Sips of Blood (6 page)

"I apologize for my father. He doesn't
understand how to act in polite company."

"Don't apologize." Cautiously she reached out
and touched Wil's arm. Solid muscle. "Your Father and I are..."
There was a moment's hesitation. "Old friends."

"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?"

"Sex 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 hell 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 buttons open
on the oxford shirt. Fine thin cuts criss-crossed his chest. He had
recently made love. She yanked the shirt 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 glassy 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 cushiony
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 sexual
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 Maîtresse
beat him long enough to
draw blood. Her tongue caught the rivulets in strong lapping
motions. Garrett had never seen
La Maîtresse
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
Maîtresse.

"Stop!" he shouted.

Not the safe word, but Maîtresse 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
breasts into a spillage of flesh.

"Shut up, you piece of shit!" 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 shit that I wipe from my shoe. You're a
turd from the bowels of the devil."

Maîtresse reached up and ripped away the
material covering her breasts. 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 fucking your mate, what drives you?
Certainly not the insipid stench of her pussy. Nor the angular
shape of her body. What is it you see, hear, and feel inside your
head? Tell me, you weak ass!"

"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.

"God, 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 sexual 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 appetite. 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 passed 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'échapper 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 gods. The knitted cap on his head
was a dirty gray; actually, all of his clothes were dirty, from the
chambray shirt 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
café 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
spaced 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
café was tin and the floor wood planks. There hadn't been much
choice in food. Lucy had settled on a whipped cream
éclair
and hot honey-sweetened milk, while Sade had ordered a
café 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 shine 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
éclair.
"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."

"Dracula's Lair?"