Undesirable: Chapter 9
TITLE: Undesirable (A vampire novel)
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter NC-17)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) Some violence, non-con.
WORD COUNT: 5954
Chapter 9
I managed to maintain my heart attack for about half an hour, but when the police cruiser failed to come up beside the bus to haul me out, I began to consider the possibility that I'd misinterpreted Stan's expression. Maybe he hadn't called the cops on me. Maybe he was just gossiping with one of his bajillion girlfriends about the quirky little nervous man he was traveling with. Could be.
But I couldn't trust it. No. I had to get off the bus, and quickly. All my instincts said I was on borrowed time and if I didn't move fast, I'd be in a lot of hot water.
Listen, I tried. Three hours seems like a long time to do something constructive, but it really wasn't as simple as that. Reality: I had less than a minute to act - that's how long the bus stopped before resuming its journey at each of the next two stops. One minute to size up where I was and if it was a good place, or if I'd just end up in an even worse situation.
Rumor has it that some of the smaller towns around here are pretty creepy and unwelcoming to strangers. Especially strangers with no good reason for being there.
I was fooled by the slice I saw of Columbia, Missouri. The city is actually decent sized with plenty of options and if it had been daytime I would have known that. But the path the bus took in the dark made it look to be about ten blocks of single-family homes surrounding a ghostly looking light industrial park. I saw a group of about ten dark figures just hanging out in the shadows of a nearby building, with a "come and let me mug you" sign practically painted over their heads. No. Never mind that.
The other stop was Boonville, which really was a small island of civilization in the middle of a sea of pastureland. Even there, I might have gotten off if the bus had actually entered the town, but instead it stopped for all of 30 seconds out in the middle of pouring rain and pitch black nothing over a mile outside the city borders. When faced with the idea of towing my luggage alone down a deserted, rain swept road after midnight in hopes of finding a place to stay in a totally unknown place, I simply chickened out.
No. I wanted a decent sized city with hotels, open restaurants and most of all options on where I could go from there. I wanted a place I could get lost in, where even if Ted and Jim went looking, the chances of them spotting me were next to nil.
So Kansas City it would be. As a major city it would be open 24 hour hours a day. It'd have cabs. And name brand hotels with bars attached. Oh howdy, I still wanted that beer. Yeah, a nice beer then crawl my way alone, please, between two cold, crisp hotel sheets and sleep until the staff tossed my sorry hide out. Maybe by then my head would stop buzzing, and my body would feel less like I was coming down with some mysterious illness. Again, I wondered how much blood Lord Jeffrey and his friend had drained from me.
Sleep. Man. It was wee hours in the morning after a long, long day and I was so goddamn tired. So tired.
Kansas City wouldn't be a bad place to hang out for a while. I could tourist around for a day or so, then try my luck again with the bus. Just two more days after that and I'd be home. Or maybe I should follow Wally's advice and own up to my parents. They wouldn't hesitate to drive across country to fetch me. And god, yuck. All my options sucked.
But at least I still had options. Yeah, there was that. Stay positive. I clenched my hands into my slacks, then let go, wiping the palms.
The bus had turned quiet as most of the passengers tried their best to nap. My large seatmate leaned his head against dark window and softly snored, incidentally giving me a bit of elbowroom. I used it to pull my cell phone off my belt and power it on again.
There was a message from Wally:
Sorry.
For a moment I wondered what he was sorry for, then I remembered that a few hours ago I was trying to guilt him into emailing Fancy Trousers for me. Oh, Wally.
I messaged back: No problem. Did it. Something's come up. I may be delayed. Tell you more later.
I felt a moment of guilt when I hit the send button because I was sure that vague "something's come up" would worry Wally. But suddenly the pitch black of farmland at night dissolved into the false dawn of suburbia. I could see the low yellow glow of sodium streetlights as the bus rolled past dimly lit storefronts.
I turned off the power to my phone and put it away. There was a bit of a stir as the dozing passengers pulled themselves to wakefulness in anticipation of the stop. I looked back again at Stan and found him wide awake and staring at me with a big lopsided grin.
This was his stop, I suddenly remembered. Great.
The bus pulled off the street, swung around a low, long redbrick building and parked in the back next to a large glass awning. I grabbed my laptop and the canvas "I ♥ Chicago" bag I'd bought at O'Hare, then shuffled into line out the front of the bus.
And that's when my suitcase filled with absolutely useless seminar paraphernalia betrayed me. I really should have ditched that fucking thing.
I was hanging out at the side of the bus, letting precious time tick away, waiting for the driver to get around to opening those fucking side bins so I could get that fucking piece of shit luggage, when I noticed Stan walking up to me. He had an oddly grim expression on his face. I thought, just for a second, that he was going to apologize for his assholish behavior with my bloodtrust card.
"Hey, George," he said, and then surprised me by putting a companionable arm over my shoulder. I stiffened. "Crime don't pay, man."
Wha--. Then I felt it, that strange wiggly feeling inside my skull. That itch that flares to a momentary jab of pain. And then it was too late.
I tried to push Stan's arm off my shoulder, where it rested like a lead weight, but I couldn't. I was frozen. For one panicked moment I wondered if Stan was a vampire, but something told me that the presence freezing my mind was coming from elsewhere near by.
Lord Jeffrey. Fuck.
"Thought for a while you'd stolen something, wasn't expecting you'd be a runaway White," Stan continued, he slid his arm off my shoulder and then stood behind me grabbing my upper arms and pushing me to turn around. "That fake Bloodtrust card gave it away. It didn't even look real. Have you any idea how flipping rare Black is? Next time you decide to print out your own card, you should go with something common and believable like Red. I wouldn't have given you another look if you did that."
I felt myself blushing, not with embarrassment, but with pure unadulterated fury. Fucking asshole. That card was legit. But it didn't matter because Stan had sold me out anyway.
"Don't be sour. I'm not a snitch," he said ironically. "I'm doing my civic duty. If we humans don't do our part, this whole system falls down, and then where will we be? Back in the bad old days when guys like you and me would sent off to kill people in wars, or worse, be shoveling that nuclear winter snow? This is the right thing to do, and you know it."
I had all kinds of replies, starting from the fact that wasn't running away, I was running back to my real patron. That none of this was my fault, if anyone was to blame, it was Lady Dingaling. But Stan wouldn't have heard me even if my mouth could move. Like a good Judas, he had his rationale for ratting me out and all the reason in the world wouldn't dent it. Not at this late point. And really it was moot, because Jeffrey already had me.
I turned around. There was Jeffrey's limo parked in the fire lane no more than twenty feet away. The windows were so deeply tinted they appeared to be black. Behind them I could picture Lord Jeffrey's long-suffering expression. Stan let go of my arms I started walking, normal as you please, towards my awaiting vampire master.
I started fishing for excuses. I was scared. I panicked. I'm just a stupid young man who doesn't know anything. Watch me grovel. At least Jeffrey had seemed sympathetic on the phone. Those dark windows looked ominous though.
