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Planetoid
- Joined
- Feb 1, 2016
This little story is a bit of a mixture of erotica, fan fiction (yes, we're talking World of Darkness here) and well.. I just hope you're gonna enjoy.
Skodlowska Island. A jewel, out in the sea. Lost and haunted and beautiful. A dark place of hell, a glittering place of glamour, a little bit off the shoreline of the baltic sea. The ancestrial seat of the Duke and his wife.
Being there alone was enough to cause my nerves to tingle with nervousness. The Duke is a handsome Man. Tall and darkhaired, with bright, intense eyes. Those eyes seem to change colour at times. Stormy grey, when he is calm, and a bright, intense green when he is angry or agitated. He is an artist the Duke, and his voice makes you think you listen to an angel singing. He is old, and he is powerful. With a motion of his finger he could destroy me. And yet I find myself trying to be around him time and time again. I dont know why. He is everything I despise. Chauvinistic, arrogant, man through and through. The type that uses his charme to get what he wants, and then drops those he has used, pushing his heel into their guts with a sophisticated smile. He flirts. He flatters. He cheats on his wife. Once he backhanded me, right across the face. I should hate him. Id have to hate him. But I do not. I tried to tell myself, that I was too afraid of him to hate. But I did have to admit to myself, that I wouldnt try to be in his presence over and over again if that was the case. The truth is - and I am ashamed to admit that even to myself - that I want him to see me. To truly see -me-, the able daughter of Kain that I am. Not the excentric artist, the newborn from his Clan. And so I find myself sitting here, in the luxurious entrance hall of his home and wait for the Duke to gift me with a few minutes of his precious time. Strange things are happening in the domain. Things that I believe he will want to know about.
"Miss Morton..." his voice is like silk. Cool. Soft. His accent doesnt take away from that.
"Sir..." I bow my head. Deeply. Feel those intense eyes of his scan my appearance. Once again I curse the talents I have been born with. While I am technically dead, I still have bodily functions, and thus I suddenly feel my heart start to race. I know that he notices. Sometimes I wish I didnt have that gift. Of course it makes moving amongst humans so much easier. But it is a pain in the presence of others of my kind. It makes me too easy to read. You wouldnt believe how much of a nuisance it is to have a beating heart in a society of undeads.
Of course I am wearing "normal" clothing. Normal for me. Heck, Im an artist. I AM excentric to an extent. I do not see any necessity to bow to silly dresscodes. I am clad in a long, flowing dress made of green silk. Its held by a metal chain around my hips, a chain with an intricate, ornate design. I wear that silly felt flower in my hair, that I always wear and flat, comfortable shoes. He has often told me that he wished me to dress differently. More formal. And of course I do not. Im no child that has to be told what to wear! I dress as I like, and thats it!
"What has brought you here?" his voice cuts through my musings. "Oh... uhm... well... you... erm... you should know..." An exasperated sigh interrupts my stammering. "Miss Morton... give it to me straight. Either you have something to say, or you dont!"
And that's the way it always is. I go out of my way to do him a favour, and get mock, cynism or a rebuke. Last time he even slapped my face for trying to be helpful! Gosh, I hate that. Old and powerful is one thing, but being THIS impolite a whole different story. My feelings start to boil within myself. My face flushed at his words. Why cant he just show a little bit of gratefulness for my being here? Just a tiny little bit? I'm angry. Excited. Nervous. It would be so easy to avoid him. And yet I am here, having to cope with his arrogance. I forget, that I am afraid of him, and the words just tumble out of my mouth, around those filters I have so carefully installed between my brain and my lips: "You want it straight? Fine! I got information you might be curious to know about." I can see the keen interest flicker up in his eyes. Now, that might have been good, but unfortunately my mouth just doesnt stop talking. "And I am willing to share this information, if, and only if you manage to preserve your composure. Don't ever dare to touch me again!"
I know that it was a mistake to say that. I already know it, while my tongue still forms the syllables. All of a sudden his hand closes around my wrist. "Follow me!" His voice is cool. Very cool. Like polished glass. For just a moment I try to resist. I am unsure if he even noticed the little twitch of my wrist. I cannot free myself. He is much older than I am, and infinetely stronger than me. Now my heart is truly racing. Can he feel it beating against his hand? He drags me to a small room, to the right of the entrance hall. His hand closes around my throat, and he lifts me up a few inches. As if i weighed nothing. And once again I suffer the drawbacks of my natural talents. While I do not need oxygen, I still breathe, and thus I found myself, levitating in thin air, his hand constricting my throat, bruising my neck
"What did you just say?" - "I.. di... didn't m... mean.... i..."
