Never happen
I had to write this because its been clattering around in my head. I doubt it would ever ever happen but still it demanded to be written. Enjoy...
Oh yes and
Naughty thoughts and naughty deeds
doth these scrib-ble-lings proceed
So friend I warn you do not read
unless you like such naughty deeds
He’s dead and I don’t love him. I never did it was a lie all of it. My whole life was a lie, the love that demanded so many deaths was a lie. I should be dead. But I’m a prince’s favorite. So I live…but for how long? How long before he tires of me and keeps his life sustaining vitae for himself leaving me to age, wither, and die within a month? Or worse he may take all of my life. I’ve felt his desire to when he was with me before and now there is nothing to hold him back. I’m his.
I remember being claimed…vomiting bugs when I swore I loved Master Lucien. I saw what the Invictus do to a disloyal thrall. And I am certain Abigail’s fate awaits me. They give us to a bloody handed bishop and their conscience is clear. Or at least that is what my prideful brat of a master had done. But that is past now.
There is something in me that I don’t understand a germ of feeling. None of the bishop’s Vitae has passed my lips since before that awful trial. This cannot be a lie of the blood. If he kept me long enough I would love him without it. And even as I fear the death he will bring me and the hell I know waits after. I cannot help but hope that he hasn’t lied, that he will never hurt me, never give me cause to fear. That he might keep me. I cannot keep from seeing his face with that look he gives most often to me. He sleeps ignoble in the trunk. His makeshift refuge from the sun. Beadows his wizened driver takes me back to his estate. I dream of his touch even as I fear it. I know shame for I love this man. But hope will be the death of me, and love it or no this is death and death is never beautiful. He must not grow bored…he must never grow bored with me. This drive will never end. And when it does it did not last long enough. Time to face the unknown.
Orders, orders from a new master; Master Conrad. “An abortion, quickly girl.” I know what this will do. Yet I fear to ask him when…fear to let him know I will be weak from it bleeding heavy from my cunt and unable to give him what he wants for even a moment. What if I’m not worth the trouble? Does he see my hesitation? Does he mistake it, think I want to keep the gypsy parasite in my belly? I can’t read him, I don’t know him. And briefly I long for my brat prince. His moods I knew well.
But for now he wants me in his chamber. Naked, oiled and practicing my Hindi skills. I will serve until dawn. He has me until dawn until a thousand dawn’s from now should he want me. Hope will kill me now. I must breathe deep, think only of desire. Find that love I have for this strange priest. And weave a shield threaded of memories from a time when I was free beneath him, instead of his slave. I love you Master Conrad, I love you. And inspired, languid and serene I commit my first act of disobedience. To the marble bath and filled with water steaming. Then the dresser, I search hoping to find…ah a shunt and needle in my arm with practiced ease, then a goblet, empty for now on the side of the tub. “I kneel again and rejoin my meditations. The serenity has not left me and the desire is only strengthened by my preparations. I allow myself the fancy that he will like what I have prepared for him. Allowing any other thoughts will result in a taste he would rather not endure. He wants me flush with sex. Concentrating I force myself to orgasm.
I sense his presence, desire radiates from him. Eyes up when he steps inside. Voice silk smooth I dare to quote William Blake. “The lust of a goat is the bounty of god.” I am so very slow, like honey, like a lover from a glade where time has no meaning. Head slightly tilted with a suggestion of an exposed neck. I rise like fluid poured up and walk glistening with oil the languid step of the panther. I let him enjoy this moment and with desire steadied hands I begin to undress him. Exquisite time spent in anticipation. Each piece of cloth folded and set aside. He seems amused. Can he smell that I want him? He lets me do as I will. His hand is cool in mine as I take it. I love the feel of a vampire’s flesh on mine. No mortal man can hope to compare. I lead him to the tub, He ascends still silent and I almost loose my calm. Does he notice my hand shaking ever so slightly? There is only room for desire, anticipation and flesh in my mind. His cup I take in both hands like an offering I bow my head and then setting it down near him, I fill it warm and hot from the shunt in my arm.
He takes what I offer, swirling it under his nose like a connoisseur. Is he pleased? Is he mocking me? I cannot tell. I begin to wash him, I think of him in me and I know he notices. How can he not? I’m naked and glistening with more then oil now. He drains the cup and sets it aside, then appraises me with his eye I am devoured.
"Mine" it’s a growl of triumph and his laughter soon follows. Booming in the bedchamber he takes me roughly as he is wont. And I grow more excited. He grabs my breast squeezes it round like an apple and looks at me. “This is mine…all of it mine. I have you at last.” And he bites the ecstasy takes me away. “Beautiful Eva.” He releases me and stands. I can see him vitae hardened and waiting for me. On the tip a bead of his essence glistens red and inviting. “You know what it means to taste me now.” I look up at him is there a question in this statement? Is this a test?
“It matters not; I’ve loved you since he died. If, I taste that it won’t be a lie, it will be life and you and nothing false.” Desire, anticipation, flesh and Vitae. I come to him my lips teasing sweetly and he lets himself go in my mouth. Little swallows and my soul is full. If he wants me to die then I shall die gladly beneath his fangs, or knife. If he wants me to suffer I shall do it gladly. He shall have pleasure of me. All that I can contrive. Death is never beautiful…but I can pretend that for him it would be.