I opened the door and without any hesitation sat down on the wide leather seat. I looked up at Jeffrey.
Except it wasn't Jeffrey.
Instead my eyes stared at two women sitting on the rear-facing bench. They could have been twins or maybe close cousins. Both were fashion model pretty blondes with similar updos, dressed in smart-but-conservative skirt suits. One was the vampire, but I was at a loss as to tell which. Stan leaned in, his arms draped over the roof and door, and looked over at the women. "This is the guy," he said smugly.
The woman on the left smiled at him.
The one on the right spoke. "Amy, check his blood." Oh yeah, that was the vampire. There was that weird in-my-ear quality to her voice. Behind that, she had a strong eastern European accent and I wondered briefly how she came to be in heartland of America.
Amy reached into her huge leather purse and pulled out a taster. Without the least volition on my part, I lifted up my hand and proffered an index finger. It slid into the hole and with a faint sting and buzz the evidence was taken. I let my arm fall back to my side, a small dot of red welling up on the finger.
The vampire showed her first bit of emotion, lifting her head just slightly and flaring her nostrils. She then resumed staring at me with faint distain.
"The numbers match up, my Lady," said Amy, her voice was soft and dainty with a pleasant hint of southern drawl.
The Lady turned to Stan. "I'll have Darla cut you a check. You can pick it up tomorrow morning."
So he did do it for the reward -- civic duty, my ass.
"Thank you, milady," said Stan gravely, then with an awkward bow of his head he stood back and Amy shut the door on him. With a single wuffing noise, the sound and sight of the outside world was completely cut off, and I was trapped in a small luxurious but insular world with no options I could think of.
The Lady reached back and gave a light knock on the privacy window between herself and the driver and the car shuddered and started to move. I strained my eyes to the side, hoping to get some sense of where we were going, but the windows showed only my reflection created by the well lit cabin. The swaying of the car as it rounded curves was the only indication of movement.
I felt the bonds of the vampire's control let go.
"Who are you and where are we going?" I asked, bluntly.
"To my estate," said the Vampire, lifting one perfectly plucked brow in surprise at my impertinence. "And I am your new Patron. At least for the moment. I have no intention on actually keeping you. Delicious as your blood is reputed to be, the positions in my harem are full."
I felt a wave of relief. This must be Stan's lesbian Patron. Yeah that made sense.
She gave me a weak smile - a faint echo of Lord Jeffrey's animated amusement. "You may call me Lady Nadette."
"So," I ventured, trying for a little tact, "My Lady, will you be sending me back to Lord Chauncey?" I could always be hopeful.
"Who?"
"Chauncey Towers, he's my actual Patron. I - I was poached in Chicago. I wasn't running away, you see. I was running to. To Lord Chauncey… you see, ma'am, he never signed off on me and this is all a mistake."
"Signed off on you?" repeated Nadette with confusion. "Oh, dear, no. There is no signing off. You came into my territory with no prior agreements between myself and Lord Jeffrey. It is entirely his fault for allowing you to run off. As for Chauncey Towers, I fail to see what he has to do with this at all."
"Chauncey is my Patron," I insisted. "I still live in Oregon, I've never lived in Chicago. I was only there for a visit, for a few days. I grew up with Lord Chauncey as my Patron. If you check the records, I was his all the way until last night."
"And was he the idiot who had you listed as black?" she narrowed her eyes at me. Amy stiffened and her face went completely blank. I took that as my cue that I was treading on dangerous ground.
"No, no - I've never actually met him," I said. "He had Lady Darlene Strobel taste me when I was a little kid, only she didn't, because…" I cut off the part about getting sick on her. The last thing I wanted was giving Nadette more of a bad impression of me, especially when she was starting to scare her own harem.
But Nadette leaned back in her seat with a mildly bored expression, as if all these places and names were just too much effort for her to bother to unscramble, much less care about. "Well, be that as it may, I won't be selling you to Lord Chauncey." She let out one sharp ha. "It would be a criminal waste to let that old crusty hermit bid on you. And I won't be selling you to Lord Jeffrey, either, so if his abuse is what has spurred you to run, you need not fear that."
"W-wait, wait, wait -- what?! Did you just say you're going to sell me?" Shock and horror rose like the bile in my throat. "What the fuck, woman! You can't sell me!" My face flushed with indignation.
"Why can't I?" Nadette's voice was cold. Amy seemed to be trying to vanish into her seat.
"Because it's against the law-" I paused and swallowed hard realizing I was applying human law to vampires and oh fuck, it didn't work that way. "Because I say you can't," I countered lamely. "What the fuck, is this how you vampires reward humans who give you Service? You treat them like goods? What am I, 3/5ths of person to you?"
Nadette actually laughed at that, a bitter, haughty, back of the throat kind of noise. "You dare compare harem to slavery? Are you insane?"
I felt a chill run down my spine. Yeah. Yeah I was insane talking to a vampire like this. Why the hell did I let my mouth get away with me?
"You are going to be treated like a prince - all your needs taken care of, the best of everything, in exchange for a simple duty most men would leap to perform - and you honestly compare that to living in the worst kind of poverty and being forced to work sixteen hours a day for no compensation at all? Do you really want to go there?" She shook her head dangerously. "Oh, I don't think you do."
I swallowed again and stared unseeingly at the air vent near Lady Nadette's foot. She was confusing me and this conversation wasn't going where I expected it to at all. "Who are you going to sell me to?" I asked, chastened.
She clicked her tongue. "It is not your place to worry about that. It is your job to be flexible and tractable, because one thing you can be sure of, your next Patron will be far stricter than the nonsense you are used to. There will be no more running away."
I closed my eyes and steeled myself. I didn't want to hear this.
"Strict but fair, mind you," Nadette went on, her words echoing loudly in my mind. "No silly games, no guesswork. You will perform your duties, and if you do so well and with loyalty and enthusiasm, you can expect to be rewarded. If you sulk or are defiant, you can expect to be rewarded for that as well, though not, I suspect, in a way you'd prefer." I risked a glance at her. Her smile had morphed into something more genuine. Beside her Amy seemed a bit more confident.
The danger had passed. At least to my body. My soul was another matter.
A slow sinking horror settled into my middle. All Stan's praise for his Lady aside, I was glad she wasn't keeping me, but it didn't sound like I had much to look forward to either. I noticed Amy's appearance and dress again, and I wondered for the first time if this were really Amy's style given her druthers, or if she dressed like her patron because that's what Lady Nadette wanted.
How much choice did Harem actually get in their lives? Was this something I could get used to? Or even like? Or should I just go ahead and cut off my balls, because I'd be kissing my manhood goodbye anyway.
"Well," said Nadette after a moment. "Let's get this over with. Neutral first, and then Amy, I'll want your assistance. With her eyes squarely on Amy, she reached out a hand and snapped her fingers at me.
