Anew (Jaycob + LaPieta)

Her breath seized as a look of irritation flicked across his face, and soon Niklaus had separated. Even a mere glimpse teased a terrible rage, a terrible violence; she would not survive, were she on the receiving end, yet it was something she must risk were she to escape.

He had seemed fully intent on pursuing another "lesson", irritated at an interruption; it was not planned. But if that were the case, what had come up, and how did he know of it merely sitting in this hall? Keener hearing, perhaps, perhaps whatever means he had summoned Lynne by. Either bode ill.

A jolt of cold manifested around her wrists like the grasp of his hands, and with startled yelps the dark soon had her bound. It was softer than she expected, black velvet along her skin, though a quick jerk proved this softness was not all-encompassing.

Though token, the weight of these binds served as a tangible, physical reminder of the less pleasant terms of her role. Unshakeable, though she herself shook when the collar brushed his bite.

With a cultivated glare, Ireena gave a smile more akin to the baring of teeth than any expression of joy as Niklaus moved to leave.

"Please don't feel the need to rush back, my lord, I can amuse myself readily and I'm sure the matter's of far more import than I." Her voice dripped with a careful mix of honey and bile.

The woman did indeed cast quite the image: the chains cut black through the pale of her skin and apron like gashes in the world, the middle one nestling between her breasts to frame them with her biceps, which were forced to press the gentle swells forward. Each rise and fall of breath could be seen, the top of the apron barely covering her nipples.

With one last lingering look, he was gone.

With awkward series of bends and twists, Ireena once again donned the sheet—this time in a manner akin to a huddling blanket, to be shed on his return—and made her way to the fireplace with her meal in tow. Thankfully the sheet managed to stay draped about her shoulders.

The girl merely ate at first, warmth suffusing her for what felt like the first time since her people had served her to the baron. Then the napkins were used to clean the more egregious marks upon her: his seed, now-dried, the dried saliva and precum on her cheek, the clotted blood surrounding the bitemark and deeper scratches. It offered little save the fragile pretense of dignity, an act to be practiced so that she may remain more than an animal, but even that small gesture helped. She laid herself on the flagstones, resting on her side as she gazed into the fireplace.

The fire was a welcome distraction when she was done, the licking flames hypnotizing in their rhythm, letting thought be cast away. It was then she noticed the opportunity.

The bricks making up the fireplace were stacked in such a way that something thin could be slid between one and the floor, obscuring it.

Head darting around, she grabbed the feeble butter knife that accompanied her food and. . .yes, it fit! Her mind raced with her heart to try and find weak points in the maneuver.

He likely didn't involve himself with cleaning in any capacity. As long he didn't keep a particular account of the utensils, and as long as the servant in charge of tidying didn't notice the missing knife, she could theoretically keep the tool. Or at least glean something of his capabilities before punishment, if he could remotely monitor things in some capacity. Hell, even if it were found, it could quite plausibly have just been knocked there by accident during her meal by the fire. Nothing for a cleaner to think anything of, a reasonable explanation if questioned about. Niklaus didn't need to buy the excuse: there just needed to be one. Perhaps it could even be smuggled to her room or somewhere safer before whatever day the floors were cleaned, if she were given clearance to walk around.

The state at which he had left, had left her, meant he'd likely go straight into the "lesson". All the better, at best they'd leave the room promptly, at worst he'd be distracted and disinclined to count cutlery.

And she'd be lying if she denied any anticipation for whatever he planned for her; her chest felt tight with it.

The girl left her plate and fork on the floor by the fireplace—more credence lent to the idle knocking of the tool—and stood, moving to examine one of the many trophies of conquest that adorned the room. More precisely, the walls behind them, in case of a loose brick or hollow things could be stored within; all the while she kept on-guard for his return. A shame she could not bring the sheet with her for this; her entire backside lay exposed for him and his gaze when he returned.

Hope—even for so mundane an item as a tool for levering and chipping—sprouted insidiously, all but waiting to be crushed like the fragile flower it was.
 
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The vampire barely registered the honeyed venom behind her words. A rage was building within him, a fury that begat bloodlust. His dominance, it seemed, was being challenged in every quarter. He followed the quiet sounds of combat as his gargoyles engaged the intruders, their stony skin repelling the blows of their weapons even as their greater agility and armor defied the guardian's claws. Shades provided regular updates on the battle, including gear and fighting styles.

As the vampire walked, his ire grew. Niklaus' fangs lengthened and, with a mighty crack, leathery, batlike wings erupted from his back. His body grew, disfiguring itself and becoming swollen with muscle; claws grew from fingers that grew additional joints. The vampire's breath came in furious rasps. It was a form that he took only when emotion had fully overtaken him and, in this moment, he was more an instrument of wrath than he was the master of his own castle.

Another dull thrum of emotion rippled through Niklaus as he stalked along the outer walls. He could see them now - there were four, all already pressed by his servants, stubbornly fighting a doomed defensive action with their backs to a drop that they would not survive. As Niklaus watched, one swung a two handed axe in a short, cramped arc; the gargoyle he was attacking was moving towards him during the swing, by accident or design did not matter. The weapon clanged against the watcher's hide, sending a small shower of stone into the air and earning a return swipe that was evaded only with an undignified backwards lunge. One of the beleaguered warrior's allies stepped in to rescue him, desperately engaging the monster with a notched sword that looked to have been dulled on the beings they currently fought. To the disgust of the master of the castle, not one of them had brought a blunt weapon. It was an illuminating passage; Niklaus was already fairly certain that his servants could handle the threat themselves and, on a different day, he might have allowed them to.

