Slave of Blood

SLAVE OF BLOOD

Silver clouds drew by in the royal blue evening sky as the young man watched through the bars of the small dark cave. It was unearthly quiet inside. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the man let his gaze wander back to the high altar before him. A few wax candles gave forth their curious light, and there was the smell of the fresh incense he had brought. The same as every evening, yet everything seemed changed, twisted- the flickering of the little flames, how eerie it looked, strange and bizarre! Yet on second sight he couldn’t decect anything abnormal. An unmistakable sense of fear gripped the youth. But he would not leave this place. Not yet. He wouldn’t dare.

A strong breeze that rushed through the cavern awoke him from his daze. Within a second, he was on his feet, running his fingers through the mop of curly black hair where the wind had swept through, and he looked at the window in alarm. Night-time already, yet the hour he couldn’t tell. And then he saw her, erect on the steps of the lofty altar, watching him intently, a faint smile playing on her perfect face. Many feet above him she was, but he could make out every detail of her features so sharply as if she stood right before him. Her large blazing eyes seemed to pierce his flesh, penetrate the depths of his very soul. It was as if he had never set eyes on her before, this woman, this Goddess who appeared to be made out of white marble entirely- and yet he knew her, had seen her on many occasions before, and when his mind recognized her at last, his feeble mind rushed to form names for her. His tongue was as heavy as iron. “Hecate”, he gasped at last. “Aphrodite…Lilith!”

She hadn’t moved. He didn’t dare to come closer. But somehow she was now very near to him, and her icy breath seemed to penetrate his open mouth, his trembling lips, his frightened over-excited soul. “The boy yesterday…you killed him, didn’t you?”

Such cruelty and such warmth…such authority and yet- such grace! He bowed his head in affirmation. “Yes, my Goddess…I killed him. As you bade me to do.”

Those eyes…She was coming ever closer, he could see the gleaming emeralds that were her eyes, the beautiful, almost girlish features, the delicate wrinkles around her sensual rosy mouth as she smiled now, a picture of infinite love. And stunning innocence. “Yes, as I bade you, my dear, and that is why I have come to you …I feel I have to give you a little reward for your obedience.”

He was spellbound, eyes locked on her gaze. A harbinger of great and manifold suffering and unspeakable delight this voice had been for him, many times before. And in that moment, he realized everything - she was all his wishes, all his desires materialized, life incarnate. He tried to say something in reverence. But speak he could no more.

In a sudden flash of anger, she shoved him backwards, so that he fell on a hard stone bench the likeness of a sarcophagus, head staring at the painted ceiling. Far away she seemed, and he, the frozen, motionless boy, saw and felt nothing - not the ache of his back, not the hint of azure nor the hovering cherubs above his head - not even his own desire rising as he distinctly heard the sustained whispering, the soft chanting of his name: “D-a-n-i-e-l!”

Then she was all over him, gripping his stiff young limbs with ravenous claw-like fingers, nails biting into his tight virgin flesh, twisting him this way and that in pure frenzy. The sudden touch of her porcelain fingertips tantalized him. He felt his neither regions fill with blood, but he seemed unable to move. That was, until now. Her silken fingers retreated. “Get up and move before the altar”, she commanded with alarming harshness.

He fell on his knees next to the altar table, irritated, eyes dancing around and fixing on the bronze feet of the life-size statue of his Goddess. This was terrible, horrifying. What had excited her anger this time, he wondered. He pressed his eyes together as he forced himself into this submissive position. She needed no ropes or chains to bind him…

He felt the sharp sensation of her dagger-like teeth as they mercilessly, yet gracefully sank into his neck. Insufferable pain. Then it lessened. He had experienced this a hundred times. But he would never get used to this condition…he felt the erotic foreboding of coming limpness, the menace of a growing weekness of his muscles and heart…If he felt pain now, he didn’t utter a sound. Not a whisper… He remembered something, almost like a sweet dream. It was when she had allowed him to taste of her blood, only a mouthful. In that moment so long ago, she had revealed everything to him…the true nature of her, this black Goddess who had always thriven on blood- blood he’d brought her, as others did before him-, that endless procession of victims, sacrifices he had carried before the very altar and left there in silent awe and wonder. He’d known then that she was alive, had really drunk their blood, and would do so every night, blood and blood and blood. It had been lyrical, magical and utterly natural to him. He did never care much if he were the next victim. Let her drink his blood, let him serve her forever… But now he was afraid. A terror gripped him that he could no longer control. “Get up now”, she hissed.

Her two pointed daggers retreated from his flesh, the awful stinging raced back to his pulsating, bleeding wound. There was some pleasure in it he couldn’t deny… Quickly he rushed to obey. His gaze wandered back to the altar, where the candles were still burning as if nothing had happened. Then he turned around to face her.

