It's funny how things that are so horrible when you first encounter them become normal and even desirable. Days flowed into weeks since that night when I first developed a taste for blood. God, it was revolting – at first. Then it became bearable. Then I found myself growing restless, fucking whomever Zeph wanted me to fuck, doing whatever he wanted me to do just as long as I got to taste him when it was over. What a horrible addiction – but I needed it. I needed that sweet metallic taste on my lips. I needed to feel him in me, the way every nerve in my body came alive; it was more than lust. The sensations that flooded into me when I fed from him were to sex like a hurricane is to a summer breeze.
That isn't to say sex wasn't enjoyable. For days after, I would be so damned horny I could've taken on a football team and left them gasping. Of course, those would be the days he would be gone, the bastard – and me, alone in the manor, jerking off obsessively. I couldn't help it. Everything seemed to get me going. I'd step into the shower, and the feeling of the water over my skin was so intense, so wonderful. The feeling of my slick soapy hands sliding over my body was heaven. Climbing into bed at night, the satin sheets were so delicious, sometimes I would come after barely touching my cock. It didn't matter that I made a mess of the sheets. Every night, they would be clean, the bed made, courtesy the servants I heard moving about the house but never saw.
So it went for awhile. My nights were spent in a mindless haze of lust and self-gratification, punctuated by the occasional visit when Zeph would show up with whomever he had found that night to entertain us. He seemed to favor watching me get fucked by someone rough and strong, though sometimes he would bring me a pretty thing to play with. As time went on, I left those pretty things more and more bruised. After biting once and breaking the skin, Zeph warned me that if I couldn't play nicely with my toys, I wouldn't get another. I apologized to the sobbing blond, and Zeph erased his memory of the ordeal. No harm done.
After our company du noir had been dealt with (usually put to sleep with a word), Zeph would feed me, and I would take every drop I could before he'd push me away, chiding me for a greedy thing. Then we would lie together in our mutual bliss while the evening's entertainment snored away obliviously. We would talk, mostly about my life before I'd come to this place. I told him about being kicked out of my parents' house, and how I'd made my way on the street; about annoying clients and run-ins with the police. I wasn't ashamed of my past. I was what I was, and if it was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. Besides, the more time passed, the more it felt like that life belonged to someone else. It didn't mean anything.
Until one night, when I knew Zeph was coming, and that he was bringing me something special. I went to the library to wait for him. There was a fire was crackling in the hearth and the servants had thoughtfully set out a glass of cognac. As I lounged in a robe and sipped the sweetly burning drink, I wondered if he'd bring me another pretty thing. Imagine my surprise when he stepped in dragging a flustered and flailing middle-aged man in a bad suit with him. Good God, he'd brought me Henry. I'd almost forgotten how much that wheezing old bastard agitated me, but after one look at that balding pate and portly gut, I felt my ire rising.
"Zephyros," I complained, letting him feel my displeasure rather than voicing it.
He gave Henry a hearty shove, sending him tumbling to the ground at my feet, grunting and struggling to pick himself up off the floor. This proved difficult with Zephyros planting one booted foot in the small of the man's back, pressing him down while asking me, "What, don't you like it?"
Henry looked up wild-eyed with fear, and I could tell it took him a moment to recognize me. "Boy," he sputtered desperately. "You, I know you. You have to help me."
His mind was his own – that was odd. I glanced at Zeph, who shot me a smile that would've looked innocent if I didn't know him as well as I did. He reached into his coat, drawing out a camera, which he fiddled with absently as he said, "I thought you might like a little revenge, and I thought I might like a little blackmail."
I shrugged at Henry, and admittedly it was kind of sweet to watch the small dawning of hope in his eyes crumble to dust. "What, for his money?"
"Certainly not for his suit."
Henry cut in, "This is an outrage. Let me go." The anger he tried to drudge up was ruined by the way his voice wavered and cracked.
"Shut up." We glanced at each other as we said this in unison, and I laughed. "This is how you make your money?"
Zephyros replied, "Sometimes." Then his voice took a condescending lilt as he explained to Henry almost kindly, "You're going to service him, and then you're going to pay him substantially, or-" The camera's flash went off, capturing a shot of Henry looking stupefied, on his hands and knees in front of me. "I'm going to ruin your pathetic life, or end it. Depends on how much you try my mood tonight."
"Why don't you just make him do it?" I suggested. Not that I was looking forward to being 'serviced' by a man who bore a strong resemblance to a walrus, but there I was trying to be helpful for my darling.
"Oh, I'd like it better if he had to live with knowing he'd done it on his own."
"You're in a mood tonight," I commented as I sized Henry up thoughtfully. He wasn't much to look at, but seeing him kneeling there looking so helpless stirred something inside me, a sense of control I'd never felt before. Zeph was urging me in his wordless way, coaxing me to pay back those humiliating nights of sucking him off in his office as he blathered on pitifully about his wife and job. I gave into the temptation, and as I did, it didn't matter anymore that Henry wasn't beautiful or strong. I started to get aroused on the sense of power. Leaning back, I parted my legs lazily, letting the robe fall away as I said, "Give me a blowjob, Henry. Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you called me 'sir.'"
Henry gaped at me. "What?"
"What, sir." I corrected, then sipped my cognac before adding, "Blow me. Stop talking, start sucking."
He looked like he was about to argue, but then the camera's flash went off as Zeph snapped another picture. I could feel his amusement and approval. That, mixed with the excitement of being in control, sent a shiver through me that went right to my dick, and I could feel it start to thicken. Not that it took much these days. Henry looked miserable as he crawled forward, trailing a nervous kiss along my thigh. "Good boy," I murmured, stretching out a bit so he could get a good look at me, pale skin eclipsed by dark silk.
It was a clumsy first attempt; he wrapped pudgy fingers around the base of my shaft and leaned forward to give the head of my cock an awkward swish of his tongue. Still, after almost a week of having no release but my hand, it was better than nothing. He just needed a little instruction – which I helpfully provided. "What do you think you're doing, licking a stamp?" Snap. Flash. Another picture.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Sorry what?" This from Zephyros.
"S-sorry, sir." It looked like it pained Henry to say it. I almost felt a twinge of pity, but damn. He may not have been the violent type, but the way he used the boys on 13th Street was far from kind. Throw some money at a starving kid, make him your receptacle, then send him back out into the cold. It touched off a spark of indignation that burned through that sympathy. At least when we threw him out, he'd have somewhere to go.
"That's better," I murmured around another sip, closing my eyes as the cognac blazed a pleasant trail of liquid fire down my throat. Henry must've decided my dick wasn't going to bite, because he took it in his mouth and started sucking gingerly. "Harder," I grunted, squirming a bit on the couch. It wasn't a terribly good blowjob, but there was something quaint about the fumbling that made it a turn on. It wasn't half bad, and with a little work, I was sure he could improve.
"Mm, nice." He got the hang of sucking, then started to bob his head a little, taking in more with each downstroke. My eyes opened to slits just in time to see the camera's flash go off again, capturing Henry with his eyes closed, grimacing, his lips wrapped around a hard cock. My breath came quicker as I watched him. I wondered what else I could make him do. I thought about fucking him, then decided against it. I was comfortable, this felt good, and given my druthers, I would've rather not seen Henry naked. So I sat back, sipped at my cognac, and let the poor bastard do all the work.
"How is it?"