Contempt radiated from him as he contemplated the engagement before him - these were the fools who had come to take his land? His new pet? The thought of losing her evoked a new surge of anger and, without any ceremony or words, Niklaus entered the fray.

The vampire announced his arrival to the fight by lashing out with his foot at the man that was, bravely or foolishly, engaging a gargoyle with a sword. The kick caught the man in the ribs, the ball of the foot impacting the armor with a sound that, to him, may as well have been a doomsday bell. It was an attack that might have merely off balanced the warrior had it been thrown by a mortal - launched as it was by a creature like Niklaus, the man staggered several feet and barely retained his balance. The gargoyle didn't need more of an opening: it had been dispatching interlopers since the day it was animated. A great stone fist made clean contact with the warrior's shoulder before he could fully get his bearings and the man toppled over the precipice.

The axeman died next - Niklaus was in no mood to have a lengthy engagement. A vicious swipe of his claws dug furrows into the man's armor; for his part, he scythed the axe in a desperate, reflexive arc that would have terminated in the vampire's ribs had the haft not been caught by one massive hand. There was a flash of blood and a brief struggle - the Baron emerged from it with blood dripping from his fangs.

The two surviving adventurers paled. They had lost half of their number already and were now facing two gargoyles and a vampire when a single gargoyle had kept them on the back foot. One lowered his polearm in a fatalistic display of defiance, his partner, a slighter figure in armor that suggested it might be a woman, let out a battle shout and lunged with her greatsword. The tip of the blade punched into a gargoyle's neck, eliciting a tortured shriek of metal on stone, but ultimately achieving nothing. The guardian grabbed the blade and, after hauling on it twice with the full strength of her legs, arms, and back, the adventurer released her grip and stepped back. There was a whisper of metal on leather, and an arming sword flickered clear of the scabbard at her side.

The Baron smiled grimly.

--

By the time Niklaus returned to the dining hall, he had regained control of his emotions. Mostly. He was devoid of blood and back in a human form, dressed as he was before. His breath quickened when he entered the room to her bare back and backside. Her barely concealed insouciance was something that he normally held no contention with, so long as she was outwardly obedient, but the challenge and ensuing battle had left him hungry for more. A primal need to dominate her, to remind her of her place, to remove any ability or desire to deny him screamed through his mind. It was all he could do to announce himself rather than simply surging across the room.

Distracted as he was by his lust, he noticed nothing unusual about the room.

"Ireena." The words were tight and low, betraying his desire for her. "Attend me. Now."
 
The drop in room temperature heralded Niklaus' arrival mere moments before his voice. Ireena stiffened at the dimming of the fire before his words followed and she had to choke down her trepidation. Voice alone hinted at his anger; he would brook no resistance here, tolerate no fumbles.

Unfortunate that in her fear and inexperience she was quite prone to them.

But she knew enough to gather what he meant by "attend", if the lust in his voice were not already indicator enough. Ireena turned with a whirl of her hair and glided quickly across the room, steps faltering only when she was within arm's reach of him. And only for a moment.

Now was the time to buckle down and weather the storm of his desire, not rage futilely against it. Anything could incite him further, drive this "lesson" to be harsher still.

When that moment passed, her hands were upon him, her face and body intimately close to his, barely touching with teasing warmth and softness. Though the binds were cumbersome, she could still proceed.

One hand had moved to the back of his neck, winding carefully at the hairline to bring his face close to hers. The other rested splayed on his chest for support; she brought his head down and herself to her tiptoes to place a tender, tentative kiss to his lips. Their first together. It was far too easy to lose herself in it, relatively chaste as it was. A cupric taste lingered with him, honeysuckle with her; she did not pursue too deeply yet. Hooded eyes greeted him when she drew back, a pleasant warmth flushing through her.

"May I ask what happened, my lord?" Her lips fluttered against his while she kept her voice sympathetic, as if asking about a bad day at one's trade. The person she once was likely had. Perhaps he was the sort who gained some relief from a thing by ranting about it; perhaps ranting only incensed him further. But she may well glean some information as to his monitoring if she kept him talking.

Lithe fingers nestled along his vertebrae, running through his hair. Whether he replied or not, Ireena knew it would not change his intent, let alone sate him. Black velvet tickled at his neck and ear as one part of her restraints brushed against them.

She painted a leisurely path from the back of his neck, starting with the draw of her fingers through his hair to his forehead, then a path along his cheek and jaw and chin until the hand rested with its fellow upon his chest.

Both hands then skated down to the hem of his shirt, nestling under the fabric to push it up while her fingertips pressed more firmly into his skin, moving the lines of touch upwards.

With the shirt removed, she hesitated briefly before starting on his pants. Just a procedure, one that she had experience with, now; she knew what to expect with it. The reassurance helped little: surety of the coming discomfort was only somewhat easier than more drastic, unverified speculation.
 
The Baron even leaned into her kiss, losing himself for a moment in the contact. Then the moment was gone: her feather-light touch ignited a fire in him, and he barely heard her question but for the roaring in his ears.

He rolled his shoulders when she removed his shirt, flexing his back slightly. Muscle visibly stretched and contracted beneath his smooth skin, gliding under her soft hands. He felt himself getting harder as she began to labor over his pants, her fetters enhancing her submissive appearance and state more than limiting her movements. The vampire slid a hand of his own behind her head, gripping her by the hair and pressing his mouth against hers.