It was her loveliness that struck him so suddenly, so unprepared. Her radiant face, now fully revealed in the light of the candles, was staring at his. Exquisite. Divine. He glimpsed a redness in her cheeks that hadn’t been there before, her full lips shimmered blood-red. His hands began to tremble. He didn’t mean for this. He knew he had done something wrong yesterday, so many mistakes he had made before… “What is it, my Goddess? What did I do wrong”, he whispered with a racing heart.

Her smile was so sweet it almost soothed him. “We have all the time in the world, my love”, she said as she ran her delicate fingers through his thick wet curls. Siren-song, this voice. He swooned, almost fell. She must have taken more blood than usual. Some power, nevertheless, made him stand on his feet still. “Patience”, she smiled. He fantasized again. The whip. That dreadful whip. He wondered where it was now, if it was still there…The nails were blood-smeared. Then he understood and froze.

“Tell me”, she said, still smiling. “How did it go, yesterday, the killing? Did you enjoy it?”

He began to blush. His cheeks turned fiery red. She snipped her fingers, and a brown-haired lad came in, bowing and offering a large whip to her, with nails fastened at the ends. He could make out some dried blood on nails and handle. The lad, clad only in a short leather skirt, bowed his head when his Mistress took the whip and disappeared quietly through the secret door behind the altar. “Now”, she turned to the trembling young man at her side. “Did you realize you still have your shirt on? Take it off, please. It will get quite hot in here.”

He obeyed, and then, with closed eyes, he already bent towards the altar, arms resting on the tabletop. Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, her voice started in his head. What made you put it in this Christian temple…what made you do it??

“You know why”, he suddenly cried out in anguish, before the first blow of the whip came. The blood of the one he killed still clinged to it. Again and again the nails of the whip bit into the back of his upper thighs, just below his skirt. The blows were not really hard. She could make it worse. He felt the need to talk.

“Look, I wanted to finish him off real swiftly. As you commanded me. As I saw you do countless times. But it wasn’t so easy…I never killed before! And this look in his eyes…” He stopped. “Yes?”, she demanded to know. He closed his eyes. The blows had been harder than he thought. He felt a little blood running down his thighs.  “I could see his panic, his fear…For a moment I saw him as my brother, my fellow sufferer…” He bit his lip. He shouldn’t have said that.

The strokes came again, stronger, sharper this time. When some of the nails touched the hollow of his knees, he moaned. Stroke me, scratch me…The thought of his own skin being tortured, his blood flowing, thrilled him. But now the whip came down much more violent. The nails had found their way to his exposed back. When they hit now, it was merciless. The pain was so stinging and so sharp he believed it would never cease.

I DIDN’T MEAN IT, he cried in silence. If you are my Goddess, you must know…surely you hear me! She kept quiet. More blows thrashing down, his back wouldn’t stand it much longer. He could feel the blood ooze forth. When he started to sob, she snipped two fingers again. Twice. He heard the footsteps of two men approaching. So she wished for witnesses to his punishment. She still didn’t stop her lashings. Would these boys be merely assistants, he wondered, or had she chosen them for some special blood feast…He would know soon. For now he must endure.

But now the beating stopped, footsteps were retreating. He sank down on the altar, gasping for breath. He must have sweated as well, for now he felt very, very thirsty. But he knew he couldn’t ask for anything now. Quite unexpectedly, the whip hissed down again. It felt lighter, but still cut into his skin sharply. No more nails. He whimpered as more and more blows came down on his tortured back. “Mercy”, he gasped out. Then he witnessed his skirt being removed swiftly. His body was utterly exposed to her.

“I desire to feast tonight”, she said snipping her fingers again. He took a glimpse when he heard the rattle of chains and footsteps coming closer. It was a row of three slaves bound together, all of them male, semi-naked, feet and hands in chains. He didn’t recognize them. Fresh food for the Goddess. Food she had found on her own, this time. But now she turned her attention back to him.

Licking her lips in a sudden blaze of lust, she bent her body over his, her light gown brushing his back. She must be in a mood for play, though he wondered how far it would lead tonight. “Silence”, she snarled. Then he felt her chin stroke his neck, and her right hand had already closed firmly over his semi-erect cock. Warm fingers. Filled with his blood. He gave a shiver of anxious pleasure at the remembrance of all the past orgies of bloody ecstasy. All of them he had survived. Until yet. Her teeth had sunk into his neck again. It felt as if she would tear around his already tormented wound, mercilessly, eating her way through the violated flesh. He couldn’t help but scream now, although at first he had jerked to the rhythm of her gifted hand masturbating him. “Hush, my darling, for your thirst shall be satisfied soon”, he heard her whisper in his head. He only understood half of the words. He struggled with all his might to remain conscious, he struggled beneath her hoping there would be an end to this tremendous pain…

At some moment, he realized the fangs had retreated. He had been turned over, swift hands playing with his cock still. He forced himself to fully open his eyes and beheld the Goddesses’ flawless face, his sinister nymph, running her tongue over her blood-smeared lips. For a split second, she bent to kiss him. He savoured some drops of his own blood. He even smiled. Then he screamed again. She had thrust her teeth into his chest, feeding eagerly on his blood while stimulating his nipple with her keen tongue. Strangely enough, he relaxed. His gaze wandered to the three slaves that were still standing in the middle of the room, motionless and eyes without expression. Only their sinewy chests did move. She followed his gaze, leaving the wound on his chest unattended. In a violent gush the blood flowed down to his lower regions. He was dying for her to tongue to reach there, but she ignored him altogether.

