Jonathan Barrett Gentleman Vampire

by P. N. Elrod

  Given the circumstances I didn’t see how I could possibly have anything else.

  Giggling, the girls took me step by step down a wide hall. I had an impression of more Eastern decor, but didn’t pay much mind to it, not with these two squirming against me. Well-a-day, but I was already primed to make a conquest of them here and now. My body felt alert and flushed with desire, and my corner teeth were out. I smiled with my lips sealed shut, not wanting to alarm my companions.

  I eventually noticed the air becoming warmer and heavy with moisture as we progressed, a reminder of the unique offerings of this particular house. That helped me shake off some of the combined spell these beauties had cast. I was here to loll about and enjoy myself for as long as it suited; it would be ridiculous to hurry things. From the sounds coming from behind some of the doors we passed I could tell some of the other customers might disagree. Their loss, I suppose.

  I was guided into a bathing room, and Samar cautioned me against falling into the bath. No fear of that; I had to stop in my tracks and gape a bit. Mandy had gone to considerable effort to enforce her illusion of foreign elegance; I felt as though I’d been whisked halfway ’round the world in a blink.

  No tin tub for the sultans in this palace—the bath was a great square pool set right in the floor. I’d read descriptions of those used by the Romans, and this seemed to be an accurate recreation of one. Small tiles, carefully placed in intricate patterns, lined the thing, spilling over the edge to cover the floor. Away to one side was a sort of couch, having a broad sitting area and armrests, but no back. It was covered with shawls and cushions and looked just as inviting as the bath.

  “Does the master wish help undressing?” asked Yasmin.

  Oh, but this girl knew her business. I answered that their help would be most welcome, and she and Samar set to work, leisurely removing my clothes. Each piece was carefully placed on a delicate-looking chair far enough from the bath to avoid being splashed. They worked their way down through my coat, waistcoat, neckcloth and so forth, and, once they had stripped me of everything but my growing feeling of well-being, took my arms to lead me into the bath.

  Without removing her own insubstantial garments, Yasmin eased into the water first, drawing me after her. The pool was nearly a yard deep and provided with foot-wide steps along one side so that one might have a choice of depth in which to sit. Samar followed, descending into the pool like a swan. The loose scarves she wore spread out on the water, and once soaked through, flowed around her body like feathery seaweed. I thought of mermaids, and if such creatures bothered with clothing, then this would likely be the kind they’d bother about.

  As the hot, scented water crept up my bare chest, I knew without a doubt that this bath was to be the second best thing I was going to feel tonight.

  Yasmin continued to hold my arm, and Samar backed away to give her room.

  “No need to be shy,” I told her, drawing her close again.

  “Does the wise master desire both of us at once?” Yasmin asked.

  “Yes, indeed, though I’m wondering just how to sort things out. What do you think of making the attempt for a while and seeing what happens?”

  “As the master wishes,” they whispered in unison, closing in on me. It was a difficult thing, but I just managed not to cry out for mercy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After an initial frenzied bout of shared kissing and fondling that overwhelmed my senses to the point where I hardly knew which girl was doing what, we paused more or less at the same time to collect ourselves.

  “Does the master desire refreshment?” asked Samar, whispering in my left ear. Yasmin was busy putting her tongue into my right.

  Oh, how I desired just that, but not in the form they might be expecting. Still, I was polite and told them to refresh away. Samar clapped her hands twice, and immediately another young lady appeared from behind a brocaded curtain. Instead of a black wig, she wore a turban with a veil attached to conceal her lower face. She also affected a short satin coat with no sleeves or buttons that ended just above her trim waist, and draped around her hips was a length of thin silk that revealed far more than it hid. She carried a tray loaded with wine, goblets, fruits, and other edibles.

  “Have you any more like her hidden about the place?” I asked as she set the tray near the edge of the pool.

  “We are your two most obedient servants tonight, but if the master should desire to have more companions. . . .”