Unlike with her kiss, his mouth was open slightly as they came together. Niklaus’ tongue teased against her lips, encouraging them to part without forcing them to. There was time enough, he reasoned, to answer her question. He was ruled by his desires. He wanted her.

His other hand found his belt line. He aided her in removing his pants, letting them fall and pool on the ground beneath him. He was naked and hard, achingly hard, before her, and she wore nothing but her restraints and an apron. He let a small smile play across his mouth even as he kissed her. She was otherwise free to act - the Baron was curious what she would decide to do.
 
Unexpectedly, he returned the kiss; she had thought he would be indifferent to such a gesture. His smile wrenched something in her chest, the allure undeniable: a hunter coaxing a deer with outstretched palm. Ever the prey, his gentility eased her, her form melting into his as if to try and surround him; her hips and breasts molded to him. Her tongue moved cautiously, fervor growing to meet his, to seek his taste, while her thighs bent to meet the length that pressed between her thighs.

Ireena had to draw her head back, to try and catch her breath and settle the almost-painful rate of her heart, to stare at him and make some sense of the affection welling in her chest. No sense came to her; the knifepoint lust in his eyes merely drew her further into him, warmth flushing down to her loins.

In a clashing of lips and teeth she returned to him, hands wrapping around the back of his neck as she forced herself to slow; perhaps this time could be gentler. She took his bottom lip carefully between her teeth then worried at it, releasing it with a flourish of her tongue lapping up the middle. Nips trailed along his chin, his jaw, down the side of his neck and along his collarbone until she finished with a kiss to his sternum, right atop where his heart should lay.

Her hands trailed down in enfilade down his chest, lingering appreciatively along the abdominal muscles that twitched under her touch as if shocked. Quite the statue he made, clean and smooth and white as if the world could not touch him.

The patina and pitholes of life and his touches lay readily upon her still; legs trim and coltish nestled against his despite her soreness. Crimson outlines of his hands sat upon hips that seemed the most tantalizing touch larger than the rest of her frame; the white of the apron made the marks even more prominent, the flare of her hips more overt. The black tendrils of her strictures seemed to cut through the blank apron like paint over a statue, nestling between her narrow breasts to creep up to her neck. The collar seemed to nuzzle at her neck like a pet, or a lover.

He was right: to be desired was a powerful thing indeed. It was to have a space—however temporary, however shallow—in another's thoughts, another's needs, another's heart. Even so, she wavered in her attempt to move lower.

It was harder to lose herself in that act, she realized. When naught but his hands and the air and what her mouth would surround touched her, the circumstances of this intimacy became so much harder to ignore than if he were surrounding her, all she could think of and experience. Her own touches didn't yield, not like his.

And she'd be lying if she denied her throat's tightening at the thought of it, still sore. Could she change his intended course while maintaining the gentler pace? She brought her hands to cradle the sides of his face, placing another kiss before murmuring against his lips:

"Is there perhaps a bath we could take this to, my lord?" She gave a shaky smile, her voice shakier yet, despite her attempts to keep it desirous. Her form tensed with the expectation of reprisal, though her touches remained soft, coaxing.
 
“Of course.”

Niklaus’ voice was velvet soft. It could be construed as warm if it weren’t so clearly hungry. He took a step back and let her hands fall away, surveying her. Desiring her. Aching for her, all of her.

But there was more to be done before he could enjoy her, and her request had provided an opening for it to be done.

“Our servants will escort you to the bath, take your clothes, and wait on you. When we have… Concluded, they will even bathe you.”

He smirked. With the lack of signaling that he knew most mortals found eerie, he sent out a mental command; seconds later, the doors opened and two people walked through. They were dressed as servants, in the same simple garb that Lynn wore. One was a man, the other a woman.

Despite their recently changed outfits, the two adventurers still looked haggard after their encounter with the vampire. Shocked by the ease with which he had dispatched their allies and numbed by the prospect of their imminent death, their minds had proven easy to dominate. The Baron left them enough to recognize their situation and to think, but not so much that they could actively resist him.

“You may address them however you wish. Give the man your uniform now, and we will make our way to the bath. He will have it taken to be cleaned and meet us after the fact.”

The words were cheery. It was clearly a command, whatever tone it was couched in, and the man nodded an affirmative. The woman kept her eyes cast at the floor.

Look upon her. Be jealous. Look at what you cannot have, what you tried to take from me.

The thoughts were vindictive, but not directive, and the man didn’t respond.

“If you are to be the lady of this castle,” Niklaus added mildly, “you must become accustomed to being waited upon. I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience with it.”
 
Her body tilted slightly in its attempt to maintain his touch, soon to be corrected at the arrival of the "servants". Out of instinct she could not place, she nearly lurched behind Niklaus in surprise when they entered. As if he were not in fact the threat. A desirous twitch jolted her hands, the longing to have them upon him again coursing through her.

"I, ah, hello. My name's Ireena. Might I ask yours?" Scarlet crept up her chest and to her cheeks at the absurdity of the situation: she was introducing herself nigh-nude and imprisoned to other probable prisoners under the watch of a vampire lord like they were awkward schoolchildren; the girl kept her gaze pinned to the floor as well.

