Sips of Blood

by Mary Ann Mitchell

  "Enjoy, Marie, for this is the closest you'll ever come to seeing them."

  "Maybe I should go back home and take care of my father," Wil said.

  "You can't. I drove." Marie reached out and patted the cushion next to her. "Sit down."

  Wil continued to stand.

  "Not very well trained, ma Marie."

  "That's why I'm here, Louis."

  "Ah! You've come to the maître for assistance."

  "Yes, the master. You've proven that."

  "You want this one broken like the other?"

  "I'd rather you not be so enthusiastic."

  She watched Sade's sly blue eyes study Wil. Sade had left his silk shirt unbuttoned. The white hair on his chest blended almost perfectly with the color of his flesh.

  "I don't want scars," she said.

  "Wait a second, I feel like I'm up for sale," Wil said.

  "Certainly not." She turned to Sade. "He's a gift."

  Immediately Wil spun around and headed for the front door.

  "It is locked, monsieur. I am very careful about that."

  Wil walked back to the doorway of the living room.

  "Open the damn door!"

  "You see what I have had to put up with."

  Sade's lean, hungry face seemed tense. He could barely contain himself, she thought. His cock strained against the black silk. Oooh, that must be uncomfortable.

  "I'm not submitting to anything."

  "Once he does, he thoroughly enjoys it. Isn't that true, Wil?"

  "I'll break the damn door down if I have to."

  "Monsieur, the door is metal. I had it specially made. The windows are one-inch-thick polycarbonate. And the keys, monsieur, are in the pocket of my slacks." Sade stood and offered a hip to Will.

  Wil's expression remained fearless. Marie knew that Louis' height and slight build would make Wil feel brave.

  "I don't want to hurt anyone."

  "Oh, mais, monsieur, I do."

  "Who the hell is this guy?" Wil asked Marie.

  "My son-in-law." Now he would understand, she thought. Yes, this is the man I want you to kill. He turned toward Sade.

  "Sir, I have no argument with you. She's just causing trouble. She wants you dead."

  "I already am mort."

  "I told you," Marie's voice rang out as a soft bell.

  "I'm not staying here with two nut jobs."

  "Then come, monsieur, take the key."

  Wil shook his head and walked over to Sade, hand extended to reach inside the pocket.

  "I have deep pockets, monsieur; you may have to reach down deep."

  "I'm not in the mood to play." Wil touched the silk and slipped his hand inside the pocket and found no key. When he tried to withdraw, Sade took hold of his wrist and forced Wil's hand deeper into the pocket, deep enough so that Wil's fingertips brushed against Sade's balls.

  "I've heard rumors that he is rather large. Is that true, Wil?" Marie asked.

  A light sweat had beaded on Wil's forehead.

  "And very firm, monsieur."

  Marie approached Wil, slowly undoing the buttons running down the front of her dress.

  Wil's Adams's apple bobbed several times.

  She allowed the dress to fall to the floor. She had purposely put on a leather corset with thigh-high silk stockings.

  "I need a taste of you, Wil," she said.

  "What the hell does he have to do with this?" Wil's eyes remained fixed on Sade's hand.

  "You're a peace offering. The best of my slaves. I demand you satisfy the whims of my enemy."

  "It is difficult to satisfy me, monsieur, but we can spend hours trying.

  "I did not think myself in a position to hesitate; by accepting this cruel condition I exposed myself to further dangers, to be sure...."

  Justine

  by the

  Marquis de Sade

  Chapter 52

  "A tattoo right about here." Marie grabbed the inside of Wil's naked thigh far enough up to brush the back of her hand against his penis. "That would be nice, wouldn't it, Wil?"

  Drenched in sweat, Wil gave a low groan.

  The small room had a very different decor from Marie's dungeon. Here Wil experienced not only a sense of claustrophobia, but the dizzily weird sensation of being in a wonderland of torture that needed only a few instruments to bring a profusion of pain.

  The room went beyond sparse: the blank walls, the barren floor, the simple wood board on which he knelt, supported only by three wooden sawhorses that were tied together so that they would not move.