Oh yes and
Naughty thoughts and naughty deeds
doth these scrib-ble-lings proceed
So friend I warn you do not read
unless you like such naughty deeds
He’s dead and I don’t love him. I never did it was a lie all of it. My whole life was a lie, the love that demanded so many deaths was a lie. I should be dead. But I’m a prince’s favorite. So I live…but for how long? How long before he tires of me and keeps his life sustaining vitae for himself leaving me to age, wither, and die within a month? Or worse he may take all of my life. I’ve felt his desire to when he was with me before and now there is nothing to hold him back. I’m his.
I remember being claimed…vomiting bugs when I swore I loved Master Lucien. I saw what the Invictus do to a disloyal thrall. And I am certain Abigail’s fate awaits me. They give us to a bloody handed bishop and their conscience is clear. Or at least that is what my prideful brat of a master had done. But that is past now.
There is something in me that I don’t understand a germ of feeling. None of the bishop’s Vitae has passed my lips since before that awful trial. This cannot be a lie of the blood. If he kept me long enough I would love him without it. And even as I fear the death he will bring me and the hell I know waits after. I cannot help but hope that he hasn’t lied, that he will never hurt me, never give me cause to fear. That he might keep me. I cannot keep from seeing his face with that look he gives most often to me. He sleeps ignoble in the trunk. His makeshift refuge from the sun. Beadows his wizened driver takes me back to his estate. I dream of his touch even as I fear it. I know shame for I love this man. But hope will be the death of me, and love it or no this is death and death is never beautiful. He must not grow bored…he must never grow bored with me. This drive will never end. And when it does it did not last long enough. Time to face the unknown.
Orders, orders from a new master; Master Conrad. “An abortion, quickly girl.” I know what this will do. Yet I fear to ask him when…fear to let him know I will be weak from it bleeding heavy from my cunt and unable to give him what he wants for even a moment. What if I’m not worth the trouble? Does he see my hesitation? Does he mistake it, think I want to keep the gypsy parasite in my belly? I can’t read him, I don’t know him. And briefly I long for my brat prince. His moods I knew well.
But for now he wants me in his chamber. Naked, oiled and practicing my Hindi skills. I will serve until dawn. He has me until dawn until a thousand dawn’s from now should he want me. Hope will kill me now. I must breathe deep, think only of desire. Find that love I have for this strange priest. And weave a shield threaded of memories from a time when I was free beneath him, instead of his slave. I love you Master Conrad, I love you. And inspired, languid and serene I commit my first act of disobedience. To the marble bath and filled with water steaming. Then the dresser, I search hoping to find…ah a shunt and needle in my arm with practiced ease, then a goblet, empty for now on the side of the tub. “I kneel again and rejoin my meditations. The serenity has not left me and the desire is only strengthened by my preparations. I allow myself the fancy that he will like what I have prepared for him. Allowing any other thoughts will result in a taste he would rather not endure. He wants me flush with sex. Concentrating I force myself to orgasm.
I sense his presence, desire radiates from him. Eyes up when he steps inside. Voice silk smooth I dare to quote William Blake. “The lust of a goat is the bounty of god.” I am so very slow, like honey, like a lover from a glade where time has no meaning. Head slightly tilted with a suggestion of an exposed neck. I rise like fluid poured up and walk glistening with oil the languid step of the panther. I let him enjoy this moment and with desire steadied hands I begin to undress him. Exquisite time spent in anticipation. Each piece of cloth folded and set aside. He seems amused. Can he smell that I want him? He lets me do as I will. His hand is cool in mine as I take it. I love the feel of a vampire’s flesh on mine. No mortal man can hope to compare. I lead him to the tub, He ascends still silent and I almost loose my calm. Does he notice my hand shaking ever so slightly? There is only room for desire, anticipation and flesh in my mind. His cup I take in both hands like an offering I bow my head and then setting it down near him, I fill it warm and hot from the shunt in my arm.
He takes what I offer, swirling it under his nose like a connoisseur. Is he pleased? Is he mocking me? I cannot tell. I begin to wash him, I think of him in me and I know he notices. How can he not? I’m naked and glistening with more then oil now. He drains the cup and sets it aside, then appraises me with his eye I am devoured.
"Mine" it’s a growl of triumph and his laughter soon follows. Booming in the bedchamber he takes me roughly as he is wont. And I grow more excited. He grabs my breast squeezes it round like an apple and looks at me. “This is mine…all of it mine. I have you at last.” And he bites the ecstasy takes me away. “Beautiful Eva.” He releases me and stands. I can see him vitae hardened and waiting for me. On the tip a bead of his essence glistens red and inviting. “You know what it means to taste me now.” I look up at him is there a question in this statement? Is this a test?
“It matters not; I’ve loved you since he died. If, I taste that it won’t be a lie, it will be life and you and nothing false.” Desire, anticipation, flesh and Vitae. I come to him my lips teasing sweetly and he lets himself go in my mouth. Little swallows and my soul is full. If he wants me to die then I shall die gladly beneath his fangs, or knife. If he wants me to suffer I shall do it gladly. He shall have pleasure of me. All that I can contrive. Death is never beautiful…but I can pretend that for him it would be.