"That... was not the question." He interrupts me. He lets me down, only the tips of his fingers touching my throat now, his index finger right above my pulsing artery.
A sign of forgiving. I could have just accepted that generous gift of his, but nope. Once again I get carried away. I feel humiliated by him, and I usually dont take that well. And I especially hate how easy it is for him to do so. And thus my lips once again spit out words that my brain never meant to speak aloud. "How dare you drag me here? I only said, that I didnt want you to...." And I dont get any further in my rant. The hand around my throat mercilessly closes. Pulls me closer and closer to him, no matter how hard I fight to get away. And suddenly I find myself bent into the most uncomfortable positions. My head held against his hip, his arm still around my neck. There's no escape, no matter how awkward and humiliating that position is. I squirm and wiggle and try to break free when I hear his voice, barely above a whisper: "Composure Sophie..."
And then he beats me. He just beats me. With... I dont know for sure. A stick. A metal stick? Whatever it is, it hurts. And I dont mean that like a little bit of "ouch". It hurts like a bitch. And he doesnt deliver this as a gentle reminder of my manners, nope, Im quite sure he doesnt hit me with full foce, but it is enough to cause my flesh to welt instantly. At the second strike I scream out from the top of my lungs. At the third strike, he breaks my skin and I can smell my own blood. Sweet. Rich. Frightening. Feelings was over me once again. This is just like when I was a little girl. Shame is washing through my veins. The humiliation of being beaten like that hurts almost as much, as the lashes do. Shame, humiliation and anger mingle to a bloodred veil right in front of my eyes. The fragance of my blood adds to the heady mixture. It is, as if i feel everything at one. Besides two things. I neither feel regret, nor fear. I know he could beat me to death just so. But I am not afraid. I am resentful. And sullen. And angry.
I dont know how often he is hitting me. At some point, I feel that urge to not let him know how much he really is hurting me, and I bite down upon my lips to stifle my screams. Bite down, until they also bleed, and then I do have to give into the urge to cry out.
That Man is an expert. Whenever I manage to reach a spot of relative calm he beats me differently, so that there is no rest. Just pain. Excruciating, nerve wracking pain.
After a while I can feel at least some exhausted resignation settle into myself. "At least he left the dress where it is..." I distantly think. "Different from when i was a kid. At least he left me some dignity. At least some. Bad enough he's humiliating me so. Bad enough he's gonna see me cry..."
I hear a dry little laugh. Feel a hand reach for the dress, and lift it over my back. He heard it! Heard me think those thoughts, like only one of our kind can. The gift of mind reading isnt rare among ourselves, but being able to distinguish more than some superficial feelings is. I had forgotten he could do that! Most probably he is secretly laughing about me! The thought just makes everything worse. "No, you aren't a little girl!" He answers to a thought that has never been spoken aloud. A single finger pulls down my tights and my panties. The flimsy material clings to the back of my knees and thats the moment it is over. My sanity goes downhill and the fury screams at the Duke in utter anger: "You... sadistic... reactionary... chauvinistic... ASS!" I scream it from the top of my lungs. "I hate you. I HATE YOU!"
Cool fingers touch my maltreated flesh. Caress the bleeding welts gently, oh so gently, that gooseflesh is rising over my entire body. "No you dont!" that cool voice tells me in a tone of distinct amusement. I feel my wounds closing already. Marred flesh knitting. It's one of the advantages of being a vampire. Healing that fast. Or one of the disadvantages. As you want to see it. In my position Id rather say it is a disadvantage. It is exhausting to do it. To heal, you know. "Sophie...." he speaks my name, as if it was a caress. His fingers still roaming over my flesh. And then the caresses stop. For a moment I am lost. My head pressed against his hip, his scent filling my nose, my treacherous body tingling whereever he had touched me. And then I hear him laugh, and continue the beating. I wasnt prepared for that. My scream doesnt have anything human left. It's the pained sound of an animal. "You know, Sophie... we can play this game all night long..." he informs me. "I just believe that you are going to tire out far faster than I will!"
He knows exactly, that I cannot beg him to stop. He knows that I cant. And I still dont feel any regret. Just wrath and shame. Especially shame. Just moments ago I could have forgiven him. But he doesnt want my forgiveness. What does he want? My fear?