  Sade and Marie had played his unfettered body for some time. He didn't know how long. He had accepted the probing and lashings as a penance. Forever he would be pleading for forgiveness; and with his father now mute and dumb, grace would never be granted.

  Marie had stripped naked in order to feel his damp sticky flesh against her own. Once or twice she had reached out to touch Sades' privates, which were still tucked away inside the silk pants. However, Sade rebuked her silently each time with a swat or simply a stare. She did not dare disobey him. Was this man her master?

  Sade's untucked shirt slipped off his left shoulder, the silk immediately creased because of the fall. The white skin made the shoulder blade look like bone. Sade's breathing never seemed labored, no matter how hard he struck a blow.

  The only sweat stinking the room seemed to be Wil's own. The other two remained dry, although their passion ran hot. Sade and Marie moved with great speed and agility. Sade seemed almost to forget Marie's presence, but Marie remained quite aware of him. Instead of working in unison, Marie assisted Sade as a nurse would in an operating room, attempting to think one step ahead in order to have the appropriate utensil available.

  "Sit,' Marie commanded.

  Wil turned and painfully lifted each knee off the board.

  "Hurry, fool." She lashed out cruelly with her tongue, using words that stung by their own torrid heat, but she did not lay a whip on him. "Shall we tie him for the tattoo?"

  "Tattoos. I am bored with monsieur's tattoos. He already looks ridiculous with the cartoons decorating his legs. Besides, he's used to that kind of pain and probably would like something far more stimulating.

  "What is it, monsieur, that would spark a fire that could combust you into flying free far from this earth?" Sade leaned against a drab pale wall. "You no longer scream in true pain. The piercings, the scars have numbed you." He smiled. "Certain scars are missing, monsieur. Ones that tingle the skin even when at peace. A smile, a laugh, a brooding sigh, or a touch of anger can cause a raging train of pain up and down the nerves.

  "Marie, there is rope on the back porch. Fetch it pour moi."

  "Shouldn't we gag him?" Marie asked.

  "Why? The room is soundproofed, and I shall not indulge myself until you return."

  Marie hesitated a moment before leaving the room.

  A throaty chuckle followed the closing of the door.

  "Ah, monsieur, it is not only you that I torture, but my despicable mother-in-law also." Sade leaned in close to Wil's face. "Pourquoi did she bring you to me? Why?"

  "Just as she said, I guess," Wil answered. "I didn't expect to come here."

  "Non, monsieur, nothing is as she says. She has taken your blood, n'est-çe pas?"

  Wil swallowed. Did this strange man want blood also? So far they hadn't broken his skin, hadn't attempted to mar his skin. The pain had been subtle. Pin pricks, twisting of piercings, penetration. Nothing that drew his blood. Carefully it seemed that had been avoided.

  "Monsieur, it will take her a while to find the rope, but not forever. Tell me, have you shared blood with her?"

  "What do you care?"

  "She needs to feed, but I have forbidden her to share."

  "What the hell are you to her?"

  "Her master."

  "You taught her all the tricks of the trade."

  "Not all. Besides, she can be very imaginative." Sade took hold of Wil's hair and pulled his head
back. "Answer me, monsieur, has she shared?"

  The door opened.

  "The rope wasn't on the porch. I found it in the garage, awfully greasy and frayed, though. Must get used a lot."

  A powerful pull and Will's head hit the board. His body lay prone and vulnerable.

  "Raise your arms, monsieur."

  "Marie..." Wil's voice faltered slightly.

  "Do as he says, pet. Do not embarrass me."

  Wil raised his arms, and Marie quickly circled his wrists with the filthy rope. She pulled tight, making the frayed rope dig into Wil's flesh, pulling even tighter when she looped the rope through the fastener under the board.

  "Ici," Sade said.

  Marie threw the long end of the rope to Sade, who stood at the foot of the board. He then attached Wil's ankles to the board. The rope running across the front of his body scratched the skin and put enough pressure on recent bruises to cause constant pain.

  "I left a tin of lighter fluid on the kitchen counter. Retrieve it, Marie."

  Wil watched Marie's chest heave. This definitely was torture for her. Why the hell was she doing this? This man she wanted destroyed. Why feign respect for him and scurry as a trained pet for him?

