Avarice Secret Unquiet Ch 02

Directing the Dictator

Victor had felt triumphant at least for the duration of the journey home. However, that satisfied feeling was not to last. The reality was, that he had returned to the fortress to be immediately mired in despair and trouble. His Lord had taken violently ill in the doctor's absence, and the skill of Victor's understudy Merton had not been nearly enough to combat the septicemia that had manifested in Lothar's pressure sores and had gone as far to infect the underlying bone.

The awkward young man in a panicked, glazed-eyed state, clearly denoting many sleepless nights, met Doctor Krosse on his arrival in the courtyard. Merton was terrified as he stood trying to swiftly impart his concerns to a man he plainly feared. After all, he had on occasion assisted Victor in his lab of horrors and well knew what the Doctor was capable of.

Victor tired and cold from the journey was not happy to hear this news. He longed for some quiet, a hot bath, and the ministrations of his lovely slave girl. He stared down from under his black and silver Death's head cap, eyes cold as ice. There was no pity there or any discernible emotion. He didn't answer Merton directly and left the frightened man standing in the courtyard in the cold wind.

*****

The weeks following had been difficult ones as Krosse fought to save his Lord's life. It would not be expeditious to Victor's cause should Lothar succumb. Victor was not popular here, only feared, he was smart enough to recognize he could never rule effectively in his own stead. The disabled man was the perfect sock puppet, a mask of transference for his own agenda. This was how it had to be regrettably, and Lothar could not die.

Victor with his great medical genius spent many sleepless nights and long days worrying over his patient. He must repair him to health. The man was listless and mostly delirious and required serious surgery to remove bone and necrotic tissue. The procedure was long and risky, but somehow Lothar made a steady recovery, under Victor's expert care.

*****

As his charge recovered his lucidity in the following days Victor had to 'regrettably 'inform his Lord of the situation regarding his new bride. As expected he took the news badly and plummeted into a dark aura of hopelessness and revenge.

Always swift in his mental acuity, Doctor Krosse decided to harness this to his advantage. After the fall of the black rain and the beginning of what seemed like brighter skies, Victor used Lothars' morose feelings to generate policies to his liking. Further prodding the man to wish revenge on the farming settlement, and Stephan who had so openly betrayed them. After all, peace held no interest for a man like Victor. War meant injuries, and bolstered his importance to the community here, and it also meant captives. Poor wretches who filled Victor's days and nights with experimentation, and joyous cruelties in pursuit of medical science.

*****

One evening when his charge had felt somewhat better Victor and his Lord had dined alone. Lothar was still too ill to rise from his bed and get about in his wheelchair. So Victor had dined by his bedside. He was relieved to see his Lord slowly recovering, the skilled surgeon had been very much afraid he could not stem the rampant infection that was beginning to devour his Lord's body and bones. Yet by some miracle, he had.

Though very much an atheist Krosse had to confess he wanted to thank some a higher being this evening for his fortune. He took a grateful sip of the piping hot tea, it was excellent and he looked over at his Lord who was half sitting, propped up against numerous pillows in his great bed. At least today his skin had a pinkish color, the man looked the best he had in many days.

Lothar tentatively nibbled on some lean white chicken breast, constantly stopping to wipe his hands and mustache on the napkin."There was sun overhead today you say? The servants spoke of it."

"Yes, my Lord, and what a fine sight it was." Victor answered, placing his fine china tea cup down and taking up the heavy silver fork. "The weather should start to clear, I imagine that Stephan could proceed to plant our crops soon. The bio-diesel is getting precariously low my Lord."

Lothar paused in his eating and eyed his second in command closely. "I want to say thank you Victor for preserving my life."

"Think nothing of it." Victor responded with a practiced humility. "It is a Doctor's duty and a sworn oath."

Lothar cleared his throat carefully, and engaged his Lieutenant's cool eye."Yes, but I can still thank you. I guess this means with the weather normalizing we should show our military might, and take our revenge for that betrayal."

"I think my Lord it's probably the best course. We need that canola oil, and soon, or the fortress will shut down. Vast portions of the compound are closed already, we are only running on the bare minimum to maintain the most occupied areas."

"Yes, I see." Lothar was rubbing his thin salt and pepper goatee and thinking carefully, gazing at his uselessly withered legs that lay before him prudently covered with a sheet. "I feel so damn helpless, Victor!"

Victor nodded. "Yes, perhaps my Lord but you are still the leader here."

"Am I?" Lothar's dull brown gaze bored into his second-in-command's ice-cold one.

Victor did not look away, for that may convey some sense of guilt, or subterfuge, but instead softened his harsh demeanor with a rare smile. "The people look to you, my Lord. No one else could command here." This was not necessarily a half-truth.

Lothar sighed heavily his gaze returning to his mostly uneaten dinner perched across his lap. "Sometimes, just sometimes I feel so tired Victor. I feel my time is run, I feel like the King on a chessboard being protected by pawns and a pretty skirt."

"No, not at all my Lord. The people look to you truly."

"We shall see, we shall see." Lothar announced in a downbeat tone. "Then I advise you to begin to drill the men, we will have vengeance, and we will obtain that crop!" This was indeed what Victor had hoped to hear.