I had no idea what she wanted.
She snapped again, this time looking at me, and then I was trapped in her will again. I slid off the bench and kneeled on the floor of the Limo before her. The vehicle at that moment rounded a sharp bend and I almost toppled over, but the Lady caught my arm in a tight grip and held me steady. She then lifted my wrist and, roughly shoving the cuff of my shirt and jacket up my arm, she bit me.
It felt like… nothing. Not pain, not pleasure, just a slight tug on the flesh. I watched her bemused for the count of three then there was the tickle of her tongue against my skin and she released me. I turned my wrist over and saw it unscathed. How the hell did that work?
"Well," Nadette said, settling back in her seat and gazing at the ceiling. "Make a note, Amy." Amy rushed to draw a steno pad out from the large leather purse at her side. Nadette didn't wait. "Neutral, his unusualness is his strongest quality. He doesn't fit into any of the flavor categories. I don't suppose it will be worth it to create one just for him. He is complex and unexpected, surprising but not at all unpleasant." She smacked her lips. "In addition he appears to have a bit of an addictive aftertaste. It doesn't kick in while drinking, but as the flavor fades there is a desire to renew it. Do you have that?"
Amy's mechanical pencil jiggled a bit more, then she nodded. "Yes, my Lady."
Nadette rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'm sure that novelty will be enough to entice some, but no one who is used to dealing with rare varietals. I may have to lower my asking price. Hmmm. I wouldn't have given him the White category for this. But then perhaps sweet is better. Or not. Who knows with someone like Jeffrey - the man drinks the blood of Blacks. What does that tell you about his discriminating palate?"
Amy shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if Jeffrey were some vampire weirdo. I felt oddly put out, as though this were some slight to my own worth, then quickly squashed that emotion. What the hell, I wanted to taste bad. It would be fucking great if Jeffrey were wrong.
"Sweet next. If you would Amy. Not to completion mind you. I will warn you when."
I swallowed. Sweet. Did that mean what I thought it did? Here? In the car?
Amy looked me over. "This will be easier if you go back to your seat," she said. I realized I was in control of my body again, so I did what she told me, settling tensely on the leather upholstered bench.
"Are you primarily attracted to women? Or men?" asked Lady Nadette. I noticed that Nadette had turned her head away, as if to look out the deeply tinted windows. Stan's words about how she hated men rang back at me.
"Women," I said firmly - last night aside, that's where my track record ran. I wondered if this was the right answer.
"Good," she said. I guess it was. "That should make this easier. I really dislike having to manipulate men's minds. Amy, if you will get started please."
Amy had taken the position I was in just moments before, kneeling on the carpet before me. Carefully, she reached for my pants, and I literally shook as she slowly unzipped me. My cock started hardening at once. Oh yes. I like women. I like them a lot.
Was she going to do what I hoped she would? What seemed oh so very possible given her position? Oh, yes, yes she was.
She freed me, already fully hard, nerves standing on edge. She was beautiful and she was holding me with one delicate, warm hand and massaging my balls with a luxurious roll of her other palm. I had the second of hot breath on the wet tip of my cock, then the flick of a tongue against the flesh - so fast and slick that it made electricity jolt down into my groin.
I groaned once, then my throat was paralyzed and I could make no further sound. Noise, bad, I realized. Lady Nadette didn't want to hear my masculine pleasure. I noted the disgust on her face, and the fact that her eyes were not only averted but actually closed as if my pleasure was the most disgusting thing she'd ever witnessed.
Suddenly, I felt guilty for my anticipation.
You know that adage: you take your blowjobs where you can get them. Yeah. Maybe. But I wasn't sure I really wanted a blowjob - not under these circumstances. It's great to have a hot woman to look at, but not so much fun if she doesn't really want you. I felt conflicted about it.
Amy kept running her tongue up and down the shaft, and it felt good. It felt awesome in fact, but it also felt like she wasn't really into it. A hundred dollars and I could be in one of Portland's brothels that catered to the losers who can't get laid in a regular club. Yeah, that's an ego raiser. My cock softened.
"Amy," snapped Nadette, "Stop teasing him. And you it is not your place to worry about her. She will be well rewarded for this."
Rewarded. God, that just made me feel more like a john.
"Oh for crying out loud, you are the most ornery male I've encountered in decades. Behave!" she snapped.
And with that I felt the now familiar twinge of a migraine, and suddenly there was no question of my performance. I couldn't even remember having doubts. I was just insanely horny. So horny I'd die if I didn't get relief right now.
Oh fuck…
Her mouth felt so succulent, so soft, folded over the head of my cock. She nursed it slowly, surrounding and laving the shaft with smooth hot perfect friction. My dick responded, rock hard and pulsing. The skin of my sack reacted, drawing my balls up tight against the base of my cock. It seemed like every touch of her tongue was magnified a thousand times and I was spiraling up to a powerful orgasm with all the self-control of a fifteen-year-old virgin.
I sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and tensed into the incredible swelling pleasure. My heart hammered and every muscle in my body pulled so hard I could barely keep my seat, one more suck. Just one more delicious warm wet inviting suck and I'd be there. I wanted to drive her head down, impale it, fuck her deep. Right there, yes right there. So goddamn yes!.
And then, inexplicably, my orgasm ebbed back, away, out of my reach. Goddamn it.
My hips yearned to flex but I was fixed again, immobile in the mental grip of another, powerless to control the sensation that teased me close to the edge. It seemed with each moment that I couldn't possibly take another. If I could just thrust a tiny bit into that warm suckling mouth, it would be all over. Just a fraction of a ounce more friction. The itch was unbelievable. I had to come. I had to. I had to come right--
"Now," said Nadette with icy calmness.
Amy removed her mouth and my cock stood, wet and cooling in the chill, still ready to go off but now unable to. So goddamn close. I hissed with need and winced as Amy wiped her mouth, smearing dark red lipstick across one cheek. Her face was bright and shiny, eyes still half closed and glazed with lust. Oh god, she looked so hot. Why isn't she sucking me?My animal brain demanded to know. Couldn't she see how much I needed her? It hurt to be this close.
I'd barely a moment to think about that when Nadette shifted to the seat next to me. Her hand cupped my chin, bruise tight, and with a frighteningly sudden jerk, she forced me to look over my shoulder. Another impossible to resist hand shoved down on head just above the ear, forcing my neck to arch over in uncomfortably contorted way.
I felt the tug of her teeth going in, the wetness of her mouth, and it finally penetrated my dim mind that this wasn't about me getting off after all. This was about her feeding on me.
She broke off after the better part of a minute and began to talk like she was giving some dry lecture. "Take notes: Sweetening brings out powerful harmonics. Each layer becomes more distinct and at the same time smoothly compliments each of the others. The addictive quality asserts itself immediately, and there is a significant risk of overindulging. The flavor is robust, complex and exquisite with a high level of satisfaction. Definitely White quality." She sighed. "What a waste."