Another strike tears my skin open. "Your fear might be a start.." he casually tells me. "You are a neonate. It is about time you learn your place. Do not question me ever. Do not dare to tell me what I am to do or not to do..."
I feel my resistance breaking. Feel my screams ebb away, making room for a flood of tears. I fight it. He has taken so much from me already, I cannot loose my entire dignity. It must not happen. And yet I am helpless. There's no choice. I have to resist. I HAVE TO! And then this internal dam breaks and bloody tears stain my face. A rivulet first. And then a stream just pouring out of my eyes, washing my very essence out with every single, bloody driplet.
When my sobbing subsides, I find myself down on the ground. Curled up to a ball. The Duke is sitting on a chair, watching me. He is totally calm. Smokes a cigarette. The silence between us expands until I cannot stand it any longer. "I... just... I didnt want you to hurt me ever again..." I breathe in deeply. Try to gather myself. The wrath is gone. What is left is humiliation and shame. My broken pride, the chips of which digging into the core of my very soul. And the hunger. I lost a lot of blood this night. And the animal within myself is screaming for blood. He is just staring at me.
"Why can you not respect me? Why do you see me and everybody else as toys?" The words just pour out my mouth, and I clip a hand over it quickly. Stare at him like a frightened rabbit. He chuckles. And suddenly I have to look into his eyes. I know that gift. I have it myself. Presence. Overwhelming presence, that forces others to look at you in awe. I cannot resist him however. "Sophie..." is voice is smooth and soft like silk again. "Do you doubt my authority?" I want to look away, but the moment my eyes start to drift his gift forces me to look right back. His eyes are lit up with a fire. Green. Intensely green. I shake my head. Slowly. "I treat you as a toy, because you are but one... most everyone is...." His voice is gentle. "Accept it Sophie. Accept my power. Accept my authority. Everything would be so much easier, dont you think?" I feel myself nod. Somehow, everything he says is making sense now. He is right. Why did i have to rebel? "Admit to yourself, that you want me, Sophie..." he whispers it. And I feel fresh tears rising. Yes. Oh goddess yes, I want him. And it is wrong. He is married. He is a man. He is powerful. He opresses women. He... "Stop it! Dont listen to this excuse of an education you have enjoyed... allow yourself to feel. Do not doubt how beautiful you are... how desirable...." his voice is barely louder than a whisper. His face is close. So close. He inclines his head some. His hands grip my waist. How did i happen to get onto his lap? I distantly wonder, and then his lips gently touch the pulsing artery in my throat. Glide over my skin. His hands push me down, forcing my sex against his, push me against his arousal. But his arousal is nothing against mine. I burn from the inside, and I cant do anything about it. For a short moment doubt is raising its head. Somehow doing this is wrong.... so wrong. And that very moment his lips touch the line of my cleavage. He pulls the dress down with his teeth, and then his lips and tongue sear the naked, alabaster toned skin of my breasts. His teeth gently scratch over my skin. Teasingly. Enough to cause every single nerve ending in my entire body to scream in extasy. He starts to rub himself against my desire. I am lost. My senses are overalerted, the subsiding pain, the hunger, his sensual caresses.... for the fraction of a moment I fight for control, but then I feel his blood pulse against my lips. And I cannot resist. My teeth punctuate his skin, and I drink. Oh goddess... he tastes so good. Drinking him is extasy. Sweet, horrible extasy. He is dangerous... my tortured brain tries to warn me, but it is too late. Wave after wave of pleasure, of sheer bliss wash over me, when I taste his essence. My body is racked by shudders of extasy, my entire being seems to melt away in this ultimate throes of pleasure. I hear myself moan. Hear his moans. My world is exploding in shockwaves of sensualtiy, and then he withdraws himself from me. "Enough!" He whispers. For a moment I stay as I am, sitting on his lap. Trembling, exhausted, and greedy for more. And then he smiles at me. That arrogant, chauvinistic smile. Pushes me back down on the floor, and casually rearranges his clothing. He has used me! Bound me to him. Blood as powerful as his creates a bond between him, who has given it, and me, who has taken it. I will never feel the same about him. I will feel obliged to obey him. To do things to make him pleased. We have only shared blood once. But it is enough, to give him even more power over me. I dont mean anything to him. He has just... used me. But I cannot be angry about it. Not now, that I had his blood.
