Sips of Blood

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  "I wanted to see how..." How the dead really lived. "Your father talked about her a lot. He even got me to drive him here to the cemetery before taking him home."

  "He had to spit-shine the stone."

  "I think he missed her and was trying to figure out how to connect with you."

  Wil faced Liliana.

  "When I was a boy I used to spy on my Dad. See that tree over there?"

  An oak nestled its roots outside the cemetery; many of its branches hung over several stones near the fence.

  "Yes."

  "I climbed that tree as a child. Used to watch Dad cleaning the stone, planting flowers, even kneeling in prayer.

  "I had to be careful, though. See that big branch that glides out over the fence?"

  "Yes."

  "Sam, a boyhood friend, used to climb up there with me sometimes, until once he nearly fell right down on top of the spiked fence. I grabbed him in time, but he never climbed that tree again. Almost found himself truly staked out over the cemetery." Wil laughed.

  "Bet Sam didn't think that joke was funny."

  "How did you guess? Do you know him?"

  Liliana turned away and began her walk back to the cemetery gate.

  "Wait up," yelled Wil.

  She stopped for a second, then continued. When Wil did catch up, he was slightly breathless.

  "You doing anything special tonight?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Okay. How about tomorrow night or anytime within the next six months would you go out with me?"

  "No."

  "Because of your grandmother?"

  "No. I don't want to."

  "But let us consider matters from another viewpoint. Is this a personal chastening I'm getting? and as if I were a naughty little boy, the idea is to spank me into good behavior? Wasted efforts, Madame. If the wretchedness and ignominy to which I have been reduced by the Marseilles judges' absurd proceedings, who punished the most commonplace of indiscretions as though it were a crime, have failed to make me mend my ways, your iron bars and your iron doors and your locks will not be more successful."

  LETTER (1777)

  To Madame la Présidente de Montreuil

  by the Marquis de Sade

  Chapter 26

  It had been just over a week since Garrett had met Letcher and his dog, and Garrett's body had just started feeling better. Not well enough to have sex with his wife or to return to his regular workout program, but comfortable enough not to mind the potholes his chauffeur couldn't avoid.

  Garrett set aside the legal pad on which he had been doodling and leaned against the back seat of his Lincoln. Useless. His brain was useless today. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't forget. He glanced out the window. The road they were on did not lead home.

  "Philip, where are you going?"

  "It's Tuesday, sir. I always take you upstate at this time."

  They were coming up on La Maîtresse's home. He could see the house and the bright colors of her garden. He had no appointment with La Maîtresse. She had told him she would call when she could take him back.

  Philip turned and pulled up in front of La Maîtresse's garage. The chauffeur immediately got out of the car and opened the back door to allow Garrett to exit.

  An older man stood on the porch of the house and stared at the car. He had white hair and his stance appeared haughty. Could he be the favored slave?

  Garrett stepped out of the car and walked up to the porch.

  "Is Marie expecting you?"

  "Marie". Garrett had never known her real name. Hadn't wanted to. Fantasy began when he crossed the threshold of her home. The home of Maîtresse la Présidente. He paid in cash and never asked anything about her own life.

  "Is... she here?"

  "No. But I am. Perhaps I can help you." The man's smile was a cross between a leer and humor.

  This man knew why Garrett came here.

  "Do you live with her?"

  "No, monsieur, but I'm quite familiar with the place."

  "Are you her husband?"

  The man with the French accent guffawed.

  "Son-in-law, monsieur."

  "Sorry."

  "Ah! Sad it is, because she drove my own Renée-Pélagie away from me. May she rest in peace. But you are not here, monsieur, to inquire about my relationships. Instead, I think, you seek pleasure. N'est-ce pas?"

  "Will she return soon?"

  "Not soon enough for you, I'm sure, monsieur. Perhaps you could help me with this Eton Bench. I want to bring it down to the donjon. Perhaps I may even set it up now, monsieur. It has not tasted flesh against its platform in some time."