What a waste? I felt a flash of anger that was cut through my lingering desperate need. I taste exquisite and she thinks it's a waste? What was she holding out for? Transcendence?
"What a waste that you are male," she clarified to me. "I haven't fed on a male in over three decades, and I'm not thrilled about doing so now. I find your sex to be hideous, your body lacking in any remotely attractive quality, and your general macho selfishness to be irritating. I might have been able to bear you neutral, but for your blood to be even worth drinking you need to be aroused, and that's more I'm willing to do for a meal. I'm sure you don't appreciate the irony, but I do. Well, someone, I'm sure, will find that loathsome task appealing." She clucked her tongue. "Let's finish this off."
Her teeth penetrated my neck again. My need was still pretty keen, and the words "finish this off" had a promising sound to them. Sure enough, I felt her left hand snake across my belly, sliding down, fingers stiff and spread towards my still hard erection. I held my breath, aware of her fingers slowly circling my belly, teasing over the ridge of my hip before sinking lower between my spread thighs.
Oh yesssssss.
I twitched in readiness of handjob. Not as good as letting Amy finish with her mouth but still, oh god, I was ready to come, and yeah, I'd take a handjob from a beautiful blonde vampire, even one who hated me and thought I was unattractive.
Her hand slipped under my balls, lifting them. I felt them tighten pleasantly, the skin wrinkling up at the base of my cock. For a fraction of a second it felt great.
Then she squeezed. Hard.
Pain exploded through my body with the power of a tsunami. My eyes literally rolled back in my head and I felt a flash of cold then heat and finally nausea settled like a hot brick my stomach. The scariness of the act was even more unpleasant than the pain. I was terrified that she'd ruined me, half expecting my nuts to have exploded in the sac, unmanning me completely. I wanted to curl up and die.
Distantly, I felt Nadette pull away from my throat and I heard her words floating past me, meaningless noises.
"Ugh, souring interferes with the flavor, flattens it and sets up dissonant notes. Worthless. Barely drinkable, despite the novelty. How inconvenient. It appears discipline can't be combined with Service unless one is masochistic. This one will need a far more patient Patron than me, and one willing to limit himself exclusively to sweet. That means Yuan of Golmud is out. Pity." Nadette perked up a moment later. "But if Yuan isn't there, I can invite Gregory of Los Angeles without my halls being covered with blood and claw marks by the end of the first night. So it's not all bad. I just wish Gregory hadn't just sunk half his fortune into that little Greek tart."
She smiled at Amy and patted her thigh, and I realized that somewhere in my pain Nadette had moved back to the opposite bench. On the heels of that thought, she deigned to let me go, and I slumped sideways across my seat and grabbed my throbbing crotch.
I hated her. That bitch. Hated her with a passion I'd never felt for anyone before. She was a flawed, brittle ice queen. Not even that pretty. Too much make up, who knows how much plastic surgery. She was a fucking dog.
Now would be a great day for Vestular's goddamn promised uprising to happen, and wipe the bloodsuckers like her off the map for good. Fucking 25 years of these rapists, where the hell was the resistance? Jesus Christ, my balls hurt.
My hands gingerly searched my wounded genitals half expecting them to be covered with blood or somehow destroyed, but to my surprise they at least felt reasonably normal, if a bit swollen. Very sensitive to the touch but still intact and thank God for small favors.
"Here love," said Nadette to Amy, taking a napkin and leaning over to carefully wipe the smeared lipstick from her face. "You did very well."
Amy smiled, pathetically eager to have pleased her mistress -- the rapist manhating carpet muncher.
Nadette twitched but made no other indication that she was spying on my thoughts. "Were you able to pick up that device?" she asked Amy.
"Yes, my lady," murmured Amy. "There were a number of models, but this was the one they recommended." She reached into her bag again and pulled out a cardboard box.
"Go ahead and put it on him."
I lay curled and still, watching with some trepidation as she removed the packaging on a short, gently bent tube of plastic. It was clear, colored a bright cheerful yellow. I had no clue what it could be used for, but I felt a sick rush of worry anyway.
Amy knelt in the carpeted space between the seats and brushed away my hands from my injured groin. I tried to swat her away, but Nadette simply paralyzed me again. My fly gaped open, and my genitals, small and oh so not interested in being touched, had largely retreated back into the folds of my boxers, but Amy had them fetched out in a moment.
I watched as Amy slipped the yellow tube over my flaccid cock and then with growing surprise and horror saw her close a plastic ring around the base of my nuts and seal it off with a small silver padlock. A fucking chastity device, I realized. I looked up in disgust at Nadette.
Did she honestly think I was such a raging bag of male hormones that I might chase after her Harem or something? After this, I wasn't going to let anyone in her household get into my pants if I could help it.
"Don't be ridiculous," said Nadette, to my unspoken thoughts. "Jealousy is not one of my failings. My harem may sleep with whomever they wish, male or female, when they aren't Servicing me. This device is to prevent masturbation, not sex, so go ahead and amuse yourself with my harem, I'm sure they'd appreciate your mouth or hands. But don't expect to enjoy much yourself until you are safely in the hands of your next Patron. I imagine it will take a week to arrange things. Hopefully by then you will be frustrated enough to knock off this prudish behavior give an enthusiastic performance."
No masturbation for a week? Shit. Not that I wanted to at that moment, but not even having the option? Christ. And screw that whole enthusiastic performance bit. If they wanted me, they were just going to have to fucking deal with my sullenness. Part of the fucking George Handle package.
"Welcome to your new life," said Nadette. "I'll trust you will get used to it quickly."
I closed my eyes and buried my face in the slick leather of the seat.
32 hours ago, I decided to pick up a courtesy phone at the airport, because I was so damn curious as to who would be paging me. I could have ignored it. I should have ignored it. If only I had.
As the limo finally came to a stop at Nadette's large wooded compound, I heard a loud click as the locks released. The door creaked open and I smelled wet pine and fresh air, but whatever waited for me outside was not freedom.
I felt a sick, grasping moment as my denial turned to grief. When all the bargaining is over, and the anger drains away, all you have left is a hollow aching feeling at the pit of your stomach that something important has been stolen from you. I could remember with perfect clarity the trivial things about my apartment, my books, my clothes, the way the bathroom door jams when you close it. I missed it all, even the stupid irritating stuff, like how Wally leaves his wet towels in the hall, sometimes piled three or four deep after I come home from a trip. I'll never kick that goddamn wet pile out of my way again. Goddamn, I fucking miss Wally.
My life as I knew it was over. It was really, truly over. Jimmy Weaver is dead and Wally might as well be for all the likelihood of me ever seeing him again, and there is no going home. There's just no fucking going home.
On to chapter 10
Back to Chapter 8
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter NC-17)
GENRE: Porn with plot -- heavy on the plot. Action/adventure, some black humor, some romance.