"A toy..." I whisper, and he nods. "Now.. regarding that information I might want to know about...."
Skodlowska Island. A jewel, out in the sea. Lost and haunted and beautiful. A dark place of hell, a glittering place of glamour, a little bit off the shoreline of the baltic sea. The ancestrial seat of the Duke and his wife.
Being there alone was enough to cause my nerves to tingle with nervousness. The Duke is a handsome Man. Tall and darkhaired, with bright, intense eyes. Those eyes seem to change colour at times. Stormy grey, when he is calm, and a bright, intense green when he is angry or agitated. He is an artist the Duke, and his voice makes you think you listen to an angel singing. He is old, and he is powerful. With a motion of his finger he could destroy me. And yet I find myself trying to be around him time and time again. I dont know why. He is everything I despise. Chauvinistic, arrogant, man through and through. The type that uses his charme to get what he wants, and then drops those he has used, pushing his heel into their guts with a sophisticated smile. He flirts. He flatters. He cheats on his wife. Once he backhanded me, right across the face. I should hate him. Id have to hate him. But I do not. I tried to tell myself, that I was too afraid of him to hate. But I did have to admit to myself, that I wouldnt try to be in his presence over and over again if that was the case. The truth is - and I am ashamed to admit that even to myself - that I want him to see me. To truly see -me-, the able daughter of Kain that I am. Not the excentric artist, the newborn from his Clan. And so I find myself sitting here, in the luxurious entrance hall of his home and wait for the Duke to gift me with a few minutes of his precious time. Strange things are happening in the domain. Things that I believe he will want to know about.
"Miss Morton..." his voice is like silk. Cool. Soft. His accent doesnt take away from that.
"Sir..." I bow my head. Deeply. Feel those intense eyes of his scan my appearance. Once again I curse the talents I have been born with. While I am technically dead, I still have bodily functions, and thus I suddenly feel my heart start to race. I know that he notices. Sometimes I wish I didnt have that gift. Of course it makes moving amongst humans so much easier. But it is a pain in the presence of others of my kind. It makes me too easy to read. You wouldnt believe how much of a nuisance it is to have a beating heart in a society of undeads.
Of course I am wearing "normal" clothing. Normal for me. Heck, Im an artist. I AM excentric to an extent. I do not see any necessity to bow to silly dresscodes. I am clad in a long, flowing dress made of green silk. Its held by a metal chain around my hips, a chain with an intricate, ornate design. I wear that silly felt flower in my hair, that I always wear and flat, comfortable shoes. He has often told me that he wished me to dress differently. More formal. And of course I do not. Im no child that has to be told what to wear! I dress as I like, and thats it!
"What has brought you here?" his voice cuts through my musings. "Oh... uhm... well... you... erm... you should know..." An exasperated sigh interrupts my stammering. "Miss Morton... give it to me straight. Either you have something to say, or you dont!"
And that's the way it always is. I go out of my way to do him a favour, and get mock, cynism or a rebuke. Last time he even slapped my face for trying to be helpful! Gosh, I hate that. Old and powerful is one thing, but being THIS impolite a whole different story. My feelings start to boil within myself. My face flushed at his words. Why cant he just show a little bit of gratefulness for my being here? Just a tiny little bit? I'm angry. Excited. Nervous. It would be so easy to avoid him. And yet I am here, having to cope with his arrogance. I forget, that I am afraid of him, and the words just tumble out of my mouth, around those filters I have so carefully installed between my brain and my lips: "You want it straight? Fine! I got information you might be curious to know about." I can see the keen interest flicker up in his eyes. Now, that might have been good, but unfortunately my mouth just doesnt stop talking. "And I am willing to share this information, if, and only if you manage to preserve your composure. Don't ever dare to touch me again!"
I know that it was a mistake to say that. I already know it, while my tongue still forms the syllables. All of a sudden his hand closes around my wrist. "Follow me!" His voice is cool. Very cool. Like polished glass. For just a moment I try to resist. I am unsure if he even noticed the little twitch of my wrist. I cannot free myself. He is much older than I am, and infinetely stronger than me. Now my heart is truly racing. Can he feel it beating against his hand? He drags me to a small room, to the right of the entrance hall. His hand closes around my throat, and he lifts me up a few inches. As if i weighed nothing. And once again I suffer the drawbacks of my natural talents. While I do not need oxygen, I still breathe, and thus I found myself, levitating in thin air, his hand constricting my throat, bruising my neck
"What did you just say?" - "I.. di... didn't m... mean.... i..."