She should have spoken with Lynne when she could; one likely did not end up working for a man like Niklaus if life was going well for them, and these folks certainly did not seem. The more mercenary side of her added that having allies could aid in any escape attempts, though their compromise was inevitable if he suspected.

Her eyebrows nearly shot up at the extravagance of his phrasing; "our servants" "lady of the castle" implied both some level of equity with the "lord" and elevation above the subjects. She was kept chained and practically nude, more bound and less clothed than even the staff—though perhaps their chains were of a more invisible sort. If Niklaus could force her disrobing in front of the village. . .

"You are correct, my lord; I've not had any." They surely weren't necessary, but the use of servants for such tasks as bathing was always more a mark of status than a matter of practicality. How serious was he about this "elevation"? His voice was inscrutable; she could not glean whether he was being wry or if he held sincerity in any matter other than his appetite, his wants.

Ireena squeezed her eyes shut as she brought her hands back to untie the strings of the apron—drawing it over her head would merely tangle it with the collar. The meager shred of clothing was soon bundled in her arms and hurriedly handed to the indicated servant; her arms soon rushed to cover her chest, one working with pressed thighs to try and hide the patch of dark gold curls that rested just above the center of aching need.
 
Niklaus looked lazily at his two new servants; they each stayed quiet, though the man stole a glance at his new lady as he took her “uniform”. The vampire smiled wolfishly.

“It’s alright. Tell her your names.”

“Ambrose, my lady.”

The words were mumbled, and the man now seemed to struggle with where to look - unsure if he should survey the ground, wanting to stare at Ireena, and not wanting to earn any reprimands from his new lord. The woman was less concerned about decorum in that sense, continuing to keep her gaze fixed firmly downwards.

“Kate, my lady.”

“Very good.” Niklaus spoke breezily, walking behind Ireena and placing his hands on her hips. His hardness pressed into her lower back, and he let a hand glide along her stomach, down between her legs, encouraging them to part and give him access to the sex she was trying so hard to hide.

“You will find, Ireena, that the servants will neither comment nor judge you. But, I am being forward. You wished to see a bath… Kate, draw the lady a bath. We will be there presently.”

Kate bowed slightly and left, leaving Ambrose to watch Niklaus toy with his new pet. He squirmed uncomfortably.

“Now, my lady,” the Baron put a hint of stress on the last word, “I will know once Kate has prepared your bath. In the meantime, why don’t you spread your legs for me?”
 
Ireena's head tilted back into the crook of Niklaus's neck as he moved to hold her: a well-muscled instrument of lethality and appetite surrounding and ensconcing her so thoroughly. So well. Her eyes closed in languor, the timbre of his voice and the feel of him coaxing her into something resembling relaxation.

The soft sculpt of her pressed against his in turn, molding to his as if she were made for him. Perhaps she was. Her muscles tensed and jumped under the trail of his hands as if the hottest of coals were held within. Frissons ran, then seared through her at his breath upon her neck, at the press of his hand against her core. It seemed as if his touch like this could do naught but entice her. Even with an audience.

Her eyes darted open at his comment regarding the servants, as if they had just now intruded upon them. She tried to find Ambrose's gaze, searching for what he might be feeling, going through. Was it ego on her part to read hunger? A wan attempt at convincing herself this wasn't wholly terrible for another?

The part of her that sought an ally for escape was subsumed by the intrusive urge to stoke it further, to have another bear witness to the force that had taken her so readily, so thoroughly. How could that part be anything but subsumed with Niklaus so near? Consumed in consummation.

Perhaps a witness would help this make more sense, to somehow allow her to keep a grasp of reality; art needed an audience, after all.

The woman nuzzled her cheek against Niklaus's collarbone, winding her hand around his free one and drawing it slowly, slower, up her torso, the trail of chills leading to encompass her breast. Her hand remained on his, encouraging, and her legs parted for him; only for him. A groan flowed like wine from her lips, the needful ache in her core seemingly made audible in the sound.
 
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Niklaus purred approval as she drew his hand upwards, as she opened her legs for him, as she groaned her desire. “Good girl.”

The bath is drawn, my lord.

The Baron rolled his eyes slightly at the inopportune intrusion; he squeezed her breast, rubbing lightly at her sex with his fingertips as he did.

“It would seem that your bath is ready, Lady Ireena. Your servants have done well, have they not? Why don’t you invite Ambrose to the wash area with us - you can tell him what he’ll see, if you wish.”

Ambrose, for his part, seemed vividly aware of what he would see. His cheeks darkened and his gaze flickered around the room: he seemed unsure where to look, wanting to stare at the wanton beauty, scared to offend his lord or lady.

“Don’t be shy, Ambrose. Nobody will be offended by your gaze. She is quite beautiful, is she not?”

The vampire punctuated the words by giving her nipple a sharp pinch, intending to elicit a gasp and to make her arch her back.

“When you are ready, Lady, why don’t you lead the way?”

Niklaus, for the first time since the road, touched her mind with his own. It was a feather light, probing touch, communicating a rough layout of the castle, giving her easy directions to the bath. It was a gentle probe to see if she resisted or if she would be amenable to such contact in the future.
 
Already Niklaus’ fingers would find slick, earlier started and now beginning to dew at the exterior of her folds. Her legs had begun to tremble with the weight those feather-light touches belied, and a slow, trailing shiver ran down her spine at the praise in his voice.

Your servants. Thus he had taken her would-be allies.