PAIRINGS: George x everyone. Mostly Slash, some het, three and moresomes. Vampire sex.
WARNINGS: (this chapter) Some violence, non-con.
WORD COUNT: 5954
Chapter 9
I managed to maintain my heart attack for about half an hour, but when the police cruiser failed to come up beside the bus to haul me out, I began to consider the possibility that I'd misinterpreted Stan's expression. Maybe he hadn't called the cops on me. Maybe he was just gossiping with one of his bajillion girlfriends about the quirky little nervous man he was traveling with. Could be.
But I couldn't trust it. No. I had to get off the bus, and quickly. All my instincts said I was on borrowed time and if I didn't move fast, I'd be in a lot of hot water.
Listen, I tried. Three hours seems like a long time to do something constructive, but it really wasn't as simple as that. Reality: I had less than a minute to act - that's how long the bus stopped before resuming its journey at each of the next two stops. One minute to size up where I was and if it was a good place, or if I'd just end up in an even worse situation.
Rumor has it that some of the smaller towns around here are pretty creepy and unwelcoming to strangers. Especially strangers with no good reason for being there.
I was fooled by the slice I saw of Columbia, Missouri. The city is actually decent sized with plenty of options and if it had been daytime I would have known that. But the path the bus took in the dark made it look to be about ten blocks of single-family homes surrounding a ghostly looking light industrial park. I saw a group of about ten dark figures just hanging out in the shadows of a nearby building, with a "come and let me mug you" sign practically painted over their heads. No. Never mind that.
The other stop was Boonville, which really was a small island of civilization in the middle of a sea of pastureland. Even there, I might have gotten off if the bus had actually entered the town, but instead it stopped for all of 30 seconds out in the middle of pouring rain and pitch black nothing over a mile outside the city borders. When faced with the idea of towing my luggage alone down a deserted, rain swept road after midnight in hopes of finding a place to stay in a totally unknown place, I simply chickened out.
No. I wanted a decent sized city with hotels, open restaurants and most of all options on where I could go from there. I wanted a place I could get lost in, where even if Ted and Jim went looking, the chances of them spotting me were next to nil.
So Kansas City it would be. As a major city it would be open 24 hour hours a day. It'd have cabs. And name brand hotels with bars attached. Oh howdy, I still wanted that beer. Yeah, a nice beer then crawl my way alone, please, between two cold, crisp hotel sheets and sleep until the staff tossed my sorry hide out. Maybe by then my head would stop buzzing, and my body would feel less like I was coming down with some mysterious illness. Again, I wondered how much blood Lord Jeffrey and his friend had drained from me.
Sleep. Man. It was wee hours in the morning after a long, long day and I was so goddamn tired. So tired.
Kansas City wouldn't be a bad place to hang out for a while. I could tourist around for a day or so, then try my luck again with the bus. Just two more days after that and I'd be home. Or maybe I should follow Wally's advice and own up to my parents. They wouldn't hesitate to drive across country to fetch me. And god, yuck. All my options sucked.
But at least I still had options. Yeah, there was that. Stay positive. I clenched my hands into my slacks, then let go, wiping the palms.
The bus had turned quiet as most of the passengers tried their best to nap. My large seatmate leaned his head against dark window and softly snored, incidentally giving me a bit of elbowroom. I used it to pull my cell phone off my belt and power it on again.
There was a message from Wally:
Sorry.
For a moment I wondered what he was sorry for, then I remembered that a few hours ago I was trying to guilt him into emailing Fancy Trousers for me. Oh, Wally.
I messaged back: No problem. Did it. Something's come up. I may be delayed. Tell you more later.
I felt a moment of guilt when I hit the send button because I was sure that vague "something's come up" would worry Wally. But suddenly the pitch black of farmland at night dissolved into the false dawn of suburbia. I could see the low yellow glow of sodium streetlights as the bus rolled past dimly lit storefronts.
I turned off the power to my phone and put it away. There was a bit of a stir as the dozing passengers pulled themselves to wakefulness in anticipation of the stop. I looked back again at Stan and found him wide awake and staring at me with a big lopsided grin.
This was his stop, I suddenly remembered. Great.
The bus pulled off the street, swung around a low, long redbrick building and parked in the back next to a large glass awning. I grabbed my laptop and the canvas "I ♥ Chicago" bag I'd bought at O'Hare, then shuffled into line out the front of the bus.
And that's when my suitcase filled with absolutely useless seminar paraphernalia betrayed me. I really should have ditched that fucking thing.
I was hanging out at the side of the bus, letting precious time tick away, waiting for the driver to get around to opening those fucking side bins so I could get that fucking piece of shit luggage, when I noticed Stan walking up to me. He had an oddly grim expression on his face. I thought, just for a second, that he was going to apologize for his assholish behavior with my bloodtrust card.
"Hey, George," he said, and then surprised me by putting a companionable arm over my shoulder. I stiffened. "Crime don't pay, man."
Wha--. Then I felt it, that strange wiggly feeling inside my skull. That itch that flares to a momentary jab of pain. And then it was too late.
I tried to push Stan's arm off my shoulder, where it rested like a lead weight, but I couldn't. I was frozen. For one panicked moment I wondered if Stan was a vampire, but something told me that the presence freezing my mind was coming from elsewhere near by.
Lord Jeffrey. Fuck.
"Thought for a while you'd stolen something, wasn't expecting you'd be a runaway White," Stan continued, he slid his arm off my shoulder and then stood behind me grabbing my upper arms and pushing me to turn around. "That fake Bloodtrust card gave it away. It didn't even look real. Have you any idea how flipping rare Black is? Next time you decide to print out your own card, you should go with something common and believable like Red. I wouldn't have given you another look if you did that."
I felt myself blushing, not with embarrassment, but with pure unadulterated fury. Fucking asshole. That card was legit. But it didn't matter because Stan had sold me out anyway.
"Don't be sour. I'm not a snitch," he said ironically. "I'm doing my civic duty. If we humans don't do our part, this whole system falls down, and then where will we be? Back in the bad old days when guys like you and me would sent off to kill people in wars, or worse, be shoveling that nuclear winter snow? This is the right thing to do, and you know it."
I had all kinds of replies, starting from the fact that wasn't running away, I was running back to my real patron. That none of this was my fault, if anyone was to blame, it was Lady Dingaling. But Stan wouldn't have heard me even if my mouth could move. Like a good Judas, he had his rationale for ratting me out and all the reason in the world wouldn't dent it. Not at this late point. And really it was moot, because Jeffrey already had me.
I turned around. There was Jeffrey's limo parked in the fire lane no more than twenty feet away. The windows were so deeply tinted they appeared to be black. Behind them I could picture Lord Jeffrey's long-suffering expression. Stan let go of my arms I started walking, normal as you please, towards my awaiting vampire master.