  I knew my limits—at least for the present. “Most kind of you, I’m sure, but I think you’ll both prove just fine.”

  The serving maid giggled and bounced her way out.

  Yasmin glided over to the tray and poured wine for all of us. I excused myself from joining in by saying that I wanted to have my wits about me the better to appreciate their favors, which seemed to please them. However, I insisted they indulge themselves all they wanted. Soon, both girls had tucked away a goodly portion of several bottles and were feeling very lively, indeed.

  They set to work on me in earnest, first one resting a bit and looking on, then the other, which had me stirred up to an uncommon fever. I’d not felt it this strongly in far too long a time, and knew I would shortly have to be decisive or suffer mightily.

  Taking Yasmin by the hips I turned her back to me and guided her onto my lap. The buoyant effect of the water was both a nuisance and a titillation for it was hard to keep her anchored in one spot. She had to clamp her legs around mine and brace her arms against the pool’s edge and one of the steps to hold on. By this time both girls were interested in what they were doing, an important element to my pleasure-taking, for my own satisfaction was ever the greater when the lady was pleased as well. Yasmin, leisurely moving up and down on me, was happily occupied, so I felt free in leaning back along the steps to make room enough between us to draw Samar close across my chest, facing me.

  I kissed her through her wet veil, then slowly peeled it to one side to work my way past her jaw and down her throat. Running my tongue over her taut skin, I felt the blood pounding just beneath, tempting me to release it from the vein. Yasmin was just starting to moan as I buried my corner teeth into Samar, who gasped and made a short soft cry. Both women writhed with the rapture of the moment, but because of the nature of our joining, Samar’s ecstasy, like mine, continued on and on long after Yasmin’s was exhausted. I held Samar close and sipped from her like taking nectar from a flower. Though her breath was heavy and fast, she held herself as still as possible in my arms, then every few seconds a gentle shuddering wave overswept her body from head to toe. Each time she did this, my own flesh responded, gifting me with a fresh surge of rapture that rushed like flames throughout my whole being.

  Time ceased to be. The world ceased. I ceased. I was not a man, but a non-thinking creature of pure flesh and carnal appetite. I was joined to another like to myself, and all that mattered was our shared exultation for as long as we could endure the fiery joy of it.

  At some point I became dimly aware of Yasmin gently easing away from me, then drifting around to come close to my side. She ran one of her hands through my hair, down my shoulder and back, and with the other caressed Samar. She would not have done this had she divined what I was really doing to her companion and so must have mistaken it for an especially long kiss. As my awareness of her presence increased I first resented it as an intrusion on what I was doing, but as she began kissing us both, I welcomed it as a new path to try. I blindly reached out for her. . . .

  Then Samar arched against me, falling into yet another long shuddering climax; as it rolled through us both, she suddenly went limp in my arms. I felt the change take her, but was so enthralled in sensation that I could do nothing right away. It was a heavy, reluctant waking going from a state of luxuriant gratification to . . . to almost nothing at all. I still drew in blood, but her response to it had utterly ceased. Finally rousing, I put my back to Yasm
in to block her view and pulled away in sudden fear. Had I hurt Samar? The wounds I’d made were small; for all the needs and drives of my passion, I’d taken care to be gentle.

  I shook her a little, saying her name, but her eyes remained closed. She breathed normally through her slightly open mouth, and though her heart was not thundering as it had been a moment before, its beat was yet steady and strong.

  Then was I flooded with quick relief. She’d but fainted. I heaved a thankful sigh. This had happened once or twice before when I’d shared company with Molly Audy back in Glenbriar. The cause was not loss of blood, but too much good feeling.

  I guided Samar’s lax form over to one side, lifting her enough so her head and upper body were well out of the water. She’d waken when she was ready.

  “Is something wrong, sir?” asked Yasmin.

  “Your friend’s having a little rest, nothing more.”