"That... was not the question." He interrupts me. He lets me down, only the tips of his fingers touching my throat now, his index finger right above my pulsing artery.
A sign of forgiving. I could have just accepted that generous gift of his, but nope. Once again I get carried away. I feel humiliated by him, and I usually dont take that well. And I especially hate how easy it is for him to do so. And thus my lips once again spit out words that my brain never meant to speak aloud. "How dare you drag me here? I only said, that I didnt want you to...." And I dont get any further in my rant. The hand around my throat mercilessly closes. Pulls me closer and closer to him, no matter how hard I fight to get away. And suddenly I find myself bent into the most uncomfortable positions. My head held against his hip, his arm still around my neck. There's no escape, no matter how awkward and humiliating that position is. I squirm and wiggle and try to break free when I hear his voice, barely above a whisper: "Composure Sophie..."
And then he beats me. He just beats me. With... I dont know for sure. A stick. A metal stick? Whatever it is, it hurts. And I dont mean that like a little bit of "ouch". It hurts like a bitch. And he doesnt deliver this as a gentle reminder of my manners, nope, Im quite sure he doesnt hit me with full foce, but it is enough to cause my flesh to welt instantly. At the second strike I scream out from the top of my lungs. At the third strike, he breaks my skin and I can smell my own blood. Sweet. Rich. Frightening. Feelings was over me once again. This is just like when I was a little girl. Shame is washing through my veins. The humiliation of being beaten like that hurts almost as much, as the lashes do. Shame, humiliation and anger mingle to a bloodred veil right in front of my eyes. The fragance of my blood adds to the heady mixture. It is, as if i feel everything at one. Besides two things. I neither feel regret, nor fear. I know he could beat me to death just so. But I am not afraid. I am resentful. And sullen. And angry.
I dont know how often he is hitting me. At some point, I feel that urge to not let him know how much he really is hurting me, and I bite down upon my lips to stifle my screams. Bite down, until they also bleed, and then I do have to give into the urge to cry out.
That Man is an expert. Whenever I manage to reach a spot of relative calm he beats me differently, so that there is no rest. Just pain. Excruciating, nerve wracking pain.
After a while I can feel at least some exhausted resignation settle into myself. "At least he left the dress where it is..." I distantly think. "Different from when i was a kid. At least he left me some dignity. At least some. Bad enough he's humiliating me so. Bad enough he's gonna see me cry..."
I hear a dry little laugh. Feel a hand reach for the dress, and lift it over my back. He heard it! Heard me think those thoughts, like only one of our kind can. The gift of mind reading isnt rare among ourselves, but being able to distinguish more than some superficial feelings is. I had forgotten he could do that! Most probably he is secretly laughing about me! The thought just makes everything worse. "No, you aren't a little girl!" He answers to a thought that has never been spoken aloud. A single finger pulls down my tights and my panties. The flimsy material clings to the back of my knees and thats the moment it is over. My sanity goes downhill and the fury screams at the Duke in utter anger: "You... sadistic... reactionary... chauvinistic... ASS!" I scream it from the top of my lungs. "I hate you. I HATE YOU!"
Cool fingers touch my maltreated flesh. Caress the bleeding welts gently, oh so gently, that gooseflesh is rising over my entire body. "No you dont!" that cool voice tells me in a tone of distinct amusement. I feel my wounds closing already. Marred flesh knitting. It's one of the advantages of being a vampire. Healing that fast. Or one of the disadvantages. As you want to see it. In my position Id rather say it is a disadvantage. It is exhausting to do it. To heal, you know. "Sophie...." he speaks my name, as if it was a caress. His fingers still roaming over my flesh. And then the caresses stop. For a moment I am lost. My head pressed against his hip, his scent filling my nose, my treacherous body tingling whereever he had touched me. And then I hear him laugh, and continue the beating. I wasnt prepared for that. My scream doesnt have anything human left. It's the pained sound of an animal. "You know, Sophie... we can play this game all night long..." he informs me. "I just believe that you are going to tire out far faster than I will!"
He knows exactly, that I cannot beg him to stop. He knows that I cant. And I still dont feel any regret. Just wrath and shame. Especially shame. Just moments ago I could have forgiven him. But he doesnt want my forgiveness. What does he want? My fear?