I started fishing for excuses. I was scared. I panicked. I'm just a stupid young man who doesn't know anything. Watch me grovel. At least Jeffrey had seemed sympathetic on the phone. Those dark windows looked ominous though.
I opened the door and without any hesitation sat down on the wide leather seat. I looked up at Jeffrey.
Except it wasn't Jeffrey.
Instead my eyes stared at two women sitting on the rear-facing bench. They could have been twins or maybe close cousins. Both were fashion model pretty blondes with similar updos, dressed in smart-but-conservative skirt suits. One was the vampire, but I was at a loss as to tell which. Stan leaned in, his arms draped over the roof and door, and looked over at the women. "This is the guy," he said smugly.
The woman on the left smiled at him.
The one on the right spoke. "Amy, check his blood." Oh yeah, that was the vampire. There was that weird in-my-ear quality to her voice. Behind that, she had a strong eastern European accent and I wondered briefly how she came to be in heartland of America.
Amy reached into her huge leather purse and pulled out a taster. Without the least volition on my part, I lifted up my hand and proffered an index finger. It slid into the hole and with a faint sting and buzz the evidence was taken. I let my arm fall back to my side, a small dot of red welling up on the finger.
The vampire showed her first bit of emotion, lifting her head just slightly and flaring her nostrils. She then resumed staring at me with faint distain.
"The numbers match up, my Lady," said Amy, her voice was soft and dainty with a pleasant hint of southern drawl.
The Lady turned to Stan. "I'll have Darla cut you a check. You can pick it up tomorrow morning."
So he did do it for the reward -- civic duty, my ass.
"Thank you, milady," said Stan gravely, then with an awkward bow of his head he stood back and Amy shut the door on him. With a single wuffing noise, the sound and sight of the outside world was completely cut off, and I was trapped in a small luxurious but insular world with no options I could think of.
The Lady reached back and gave a light knock on the privacy window between herself and the driver and the car shuddered and started to move. I strained my eyes to the side, hoping to get some sense of where we were going, but the windows showed only my reflection created by the well lit cabin. The swaying of the car as it rounded curves was the only indication of movement.
I felt the bonds of the vampire's control let go.
"Who are you and where are we going?" I asked, bluntly.
"To my estate," said the Vampire, lifting one perfectly plucked brow in surprise at my impertinence. "And I am your new Patron. At least for the moment. I have no intention on actually keeping you. Delicious as your blood is reputed to be, the positions in my harem are full."
I felt a wave of relief. This must be Stan's lesbian Patron. Yeah that made sense.
She gave me a weak smile - a faint echo of Lord Jeffrey's animated amusement. "You may call me Lady Nadette."
"So," I ventured, trying for a little tact, "My Lady, will you be sending me back to Lord Chauncey?" I could always be hopeful.
"Who?"
"Chauncey Towers, he's my actual Patron. I - I was poached in Chicago. I wasn't running away, you see. I was running to. To Lord Chauncey… you see, ma'am, he never signed off on me and this is all a mistake."
"Signed off on you?" repeated Nadette with confusion. "Oh, dear, no. There is no signing off. You came into my territory with no prior agreements between myself and Lord Jeffrey. It is entirely his fault for allowing you to run off. As for Chauncey Towers, I fail to see what he has to do with this at all."
"Chauncey is my Patron," I insisted. "I still live in Oregon, I've never lived in Chicago. I was only there for a visit, for a few days. I grew up with Lord Chauncey as my Patron. If you check the records, I was his all the way until last night."
"And was he the idiot who had you listed as black?" she narrowed her eyes at me. Amy stiffened and her face went completely blank. I took that as my cue that I was treading on dangerous ground.
"No, no - I've never actually met him," I said. "He had Lady Darlene Strobel taste me when I was a little kid, only she didn't, because…" I cut off the part about getting sick on her. The last thing I wanted was giving Nadette more of a bad impression of me, especially when she was starting to scare her own harem.
But Nadette leaned back in her seat with a mildly bored expression, as if all these places and names were just too much effort for her to bother to unscramble, much less care about. "Well, be that as it may, I won't be selling you to Lord Chauncey." She let out one sharp ha. "It would be a criminal waste to let that old crusty hermit bid on you. And I won't be selling you to Lord Jeffrey, either, so if his abuse is what has spurred you to run, you need not fear that."
"W-wait, wait, wait -- what?! Did you just say you're going to sell me?" Shock and horror rose like the bile in my throat. "What the fuck, woman! You can't sell me!" My face flushed with indignation.
"Why can't I?" Nadette's voice was cold. Amy seemed to be trying to vanish into her seat.
"Because it's against the law-" I paused and swallowed hard realizing I was applying human law to vampires and oh fuck, it didn't work that way. "Because I say you can't," I countered lamely. "What the fuck, is this how you vampires reward humans who give you Service? You treat them like goods? What am I, 3/5ths of person to you?"
Nadette actually laughed at that, a bitter, haughty, back of the throat kind of noise. "You dare compare harem to slavery? Are you insane?"
I felt a chill run down my spine. Yeah. Yeah I was insane talking to a vampire like this. Why the hell did I let my mouth get away with me?
"You are going to be treated like a prince - all your needs taken care of, the best of everything, in exchange for a simple duty most men would leap to perform - and you honestly compare that to living in the worst kind of poverty and being forced to work sixteen hours a day for no compensation at all? Do you really want to go there?" She shook her head dangerously. "Oh, I don't think you do."
I swallowed again and stared unseeingly at the air vent near Lady Nadette's foot. She was confusing me and this conversation wasn't going where I expected it to at all. "Who are you going to sell me to?" I asked, chastened.
She clicked her tongue. "It is not your place to worry about that. It is your job to be flexible and tractable, because one thing you can be sure of, your next Patron will be far stricter than the nonsense you are used to. There will be no more running away."
I closed my eyes and steeled myself. I didn't want to hear this.
"Strict but fair, mind you," Nadette went on, her words echoing loudly in my mind. "No silly games, no guesswork. You will perform your duties, and if you do so well and with loyalty and enthusiasm, you can expect to be rewarded. If you sulk or are defiant, you can expect to be rewarded for that as well, though not, I suspect, in a way you'd prefer." I risked a glance at her. Her smile had morphed into something more genuine. Beside her Amy seemed a bit more confident.
The danger had passed. At least to my body. My soul was another matter.
A slow sinking horror settled into my middle. All Stan's praise for his Lady aside, I was glad she wasn't keeping me, but it didn't sound like I had much to look forward to either. I noticed Amy's appearance and dress again, and I wondered for the first time if this were really Amy's style given her druthers, or if she dressed like her patron because that's what Lady Nadette wanted.
How much choice did Harem actually get in their lives? Was this something I could get used to? Or even like? Or should I just go ahead and cut off my balls, because I'd be kissing my manhood goodbye anyway.
