Pneuma

I opened my eyes on the side of my bed with the pale lantern light shining in my face. I turned away and opened my eyes to the hellebore and raven-wing decorated canopy of the bed. Curtains were all drawn on each side, and I was left alone on the bed with swirling thoughts of another night of pleasure.

Once the memories of love bites, blood draining and needles stuck in my arm loaded with stimulants and performance enhancers crashed into my consciousness. I reached for an ashtray I was certain was present and took a drag off it. No bloody groans, that was unbecoming of a tomcat, and unbecoming of.... what? I shoved away the traitorous thoughts; I could not afford disruptions to my morning. People depend on me to serve.

With the mixed feelings of vulnerability that I pulled about myself as armour, the thought of another day in the life, drugs, excessive rituals drained the memories into idle thought. I sat up and the ache between my legs finally hit me. I wiped the sleep from my eyes with a new rag brought in by one of the other servitor boys and spat blood from grinding my teeth.

Better a tomcat than a servitor boy. I sighed, at least the women I had the selection of were fine in body. I wiped my lips, every fella’s dream, to live a life where you’re paid a livable wage to have sex with vampiresses, witches, high-class women and such-and-such... I spat into the rag and hurled it out of the room, between the translucent curtains. It hit the wall with a thud and trailed down to the floor.

With another sigh of boredom, the mutations kicked in that drove me to morning service with an erection. The woman was not here. She left in the middle of the night with a stern complaint, though that would be written off and they’d hopefully bump me up a tier. I looked at my pink bowlcut in the mirror, my diminutive petite figure in stark contrast to the monstrous thing they modified between my legs.

I am only here so they do not go after my... family. That was it. I remember that at least. Then I made the mistake of looking down at my girly legs and feet in mild annoyance, but for the sake of duty it was a small price to pay for their lives. I walked across the soft fur carpet, picked up the bottle of wine and doused my spirits with it and ran a brush through my hair briefly. Set the brush down and pulled open the door to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, splashed my face with water, then wiped myself clean. Took a piss, then poured water over my head and wiped myself clean.

I lit the tobacco pipe set on the dresser and got to work with my hair oils, makeup, and painted my nails slightly pale over the course of fifteen minutes.

Once I returned to the room and opened my wardrobe to dress myself, I turned to a knock at the door. Quickly dressing myself in the red cropped dress robe top, black tights and red kilt to match. Anasuya sauntered into my room with a wolf whistle that made my cock stand at attention. I resisted the urge to scowl at the bitch for her abuse of his modified body and settled on the side of my bed.

She smiled at me, charcoal lipstick striking against her pale, fanged teeth. A gift from her patron, “Very fitting, boy, today you will be on stage until night.”

I rubbed my eyes with the imagined exhaustion of another ten-hour shift, I had better land myself another client who can pay for private bedding. “Yes mistress.” I said meekly.

She thumbed the hem of her dress, her toned midriff. Her large bust, which was the custom of witches who were initiated to enhance themselves, she folded her arms underneath and thrust her chest out to me. “Shame, shame, I’d like to put you down and make you more humble. Can take the blue blood out of the home but nobility’s never lost.”

I avoided her gaze, best not to rile her up... the easiest method I had available to me was what someone did to me before I was sold off. I tucked my fingers under my kilt, ready to drop it at a moment’s notice so she could put me to used to relax herself.

Anasuya waved me off, “No need, I was only playing. We have ritual later tonight, you have the day off, best use that money of yours to enjoy yourself in the district, buy alcohol, buy some dignity,” she looked me up and down as if I were a stray cat, “And go to Yashti, we need your production higher for tonight’s full moon.”

“Another ascendance ceremony, mistress?”

She crossed her arms, “If I said yes would you spend all your money on enhancing your nuts?”

I nodded.

“Good imp.” She sashayed out of the room and slammed the door shut.

Alone again, I took out the earrings and hooked them on. I double-checked my makeup and did another run of the brush through my hair. The lamp would shut off once Anjali saw I was no longer in the room. I reached for the door and pulled it open to the dim hallway. Stepped into my heeled shoes crafted by the sevitor men to click loudly as if I were in women’s heels. I shut the door and walked down the blank corridor that only seemed to fascinate witches and spawn an odd sense of looming in my chest.

As I walked, the lamps on my flanks winked to life by Anjali’s invisible hand, not a soul was up beside the witches that ran the tomcat house. And I was the lone tomcat, despite the love of pleasure that no man could deny, that I certainly indulged in... a part of me felt hungry for something else.

Three minutes passed, end of the hall and I pulled open the door to the host room of the tomcat house, still lively. Witch-lit lanterns burned pale moonlight over the heads of the two dozen women from various walks of life while the other boysluts like myself occupied the stage, told jokes at the bar. The smell of cheap tobacco, heavy scents of sex sprayed on the stage, and the bittersweet mixture of perfumes in the air switched my brain to strut as if I were on the tomcat walk presenting the pole.

