Scars
Smooth walked through the corridors of Master's palace. The long, chitin spur coming from its calves and the little chitin points that are the entirety of its dainty feet clicked on the broad expanses of green marble that made up Master's Grand Causeway. Smooth was created with no actual sex or gender, but secretly thought of herself as female. Despite her purpose, she liked to imagine that she was elegant, graceful. How could Master create something that wasn't beautiful? She glanced sideways as she walked past the huge marble columns, green, reflective, with gleaming golden capitals. Her skin was a soothing sky blue, stretched and strange on the columns' curved surfaces. She held her long arms demurely in front of her as she walked, the short, wickedly curved claws and long, thin spiny whips she had instead of hands glinted in the light from the golden basket torches suspended overhead. Her eyelids only opened slightly, long, thin slits like a mask, but her eyes were large and deep, abyssal black. Her nostrils were long, curving slices in her noseless face, and they opened and closed with a slow, steady rhythm. the line of her lipless mouth did not smile, but remained calm and neutral. She glanced down at her reflection in the floor, not twisted like the columns and looked at her nude body. She was muscular but slender and feminine, with a small waist, narrow shoulders and wide hips. She had obvious pectoral muscles but no nipples or breasts, and her groin was a featureless plane. Beautiful.
Behind the columns, layer on layer of green and blue silks moved gently in the breeze. This hallway had always reminded Smooth of the ocean. The ocean was like magic to her - a fairy world. She had never seen it, of course. Her entire existence was confined by the walls of Master's palace, but she learned about the ocean. She imagined all the strong, graceful creatures swimming through rippling tides and bright sea-foam. She turned sharply to the right and continued, enjoying the feeling of the silk sliding over her perfect, unblemished skin. She imagined the ocean like that - one long, continuous feeling of silk on flesh, and wished the feeling would linger as she walked through the archway hidden behind it. The hallway was long, but narrow and claustrophobic after the wide avenue of the Grand Causeway. The walls curved upward slightly, meeting in a sharply peaked roof. The walls themselves were still made of green marble, but the floor was shiny polished tiles of gray slate, reflecting the dim light from the small alcoves set between the heavy wooden doors. Strangled cries echoed down the hall from behind those doors, and Smooth could smell iron, oiled leather, and blood. Smooth took her time walking slowly down the hallway to the appropriate door. Her stride became demure, her steps hesitant, although no emotion showed on her cold, impassive face. She took a deep breath, listening to the panting breaths coming from the other side. Despite the fluttering in her stomach, she slowly pressed her mass of claws against rough wood. This, this, she could do. Because Master had made her.
The victim was bound by thick leather straps on a huge metal "X" at the back of the square, gray room. She was nude and muzzled, thin, with small, perky breasts and short, silver fur. A metal ring at the back of the brown leather muzzle fixed her head against the back of the "X" and her ears were folded flat against her head. Her paws and tail faded from silver to black, and her blue eyes were wide with what Smooth assumed was fear. The captive's tail was likewise bound by a thong and chain set into the floor between her feet, but it curled up in a vain attempt to cover her body. Smooth slammed the door behind her with a flick of her powerful arm, approached with long, confident strides, her feet clicking sharply on the dull stone floor. Smooth knew what was expected of her and showed her small, pointed teeth as she placed her claws against either side of the victim's face. The whips set centrally on each hand writhed over the face and ears of the helpless captive. Smooth heard the victim's heavy breathing and felt pity for her, but this is what was required. She drew her claws slowly down her captive's face gently, not drawing blood. The victim moaned low in her throat. Smooth continued to draw her claws down the victim's body, gradually increasing the pressure as they moved across the victim's neck and throat, across her breasts, over the bones of her ribs, into the meat of her backside and calves. She stepped quickly back, hearing the creature moan as her fur began to mat and darken in eight symmetrical lines of blood. Smooth took two wide steps back, her chitinous feet clicking against the stone, before swinging her left arm swiftly down in a vicious arc. When she drew her arm back, it spattered dark blood in a thin arc across the floor. She lifted her arm again, then the other. This was mechanical to her, what her body was designed to do, but not needing to think, acting from muscle memory only allowed her to focus on the cries of her victim as the whips slashed repeatedly against her poor, thin body. Drool leaked from the corners of the victim's mask as she thrashed against her bonds, wriggling and squirming as she was licked by Smooth's lashes. Blood and drool soaked into the victim's fur and the assault continued as she shuddered and screamed through her muzzle, thrusting into the air. Sweat began to bead on Smooth's chest and back as she danced around the victim, using her considerable strength as the lacerating whips continued to kiss pelt and skin. More drops of blood blossomed against the captive's hide and splashed in tiny rosettes against Smooth's skin as she flicked the whips back and forth. Sweat and pain and flesh continued to dance until the captive's eyes rolled back in her head and her entire body tensed and thrashed with a long, drawn out cry barely muffled by her muzzle. As her bodily fluids spattered against the stone, Smooth stopped, panting. She had been taught that this marked the end of her hapless victim's torment. Smooth hurt silently for her poor captive.