"Well," said Nadette after a moment. "Let's get this over with. Neutral first, and then Amy, I'll want your assistance. With her eyes squarely on Amy, she reached out a hand and snapped her fingers at me.
I had no idea what she wanted.
She snapped again, this time looking at me, and then I was trapped in her will again. I slid off the bench and kneeled on the floor of the Limo before her. The vehicle at that moment rounded a sharp bend and I almost toppled over, but the Lady caught my arm in a tight grip and held me steady. She then lifted my wrist and, roughly shoving the cuff of my shirt and jacket up my arm, she bit me.
It felt like… nothing. Not pain, not pleasure, just a slight tug on the flesh. I watched her bemused for the count of three then there was the tickle of her tongue against my skin and she released me. I turned my wrist over and saw it unscathed. How the hell did that work?
"Well," Nadette said, settling back in her seat and gazing at the ceiling. "Make a note, Amy." Amy rushed to draw a steno pad out from the large leather purse at her side. Nadette didn't wait. "Neutral, his unusualness is his strongest quality. He doesn't fit into any of the flavor categories. I don't suppose it will be worth it to create one just for him. He is complex and unexpected, surprising but not at all unpleasant." She smacked her lips. "In addition he appears to have a bit of an addictive aftertaste. It doesn't kick in while drinking, but as the flavor fades there is a desire to renew it. Do you have that?"
Amy's mechanical pencil jiggled a bit more, then she nodded. "Yes, my Lady."
Nadette rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "I'm sure that novelty will be enough to entice some, but no one who is used to dealing with rare varietals. I may have to lower my asking price. Hmmm. I wouldn't have given him the White category for this. But then perhaps sweet is better. Or not. Who knows with someone like Jeffrey - the man drinks the blood of Blacks. What does that tell you about his discriminating palate?"
Amy shook her head and rolled her eyes, as if Jeffrey were some vampire weirdo. I felt oddly put out, as though this were some slight to my own worth, then quickly squashed that emotion. What the hell, I wanted to taste bad. It would be fucking great if Jeffrey were wrong.
"Sweet next. If you would Amy. Not to completion mind you. I will warn you when."
I swallowed. Sweet. Did that mean what I thought it did? Here? In the car?
Amy looked me over. "This will be easier if you go back to your seat," she said. I realized I was in control of my body again, so I did what she told me, settling tensely on the leather upholstered bench.
"Are you primarily attracted to women? Or men?" asked Lady Nadette. I noticed that Nadette had turned her head away, as if to look out the deeply tinted windows. Stan's words about how she hated men rang back at me.
"Women," I said firmly - last night aside, that's where my track record ran. I wondered if this was the right answer.
"Good," she said. I guess it was. "That should make this easier. I really dislike having to manipulate men's minds. Amy, if you will get started please."
Amy had taken the position I was in just moments before, kneeling on the carpet before me. Carefully, she reached for my pants, and I literally shook as she slowly unzipped me. My cock started hardening at once. Oh yes. I like women. I like them a lot.
Was she going to do what I hoped she would? What seemed oh so very possible given her position? Oh, yes, yes she was.
She freed me, already fully hard, nerves standing on edge. She was beautiful and she was holding me with one delicate, warm hand and massaging my balls with a luxurious roll of her other palm. I had the second of hot breath on the wet tip of my cock, then the flick of a tongue against the flesh - so fast and slick that it made electricity jolt down into my groin.
I groaned once, then my throat was paralyzed and I could make no further sound. Noise, bad, I realized. Lady Nadette didn't want to hear my masculine pleasure. I noted the disgust on her face, and the fact that her eyes were not only averted but actually closed as if my pleasure was the most disgusting thing she'd ever witnessed.
Suddenly, I felt guilty for my anticipation.
You know that adage: you take your blowjobs where you can get them. Yeah. Maybe. But I wasn't sure I really wanted a blowjob - not under these circumstances. It's great to have a hot woman to look at, but not so much fun if she doesn't really want you. I felt conflicted about it.
Amy kept running her tongue up and down the shaft, and it felt good. It felt awesome in fact, but it also felt like she wasn't really into it. A hundred dollars and I could be in one of Portland's brothels that catered to the losers who can't get laid in a regular club. Yeah, that's an ego raiser. My cock softened.
"Amy," snapped Nadette, "Stop teasing him. And you it is not your place to worry about her. She will be well rewarded for this."
Rewarded. God, that just made me feel more like a john.
"Oh for crying out loud, you are the most ornery male I've encountered in decades. Behave!" she snapped.
And with that I felt the now familiar twinge of a migraine, and suddenly there was no question of my performance. I couldn't even remember having doubts. I was just insanely horny. So horny I'd die if I didn't get relief right now.
Oh fuck…
Her mouth felt so succulent, so soft, folded over the head of my cock. She nursed it slowly, surrounding and laving the shaft with smooth hot perfect friction. My dick responded, rock hard and pulsing. The skin of my sack reacted, drawing my balls up tight against the base of my cock. It seemed like every touch of her tongue was magnified a thousand times and I was spiraling up to a powerful orgasm with all the self-control of a fifteen-year-old virgin.
I sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and tensed into the incredible swelling pleasure. My heart hammered and every muscle in my body pulled so hard I could barely keep my seat, one more suck. Just one more delicious warm wet inviting suck and I'd be there. I wanted to drive her head down, impale it, fuck her deep. Right there, yes right there. So goddamn yes!.
And then, inexplicably, my orgasm ebbed back, away, out of my reach. Goddamn it.
My hips yearned to flex but I was fixed again, immobile in the mental grip of another, powerless to control the sensation that teased me close to the edge. It seemed with each moment that I couldn't possibly take another. If I could just thrust a tiny bit into that warm suckling mouth, it would be all over. Just a fraction of a ounce more friction. The itch was unbelievable. I had to come. I had to. I had to come right--
"Now," said Nadette with icy calmness.
Amy removed her mouth and my cock stood, wet and cooling in the chill, still ready to go off but now unable to. So goddamn close. I hissed with need and winced as Amy wiped her mouth, smearing dark red lipstick across one cheek. Her face was bright and shiny, eyes still half closed and glazed with lust. Oh god, she looked so hot. Why isn't she sucking me?My animal brain demanded to know. Couldn't she see how much I needed her? It hurt to be this close.
I'd barely a moment to think about that when Nadette shifted to the seat next to me. Her hand cupped my chin, bruise tight, and with a frighteningly sudden jerk, she forced me to look over my shoulder. Another impossible to resist hand shoved down on head just above the ear, forcing my neck to arch over in uncomfortably contorted way.
I felt the tug of her teeth going in, the wetness of her mouth, and it finally penetrated my dim mind that this wasn't about me getting off after all. This was about her feeding on me.
She broke off after the better part of a minute and began to talk like she was giving some dry lecture. "Take notes: Sweetening brings out powerful harmonics. Each layer becomes more distinct and at the same time smoothly compliments each of the others. The addictive quality asserts itself immediately, and there is a significant risk of overindulging. The flavor is robust, complex and exquisite with a high level of satisfaction. Definitely White quality." She sighed. "What a waste."
