Capricorn Cursed (10 page)

“You're a slave,” she said simply as she touched his chain. He nodded, eyes wide with expectation.

“You need a mistress?” she asked while wrapping her fingers around the iron loops.

“Yes, I do.”

“Obey me, then,” she said as she tightened her grip and pulled him down until he was kneeling on the floor. “A slave must ask his mistress nicely and politely.”

The man lowered his face to the floor.

“Please, will you be my mistress?” he asked. She put one stiletto boot on top of his head and pressed down with the ball of her foot.

“Pardon me? I didn't hear you the first time.”

His words were muffled as he asked again. She admired the firm ripples of his lean back and the Y that led to his shapely ass hugged in leather, rising higher in the air the farther down she pushed. She unlocked the flogger from her belt.

“Stay there,” she commanded as she took her foot from his head. As she walked around him, the woman he had been sitting with left. Natasha stood behind him and hit his butt with the flogger.

“Will you be my mistress?” he shouted.

“Pardon me?” she asked as she struck him again.

“Please, will you be my mistress?” The flogger struck once more. Natasha returned to stand in front of him..

“You may rise, and yes, I will accept you as my slave.” Natasha took hold of the chain around his neck. He started to stand up.

“No, you may crawl behind me. I need to go to the bar for another drink, and you must come.”

She led him around the crowded dance floor and up to the bar. She picked a stool to sit on as she ordered another beer. The man lay on the floor beside the stool.

Her blood was racing. Her hands shook as she brought the drink to her mouth. She had to do it soon or she would pass out and who knew where that would be? She shuddered to think of it. The dancers distracted her as the music calmed her for a few moments more.

The shuddering began. had begun. It crept through her fingers and down to her wrists. Tiny tremors that signified that bigger things were on the way. Still, if she didn't handle the situation perfectly she would lose a pretty sure bet.

He was more pleasant than a passed-out drunk. She looked down at him, seeing past the bare flesh of his back, under his skin to the veins pulsing . Their steady throbbing beckoned her.

Must remain cool.

Once she finished her drink, Natasha stood up, tugging on the leash. Slave followed. More people had come in, and it was getting hard to walk around with him on all fours. She led him into the corner of one of the rooms, where a schoolgirl was whipping a half-naked nun over a desk. The room was set up like a classroom, and “I will not be a dirty nun” was written on the chalkboard.

“This place is really crowded,” Natasha said. “Do you want to take this somewhere else?”

“Where? I can't go to my place…”

“It's okay. I have a hotel room. We'll go there.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “You don't know me.”

“You don't know me, either.” She winked. “What do you say?”

“Sure thing. I have to get dressed first.”

Natasha laughed. “I'll wait by the dance floor.”

As she stood watching the bodies writhe before her, she wondered what he'd taste like.

He knelt naked before her. Natasha still wore her catsuit. His nakedness was as appealing as his outfit had been. She smiled as she sized him up.

“You may look at me,” she said throatily. He stared up at her. She slowly unzipped the front of her catsuit. She unpeeled it from her body as his erection bobbed in appreciation.

“You here for a good time?” she asked, standing naked in front of him.

“Whatever you desire, mistress.”

“Good, get on the bed.” She pointed and he complied. Her hand wavered and she quickly lowered it, hoping he didn't notice the shivers passing through her body at an alarming rate. “I can't wait,” she said as she took his penis into her mouth.

“I…I'm married, you know. I can't let my wife find out about this,” he stammered. “I'm not telling anyone. I'm not even from around here. Just passing through on business.”

She winked and returned to sucking him. He leaned back, comforted by her words, comforted more by her warm lips working their magic on his cock.

When he was fully hard, she slid onto him and wasted no time building up to a steady, firm rhythm. His hips rose to meet her, and she leaned over to suckle his nipples. She quickly made her way up to his neck, grinding harder against him in anticipation. The tremors shook her as she sank her teeth into his neck. Welcome relief swelled through her as the blood gushed into her mouth and her pussy throbbed with her orgasm.

He continued to fuck her until the pain of her drinking took over.

“Whoa now, you're too rough,” he said, trying to push her up. Her grip on him from pussy to mouth was strong, and he was pinned beneath her. She clamped a hand over his mouth, and though he struggled, she was too much for him. Her noisy slurps filled the room until he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Natasha finally stopped her feast and pushed a rolled-up towel against his neck to stop the bleeding. Belly bloated, she stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She staggered to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she saw a face that was blood-smeared but rejuvenated. The sallow hollows around her eyes had already filled in, and her cheeks were more flushed by the minute. She would enjoy her rosy glow for a few hours until her natural paleness returned.

The shower was warm and inviting as she lathered bubbles through her long, dark hair and along her narrow waist. Blood swirled down the drain, lost in the labyrinth of soap and water. When the water finally ran clear, she stepped out. She toweled dry and returned to the bedroom naked.

Slave lay on the bed. The formerly white towel was now crimson. She went over to him and felt his pulse. Still alive. She took away the towel and put it in a bag. She brought several more old towels out of her suitcase. Packing his wound tightly, Natasha hoped he'd stop bleeding.

The television was too soft to hear, so she turned it up and idly clicked the remote until she found an old sitcom. After an hour, she checked the towels. The wound was clotting.

Natasha put the towels in the bag with the other towel and packed them in her suitcase. She found her first aid kit and cleaned out his wound. He was so far gone that he didn't even wince. Once the wound was cleaned, she was pleased to see that he looked pretty normal, even if he was extraordinarily pale. There was no sign of blood anywhere else.

She stood at the door and looked into the room as if she were discovering him for the first time. At first, he was a man asleep. Naked with a limp dick. Nice cherubic face and muscular chest. Only when she got closer could she see that his pallor was strange. Since his head was slightly cocked, the wounds weren't visible at all.