  Why did his fucking cock ache? wondered Garrett. Hadn't he learned his lesson? The bruises had been slow to fade. His butt still had a yellowish cast from the last beating. On the other hand, this would allow him access to La Maîtresse's house and a world with which he was familiar.

  "I assure you, monsieur, that Marie allows me full use of the donjon. At least when she is not here. By the way, I introduced her to many of les instruments de travail. And with my expert guidance she has become a well-educated dom."

  Garrett's breath caught. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His body tingled. A breeze carried the sweet smell of honeysuckle to his nostrils, almost turning his stomach.

  "I can't wait for your decision, monsieur."

  The man on the porch walked over to the Eton Bench and lifted it easily. As he started for the front door Garrett quickly reached out for the knob.

  "Thank you, monsieur. I will certainly need your assistance when I reach the donjon. If you remember, there's a terrible kink in the stairs."

  Garrett remembered. He remembered the placement of the whips, floggers, canes, manacles. He remembered his lowly position. On his knees and hands. Head down, ass raised in the air. He thought of all this as he moved through the house, knowing where the dungeon door was without thinking.

  The dungeon always remained cooler than the upstairs. When he opened the door a cool breeze sped by him.

  "Thank you again, monsieur. Would you mind leading the way down the staircase? You can then warn me of any obstacles that may be in the way."

  The wooden steps were unfinished. Rough splinters protruded from the pine. Garrett grabbed the metal hand railing. The steps were steep, and he did not want to add to his bruises. At least he didn't consciously think he did.

  "It is très gentil of you to assist me. Often I have been down ici, but with such a large load I thought it best to have someone along."

  "Then why didn't you wait for..."

  "Marie?"

  "Marie."

  "I wanted to set up before she got home. Une surprise."

  Garrett reached the kink in the staircase and turned to face the older man.

  "We may have run into a problem. Would you like me to help squeeze that thing around the turn?"

  "Eton bench, monsieur. Patterned after the one designed at the school. It is used for the birching or caning of les élèves."

  "My French is poor, but you did say for caning students?"

  "Oui, monsieur. Some extra restraint straps have been added for my special purposes."

  The older man cleared the turn easily. His strength and agility amazed Garrett. The rest of the trip down the stairs went swiftly. At the base of the staircase the older man did not bother to rest; instead he carried his burden over to the opposite end of the dungeon--an end that sat in complete darkness. Garrett recalled that La Maîtresse always kept the stairway light on, but the dungeon lights she adjusted to the situation.

  "Are you okay?" Garrett called.

  The man came out of the dark with a smile and not a hint of being out of breath.

  "Ça va très bien." A lean man, he stood perhaps five-feet- two or three inches, but exuded confidence and knowledge. His features were attractive, and his blue eyes seemed to send out an inferno of warmth.

  "Who are you?" Garrett asked.

  "Louis Sade."

  Letcher, R
in Tin Tin, and now Sade.

  "What's your real name?"

  "Donatien Alphonse Françoise de Sade."

  The man's eyes sparkled. Garrett would have laughed except... No, Garrett thought, this is ridiculous. This old man is simply taking on a persona, a rather twisted historical role that conveniently portrays his fantasy. This Garrett could understand.

  "I guess I should admit to being Leopold von Sacher-Masoch."

  "Ah! But his encounters were only with women. Can you say the same?"

  Garrett felt a heat flush through the skin of his face. He wished he could answer 'yes.' Staring into the other man's eyes, he knew the man couldn't be lied to.

  Louis walked over to the controls of the track lighting and slowly raised the level of light, but still kept the light dim enough to cast shadows across his own face.

  "I would appreciate additional assistance from you, monsieur. The Eton bench, it must be set up and tested."

  Chapter 27

  Marie watched Wil fill the car with groceries. A mundane chore of which she willingly followed every nuance. The tattered chambray shirt rode closely on his muscles. The rolled-up sleeves revealed the definition of his blood vessels. His hands were large but slender, with a recently made paper-cut marking his right thumb. The smell of the blood reached her quickly. Luscious and warm. The low-slung jeans draped his hips the way in which she wanted to, curving into his loins to capture his heat. The taste of salty blood and semen, only a wished-for phantom on her tongue, drove her to approach him.