The men who performed on stage were from the upper metropolis, protected by some high-end witch, famous enough to have a rep, not famous enough for a catboy to know without being told. I leaned on the banister, enjoying the beat of the drum and the lyrics I didn’t care for. Music made me think I knew better. Boysluts did not know a thing; his job was to insert or be inserted into, to be a toy for those who could afford it, a power source for witches who grew bored or were out to select new dispensers.

As I looked down, I saw Gem had found himself pressed against the wall in a kiss with a black lady who was at least two and a half of him in height and muscle. One of the other ladies noticed me, the kind that enjoyed switching roles frequently and raised a glass. Her mistake, of course, because every woman noticed me.

“Imp!” she shouted and beckoned me to come down the steel staircase, which I obeyed.

One of the host witches shot her a glare, but Anasuya shook her head and gave the sign for threesome, pointing at herself repeatedly, to which the lady vehemently disagreed. She hated to share, despite having shared already.

One I approached her, not knowing her name and she not knowing mine... I blinked. I had a name once. I kissed her hand, and she drank wine, then kissed me and poured it into my mouth and ruffled my hair.

“My favourite tomcat, ritual boy.” she winked, “Gonna rank up?”

I nodded. My family needs this to be free.

“But if you move outta the ghetto...” she brushed her hand against my shoulder, “Where will I get my fix, and where will you get yours?” her dark eyes filled with desire.

I couldn’t hide my smile and touched her hand, which drew even more eyes. She drew me closer to her, the scent of expensive rose perfume. Her cotton cropped waistcoat tightly formed around her bust, the toned midriff and tights that left little to the imagination as I could see exactly where I wanted to go.

She was like a cat herself, alas, she could do as she pleased, and with her obscene wealth she could follow me wherever I went and pluck me out of the ritual if she wished for the right price. But hope died first in the chambers of witches, and she was a witch. I pulled away and bowed, “I would really like to serve you, mistress, once I have earned greater endowments to settle your needs for The Craft.”

She laughed gently and cupped my chin, “That’s good, very good.”

I actually smiled when she pulled me into an embrace; no words, just the warmth of what she wanted. It reminded me of someone I ought to know. Someone who smelled of lilac and ginger, a hint of clove and something else. Moonflower? No, that can’t be bloody it. She released me with a light push and whispered something that propelled me to march out like a soldier.

Once I reached the door and pulled the heavy wooden slab open, I was met by the usual guards. They nodded and had another guard walk me out of the alley. I glanced back with the thought of jasmine when I saw the mistress again, thoughts of the nights spent together returned to me along with a hardening. A small pang of regret: I couldn’t let her take me away for the evening... or weekend.

“What’s your plan, tomcat?” the guard asked absently, her voice gruff as if she’d inhaled several packs of tobacco.

“Yashiti’s please.” I said and kept close to her side.

She sped up a little, boots slapping the floor to ensure she got the attention of the street filth, men mostly, who were down on their luck. Hadn’t found work, thrown out of tomcat houses for not being suited enough to transformatives or lacking potency, anything that could be found to throw them away. I was one of the few, and that drew eyes of mockery, envy, or outright murder. But a protected tomcat brought the wrath of all five hells and all of their innumerable rings down on the local male population.

Nobody wanted to be responsible for that kind of tragedy. Anjali was known for her ruthlessness, even to her own female pets.

We turned the corner to walk under Straytlight Lanterns, the guard clapped me on the back, nearly taking me up into the air with her strength, and chuckled. I bowed and thanked her, she licked her lips when she looked at my crotch and marched back down the alley.

An object of desire, I smirked, fulfilling my role perfectly, I thought with an odd grimness that shouldn’t be there. I started walking, better off than most of the men in the ghettos. I had a chain that could pull me all the way up to serving at Marie’s manor in the far north of the metropolis. I clasped my hands together and took out my purse, enough to run away and live in the East Ghetto for a year. But not enough to escape Anjali and her people.

I shouldered through the crowd until I came to the bazaar, where I was promptly found by one of Anjali’s women and escorted to Yashti’s home. I was dusted off as if I were some kind of animal, kissed on both cheeks by her bountiful servants who then took me by the arms down into her ritual chamber where she was currently engaged in sex with five men at once.

Upon seeing me, she finished quickly, waved them away. She sat up on her desk while she licked up semen off her fingers after wiping herself. She beckoned me over and pointed for me to sit right in front of her and smiled down at me like a doctor does a specimen.

“Anjali said this is the most important ritual you’ll fulfill. Your money and tips are gonna be reduced over the course of a year to facilitate this.” she twirled her foot in the air, her plump form jiggled while she laughed at the prospect, “Our little perfect tomcat boy’s movin’ up in the world,” she said something in her own language, “Come,” she beckoned the servants over, “Draw, now.”

The women opened a cupboard full of dead plants and other materials for the craft, another servant descended and blindfolded me.