Though she was bound, the wedge between her and the others had still been driven by Niklaus the moment he bade them to answer to her. But in the right hands, a wedge was a lever, and Ireena would take the leverage. The eyes of servants offered some semblance of control, for the Baron was a man of performances and appearances, even for so petty a group as his staff.

Ireena drew her other arm back, folded so that she may caress the side of Niklaus’ face withe the backs of her fingers, though she could only see it sidelong with her head tilted back and up. Thankfully the crowfeather-black chains allowed the maneuverability.

As she was bound by these shadows, he was bound by his need to control others’ perceptions, to maintain the illusion of authority unshakeable. It could not be challenged outright, nor defied, but it could be bent.

“Well, Ambrose. I, ah. Well.” She stammered at first, cheeks darkening; “Our lord and I will begin bathing each other. I. . .things will escalate from there.” Her eyes close and the words start flowing, now, taking her as if they had a life of their own and she were a mere vessel for their delivery. They seemed to glow under her eyelids.

“It’ll start with soft, doting touches. Lingering caresses that tease and build and stoke our need. But that’ll only last so long; they’ll grow harsher, more desperate and hungry and then. . .Then Niklaus will either bend me over the tub or take me within it and—”

A light and squealing gasp escaped her at the pinch, shoulders and rear drawing back as if she could somehow burrow yet more closely against Niklaus.

When he touched her mind, a moment of panic flared—could he find the knife—before receding at the cursory nature of the touch. Learning to keep her thoughts lush with Niklaus would be a challenge, should he make such touches more frequent. Or venture deeper.

Was this elevation an olive branch, or just a means of alienating her from the others? For now it was merely another factor to account for, make use of. With one last caress of the Baron’s cheek, she reluctantly took a step forward to lead the way, feet carrying her with a foreign surety. As if this were her castle, too, and she were not fighting off the chill that could cloy at her skin far too readily in this state.

The path soon brought them to the bathing chamber: a room hewn from pale limestone that would be austere if not for the massive square tub that rose high to dominate the center. Ten feet in diameter, it rose up to the chest of a taller man, Ireena’s neck. A quick peek over the edge would reveal a deep circle inlaid into the square, small set of steps lay carved to allow safer access from both the ensconcing square and into the circle of the tub itself. Steam rose teasingly from the crystalline water that filled it, and even through the refractions one could see scored into the bottom floor of the tub a large rune, glowing lambent with an orange light.

Candles flickered soft and low throughout the edges of the room, yellowed wax pooling below to stick them to the stone tiles of the floor. Towels too ringed the edges—sufficiently apart from the candles and walls—folded and draped as if from a rod with no such thing in sight. Kate stood stiffly by a well whose walls seemed to match the stone of the floor, setting upon the rim of the tub a few bars of plain soap.
 
Niklaus smiled indulgently as Ireena outlined what was to come. It was vague, general, and no doubt romanticized by her lack of experience - he hadn’t intended much in the way of gentle caresses, but if they would make her happy, then he would acquiesce.

With a mental effort, the stones of the floor rose to form steps, giving Ireena easier access to the tub. The magic was practical as well as flashy - he wanted his new servants to see that he still had power held in reserve, that the very stone of their new home was his to command.

He disrobed, already hard after teasing his pet, and climbed into the tub. The warm water was pleasant - Ireena may need a more gradual submersion, but he was quite comfortable. The Baron cast her a wicked smile.

“Come, join me, Ireena. I am sure Ambrose is eager to see what you were talking about. Don’t you wish to show off?” The words were light, teasing - but also a challenge.

He beckoned languidly, easing back into the tub. Ambrose’s cheeks colored; he dared a glance at Ireena. It wouldn’t be arrogance for her to read lust or envy in the expression, should she catch it, though he quickly smoothed his features.

“You said we’d begin by bathing each other. You can see the soap; bathe me.” Again, that light, mocking, inviting tone.

He seemed in a good mood again, cheered by the opportunity to prove his dominance within his domain.
 
Her breath hitched as the more accessible stairs sprouted like weeds from the flooring—could he see through the castle itself as well? Was the languor in his demeanor a mere facade to torment her over the hidden knife? She searched his eyes: no.

Ireena moved up the stairs with a sinuous confidence; she was a lissom being of flesh and blood. More. And this was her Niklaus. The thought bubbled from a fissure in memories as of yet unearthed, glowed hot and bright in her chest. Ever the showman, her Niklaus.

She flitted her gaze to their audience. Let them watch, let them grow envious of the passion they'd share, the love that crossed oceans of time so that they may be reunited.

One foot moved smoothly into the warm water, pain briefly flaring as the warmth widened her veins and her blood came flowing back furious. It had been hiding from the cold since she had left the bed. This pain did not play across her face nor hamper her motions, and soon she was submerged up to her neck.

Color began to suffuse her form with the heat of the tub, aches being drawn from her muscles. A tight smile of her own mirrored Niklaus's at his coaxing, though she did not answer. Instead she sunk into the water completely, rinsing her hair and face before she rose like a siren between the vampire's splayed legs. Water droplets flickered and shone across her body in the lambent candlelight, clinging to the soft tapers of her form like starlight, and she leaned into him.

Slender arms rose with a performative stretch before descending in a cage around his shoulders. Drawing herself closer still, she leaned forward so that one hand could pluck a bar of soap from the edge behind him, then tilted back to fix his gaze. Her forget-me-not blue eyes raked over him, and though she now held this surety—for now—it did not entirely override her inexperience, and a blush peeked through her cheeks.

