

    “Krin...” The single syllable rolled off the female’s tongue quite easily.

    “Yours?”

    A quiet hum followed Desert’s query, as if the mer were thinking of a suitable answer. “I am given many names, in my profession,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder to offer the nervous cat a playful wink. “...But you, kitty, may call me ‘Mistress,’ for tonight.”

    The Khajiit simply nodded in reply. It was a strange alias, he thought, but he wasn’t getting paid to ask questions. The two passed by a particularly large structure: a Redoran kinhouse, decorated by a pair of Dunmeri guards at the bottom of the steps. They gave Desert a raised brow, as if they knew something he didn’t. That look bothered him, but he elected not to say so.

    “No objections? Perfect,” the mistress laughed, coming to a stop. She’d brought Desert to a humble building in the city’s residential district, surrounded on either side by others that looked quite similar. Reaching into a shallow pocket to procure a small key, she unlocked the door with a click, before pulling it open and stepping inside. From the smirk she tossed over her shoulder, she wanted her new cat to follow. She got her wish.

    The room was modestly furnished, housing a fire pit at the center of the floor, and a hookah pipe to its side. Despite neither being lit, the scents of both still hung about the air. There were pillows and a pair of padded benches around the fire, and a bed and nightstand in the back of the room, situated on a gentle rise in the floor. With the central flame put out, the room was dim, illuminated only by a few conservatively placed candles which made to line the interior.

    Not long after shutting the door behind him, Desert found himself pinned against it, dark-skinned arms positioned out to the sides of either shoulder as the barely clothed Dunmer pressed against his form. The sudden closeness left little to the imagination — the mistress’ breasts firmly held the feline in place, and her teeth sent shivers through his body as they nipped at his neck.

    It didn’t take long before the Dunmer had relieved herself of her minimal garb, assaulting Desert with her nude form and working efficiently to see that the Khajiit didn’t remain clothed for long. “...Need a bit of alcohol to get you started, kitty?” queried the mer as she held her prey captive. In response, Desert only shook his head. He wasn’t watching the Dunmer anymore; the Cathay’s gaze was wandering about the room, and Desert himself was silent, aside from the occasional low murr brought about by wandering hands.

    “Be good, and you’ll get good pay,” the woman explained, resting with her cheek against Desert’s shoulder, her nose buried in his neck, and dark skin pressed against yet darker fur practically everywhere else. He couldn’t back out now. His heart pounded in his chest, paws trembling where they rested at his sides, as if reluctant to return any of the woman’s affections. Reminding himself of the payment mentioned, he offered a slight nod.

    “Yes, Mistress.”

- - - - -

    When the nervous thumping of Desert’s heart wound down to a steady pump, he lay sprawled out on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling of his apparent mistress’ home. A soft mattress supported his naked form, his long fur ruffled, and his clothing, money, and knives remained by the door, right where they were left when the Dunmer had stripped him before. The woman was up and about, rustling through her drawers and counting out in hushed whispers as she filled a small pouch with gold. Her hair had been taken down, rose-tinted locks flowing down to just below her shoulders. It was messy — and that was as much the Khajiit’s fault as it was her own. Desert turned his head to watch her, after a time, but the rest of his body was still. The act had left him feeling underwhelmed and strangely hollow, though it had nothing to do with the mer’s skill.

    “...Arana,” the female offered, seemingly from nowhere. This caused Desert’s ears to perk, and a questioning hum to rise from his throat.

    “You asked my name,” she continued, tying string around the small coinpurse as she spoke. “It’s Arana.” Once finished, she turned, stepping back towards the bed. She hadn’t re-clothed herself either, but the once-erotic form now simply was, and did nothing to rouse the cat. She placed a hand atop Desert’s chest, just above his heart.

    “That will go away,” she assured, as if sensing exactly what her prey had been feeling. She then offered a smirk down to the bedded male — halfway between suggestive and reassuring, and the playful glint in her eyes didn’t help to distinguish. “...With practice.”

    That hand held Desert in place, not through force, but simple suggestion. It wasn’t until it lifted from his chest that he endeavored to rise, scooting towards the edge of the bed to sit, his legs hanging off. He didn’t comment on the mer’s words, but he watched her quietly, tail rising and falling against the sheets as he awaited his pay.

    “How old are you, kitty?” the Dunmer asked, offering the coin-filled pouch to the naked cat in an open palm. Taking his pay in careful paws, Desert hesitated, his eyes wandering down to his lap, ears flattening against his head.

    Once more, as if reading Desert’s mind, Arana lifted her hand, placing it at the top of the feline’s head and scratching gently with her crimson nails. “Don’t worry about it, kitty. You should come back sometime, though; you’re much more fun than those little playthings they keep over at Kragenmoor.” Smirking, she knelt down, reaching out with a free hand to attend to choice bits with a playful squeeze. “Bigger, too.” Desert’s muscles tensed at that sudden contact, and amber eyes grew wide as they lifted to regard the Dunmer.

    “...There’s more coin where this came from, if you ever decide to pay me another visit.”

- - - - -

    The streets of Ebonheart were eerily silent when Desert left. Ash fell steadily from the sky, catching in his fur the moment he stepped out of his client’s home. He still held Arana’s coinpurse in his paws, quietly judging its weight. The payment he’d received wasn’t quite as hefty as the previous job’s — but then, he reasoned that sex wasn’t quite as difficult as murder.

    For some reason, the air felt colder than before. Desert’s thick fur fought off the chill, but he could feel it all the same. “Arana...” he muttered, occupying himself with any thoughts he could muster to distract from the dull, persistent emptiness in his chest. It didn’t go away, but at least he could try to ignore it, for now.

    With silent footfalls and a deep, quiet sigh, he continued off, not once looking back as he made for the city gates.