Sips of Blood Part 5

"I take it that you'd never move back here." Her fingers still pressed against his arm, she allowed herself the joy of tightening her hold.

Wil winced and turned his head to face her. Immediately she withdrew her hand.

"No, never."

She saw the hint of a bruise on his neck. A human bite, it had not drawn any of his precious blood. A faded scar on his left jaw fascinated Marie. She ran her thumb across the whiteness of the scar.

"How did you get this?"

"s.e.x play gone awry," he truthfully answered.

"A true professional would only leave desired scarification. Never a mark left in error."

"I was young."

"And now you are old?" She laughed and caressed his cheek in the palm of her hand.

"You're a dirty old lady," Keith spit out.

Marie did not remove her hand from Wil's cheek.

"We all have a calling and are driven to sate our secret desires whenever we can. Some like the lick of the whip; others like to apply the taste of leather."

"I'm getting the h.e.l.l out of here. Wilbur," Keith called.

Marie easily held the son with her eyes. Her fingers slid down to undo his tie. As the tie came free, she grabbed each end of the material and drew it tightly around Wil's neck. His breath caught. She loosened the hold and removed the tie from his shoulders. Using two fingers, she flicked the b.u.t.tons open on the oxford s.h.i.+rt. Fine thin cuts criss-crossed his chest. He had recently made love. She yanked the s.h.i.+rt out of his pants to reveal the jagged loops that pierced his nipples. Not smooth rings, but crenulate gold pierced his skin. She slid her pinkies into the loops and pulled gently at first, then more forcefully, watching his eyes take on a gla.s.sy look of desire. His tongue wet his lips. Her pinkies left the loops to wonder down to the zipper of his pants.

"Christ! What are the two of you doing?" screamed Keith, who reached over to separate them.

A burning fire of anger rushed up her chest and she lashed out, knocking Keith to the floor. He fell short of the stone fireplace, hitting his head instead on the cus.h.i.+ony softness of the Aubusson rug.

"Dad!" Will yelled. He stood and then dropped to his knees beside his father.

"Wil?" Marie softly said.

"Dad, take it easy. Try to catch your breath."

Ignoring the panting old man on the floor, Marie stood and put a firm hand on Wil's ebony hair. She clutched a handful of hair and drew his head back so that he was looking up at her.

"Come back without the old fart."

"What does one want when one is engaged in the s.e.xual act? That everything around you give you its utter attention, think only of you, care only for you... every man wants to be a tyrant when he fornicates."

Philosophy in the Bedroom.

by the Marquis de Sade.

Chapter 11.

La Maitresse beat him long enough to draw blood. Her tongue caught the rivulets in strong lapping motions. Garrett had never seen La Maitresse so impatient, so out of control. Her hands shook with the intensity of her emotion. Her glazed eyes looked beyond him. Could she even hear him?

A wail issued from her throat as she beat him with a strength far beyond her size. Garrett's eyes watered, not from pain, no, he knew there was someone else in her mind. A vision of another slave. Someone had managed to take control of La Maitresse.

"Stop!" he shouted.

Not the safe word, but Maitresse dropped the whip and slowly backed away from him. Her eyes focused, a hiss came out in a spray of saliva, and the blood on her lower lip hardened into a brown stain. The black corset she wore suddenly seemed too tight for her body, too confining for the energy that pumped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into a spillage of flesh.

"Shut up, you piece of s.h.i.+t!" Her voice cracked.

He watched her grasp for control, but it kept slipping away.

"You are not worthy to speak to me, not even in a whisper. You're just s.h.i.+t that I wipe from my shoe. You're a t.u.r.d from the bowels of the devil."

Maitresse reached up and ripped away the material covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Balanced on spiked heels, she slowly walked toward him. The shower of spit that hit his face caused him to close his eyes. Roughly she blindfolded him with the material in her hands. Edged in black lace, the material felt scratchy. But not warm. Not body temperature as he had expected. Indeed, her touch never heated his skin. Cold, chilling, icy, and yet the cool hand that caressed his face drove his body into desire. He could feel the erection. She withdrew her hand.

"Tell me a story. Tell me your secrets. When you're in the midst of f.u.c.king your mate, what drives you? Certainly not the insipid stench of her p.u.s.s.y. Nor the angular shape of her body. What is it you see, hear, and feel inside your head? Tell me, you weak a.s.s!"

"The touch of leather splitting my skin. The whistling of the whip as it seethes through the air before striking me. I see you training me, guiding me, helping me to find my true pleasure in serving you. Please don't be angry because I envied another."

"Another?" she asked.

"G.o.d, I'm so sorry," he shouted. "I coveted your touch and attention, and I'm not worthy of either."

The whip cracked in the air, and he felt the strands cross his flesh. But the power no longer fed the sting. The pain paled in comparison to the earlier blows.

I must win her back. I must prove my worth as a total slave.

Chapter 12.

Exhausted, she rolled onto her back. Cecelia always slept deeply after masturbating. The deep, dark sleep of sinners. She smiled. "Dirty old man," she muttered, remembering the fantasy she had had of her mother's employer.

The top sheet and blanket had been kicked to the floor, but she was too sated to retrieve them. She'd be cold later on when the s.e.xual glow wore off.

Cecelia rolled onto her left side onto a puddle of her own juices and stared at the sheet and blanket. Languidly she reached out her hand. Useless, she knew. She would have to get out of bed to collect the linen.

She sighed and resigned herself to a frigid wake-up call.

Sade hungered for blood. The need to feed gnawed at his body, causing him to move along the street with a predator's gait.

Je meurs de faim!

