The Chosen Pervert

Chapter 10: Development

Six years.

Six years had passed since Aldric arrived at our doorstep and changed everything.

I was eleven now. Rue was nine—roughly a year and a half younger than me, though sometimes it felt like she was the older one between us.

Funny how that works.

The years had been... transformative. That was the only word for it.

Aldric had pushed me harder than I thought possible. Magic theory, combat applications, mana control, elemental manipulation—he drilled it all into me with the patience of a saint and the discipline of a drill sergeant. My power had grown exponentially. I could cast spells most A-Rank mages would struggle with, and I did it without speaking, without a wand, without breaking a sweat.

God-Rank, Aldric had said. You're destined for something greater than any of us.

I still didn't know what that meant. But I was starting to feel it—the weight of it, the inevitability of it.

Rue had changed too.

Kira had molded her into something fierce and deadly. She moved like a shadow now, silent and precise. Her dual daggers were extensions of her body, and her crossbow aim was flawless. She could take down targets twice her size without hesitation.

But it wasn't just her combat skills that had developed.

Rue had grown into herself in ways I hadn't expected.

She was smart. Not just clever—genuinely intelligent. She could hold full conversations now, debate philosophy with Aldric, crack jokes with the servants. Her speech had smoothed out over the years, though she still had that faint beast-folk accent that made certain words sound rougher, more guttural.

And when she got frustrated or excited, she'd slip back into beast-folk entirely—a rapid-fire mix of growls and grunts that sounded like Russian filtered through a wolf's throat.

It's kind of adorable, honestly.

Her personality had sharpened too. She was fierce, stubborn, blunt to the point of rudeness sometimes. She spoke her mind without hesitation, and she didn't tolerate bullshit from anyone.

Except me.

With me, she had a sweetness that she showed to no one else. A softness in her eyes, a gentleness in her touch. She'd curl up beside me at night, her head on my chest, her tail wrapped around my waist, and she'd purr—a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her entire body.

She's mine, I thought sometimes. And I'm hers.

It was a truth I'd accepted long ago.

There were other things I'd noticed over the years.

Rue still wouldn't let anyone but me touch her.

My mother could brush her hair sometimes, or pet her ears for a few moments before Rue would pull away. The servants could help her dress or bathe, but she tolerated it—barely. Her body would go stiff, her ears would flatten, and the moment they were done, she'd bolt.

But my father?

She wouldn't let him near her.

It happened one afternoon in the training yard. My father had been watching Rue spar with Kira, and when she finished, he'd reached out to pat her shoulder.

"Well done, Rue," he'd said, his hand descending toward her.

She'd recoiled like he'd tried to strike her.

Her ears pinned back, her lips pulled into a snarl, and she'd hissed—a sharp, warning sound that made my father freeze.

"Rue," I'd said softly, stepping between them. "It's okay."

She'd looked at me, her golden eyes wide and wild, and then she'd pressed herself against my side, her tail wrapping around my leg.

My father had pulled his hand back, his expression unreadable. "I see," he'd said quietly. Then he'd turned and walked away.

I'd figured it out later.

It was psychological.

My father was the one who'd taken her from her homeland. He'd saved her, yes—but he'd also been the one to rip her away from everything she'd known. She'd been three years old, traumatized, terrified. And even though he'd meant well, even though he'd brought her to safety, her mind had latched onto him as the source of her fear.

She'll probably never trust him, I thought. And I can't blame her.

There was something else I'd noticed too.

After training, or after bathing, Rue would press herself against me. Not obviously—just a subtle brush of her shoulder against mine, or her cheek against my arm. She'd linger there for a moment, her eyes half-closed, and then she'd pull away.

At first, I thought it was just affection.

But then I'd caught her doing it more deliberately. She'd rub her cheek against my neck, or press her forehead to my chest, or run her fingers through my hair.

She's scent-marking me, I realized one day.

It was a beast-folk thing. I'd read about it in one of Aldric's books. They marked the people they cared about—claimed them, in a way. It was instinctual, primal. A way of saying this person is mine, don't touch.

I'd seen animals do it back on Earth. Wolves, cats, dogs—they all did it.