She licked the blood from her claws with her pointed, purple tongue as the captive sighed panting against her bonds. There was something haunting in the creature's yellow eyes, some strange, sympathetic quality that greatly disturbed Smooth. She turned toward the door and hesitated. As much as she dreaded her next task, she could feel that strange gaze boring into her...
She pushed the wooden door open slowly and walked once again down the green marble corridor. She continued past other identical doors, past the pants and screams of other hapless victims like the one she had serviced. There, at the end, was the door she wished would not open. It was wide, brass, and took up the width of the corridor. At the barest touch it swung outward, revealing the chirps of songbirds and bright streamers of sunlight from the garden. Smooth stepped carefully, demurely into the light, grimacing at the sight of Master. There was a green marble pedestal set centrally in the small, walled garden. The Master knelt on its smooth, worn surface wearing only a black loincloth. His arms and ankles were chained to a heavy gold ring set into the surface of the block.
Just looking at him hurt Smooth. His muscular body was a mass of wounds and scars. They crisscrossed and ran in jagged lines, angry red, pale white, purple burns. Fresh, pink welts and scabs twisted among them. Even his face was scarred, his lip pulled away from his teeth in a perpetual snarl. She could not understand what horrible penance he was paying, or why she must be the one to deliver it.
"Sweet Smooth. I see your last client must have really enjoyed herself; I've been waiting for a while now." He grinned and ran his tongue along his incisors. It was so kind of him to put on a strong face for her.
"Start slow now, with the claws." His smile widened as she her tiny pointed feet danced across the little walkway. As she began to work his groans and howls accompanied the warm rivulets of blood washing down across the stone and grass. He screamed for her to hurt him more, harder, stronger, while he struggled against the chain. He never pulled away, always into her slices, against her body. Her delicate scratches and deeper wounds stained the skin of her face and arms brown with blood. She was afraid, terrified of the sight of his exposed flesh and was thankful when eventually he collapsed panting against the stone. It was so awful, but she knew that she must always be obedient, always silent. She stood staring down at those awful scars and dreadful wounds. Scars that she had caused. Wounds that she had made. He cared for her. He gave her life. He looked up at her, even in his pain and exhaustion he smiled. Master was so kind to spare her feelings, even after something so horrible.
"What is wrong, Smooth?" Master said, panting.
She almost wept as she spoke, but he'd asked her, and she just couldn't hold it in, "Oh Master! There is nothing good about what I do! To cause pain, to injure those poor people, I can accept this as the price for my life of comfort. I would do anything required, because I know I must, but Master, hurting those innocents does not wound me as deeply as laying my claws on your poor, beaten body! How can I bear to raise these weapons against you when you have given me so much?" she held her arms in front of her, tears streaking her bloodstained face.
She was utterly shocked when Master began to laugh, rocking back and forth on the stone, only his chains keeping him from falling on his face into the grass.
"Really? Seriously Smooth?" he managed to gasp.
"I don't understand, Master." She said, looking confused and worried.
"You really don't get it. Everyone here is paying me large sums of money to be here. Its..." he saw the completely uncomprehending look on her face. "Oh, look do you want to be a cook or something?"
Smooth tried to dry her eyes, but only managed to streak blood across her face. A cook? She stood there confused. "I can't stop thinking about how I've injured your delicate body and left horrid marks on it. It makes me cry at night."
The Master shrugged as best he was able and looked at Smooth with sympathy. "Don't worry, Smooth. It's OK. I won't make you do it anymore."
She grinned her vicious, razor grin and leapt onto the block, awkwardly embracing him while trying to avoid his mutilated flesh. Master just sighed, Smooth couldn't quite hear what he said, a sad sigh that sounded like "Always the good ones."