Another strike tears my skin open. "Your fear might be a start.." he casually tells me. "You are a neonate. It is about time you learn your place. Do not question me ever. Do not dare to tell me what I am to do or not to do..."
I feel my resistance breaking. Feel my screams ebb away, making room for a flood of tears. I fight it. He has taken so much from me already, I cannot loose my entire dignity. It must not happen. And yet I am helpless. There's no choice. I have to resist. I HAVE TO! And then this internal dam breaks and bloody tears stain my face. A rivulet first. And then a stream just pouring out of my eyes, washing my very essence out with every single, bloody driplet.
When my sobbing subsides, I find myself down on the ground. Curled up to a ball. The Duke is sitting on a chair, watching me. He is totally calm. Smokes a cigarette. The silence between us expands until I cannot stand it any longer. "I... just... I didnt want you to hurt me ever again..." I breathe in deeply. Try to gather myself. The wrath is gone. What is left is humiliation and shame. My broken pride, the chips of which digging into the core of my very soul. And the hunger. I lost a lot of blood this night. And the animal within myself is screaming for blood. He is just staring at me.
"Why can you not respect me? Why do you see me and everybody else as toys?" The words just pour out my mouth, and I clip a hand over it quickly. Stare at him like a frightened rabbit. He chuckles. And suddenly I have to look into his eyes. I know that gift. I have it myself. Presence. Overwhelming presence, that forces others to look at you in awe. I cannot resist him however. "Sophie..." is voice is smooth and soft like silk again. "Do you doubt my authority?" I want to look away, but the moment my eyes start to drift his gift forces me to look right back. His eyes are lit up with a fire. Green. Intensely green. I shake my head. Slowly. "I treat you as a toy, because you are but one... most everyone is...." His voice is gentle. "Accept it Sophie. Accept my power. Accept my authority. Everything would be so much easier, dont you think?" I feel myself nod. Somehow, everything he says is making sense now. He is right. Why did i have to rebel? "Admit to yourself, that you want me, Sophie..." he whispers it. And I feel fresh tears rising. Yes. Oh goddess yes, I want him. And it is wrong. He is married. He is a man. He is powerful. He opresses women. He... "Stop it! Dont listen to this excuse of an education you have enjoyed... allow yourself to feel. Do not doubt how beautiful you are... how desirable...." his voice is barely louder than a whisper. His face is close. So close. He inclines his head some. His hands grip my waist. How did i happen to get onto his lap? I distantly wonder, and then his lips gently touch the pulsing artery in my throat. Glide over my skin. His hands push me down, forcing my sex against his, push me against his arousal. But his arousal is nothing against mine. I burn from the inside, and I cant do anything about it. For a short moment doubt is raising its head. Somehow doing this is wrong.... so wrong. And that very moment his lips touch the line of my cleavage. He pulls the dress down with his teeth, and then his lips and tongue sear the naked, alabaster toned skin of my breasts. His teeth gently scratch over my skin. Teasingly. Enough to cause every single nerve ending in my entire body to scream in extasy. He starts to rub himself against my desire. I am lost. My senses are overalerted, the subsiding pain, the hunger, his sensual caresses.... for the fraction of a moment I fight for control, but then I feel his blood pulse against my lips. And I cannot resist. My teeth punctuate his skin, and I drink. Oh goddess... he tastes so good. Drinking him is extasy. Sweet, horrible extasy. He is dangerous... my tortured brain tries to warn me, but it is too late. Wave after wave of pleasure, of sheer bliss wash over me, when I taste his essence. My body is racked by shudders of extasy, my entire being seems to melt away in this ultimate throes of pleasure. I hear myself moan. Hear his moans. My world is exploding in shockwaves of sensualtiy, and then he withdraws himself from me. "Enough!" He whispers. For a moment I stay as I am, sitting on his lap. Trembling, exhausted, and greedy for more. And then he smiles at me. That arrogant, chauvinistic smile. Pushes me back down on the floor, and casually rearranges his clothing. He has used me! Bound me to him. Blood as powerful as his creates a bond between him, who has given it, and me, who has taken it. I will never feel the same about him. I will feel obliged to obey him. To do things to make him pleased. We have only shared blood once. But it is enough, to give him even more power over me. I dont mean anything to him. He has just... used me. But I cannot be angry about it. Not now, that I had his blood.
"A toy..." I whisper, and he nods. "Now.. regarding that information I might want to know about...."