It would work fine.

She packed up her belongings and changed into jeans.

“Good-bye and thank you,” she said as she clicked off the light. Slave said nothing in the glow of the television.

Natasha drove back to Hermana and arrived home just before the first light of dawn.

 

 

Spend the day with those you love.

 

Natasha's Birthday

 

When Natasha woke, the moon was just starting to drift into the sky. The last glowing fingers of the sun stretched over Hermana's main street and glimmered on the water by the beach. The snow sparkled as the twinning powers of sun and moon touched and retreated toward their respective paths. She glanced at the clock. Only an hour before circle at Lucy's.

She tossed her covers aside and made her way to the bathroom. As she shucked her floor-length, white nightgown, her flesh prickled with the cool air.

Drafty
, she thought as she stepped into the claw-foot tub and turned on the shower. She pulled the sheer, white cloth curtain around the tub. The spray was shockingly cold at first but grew warmer as it steadily pounded against her. Her thoughts drifted as warm steam filled the chilly bathroom.

Funny how her birthday fell on a full moon this year. It was especially auspicious that Lucy's circle was taking place this night as well. Some months, she faced the circle of her peers with trepidation. She was leery of how much about her they could figure out with their own magical powers. She knew some of the ladies were creeped out by her dark eyes and ageless face. Especially as theirs grew older with lines and jowls.

She had lost track of her birthdays, although she knew she must be hitting another century soon.

One time, decades, maybe even a century ago—she would have to reread her journal again—she had gone to a fortune-teller while living in Spain. It had been a damp, chilly night and the caravans all had little fires in front of them. Natasha had heard tales of Savanna but wanted to see for herself if all that was said was true.

Savanna was easy enough to find. She looked to be in her forties although legend had it that she was much older. She knew about many types of spells and remedies. Natasha asked her if she could heal blood cravings.

Savanna laughed, her dark eyes flashing in the firelight as glittering bells tinkled on the edges of the many scarves she wore.

“No, my dear. I'm sorry.” Her voice was boisterous yet worn. “The call of the blood is one curse I can't destroy. I don't think anyone can.”

“I didn't think so.” Natasha stared into the fire for a moment. “But there's another spell I've heard that you do.”

“Now, which one would that be? You'd be amazed at what I can do.”

“Well, it's a memory thing. For those with eternal life,” Natasha said.

“Yes, the memory-fragment spell. Do you want to know how it works?”

“Of course.”

“Very well. The spell erases the memory so you're only allowed to think back 50 years, give or take. That way, you don't lament all those whom you've loved and lost, but conversely, you can't learn from past mistakes, either.”

“There's always a catch.”

Savanna nodded. “I've done it. That's why I write everything down. My wagon is filled with spells and journals of important ideas I don't want to forget.”

“And you don't regret it.”

“There's always regret, my dear. It's the human condition.” She stood up abruptly and led Natasha inside.

That was all Natasha remembered anymore. Soon, she would forget the lady had erased her memory at all, but she had written it down and made herself read the journals periodically to remember who she was.

Natasha soaped up her long, lean body, admiring how smooth and soft her skin was on this finest of days. She thought about her good friends who would be at the circle and how happy they would be to celebrate her birthday with her.

A gust of cold air blew the curtain, and, for a moment, Natasha caught a glimpse of a man standing there. A terrible-looking wreck of a man with blood smeared from head to toe.

“Who's there?” Natasha asked as she cocked her head, trying to listen to the spirit. She wasn't able to hear him and gasped as she saw the imprint of his face pressing against the shower curtain. Instinctively she covered herself.

“Who are you?” she said firmly. “Name yourself.”

“You know who I am. I course through your veins.”

The face disappeared as did the coldness, and Natasha turned back to the shower. One of her victims coming to bitch at her.

But from when, she had no idea.

Natasha continued to wash and think about the circle until she realized she'd better just plain get there.

When she opened the door to leave her loft, she was stunned by a very large bouquet of black roses in a crystal vase in the hallway. She plucked the card from the holder and grinned as she read it.

 

Happy Birthday, Natasha

Your new friend, Gus

 

So Gus was thinking about her all this time. She just hadn't been able to find him, yet he knew where she lived. She wondered if he had delivered the flowers himself, knocking on her door while she slept her fitful sleep.

It was a shame she hadn't seen him. She didn't even know how to get in touch to thank him.

She put the flowers on the dining table, spent a moment admiring how well they suited her decor and set out for the circle.

A while later, she was walking through the snowy streets toward Lucy's house on the other side of the beach. She knew she would be late, but no matter how late she was, someone, likely Maggie, would be later.

The house was immense and beautiful in an old New England mansion sort of way. There were turrets and large paneled windows. Unlike modern, boxy houses, this structure had many rooms with bay windows protruding from all sides.

In all the years she had known Lucy, Natasha had never been up into the attic. In fact, she was certain there were many areas of Lucy's home she'd never seen. Lucy probably barely used them as she was getting on in years herself. However, unlike Natasha, Lucy was mortal and wanted to stay mortal. As much magic as Lucy conjured, she had always been fearful of eternal life and its consequences.

Natasha didn't know if Lucy knew what she was, and if she did, she never let on. Natasha noted the many footprints in the snow leading up the grand granite stairs at the front entrance. Lucy loved art, and everywhere Natasha looked, there were sculptures and sconces of gargoyles and other winged creatures.

A chill ran up her back, and she looked behind her to see if someone was following her. It was almost a way of life, turning around to see if someone was trying to get to her, living or dead.

She entered the giant ornate lobby and handed her coat to one of the uniformed servants. Lucy's money was old and invested in the town. As much as Lucy enjoyed an opulent lifestyle, she also enjoyed sharing her good fortune with others.