Even the stale odor of the refrigerated dead blood had spiked his appet.i.te. He had driven into Manhattan to feed. Here he could be sure of a wide selection any time of night, especially in Greenwich Village, where something always seemed to be happening.

On the corner of Sixth Avenue and Fourth Street at two a.m. a variety of blood pa.s.sed by: the tourists, eager to experience it all; the youths, lost and vulnerable; the transients, some crazy, some on drugs and/or alcohol; lonely people unable to sleep in empty apartments; the elderly, unable to sleep, period; and the immoral, trying to find an easy mark.

Of course, Sade knew he did not fit into any of these categories. Yes, he was there to steal, perhaps even kill, but he was no different than anyone else who needed to hunt down food. Healthy survival was everyone's right. If there were a central blood bank he could use, would he feed from it? No, not fresh enough; besides, the violence added to the ambiance of a good meal. And oh, the cold chill of refrigerated blood would burn his throat. How did Liliana stand it? Sade shook his head.

"Can you spare some change? I have to get back to Jersey City." The tall girl stood before him with hand extended. Her long straight black hair contrasted with the white make-up layered on her face. The black eye make-up did also. The bright red lipstick looked cracked and badly in need of a touch-up. Her black dress reached down to her ankles and covered the upper part of her military boots. The purple and black shawl matched her attire and purple fingernails.

A Goth, he thought. He loved Goths, they were so willing.

"Mon enfant, I'm going back to New Jersey and can drop you off. My car is but a block or two away."

"I'd rather take the Path train." She still extended her hand.

Sade laughed. "Il n'y a pas moyen d'echapper au fait que..."

"There's no escaping the fact that I need fare for the Path train."

"You speak French, mon enfant."

"I'm a French major at Rutgers, and I'm not your child."

"Mais non, if you were my child you'd be severely disciplined for being out alone so late. I give you money and you travel alone on a train. With all the perverts in the world I could not allow that. Let me take you safely home."

The girl tilted her head, but kept her hand extended. "How do I know you're not a pervert?"

"This is called mutual trust, ma..."

"Lucy. The name's Lucy."

"Louis," he answered. "See, we already know each other on a first-name basis. I know a coffee house that stays open late. Why don't we go there and share some more secrets."

"No." She finally pulled back her hand. "I'll take my chances on the street."

"Oh! Mighty Zeus, send down your terrible thunderbolt on these fools that have forgotten you." A wiry man with a sandy-colored beard and several missing teeth walked by the girl and Sade. He stopped a short distance away to wring his hands and cry out again to the Greek G.o.ds. The knitted cap on his head was a dirty gray; actually, all of his clothes were dirty, from the chambray s.h.i.+rt to the loose-fitting jeans that rested low on his hips. His naked feet were marred by non-healing sores.

"You see what I mean, Lucy. Obviously I must have looked harmless enough to you, or else you would not have approached me. Trust me a bit more and let me buy you a cafe au lait."

Lucy looked back over her shoulder at Sade, and he smiled wide enough to show that he was not missing teeth.

The coffee house had several customers all s.p.a.ced out for individual privacy. Each table had a different type of candle and holder. One was a simple votive, another was a beeswax candle set on a white plate. The table nearest the door had a candle in the shape of a frog's body; the head had already burned down. The table at which Lucy and Sade sat had an elaborate candelabrum with multicolored dripping candles. The ceiling of the cafe was tin and the floor wood planks. There hadn't been much choice in food. Lucy had settled on a whipped cream eclair and hot honey-sweetened milk, while Sade had ordered a cafe au lait to be sociable.

Sade pulled a chair out for Lucy; however, she opted to sit across from where he stood. Sade merely shrugged and sat.

Lucy opened her mouth and pulled on her teeth until a set of fangs popped out. Carefully she wrapped them, first in cotton then in a napkin.

"They look great, but I can't eat while wearing them."

"Personally I don't have that problem," Sade stated. He ran his tongue across his short but pointy incisors.

"Also they're made of dental acrylic and can crack and discolor easily."

"They sound useless," Sade commented.

"I could have gotten them made of dental porcelain, but it would have cost more." She slipped the napkin into her carpet bag. "When I get home I'll s.h.i.+ne them up a bit with a nail buffer. My parents hate them and think I wasted money on them."

"Perhaps," Sade mumbled to himself. "So you live with your parents."

Lucy nodded.

"That makes things much simpler."

"How?"

"I will not give you money to travel home alone; however, I will help you call your parents, and your father can come pick you up."

"That's an awful idea. If they knew I was out this late, they'd kill me. I was hoping to sneak into the house."

Sade smiled. "I guess, then, my other idea of going to the police for help would not appeal to you. But your parents will be furious when they wake up and not find you at home." By now, Sade knew, her parents were probably worried about her. Parents do not sleep while their babes stray. It was too soon for a missing-person report. Still, he had to move quickly.

Lucy licked some chocolate icing off the middle finger of her right hand. Sade's mouth watered.

"What kind of car do you have?"

"A Jaguar. The locks are independent, not under solely the driver's control. It's fast, it's sleek, and it's a marvelous shade of clotted blood."

"What's the color of the leather inside, scab-brown?" She made a face and finished her eclair. "What year is the car?"

"Brand new, merely three months old."

"Could I try driving it?"

"You can drive us both back to New Jersey if you like."

"Why would you do all this for me?"

"I have a young niece at home." Sade's eyes sparkled. "At least she had better be at home and not wondering around as you are. I would be very angry to find out she had been disobedient. I would take away all her privileges." Sade was willing to bet that even though Lucy was of college age she was still forced to live by her parents' rules.

"I meant to be home earlier, only I was having so much fun at Dracula's Lair I lost track of time."