Still, Ireena did not waver. With a teasing grin that belied the intensity of her gaze and a torturous slowness, she dragged the soap across her Baron's forearm, fingers fanned to appreciatively work the corded sinews of his biceps. Her unoccupied hand lingered around the nape of his neck, idly combing through his hair or massaging his shoulders or running over his spine. The fetters left little leeway for it to venture further with her one arm outstretched along his.

The lightest pressure of her fingers and the soap then brushed against his collarbone, going over the hollow where neck meets shoulder once, twice, then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, travelling down the center of his chest. A diversion was taken to his pectorals, thumb lingering to circle his nipple then depart with a coquettish flick. She grew more forceful, then, fingers biting into the chisel of his stomach to lie just above his length. One caress was given, then with a coy smirk, she drew her nearly-clawing hands back up his torso, moving to begin washing his opposite arm.

He still had to bathe her, after all, and there was still much to do beforehand. It was not as if she was unaffected; his body and the mere act of exploring it was an intoxicant, flushing her with aching heat. Shifting her thighs together brought no relief.
 
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Niklaus gave her a lazy stare from half-lidded eyes as she performed for him and her audience, enjoying the view as she stretched her arms luxuriously overhead. As she began to wash him, the vampire leaned his head back and sighed appreciatively as she ran her fingers through his hair; he gave low groans of approval as her hands traveled down his body, caressing him under the water, and then moving back to his arms. He smiled, a predator’s expression of triumph.

His want, his lust for her radiated from him; he gently caught her wrist in one hand, removing the soap with the other. The vampire rubbed the soap over his hands, creating a lather, and set it aside. His hands found her arms, tracing from the shoulders down to her palms, then went to her back. He ran his fingertips along her spine, then allowed himself to grip her hips, pulling her back as he seated himself on a ledge under the water - it would have to be for her to decide if it had been there when she had first entered the water.

The pressure of his hands was gentle, but insistent, encouraging her to straddle him. He continued to run his hands over her, not seeming to care that the soap had largely washed off. He allowed his mind to touch hers again, conveying the absolute hunger that he felt for her, the desire, the heat. It wasn’t communicated it words - rather, a simple expression of emotion, one that he hoped would stoke her own need.
 
Light shivers followed in his wake, a louche bent widening her narrow mouth into a wider smile.

The gentle bite of his warrior hands against her skin bowed her back into him, touch firm and sure and a little too cold. A faint dip could be seen drawing a line up her abdomen in this arch, a hint of the inner musculature that hid beneath flat stomach and satin skin.

The minute divet along the side of her thighs that separated rear from leg seemed made to host his hands; she could do naught but kneel into him as he pulled. The woman seemed to glow with the cleaning, the golden waves of her hair parting as he attended her shoulders and back.

If the touch of his body was an intoxicant, the touch of his mind was narcotic. Need fell upon her like a tidal wave, pulling her under and drowning her in its grasp. His mind so close to hers—if only for a moment—was enough to send her gasping and reeling, for air, for him, for more. She needed him, to consume and be consumed and-

She crashed her lips against his in a furious kiss, an inelegant thing of lips and teeth; a fang scored her tongue and their wants and pleasures seemed inexorable now, merging and feeding one another so that neither knew where theirs started and the other's began.

Ireena gripped his head like a supplicant in both hands, each raking at his scalp on either side. It was only the desperation of her plea that gave her will enough to separate.

"My lord, my heart, please." Her eyes sparked fever-bright, skin as warm as the sun as she shifted her legs to spread farther, to slide briefly across his length and twist her hips in invitation.

Perhaps the watchers could sense some ripples from their lord's mind too. Or perhaps it was their own hunger emerging at the sight of this, a passion they may not have known, could not know or share in now. To desire and be desired with such intensity. . .

It was something they may well never know, even if their lives had continued as normal. It was a rare and beautiful thing; enviable.
 
The taste of her blood, freed by her tongue scraping his fang, added fuel to the vampire’s burning desire. The need for her flesh and the need for her blood and the need for her desire rolled together into a powerful need for her and, with a snarl, he rolled his hips as she spread her legs for him, sinking deep into her.

The initial sensation crashed over him, leading to a low growl of approval. His hands dug into her hips as firmly as hers grasped his head; the Baron lifted his lady ever so slightly and held her immobile, freeing his hips enough that he could begin thrusting into her. The sound was muffled by the water that they were in, but he groaned, letting his head fall back.

He was her lord - by rights, she should be pleasuring him, but he wanted her so badly. It overrode his reason, even his pride. He had intended to display his dominance to his servants, but the tableau transformed into him simply taking what he desired regardless of who was watching.

Niklaus used her; there was no other word for it. She was suspended ever so slightly above him, taking his cock over, and over, and over, a slave to the whims brought on by battle and lust.
 
The woman let out a throaty rasp when he sheathed himself within her, harsh and unyieldingly him.

Rapid breaths took her as he did, relentlessly coursing through her. Lifting her seemed effortless to him—perhaps it was—but even with such a pace she tried to meet him, hips arching down in time with his thrusts. Energy coursing through her, her hands had moved to scrabble and scrape in frenzy along his shoulder blades, driven by passion.

The stretch was bliss, the fullness of him almost too much. It rode that line between pleasure and pain, and she almost saw stars as he used his strength to try to go deeper still. As if he wished to shape her, mold her for him alone.