  Again she left the room.

  "This time she will return faster, monsieur. I really did leave the lighter fluid on the kitchen counter. You always look so pained when she leaves. Can you be that dependent on her?" Sade leaned over and whispered in Wil's ear. "Has she shared her blood with you?"

  Sade's voice chilled Wil's body. The shiver brought deeper pain. This is her secret from this man.

  Sade yanked Wil's earlobe so hard his neck spasmed in pain.

  "Monsieur, do you wonder why I have sent her for lighter fluid? Think on it. Think of the precious parts of your body that could be blistered and peeled into a blackened stump." Sade's hand wavered over Wil's cock. Instead of heat, the hand seemed to emanate cold. Sade pulled out a gold, garnet-studded lighter. "I could just fill up my lighter."

  The door opened.

  "Too late, monsieur."

  Sade had kept his voice low, but Wil could tell that she had heard. She seemed relieved, as if she had guessed that a failed inquisition had been taking place in her absence.

  Sade took the fluid from Marie and shook the can.

  "We are in luck, monsieur. The tin is almost full." Sade plucked the lid from the can and threw it to the floor. "The fluid will refresh your sweaty skin." He began to pour the fluid lightly over Wil's chest, moving down to the stomach and abdomen.

  Wil felt his penis stretch and swell. Shit, how much of a masochist am I? The fluid ran through his pubic hair, dribbling down between his thighs.

  "Just enough, monsieur."

  Sade dropped the last of the fluid on the tip of Will's penis. Wil knew that a bit of his semen mingled with the drippings that rolled down his organ.

  A flick of Sade's finger lit the ornate lighter. He carried it to the head of the board.

  Wil felt the cold of Sade's hand brush his cheek. The smell of burning hair forced him to jerk his head.

  "Only a few strands, monsieur. Your hair is so dark, long, and thick, I envy you."

  "Don't, please. Marie, stop him. I don't want this."

  "Finally, ma Marie, something that frightens votre chouchou."

  The man just needed to scare him, Wil thought. If he showed enough fear, this dead man would back off. This dead man that needed to be destroyed. Oh Marie, you were so right. But Wil needed to take out more than this Sadist. He turned his head and looked at Marie. She stared back. A flicker of emotion never disturbed her features as she allowed Sade's hand to move down closer to his chest.

  "She shared her blood with me," Wil yelled.

  His chest flashed in waves of flame that progressed down to the lower half of his trunk.

  Screams. His own. Marie's, as he saw the man sweep his fist into her mouth.

  * * *

  The ceiling light stayed lit after they left, but Sade had turned up the dimmer. Wil felt spotlighted. His burned body flinched under the glow of the high-wattage bulb that seemed to heat his stinging skin even more.

  They had left him tied, but he still could tuck his chin in and see the blisters forming on his chest. He could not see the lower half of his body, but pain informed him of the damage that had been done.

  "Bastard." His voice quivered. His anger passed a stream of pain through his body, rippling down as a tide. "I'll destroy you," he screamed, and the pain intensified, swelling into a new wave. Tears blurred his eyes and spilled down the side of his face. He inhaled, attempting to gain control over his emotions; instead, the smell of burnt meat turned his stomach. A dry heave contorted the pain into an unbearable trap that couldn't be escaped. He tasted blood and realized he had bitten down on his bottom lip. His tongue lapped at the blood. A fierce thirst overpowered him. Saliva wouldn't come. He kept sucking on the lip, but it didn't satisfy.

  The door opened, and the light dimmed as the door shut again. He heard the rustle of clothing, the squeak of a floorboard, a cold hand wrapping around his left ankle, and the smell of paraffin.

  God, have they not done enough?

  Warm wax was dribbled onto his left foot. The heat seemed minor in comparison to the flame that still withered and blistered his skin.

  The heat of wax, the cold of a frigid hand faded. The savage moved closer to his head. The smell of Marie focused his mind. She stood where he could see her and blew out the candle. She brought her face close to his.

  "I forgive you," she said.

  "Forgive?"