  Eyes nearly shut so their red color would not cause alarm, I turned my attention upon her, hands and mouth moving lower and lower on her body until she expressed the worry that I might drown myself. At my suggestion we quit the pool to make use of the backless settee, throwing ourselves upon its silk pillows with no mind to the water still streaming from our bodies.

  Yasmin had already taken her pleasure of me, but I was determined to offer more, and resumed my efforts on her with this in mind. She moved slower than before, probably because of her recent climax and the wine she’d consumed. Oddly enough, I felt myself slowing, too, as though my bones were gradually turning to lead. Puzzling for a moment, then I recognized the symptoms and realized the wine in Samar’s blood was responsible. Of all things—I was becoming tipsy. I hadn’t been drunk since . . . lord, I couldn’t remember. It had been more than a year, at least since my last visit to England. I laughed aloud as I roamed freely over Yasmin’s breasts and belly.

  “The wise master is enjoying himself,” Yasmin said, in a manner to make it half-question, half-observation.

  “The wise master is. . .” but I couldn’t think how to finish it, so I fastened my mouth on a place just below Yasmin’s navel. It must have tickled her, for she gave a slight jump and squealed. I went on kissing her just there, using my hand on her most intimate area in a way that soon had her squirming.

  My corner teeth were well extended and it was a sore temptation to use them to gouge into this soft plain of flesh, but recalling my interest—need—to see to Yasmin’s happiness, I progressively worked my way up her body. The quickening of her breath and heartbeat were proof that my efforts were all to the good. Hip to hip, I finally burrowed into her in the normal fashion, then sought out her throat. The sharp gasp that came from her at this double invasion of her person was such as to assure me that her gratification was equal to, if not better than, my own. She pressed her hands first upon my backside to push me in more, then my head to drive me harder against her throat. We thrashed and groaned together like animals in a fever of rut.

  She twisted under me, shaking her head side to side; giving in to the heat of the moment, I bit down a little harder, releasing a greater flow of blood. Some of it trickled past my mouth. I raised away from her, but judged that the bleeding wasn’t heavy enough to be harmful. With my fingers, I smeared the blood around her throat, first staining her pale skin like paint on a canvas, then licking it clean again. She cried out and demanded more of the same.

  Tumbling through my mind and but partially formed was an urge to go beyond this, to somehow carry us just a little distance farther along this path to something even better.

  Now I drew my reddened fingers across my own neck and lifted her head that she might kiss it clean as well. She was so caught in the frenzy of the moment she did so without the least demur, licking and biting in imitation of my actions. She could not pierce me in the same manner, but her touch was maddening. Fingers once more at my throat, I now tore hard at my skin, trying to break it.

  My nails raked in and I felt the razor-edged sting of success. My blood pattered down on her breasts. The sight and smell of it sent me hungrily back to the wounds I’d made on her. She bucked and moaned as I drank from them, sending her into another peak of pleasure. I tasted the wine she’d had earlier, felt its drowsy strength taking a firmer hold on my body.

  I pushed away with an effort. The wine’s effect was all the more potent since I’d not had drink in so long a time. Sleep would overcome me if I continued like this, and I wanted no sleep, not now. I wanted, needed, desired better and knew its achievement was close. Staring at my blood bright upon her fair skin, I understood its import, understood why I’d made myself bleed. She could drink from me, allowing me to ascend to an even greater level of feeling. I wanted her to take my blood. I wanted her to take and then return it again. Nora had done as much for herself, had she not?

  The slashes I’d given myself burned. But if I put Yasmin’s cool mouth to them. . . .

  My movements turned sluggish. I had to hurry or the moment would pass; it would be too late for either of us. Her arms came up, trying to pull me close again, to guide my mouth back where she wanted it. She had no idea yet how much better it could be.

  But . . . it would not be right.

  Doubt made me falter, made me think despite the wine’s influence. Never before had I been taken to the physical point of wanting so badly to share my blood with another; I’d never allowed myself to go that far because . . . because. . . .