And Rue was doing it to me.

She's claiming me, I thought, and the realization made my chest tighten.

I didn't mind.

Not even a little.

But there were other things I'd noticed too.

Things I tried not to think about.

Things I tried really hard not to stare at.

Rue's body had... developed.

Beast-folk matured faster than humans, apparently. I'd learned that from Aldric during one of our lessons. Their bodies reached physical maturity earlier, though their minds developed at roughly the same pace.

And Rue's body had definitely matured.

Her hips had widened over the years, giving her an hourglass shape that was impossible to ignore. Her thighs had thickened, strong and toned from years of training. Her waist had narrowed, accentuating the curve of her hips.

And her breasts...

Fuck.

They'd started developing a few years ago, and now they were... noticeable. Not large, but perfectly shaped, firm and full. They moved when she walked, and I'd catch myself staring sometimes, my brain short-circuiting.

She'd notice, of course.

"Wyatt?" she'd say, tilting her head. "Are you okay? You look... distracted."

"I'm fine," I'd say quickly, snapping my eyes away. "Just tired."

Liar.

I wasn't tired. I was a pervert.

Still a pervert, even in this life.

It all came to a head one afternoon after training.

Rue had been sparring with Kira for hours, and she was covered in sweat and dirt. Marta, one of the household servants, had prepared a bath for us—a large wooden tub filled with hot water that she'd heated over the fire and transferred pot by pot.

"Bath's ready," Marta said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Don't let it get cold."

She left the room, closing the door behind her.

I looked around.

It was just me and Rue.

"Finally," Rue said, stretching her arms over her head. "I feel disgusting."

"You look fine," I said automatically.

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm covered in dirt and sweat, Wyatt. I look like I rolled in mud."

"Well... yeah, okay, fair point."

She smirked and started pulling off her tunic.

My breath caught in my throat.

Oh no.

It was like everything moved in slow motion.

She pushed down her pants first, revealing her long, tan legs. They were smooth, toned, perfect. Her tail—full and lush, part of her spine—swayed gently as she moved.

And her ass...

Fuck.

It was perfect. Full, firm, smooth, golden tan. The kind of ass that would make a man weep.

My cheeks started to burn.

Then she lifted her tunic.

And I felt lightheaded.

Her breasts were small, but they were perfect. They'd developed beautifully over the years, shaping and firming up. The skin was smooth, tan, flawless. Her n*****s were—

Stop staring, you f*****g pervert.

But I couldn't stop.

I felt a nosebleed coming on.

"Wyatt?"

Her voice snapped me out of it.

I blinked, my vision clearing.

She was standing there, completely naked, one hand on her hip, her head tilted. "Are you going to wash up, or are you just going to stand there and let the water get cold?"

"I—uh—yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

Smooth, Wyatt. Real smooth.

I started undressing slowly, my hands trembling.

Why am I nervous?

Because in my old life, I wasn't anything to look at. I was overweight, below average in every way. My d**k was... well, let's just say it wasn't impressive.

I got bullied for it in school. And in college, it only got worse.

I'd had s*x once. Once. With a girl who was... not attractive. The college w***e, basically. And I'd lasted two minutes. Two f*****g minutes.

After that, I'd stuck with porn.

But now...

I hesitated, then pulled my shirt over my head.

I looked down at myself.

Huh.

I wasn't bad. For a eleven-year-old, anyway.

I had abs—small ones, but they were there. My arms and chest had some muscle from years of training with my father. He'd insisted I learn swordplay alongside magic, saying "magic can't solve everything."

I beg to differ, old man.

But I'd gone along with it. And apparently, it had paid off.

Then I looked at my d**k.

I raised an eyebrow.

Well, at least it's bigger than my old one.

"Wyatt."

Rue's voice was sharp now, irritated.

I looked up.

She was standing near the tub, her arms crossed, her ears flattened. "Are you getting in, or are you just going to let the hot water get cold?"

"Right. Sorry."

I cleared my throat and climbed into the tub.

The water was hot—almost too hot—but it felt good after a long day of training.

Rue climbed in after me, settling on the opposite side of the tub.

We washed in silence for a while.

