"He Speaks For Us" - Sex Stories

"He Speaks For Us"

... any around here. You’ll have to go further west to find those kinds of people.” “Please help me, then. I need a person to help me. Do you offer your help to sell?” “But what do you need help with?” “I am on a journey,” the Scale explained. “I go west to find a dragon.” The girl frowned at him. “There aren’t any dragons any more,” she said flatly. “You know that. There haven’t been any for hundreds of years. Not here, anyways. Why do you think you’re going to find one in the west?” The Scale considered her. “We had heard that one had come, had made itself known. Have you not heard?” “No,” the girl answered, shaking her head. “And if you go west, you will be killed. You don’t fit in. You’re-” the girl thought for a moment, then gestured widely to him. “You’re a Scale!” He nodded. “I know. That is why I need a whore: to guide me.” “N-no,” the girl stuttered. “You don’t need a whore; you need a guide, a person to speak for you. If you open your mouth, people will know.” “I see. Will you be my guide, then? I can pay. I have very much gold.” To prove his point, the Scale patted the pouch at his side, which jingled enticingly. She peered at him, swapping between the pouch at his side and his slitted yellow eyes.“I don’t know.” “Ah. You have people to care for. You have a life to live here. I understand.” The girl stretched out her legs in front of her, placing her head upon her knees. When she failed to speak, the Scale plodded over carefully and sat beside her. He noticed her back ...

... heaving slowly. “You are crying again,” he observed. “I am sorry.” “It’s not you,” she coughed. “I’m sorry, I j-just can’t stop.” They sat together in silence. The girl cried, and the Scale watched implacably. Eventually, she looked at the Scale. He felt her eyes peering into his own. “I guess I’ll just go to sleep, then.” She said. “You can stay here, for tonight.” “You will not be my guide, then?” “I can’t. You should just go back east; there’s nothing for you in the west.” She laid down upon the straw mat, her naked back facing him. “There’s nothing for anyone out there,” he heard her mumble. The Scale hung his head, and looked out the window at the moon above. It gave off no warmth, but the sight entranced him. He pulled out a small knuckle-bone and turned it in his fingers, feeling the engravings upon it and muttering to himself. He repeated one word several times, barely audible: “Whore.” He turned to face the girl again after pondering for some time, and found that she had rolled over at some point. Her eyes locked with his own, and he watched as stars flickered within them, their reflections dancing within the deep brown pools. The Scale stared, fixated. “What is it?” the girl asked, breaking him out of his reverie. “What is a whore?” The girl opened her mouth for a moment. Her lips pursed, and her eyebrows wrinkled. “You really don’t know?” she asked. He shook his head. She sighed, and stared at him for a few seconds before responding. “A whore is… a whore is a woman ...