  "For telling Louis that I had shared my blood with you. He is afraid to do any real harm to me, since Liliana knows that I am here. A frown." She rubbed a thumb across his forehead. "Yes, I had told her I would come here when she and I had stepped aside for a minute. He loves her, you know. A sick love, but still a controlling emotion she has over him. He would never destroy me, because her wrath would break his... dare I say, heart. But you were a bad boy." Marie leaned forward to kiss his lips.

  Wil spat the congealing blood into her face. Marie raised her fingers to the blood and slowly wiped her face, licking each finger clean between each of her strokes. When finished, she lowered a finger to his cut lip and wiped away blood that she ran across her own lips. She used her tongue to mop the blood from her lipsticked mouth.

  "I had to show you how much of an animal he is. I didn't think you completely trusted what I said. Did you?"

  Silence pitted the two against each other.

  "I didn't think so. Louis is hard to imagine. I'm here to rejuvenate you, my poor pet. It will take time, but your body will heal. I promise not a scar will settle into your skin."

  Wil's body began to shiver.

  "I had best hurry." She almost laid a hand upon his chest, but stopped when he took a quick intake of air.

  Too late, Wil thought, as his action ignited his flesh all over again. Through the haze of his distant world he saw Marie rip apart the flesh on her right hand. Blood. His thirst seemed beyond containment. Blood. The metallic, sweet smell almost drowned out the odor of singed meat.

  "I forgive you, Wil," she whispered. "I've come to heal, my savior." She brought her cut wrist to his mouth. "Drink, Wil. Quench that thirst that distracts your mind. Drink. When you get stronger, you will be able to get even."

  Staring into Marie's brown eyes, Wil suckled at her wrist. He sucked so strongly that he saw her face crimp in pain.

  Bitch, he thought, while tasting her on his tongue, allowing her to glide down his gullet, to seep into the pores of his body.

  Chapter 53

  Dressed in a black cassock with a purple stole crossing his chest, the priest unlatched the gates of the cemetery. He swept the gates open and led the mourners down the path to the family plot. Liliana stood far back in the line, not wanting to intrude on the family's privacy. Her uncle walked close to Matilda, whispering, comforting, lying, offering condolences that were empty. Offering his
condolences when he took pleasure in the mourner's sorrow.

  The hymns at the church had been solemn, emphasizing the hysteria of the mother when she called out for her baby. The screams resounded in the hollowness of the church as the choir continued to sing. Matilda had to be held back, else she would have lunged for the white coffin, which, covered with a full bed of white and red roses, seemed to float in the midst of the pall bearers. The priest's sermon had dwelt on the shortness of Cecelia's life, the potential that had vanished with her, the love she had for her family, and the peace she would find with her Lord.

  Not with her lord, Liliana thought. Never would Cecelia find the kind of peace the priest had promised. Cecelia would know a never-ending hunger.

  Liliana closed her eyes and remembered awakening inside her coffin, the days-long confinement, the hopeless cries that were smothered by the earth. Had her uncle prepared Cecelia? He had not prepared Liliana. Perhaps after seeing Liliana's famished, gaunt face, her bloodied fingers, and the rigidity of her frightened body, he had learned a lesson.

  The last of the mourners brushed past her, and when she opened her eyes, she realized that most of the entourage had already assembled at the grave. Quickly she fell into step with those who preceded her.

  At the grave site the coffin already hovered over the gaping maw of the earth. The priest, book in hand, waited for the crowd to still. Liliana looked for her uncle and found him standing next to the parents, his hands folded in prayer and his head bowed to the Creator. Such blasphemy.

  Dressed in a black custom-made designer suit, her uncle looked striking. No, she corrected herself, he looked ethereal, with his white, jaggedly cut hair dipping down on his forehead and his somber but confident face of chiseled features.

  He must have sensed her watching, for he looked at her and barely broke a smile to acknowledge her. Liliana looked away quickly, unable to accept the familial recognition. She and he were the same. Cecelia would join the family. He couldn't remain here with Cecelia. Where would he suggest going? Liliana didn't want to move on. She wanted to lie in David's arms, peaceful, loving him too much to unleash her taste for blood on him.