I grabbed a cloth and some soap, scrubbing the dirt and sweat from my skin. Rue did the same, her movements slow and methodical.

But I couldn't help but watch her.

She was beautiful.

Her wet hair clung to her shoulders and back, the black strands streaked with grey. Her golden eyes were half-closed as she washed, her expression peaceful.

And her breasts...

Stop staring.

But I couldn't.

They were right there, just above the waterline, glistening with droplets of water.

Fuck, she's perfect.

"Do you want to touch them?"

I froze.

What?

"Touch what?" I said quickly, looking away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rue opened one eye, looking at me.

"You've been staring at them since I took off my shirt," she said bluntly.

My face burned.

"I—uh—I wasn't—"

She straightened up, pushing her chest out slightly. "You can touch them if you'd like."

My brain short-circuited.

She's... she's serious.

I hesitated, my mind racing.

This is a bad idea. This is a really bad idea.

But my pervert brain was already taking over.

I felt my fingers flex.

Just... just one touch. That's it.

I reached out quickly, my hand trembling.

And then, in my excitement, I squeezed.

Rue's eyes widened.

Oh no.

Before I could correct my mistake, she hissed and punched me in the side of the face.

Stars exploded across my vision.

I tasted blood.

Something hard was in my mouth.

I spat it out onto the floor—a baby tooth, a molar, along with a glob of blood.

Fuck.

I rubbed my cheek, wincing. "Ow."

Rue narrowed her eyes, her ears pinned back. "I said you could touch them, not grope them."

"Sorry," I said, my voice muffled. "I just got... excited."

She stared at me for a long moment.

Then her expression softened.

She sat up straight again, pushing her chest out slightly. "Go ahead," she said. "And this time, be gentle."

I blinked.

She's... she's letting me try again?

I reached out slowly, carefully this time.

My hand covered her left breast, and I felt my breath catch.

She was warm. Soft. So soft.

I'd never felt anything like it.

I could feel her heartbeat underneath, the slow rhythm of her breathing.

Slowly, I rubbed my thumb along the curve of her breast, feeling the smoothness of her skin.

She made a sound—a subtle gasp mixed with a purr.

I felt her inhale slightly.

I looked up at her face.

She was watching me with half-lidded eyes, her lips slightly parted.

She's liking it.

I noticed small details about her face that I hadn't before. The way her lashes framed her golden eyes. The curve of her cheekbones. The fullness of her lips—plump, pink, like satin.

She's painfully beautiful.

I felt a strong urge to kiss her.

I started to lean forward, my heart pounding.

And then the door opened.

I yanked my hand back, my face burning.

Marta walked in, her eyes scanning the room. She looked up and saw us, her brow furrowing. "Are you two alright?"

"Fine," I said quickly.

"We're fine," Rue added, her voice calm.

Marta nodded slowly, then turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Silence.

I looked at Rue.

She looked at me.

And then she smirked.

"You're such a pervert," she said.

"I know," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." She leaned back in the tub, her tail swishing lazily in the water. "I don't mind."

My chest tightened.

She doesn't mind.

I didn't know what to say to that.

So I just sat there, staring at her, my mind racing.

What the hell just happened?

That night, as we lay in bed together, Rue curled up against my side, her head on my chest, her tail wrapped around my waist.

"Wyatt?" she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Do you... do you think I'm beautiful?"

My throat tightened.

"Yes," I said. "I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

She was quiet for a moment.

Then she pressed closer, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest.

"Good," she said. "Because you're mine."

I know, I thought. I've always been yours.

And as I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I realized something.

My feelings for Rue weren't just affection anymore.

They were deeper. Stronger. More complicated.

I cared about her. I wanted to protect her. I wanted to be with her.

But I also wanted... more.

I'm falling in love with her, I realized. Or maybe I already have.

And that terrified me.

Because she was nine. And I was eleven. And she'd been a slave, a traumatized child, someone I'd promised to protect.

Is this wrong?

I didn't know.

But as I felt her breathing slow, her body relaxing against mine, I realized something else.

I don't care.

Right or wrong, I was hers.

And she was mine.

And nothing—nothing—would ever change that.