  . . . it would not be right.

  A few more fat drops struck her flesh. A thin trickle ran from my neck, leaving a hot red trail into the hair of my chest. It would be so easy to cradle her against me, to press her lips against my throat, to let her touch be the means to sweep me out of myself for a time.

  I wanted. . . and could not have. Not this way.

  Eyes burning from the frustration, I pushed myself fully away from her, sinking straight to the floor. She mumbled something that sounded like a protest. I ignored her. If only she’d just fainted like Samar.

  The room dipped once and righted itself. The wine, I thought with a stab of anger, scrubbing my face roughly with the back of one hand. I was light-headed yet sleepy, and the leaden feeling yet possessed the rest of my body. Most definitely the wine.

  And the bloodsmell.

  It teased and tugged at me. Yasmin’s hand fell upon my shoulder, fingers weakly pulling as she asked me to return to her. Sweet heavens, but I wanted to; the girl would have me drain her to death so long as the draining pleasured her. Well did I remember what it was like to be kissed in that manner, and how I’d hated for Nora to stop.

  Removing myself from the immediate temptation of Yasmin’s blood, I literally crawled back to the bath and slipped into the water. Remarkably, it was still hot. Some way must have been found to maintain the heat other than constantly pouring in fresh steaming buckets. I wondered if Mandy would part with the name of the one who had designed this miracle so I could have one of my own.

  Gladly did I shift to such mundane distraction, forcing myself to make use of it until my body calmed, and I could rely on my mind to start thinking again. Not that the thoughts awaiting would be especially comforting.

  As my hair was already soaked, I pulled off the ribbon that kept it tied back and completely immersed myself. Instinct made me take a deep breath before going under, but it was hardly necessary. Without the need to regularly breathe, I was able to stay down as long as I wished. It wasn’t that long, though; the water getting into my ears bothered me. I rose to the surface and tried shaking the stuff out again, with indifferent success.

  My movements caused Samar to stir. She lay where I’d left her, half in and out of the pool. There was some blood on her throat, but the wounds had closed. Cupping water in my hands, I cleaned her off, which made her wake up a bit. I didn’t want to deal with her at this time, though; in answer to a whispered entreaty, she swiftly fell asleep again.

  I ligh
tly touched the marks I’d left. They were small and would give her no trouble. She’d likely had worse from other patrons, or so I told myself. For all the delight that ever passed between myself and my mistresses, I could not help but feel a pang of remorse for having to bring this necessary injury to them. No more than a pang, though. I’d borne such marks as well during my times with Nora and knew they did not hurt, but it was shameful to have to mar such otherwise unblemished skin.

  Faint as it was, I could yet smell the blood hanging in the air, but its effect on me was not as it was before. Though pleasant to the nose, the scent of food is less potent to a man once he has a full stomach—unless he’s in the thrall of gluttony. My own fit seemed to have passed, thank God.

  Yasmin was also starting to recover. She moved as though to sit up and murmured a sleepy question concerning my whereabouts. I heaved from the pool to see to her.

  God, but she looked like she’d been murdered. Her throat and breasts were a horrific mess, but most of the blood was mine. She only wanted cleaning up right away lest someone else see or there’d be no end of trouble and alarm. Again, I whispered soothing words to make her forget and sleep, then carried her to the pool. There was water aplenty to completely wash away the evidence of my passion.

  Near-madness, more like.

  My head was quickly clearing, making it difficult to see how I could have forgotten myself so thoroughly. I wanted to blame the wine. That could easily excuse my actions, but my conscience wouldn’t allow it. The wine had had its influence, but the fact was that I’d come close to losing control. By God’s grace or the devil’s own luck, I’d found enough strength to stop things before it was too late. Who was I to impart this condition without warning, without consent, to another? I had not the right to pass it on no matter how glorious the physical fulfillment might prove.