What a waste? I felt a flash of anger that was cut through my lingering desperate need. I taste exquisite and she thinks it's a waste? What was she holding out for? Transcendence?
"What a waste that you are male," she clarified to me. "I haven't fed on a male in over three decades, and I'm not thrilled about doing so now. I find your sex to be hideous, your body lacking in any remotely attractive quality, and your general macho selfishness to be irritating. I might have been able to bear you neutral, but for your blood to be even worth drinking you need to be aroused, and that's more I'm willing to do for a meal. I'm sure you don't appreciate the irony, but I do. Well, someone, I'm sure, will find that loathsome task appealing." She clucked her tongue. "Let's finish this off."
Her teeth penetrated my neck again. My need was still pretty keen, and the words "finish this off" had a promising sound to them. Sure enough, I felt her left hand snake across my belly, sliding down, fingers stiff and spread towards my still hard erection. I held my breath, aware of her fingers slowly circling my belly, teasing over the ridge of my hip before sinking lower between my spread thighs.
Oh yesssssss.
I twitched in readiness of handjob. Not as good as letting Amy finish with her mouth but still, oh god, I was ready to come, and yeah, I'd take a handjob from a beautiful blonde vampire, even one who hated me and thought I was unattractive.
Her hand slipped under my balls, lifting them. I felt them tighten pleasantly, the skin wrinkling up at the base of my cock. For a fraction of a second it felt great.
Then she squeezed. Hard.
Pain exploded through my body with the power of a tsunami. My eyes literally rolled back in my head and I felt a flash of cold then heat and finally nausea settled like a hot brick my stomach. The scariness of the act was even more unpleasant than the pain. I was terrified that she'd ruined me, half expecting my nuts to have exploded in the sac, unmanning me completely. I wanted to curl up and die.
Distantly, I felt Nadette pull away from my throat and I heard her words floating past me, meaningless noises.
"Ugh, souring interferes with the flavor, flattens it and sets up dissonant notes. Worthless. Barely drinkable, despite the novelty. How inconvenient. It appears discipline can't be combined with Service unless one is masochistic. This one will need a far more patient Patron than me, and one willing to limit himself exclusively to sweet. That means Yuan of Golmud is out. Pity." Nadette perked up a moment later. "But if Yuan isn't there, I can invite Gregory of Los Angeles without my halls being covered with blood and claw marks by the end of the first night. So it's not all bad. I just wish Gregory hadn't just sunk half his fortune into that little Greek tart."
She smiled at Amy and patted her thigh, and I realized that somewhere in my pain Nadette had moved back to the opposite bench. On the heels of that thought, she deigned to let me go, and I slumped sideways across my seat and grabbed my throbbing crotch.
I hated her. That bitch. Hated her with a passion I'd never felt for anyone before. She was a flawed, brittle ice queen. Not even that pretty. Too much make up, who knows how much plastic surgery. She was a fucking dog.
Now would be a great day for Vestular's goddamn promised uprising to happen, and wipe the bloodsuckers like her off the map for good. Fucking 25 years of these rapists, where the hell was the resistance? Jesus Christ, my balls hurt.
My hands gingerly searched my wounded genitals half expecting them to be covered with blood or somehow destroyed, but to my surprise they at least felt reasonably normal, if a bit swollen. Very sensitive to the touch but still intact and thank God for small favors.
"Here love," said Nadette to Amy, taking a napkin and leaning over to carefully wipe the smeared lipstick from her face. "You did very well."
Amy smiled, pathetically eager to have pleased her mistress -- the rapist manhating carpet muncher.
Nadette twitched but made no other indication that she was spying on my thoughts. "Were you able to pick up that device?" she asked Amy.
"Yes, my lady," murmured Amy. "There were a number of models, but this was the one they recommended." She reached into her bag again and pulled out a cardboard box.
"Go ahead and put it on him."
I lay curled and still, watching with some trepidation as she removed the packaging on a short, gently bent tube of plastic. It was clear, colored a bright cheerful yellow. I had no clue what it could be used for, but I felt a sick rush of worry anyway.
Amy knelt in the carpeted space between the seats and brushed away my hands from my injured groin. I tried to swat her away, but Nadette simply paralyzed me again. My fly gaped open, and my genitals, small and oh so not interested in being touched, had largely retreated back into the folds of my boxers, but Amy had them fetched out in a moment.
I watched as Amy slipped the yellow tube over my flaccid cock and then with growing surprise and horror saw her close a plastic ring around the base of my nuts and seal it off with a small silver padlock. A fucking chastity device, I realized. I looked up in disgust at Nadette.
Did she honestly think I was such a raging bag of male hormones that I might chase after her Harem or something? After this, I wasn't going to let anyone in her household get into my pants if I could help it.
"Don't be ridiculous," said Nadette, to my unspoken thoughts. "Jealousy is not one of my failings. My harem may sleep with whomever they wish, male or female, when they aren't Servicing me. This device is to prevent masturbation, not sex, so go ahead and amuse yourself with my harem, I'm sure they'd appreciate your mouth or hands. But don't expect to enjoy much yourself until you are safely in the hands of your next Patron. I imagine it will take a week to arrange things. Hopefully by then you will be frustrated enough to knock off this prudish behavior give an enthusiastic performance."
No masturbation for a week? Shit. Not that I wanted to at that moment, but not even having the option? Christ. And screw that whole enthusiastic performance bit. If they wanted me, they were just going to have to fucking deal with my sullenness. Part of the fucking George Handle package.
"Welcome to your new life," said Nadette. "I'll trust you will get used to it quickly."
I closed my eyes and buried my face in the slick leather of the seat.
32 hours ago, I decided to pick up a courtesy phone at the airport, because I was so damn curious as to who would be paging me. I could have ignored it. I should have ignored it. If only I had.
As the limo finally came to a stop at Nadette's large wooded compound, I heard a loud click as the locks released. The door creaked open and I smelled wet pine and fresh air, but whatever waited for me outside was not freedom.
I felt a sick, grasping moment as my denial turned to grief. When all the bargaining is over, and the anger drains away, all you have left is a hollow aching feeling at the pit of your stomach that something important has been stolen from you. I could remember with perfect clarity the trivial things about my apartment, my books, my clothes, the way the bathroom door jams when you close it. I missed it all, even the stupid irritating stuff, like how Wally leaves his wet towels in the hall, sometimes piled three or four deep after I come home from a trip. I'll never kick that goddamn wet pile out of my way again. Goddamn, I fucking miss Wally.
My life as I knew it was over. It was really, truly over. Jimmy Weaver is dead and Wally might as well be for all the likelihood of me ever seeing him again, and there is no going home. There's just no fucking going home.
On to chapter 10
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