The sounds of their bliss tangled together, but hers she soon muffled against the hollow of his throat, eyes squeezed shut as her voice vibrated through. Everything that existed was only him, only this moment, only the feeling of him unrelenting inside her body.

His cock disappeared into her, sliding deep with little resistance as he body clenched, begging, needing, wanting. And he gave; Niklaus continued to hit each point of pleasure within her with a merciless precision matched with the force of his fervor. The rumbles and growls in his throat beckoned her, the signs of his pleasure maddening and gratifying, and in this craze she bit down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Slick, tight friction seemed to snake through her body, filling her form with buzzing ecstasy that seemed to grow and swell until it pressed firm and taut under her skin. It could not hold any longer, and in one instance it burst through her skin in a lightning snap. Ireena seemed to contract from her release, body still intent on pulling him in, keeping him inside her.

But fatigue kept her from maintaining it. She melted against him, aftershocks trembling through her in shrinking waves as she kissed the bitten area in apology, then laving her tongue over it.
 
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The feeling of her contracting around his cock drove his lust to greater heights. She collapsed against him, kissing and licking a bite that, in his passion, he had barely felt - but her exhaustion, her own climax, had caused her to stop moving her hips. The servants looked on as impassively as they could, but the Baron fancied that he saw jealousy, even lust flickering through the eyes of his audience.

And they were right to be jealous, he mused. After all, he had a beautiful woman that he could treat as he liked; a slave whose purpose was to be fucked and treated as a pet. The vampire would even make her a lady, raising her far above her station - they ought to be envious of her, as well, and of the pleasure she would so frequently receive.

But, for now, he had yet to finish. Niklaus lifted his lady, positioning her at the edge of the tub, so she was bent over it. He stood behind her, one hand at her hips, the other guiding the tip of his cock to her slick opening.

“From now on, Lady Ireena,” the words were a soft, velvety caress, “You are to ask permission before you cum. Do you understand me?”

He punctuated his statement by thrusting into her, hard, groaning as he did. His free hand wove into her hair, pulling her back into an arch as he did.
 
In that pause she looked up at him, beautiful in the specific way that a marble statue is beautiful: something hard and eternal impersonating something pliable and fleeting.

Her own form bent and bowed readily to his: pliant and pliable. In the rush of his movement she barely caught herself along the edge of the tub, hands clutching the rim just before her jaw made crashing contact with the stone.

A startled squeaking sound escaped at the close call, but the adrenaline only added a knifepoint anticipation to the shuddering aftershocks. The woman nodded before correcting: "Yes sir.". She pressed into him, soft and warm and slick against the length of him with the curve of her back. Little dimples of vertebrae could be gleaned, if one looked closely enough or drew a hand along her back, the slope of her shoulderblades, the sunflower waves of hair.

Still slick, her body eagerly welcomed him, the air leaving her lungs in a yelp that soon melted into a moan. Contentment came with his presence, even with the growing nervousness; this position was rarely gentle.

Even the breadth of centuries could not erase the invisible marks he had left. Centuries, and she was still so responsive. She trusted him not to deny her, though he may delay as long as he saw fit. But she wanted to cede that control; in this moment all of her was his to fill and take and use how he saw fit.

The girl didn't know how to fight sensation, the force of orgasm seeming to be an entity unto itself, beyond control, but she would try. For him.
 
"Good girl."

The vampire murmured the now-familiar words, pausing long enough to let the hand at her hips caress the soft skin of her back. The hand trailed to her ass; he slapped it, enjoying the bounce enough to slap it again. He was pleased with her obedience, with her desire and enthusiasm for him. She seemed to have almost forgotten her audience, so consumed was she by her own sensation. He gripped her hips again, ramming himself into her, feeling her hips buck as his made impact. Her tight, wet sex, the sounds she made, the sounds of his thrusts - they served only to incite his lust further. The action became more aptly described as 'fucking' than 'having sex' as his desire mounted, and his subjects looked on with a poorly concealed mix of emotions: lust, envy, fear.

It was only their subtle squirming that brought Niklaus out of his reverie, and he slowed his pace considerably.

"Miss Markovik," the words were said with a predatory calm, spoken in the tone that a cat might use with a mouse, "do you not think your audience might enjoy a better view? Most of you is hidden by the tub, after all. Perhaps I should take you against the wall, or on the floor... Or maybe they would enjoy seeing you on your knees, with your pretty mouth wrapped around my cock. What do you think, my Lady? What should we show them?"

Through his questions and suggestions, the lord of the castle continued to fuck her with slow, gentle strokes, the kind that teased but would never directly lead to release.
 
The woman shivered under his touch, the tantalizing slide of his finger eliciting sparks under the skin and she shifted into it, into him, back bent like a bowstring. He burned, but only with the warmth she had given him: a moon—as pale and stone and distant. Even when inside her, he felt he must maintain the detachment of a regent when others were present. Perhaps he was right.

The sting on her rear brought a high squeak out of her, the curves bouncing pleasingly under his hand. The second hit broke her from the reverie and the simmering, slow-building pleasure it held and sent her into a new one altogether.

It had not always been this way.

Unbidden, the past began to make itself known, merging with the similar elements of the scenery to a longing blur of vicious, beautiful nostalgia. The past did not become any less existent just because it had happened.