  "Your father lets you out alone?"

  Wil turned toward Marie, arching an eyebrow and at last smiling.

  "Didn't know I'd run into you, or I would have taken my cane with me."

  "To drive me away."

  He moved close to her, his body reeking of testosterone and heat. Her cold body reacted instantly, as if a flame had been set to her clothes. The stinging nerves sharpened her senses.

  "You must use canes once in a while," he whispered.

  "On you it would be a pleasure."

  "No role reversal yet, my dear." He turned his back on her.

  "You're not dismissed."

  "Shit, woman, you've really got the patter down." He looked over his right shoulder at her. "Now you need a lesson in humility."

  Wil returned to loading the car.

  "I have no reason to humble myself, Wil."

  "If you want me, you do." He threw the last of the bags into the car, slammed the trunk closed, and smiled at her. "Think about it. Dream on it. Or do you already? Are you trying to come to terms with your lust? Do so soon, because I'm thinking about heading back to the city."

  "When?" She didn't mean to seem eager, but she also didn't plan on letting him slip away.

  "Haven't decided. But I don't have any reason to hang around. Dad doesn't want me here, you've bulldozed your granddaughter into staying away from me, and verbal sparring is simply foreplay. I want the real thing."

  "Give me a ride home?" she asked.

  Wil looked around.

  "How did you get here?"

  "Doesn't matter."

  He laughed and gleefully spoke.

  "I've got eggs and milk in the car, can't afford to dawdle today. Besides, you're not contrite yet."

  "Contrite!" she screamed.

  "Beg for it, baby. You know how. The same way you make your clients grovel."

  "I already know you 'grovel' from the marks that I first saw on your chest."

  "Yeah, but I've got something you want real bad." He slowly drew his hand up his thigh.

  He's right, she thought.

  He drew his wounded thumb across her lips and her tongue automatically flicked out to taste it. He pushed his thumb between her lips and allowed her to suck. She knew he would be startled by the coolness of her mouth and attempt to pull away, but she caught his hand and held it until his own warmth heated her mouth.

  The sucking motion caused the cut to reopen and the sweet metallic taste of blood raked across her bloated taste buds, seeping slowly down her throat. The eternal chill inside her body softened but did not disappear.

  "I've got something that tastes even better," he said.

  Better, she thought. The only thing better would be to be saturated in his body's blood.

  Wil slowly withdrew his thumb and looked down at it. Blood dribbled up out of the cut.

  "Kinky."

  Marie lowered her mouth onto the cut and let her tongue sweep away the bubble of blood. The odor of his rich burgundy blood drove her forward into his arms. Her breathing came in gasps, and the thrill hazed out her sight.

  "Maybe if you're a good girl," he whispered.

  Her hand reached into his crotch, evidently awakening Wil's awareness, since he immediately pulled away from her.

  "Slow down, baby. Remember we're in a parking lot in a respectable small town. Not everyone will understand our lack of inhibitions."

  "Come over to my place tonight," she said, feeling blood dry tightly across her top lip.

  "When I do decide to come, so to speak, you'd better be willing, because you only get one more chance." He got into the driver's seat of his father's car.

  "Tonight?" she asked.

  "Naw. Dad and I watch sports games tonight."

  His brown eyes sizzled with the glow of satisfaction. He shoved the car into gear and didn't bother to say goodbye.

  Marie stood watching the car leave the parking lot. Her hunger needed to be sated. She looked around. Too public, she thought.

  She walked to her car and vowed that she would return home and not feed. Not allow Will to win.

  Chapter 28

  Upon arriving home, Marie caught sight of Garrett's car parked in her driveway. The chauffeur had his hat pulled low over his eyes, and his head rested comfortably against the leather headrest.

  I told him to stay away. I warned him.