Instead she approached the three men. All of them lowered their heads, ready to meet their fate. “You will drink from one of them, my dear”, she said in a cheerful voice. Her distressed servant sat down on the altar table, trying to keep his breath constant, not caring anymore for his dripping chest wound. At some point he wondered if her words were meant as an order…but even if he managed to get up now and walk, how would he be able to suck from one of these slaves? Would she order him to pick up a ceremonial knife… His eyes searched her, searched for her form. At first he couldn’t believe his sight. There she was on her knees, naked, her left hand gripping the youngest of the slaves while her teeth were sunk in his neck- he already went limp-, and on top of her was another one, his robust body riding her graceful figure…He could see the slave’s well-sized cock thrusting in and out of her cunt. Apart from her rich scarlet mane, she was utterly hairless. Her skin was still pale, though now it had a rosy shimmer, and when he saw her luscious breasts swaying back and forth, his lust was rekindled. It was as in a vision, a bizarre dream, although he had seen this before…had seen her mating with several mortal men. She kept a whole array of male slaves, they were her toy boys, her harem. She used them in every way that pleased her.

The next thing he was aware of was her still naked form, bending over him, silken fingers sliding over his face to wake him. He was set on his feet and led to the place where two slaves were lying dead on the earth and one youth was still standing unharmed. He sighed. He knew he would do everything she told him. She had bent his will. Quite unhurriedly, using her sharp nails, she made a wound on the young man’s neck. When she did this, it looked almost like a gentle gesture. When her minion saw the ruby shimmering blood trickle forth, he remembered his thirst and needed no more invitation. He closed his thirsting mouth over the wound, eager to take up everything he could. It was somehow unfamiliar, this substance, but not bad… He broke off after a few mouthfuls, looking into her eyes with expectation. She smiled, approvingly perhaps. Then she grabbed the lad, sucked from his neck until he became unconscious and placed him on the already blood-spattered altar, to reach for his chest. In a swift movement, too fast for her awed spectator to see, she had taken the victim’s heart out. Succulent it lay in her outstretched hand, arteries still pulping. His heart began to beat faster now as well. He would…obey. Smiling broadly, she watched as her devoted servant licked this handful of an organ, taking parts of it into his mouth to suck it dry. He did his best, and he did it thoroughly. At last the bloodless mass lay forgotten on the altar, and he still held the hand that had fed him just moments ago. He looked down on his chest- the wound had closed already, and the pain in his neck had lessened. He couldn’t help but smile. So she had forgiven him, perchance. He was content.

Until the pain hit him again. It was as in his most horrible nightmares. She was on him again! Her daggers of teeth rammed in the other side of his neck, her cruel claws cutting into his limbs as if she meant to rip him to pieces. WHY??, he cried out. WHAT HAVE I DONE?   

He soon got limp, powerless. As always when he lost his strength, it cleared the way for a new enchantment… He knew that whatever happened, he would be in her grip.  She was everything, the blood was everything.

Already he saw himself on his knees before her, arms outstretched, pleading for life.

He gave a moan of despair. He deserved this, most certainly. What had he done to that young man the night before! How thoughtlessly, ruthlessly he had slain him, prolonging the suffering of an innocent human being by hesitating, being clumsy, most miserable, abominable act he’d ever committed before! He seemed a stranger to himself. His regret was endless. Yet somehow these images seemed to emanate from her.

MURDERER, the walls appeared to echo. WE’RE EQUAL NOW, DON’T YOU SEE?

She only stopped when he felt him reach the threshold. “Rest now”, she whispered as she bit her lip, smeared a few drops of her own blood on his neck to heal, and layed his motionless body on the soft altar cloth. Originally it had been snow-white satin, as she always requested. Then she closed her lips over his, giving him a mouthful of her potent fluid.

Only for a moment had he felt her radiant curly hair, had he touched those fairy-tale red strands with his unsteady fingers. Now she stood yards away from him, it seemed, towering high over his tiny mortal figure at the top of the altar. Perfect stillness, holiness. She was a black statue worked to perfection. Goddess.

He felt his tears coming down his cheeks in rich salty drops.

“Can I not continue as your servant”, he wanted to ask. “My dark Goddess love…my beautiful one!”

Cold wind again. Soft velvet fingers on his naked shoulder. The hardness, the iciness when she’d first attacked him was completely gone. Turning around, he felt the tenderest passion, the greatest relief as he recognized her face again. Beauty incarnate. He stared speechlessly.

“I’m a slave to you, Goddess.”

She only smiled.