With his Lords frail but improving health the dinner did not last overly long. Victor was glad of this, the drills today had been tiring and cold, and all he now greatly desired was some rest and quiet downtime. Not that the fort's only surgeon got much of that. There was always some medical emergency at every hour, with the hundred and fifty or so souls who occupied this place.

He informed Merton on parting that he did not expect to be interrupted for the next few hours for any reason. The fumbling understudy muttered something unintelligible in reply, however Victor was already gone.

*****

The door to his sanctum opened on silent hinges, she was there before him, kneeling in the nadu pose, just as he liked. His precious slave. Her demure gaze cast to the floor, yet she held her head high. Slave steel glistened against her swan neck, about her wrists and shapely ankles. Mimicking shining silver serpents. Invitingly her knees were spread wide, shoulders pushed back, and her back arched ever so slightly, lovely pert breasts thrust outward. Her graceful hands lie on her thighs, the palms facing upward. Her full and lustrous auburn curls cascaded over her ivory flesh.

On seeing her Victor felt less weary. No matter where he was or how difficult his situation was, the thought of her waiting for him lent him new

strength.

He allowed himself the liberty of an unseen smile. Wordlessly she rose to help him from his trenchcoat, taking his proffered gloves and cap and waiting for him to sit so that she may ease off his shining riding boots. She dutifully massaged his aching feet, and Victor sat eyes closed relishing all she could provide. Delighting in the scent of her, vanilla, violets, and female musk. He leaned back in the large studded leather chair and languished in her touch.

To his ears came the pleasant strains of music. Something that was now only reserved only for the elite. His own idol's personal favorite, as it was his, Wagner. He closed his eyes and luxuriated in the strains of the music, he was finally warm, comfortable, and satisfied.

Victor may have been in his mid-fifties, but unlike many men, he had not felt the onset of age. He was still very much possessed of a strong libido. It had always ruled him. He remembered her his beautiful Cassandra, she still even in faded memory, took his breath away. She had spurned him at every turn, a veritable spitfire he could never truly tame.

He was young then, and far more brash and foolish than the present-day version of himself. Not only that, he had to wrestle with such impediments as law and order and regulation of his craft. He had lived two lives back before the conflict, attempting to be the compassionate Doctor, upholder of all that was good, and in his own private life, a kidnapper and keeper of a woman who did not love him. It was a strange time.

It was not supposed to happen that way, Cassandra should have loved him, she should have been here by his side today. The three of them; his family. His love for her still burned bright even if it had been well over two decades since her untimely passing. It sickened him to think of it even now, he had been too late, there was nothing he could have done...

Hands on him light and sweet as butterflies, rousing him from his memories. He wished for a bath, he smelled of horse and the drill grounds. As always she knew of his needs before he had thought of them, such a good slave she was. He could have demanded a bathtub of water, but the rationing had bitten deep, even the elites were feeling it currently. So a hot washbowl and clean clothing would have to placate him.

One by one she eased off his garments, hanging his outer clothing up to keep their neatness. Victor liked to be neat. He understood the impression he made with his attire. He was a man to be feared and respected after all. Next came the shirt and underclothes, and he felt great relaxation as she deftly washed him with the water she could always seem to provide at such a perfect temperature. She was both practiced and beautiful. Victor thought fleetingly.

No one knew she existed here not even his Lord. He had told Lothar that his daughter had died some years back, and his Lord felt no need to question that. Victor knew that for him to have a paramour would be most inappropriate considering his Lord was without. Not that Lothar couldn't have had his share of any available woman here, or even a harem if he so desired. Yet the obdurate man had remained resolutely single, searching for that elusive unicorn that may never arrive. Victor though, possessed his unicorn, and she would remain his best-kept secret.

The hot of the washcloth felt good, her touch exquisite. Other passions were stirring within needing to be sated. With silent efficiency, she toweled her Master off and brought him a sumptuous black, velvet bathrobe. He let her dress him in it and he returned to the large leather chair once more. She again set herself before him in the position of the nadu, waiting, ready for his next command.

Victor never knew his parents, all he had ever been told was his German mother had abandoned him as a baby to the orphanage. Victor was a very slight boy, often and easily bullied. Like the weed that grows distorted and cruelly in the pavement, he had been ravaged by his childhood experiences. Bad where he should have been good, darkness where there should have been light.

She knew what he wanted his slave girl, this daughter of his could read Victor's every thought and gesture. She opened his robe and leaning forward put her lips to his manhood. The symphony reaching a crescendo, and Victor felt his body stir to the occasion.

He must of course maintain tight control. Victor closed his eyes and concentrated, willing his desire, at least for a time into the background. She must work for his seed, and the recognition she could, only when he chose to relinquish it, command his pleasure.

He did not moan with desire, he did not growl with passion. He simply sat, appearing emotionless and cold as he often did. Her lips and teeth on him nibbling with hot caresses, the prelude to what was to come. Then taking him deeper without hesitancy or shame. His little girl knew nothing else. She did not have to question. She was kajira, slave, property, and valued.