They had snuck into the town bathhouse after hours. Her Niklaus had always had that bent of mischief to him, and found some pleasure in taking control of this space that was not theirs and after indulging in the services they couldn't be caught and they just couldn't be caught or else the lord would flog them but he would show their love to the gods themselves if-

His slowed pace sent the scene flickering, his voice shattering the amber sunset that had mantled that scene past and wrenching her to the dark present.

No, she was Ireena—"Miss Markovik" again—and he was her captor, and she was never his equal, mere prey. The sinuous lilt to his voice reinforced that nearly as much as his cock inside her, the hands clutching at her hips. Sorrow welled in her at the senseless loss of that moment—these weren't her memories to mourn. And yet she had them, and did mourn them.

"I. . .I would like to touch and be held by you, sir. If their view of me is most important though, then-"

Ireena had to stop, a low sob of desperation beating from her chest as her inner walls stretched to meet the full length of him.

"Then perhaps I should be atop you, on the floor. My lord." Though her head was bowed and veiled by her golden locks, her wry smile could not be hidden from her voice.
 
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Niklaus gave her hips an approving squeeze before withdrawing, giving her a lazy, catlike smile. “I’m sure they’d enjoy that, my beautiful Lady Ireena.”

He stepped from the stone basin onto steps that may or may not have been present before his foot met them, frowning slightly in concentration. Not for his sake, but for hers, the floor should be warmer - with an effort of will, the stone gave off a pleasant heat. He could not, or perhaps would not, do anything for the hardness of her chosen platform. She would simply have to decide how to deal with that. Maybe she’d even ask for his help.

He stood, waiting for her to follow him, intending to simply pull her to the ground atop him. It would not do, he felt, to lay there and wait. But to hold her close and then sink to the floor - that would pay respect to her main request while still ending in the position she had suggested. Power and mercy in one stroke.
 
Every bit the mouse dangling from the smiling mouth of the cat, Ireena succumbed. Everything that existed was only him, only this moment, the feeling of him inside and around her. A pitiful whine escaped her as he drew back, body clenching to try and keep him there, within her, with her. As long as possible.

But such was not possible.

His footfalls seemed to hold no weight as he stepped away, padding lightly onto the floor in front of the audience. Ireena spared them a glance, knowing full well that by now she had lost them as potential allies. She had become too consumed, by Niklaus, by what they shared.

Now, the two former adventurers were mere witnesses. Like a siren in chains, the woman rose from the warm water, shining and golden in the candelight; she stepped smoothly to stand atop the ridge of the tub, looking down at the figures below. In that moment—even while bruised and mottled with welts and bound by shadow—she seemed every bit the royal lady he seemed to want to elevate her to. Sharp eyes glided over the onlookers before fixing to the Baron's; a sharp smile curled her lips. A few steps down and she was at eye level with him—he would take her to the floor, no doubt, but there were ways to accomplish that while indulging his desire for showmanship.

From that step, she leapt straight-on to him, arms and legs outstretched to cling to him. There was surety that her Niklaus would always catch her. He always had.
 
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Niklaus caught her effortlessly; it likely was not lost on the guests that he didn't take a backward step nor even rock as he did. Her naked form crashed into his and he held her close, smiling against her neck, murmuring approval in her ear. The appeal towards his flair for the dramatic was not lost on him. Indeed, it stoked his lust further that she was submitting to his wishes in more ways than just the physical. He bit her neck lightly, almost unconscious of the fact that his fangs had bared themselves and were close to breaking her skin.

The lord decided to bear her to the ground, laying her down gently and ending up atop her, thrusting into her almost before she was ready to receive him. She had asked to ride him, true, and he would let her - but first, he wanted to take her, to remind those watching who was in charge. One of his hands was planted, palm flat, against the stone beneath them. The other found her neck, pinning her lightly to the floor. He wished to play with her, to remind her of her place.

"Ask nicely, Miss Markovik, and I will let you ride me."
 
Despite her surety, there was still a flood of relief when his grip secured her—one’s mind could only affect instinct so much. One finger curled a lock of his hair around itself, the gesture out of place in its chaste coquettishness after what they had done, what they had shared thus far. His teeth elicited a muddling warmth through her veins, the area seeming to respond to his overtures with glee.

But before she could moor herself—inasmuch as she could with him—the world spun and she was pinned to the floor like a butterfly for display.

A sharp inhale of breath cut through her teeth with an intensity that set her hissing. She could feel heat radiating from his skin and the very stones of the castle itself, his fingers tracing a path down her neck and chest as he held her in place.

And then he was inside her and her fingers were raking down his chest in a bout of manic pleasure. They settled to clutch at his hips, palms against the ridges of bone that lay bound by immovable muscle.

“Was that proposition not for the benefit of our audience, my lord?” No, mistake; his authority could not be assailed, barely in private and certainly not in front of staff. He so did seem to want to remain dominant, perhaps she should cede?

This too was part of the show, she realized. Her having to beg to regain something that was at least ostensibly for Niklaus’ benefit, just to show he could coerce (seduce) her to such a thing. Even her pleasure was subject to his command, now; her body strained with the pleasure and pressure of him, pleasure she tried to resist lest she end up disobeying him.

“Please sir, let me atop you for this.” Desperation tinged her voice now, leaked through her pores and in the yearning shifting of her hips. It was a wail, a petition, a keen a psalm a plea a paean a threnody a—

It was not a sound she could sustain, even in her want.
 
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