  She shut off the motor and got out of her car. As she passed the Lincoln, she checked the back seat. Empty.

  Damn him!

  A powerful wave of hunger drew her to the house. Once inside, she sensed a strong scent of blood tinged by the sourness of sweat. The odor came from farther back in the house. The sour sweet smell led her to the dungeon door. But she kept the door locked, as it was now. How could Garrett gain entrance? Only Sade--

  Marie struck out wildly with her right forearm and the wooden door splintered. On the second blow the door caved in completely.

  "Sade!" she shrieked.

  The odor of blood and sweat exhilarated her. She lunged down the stairs.

  "Sade, how dare you!"

  A relaxed Sade stood shirtless before her. His left hand grasped the handle of the bullwhip. Just beyond him, stretched tautly across the Eton Bench, was Garrett. Naked. The skin on his buttocks split with raw gashes, sweat forming a sheen over his entire body.

  "Ma Marie, don't get so upset. You weren't here, and I thought I could fill in for you. Votre client was in need of service. As a favor..."

  "You beat him with the bullwhip."

  Sade looked down at the glistening braided leather of the whip.

  "Should I have started with something plus doux?" Sade walked to the wall of the dungeon and selected another whip. "A signal whip, perhaps?"

  "Don't ever touch my slaves." She put out her right hand palm upward. "The key."

  Sade stooped a bit to look up the staircase.

  "Mais you don't have a door to lock."

  "Never. Never will you be permitted to use the dungeon again. Is that understood?" Her body trembled from anger and hunger, a hunger that kept growing stronger the longer she remained with the bleeding Garrett.

  "Marie, we have been too long together to argue over a mere..." Sade looked over at Garrett. "Meal."

  "Too long we've tolerated each other."

  "Ah! But you got what you wanted, Marie. You are immortal. A blood-sucking immortal who stands gasping from the smell of her next meal."

  "Out!" she screamed.
>
  Sade walked over to Garrett and ran his right index finger across a wound. His finger came back drenched in a bright red. He used his tongue to lap at his finger several times until the red had disappeared. He frowned.

  "You deserve something richer, ma Marie. This man has been bled too often. A favorite, perhaps." Sade smiled. "One that needs to be given a rest, or his life should be ended this day." With full force Sade used the signal whip to break open another wound.

  Marie shrieked as she ran at Sade. Her fingers tightened around his throat. Sade flung the whip aside and grabbed her hands, pulling them slowly from his neck, and with each movement Marie could hear the bones in her hands crack and break.

  "You will never be as strong as I, garce. I would be pleased to rip your body apart for all the trials you have put me and my Reneé through. But there is one who would miss you." Her hands seemed to shrivel in his grasp. "Liliana. She would blame me even if she was not sure that I had rid my life of you. Liliana begs me to protect dear grand-mère. You tyrannical vieille bique."

  Sade forced Marie onto her knees. The cement floor was cold and hard, but that didn't matter, for the excruciating pain in her hands had taken her to a level of pain that brought numbness, and she felt that he could not take her beyond that pain. Suddenly Sade released her hands and back-handed her across her right cheek. The sound of smashing bone loudly sounded inside her head. The pain echoed throughout her skull as she fell sideways onto the floor.

  "This is not the late eighteenth century. There are no authorities to back your pronouncements. Now you exist at my whim, not the other way around. Do not speak rudely to me. Do not forbid me anything. Do not attempt to set limits on my behavior. Plus jamais ça!"

  Sade lifted the signal whip from the floor and lashed Garrett three more times before flinging it across the room. Sade stared down at Marie and tsked.

  "You look malade, ma pute." The last word he spat at Marie. She closed her eyes as the wetness of his saliva hit her face. "Voici your medicine," Sade said, indicating Garrett. "Voici your medicine."

  Sade fetched the white silk poet's shirt that he had neatly folded and placed on the unused rack. He walked past Garrett and Marie as if they didn't exist in his world. Marie knew that he perceived them as too lowly to exist on his plane.