Bloody Theatrics

All places and persons in this story are completely fictional, any resemblance to real persons or places is unintentional.

October 18, 2014. Brookstock Theatre, Seattle, WA.

"And my ending is despair,

Unless I be relieved by prayer,

Which pierces so that it assaults

Mercy itself and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,

Let your indulgence set me free."

The closing lines of The Tempest hovered over the stage before the audience rose to its feet. It had been a stunning performance, Beatrice acknowledged, closing her notebook and tucking it into her purse. The audience exploded in applause for three curtain calls, before everyone began to crowd from the theater. A short man in a gray expensive suit with an audacious purple tie bustled out to her from a stage side entrance, as she dallied in the front row.

"Miss Dellevoux, it is a pleasure," he said, smiling exaggeratedly, and shaking her hand.

Beatrice stifled a yawn, aiming for professionalism. "Mr. Binkley," she began.

"Oh no, call me Oliver," he said, grinning, his voice as full of pomp and enthusiasm as any member of his profession. Oliver Binkley was around 45 with a handsome husband that was the more tolerable of the two, though likely still coming out of makeup. He was well known in the community, though he had flopped hard with a staging of "Our Town" that had been too far off mark, and had personally called in a favor to get her here tonight.

One good review from her would ensure that the theatre went from half full to packed. Tonight had been opening night, and the balcony had been a ghost town, Beatrice had been in London the night before, and between jetlag and the article she would have to ship off before bed, she was more than ready to be gone.

"It was delightful, Oliver," she said, smiling. "Thank you for having me."

"Oh, one of our patrons is here tonight, I thought you two might make some magic," he said, looking behind her and trying to get someone's attention. "Jason."

Beatrice groaned inwardly, tugging at her long black dress uncomfortably. "Oliver, it really has been a long day," she began, as the crowd around her slowly began its march out of the theatre, and she began to feel exposed.

Then she felt eyes drilling into her back, and her spine tingled as she turned back. "Jace," she said, her voice huskier than it meant to be, as her thighs jolted tightly together.

Jace stood at well over six feet, towering over her mid-size frame, even in heels. Broad, with hard planes of chest that read beyond well in a tuxedo that was obviously tailored for him. He smiled, and that perfect white smile, seemingly charming, but screaming predator.

"Beatrice," he said, leaning down and brushing cool lips across her hand, the cool italian accent on his lips, had her breathing heavy.

"Oh good, you know each other," Oliver fluttered. "If you'll excuse me, I've got some other guests to attend to. Thank you for coming," he chirped, before scurrying off to a group of older patrons.

"I didn't know you'd be here," she offered, her spine tight. As she combed a thick dark tendril, back from her face.

He grinned, stepping into her space and running his hand down her spine, presumptuously. "I'm only here, because he suggested a beautiful young reviewer would be present tonight. The same one that I've been attempting to pin down for months. You're doing quite well for yourself. "

Her pride ruffled, at the words, his deep voice distracting her from the path of his hand as it steadied on her backside, comfortably. They had been here before, at a party in Paris, his lips doing far more, as the stood out on a terrace covered in roses. "I've been traveling. Doing reviews in different cities, different countries," she babbled, his nearness like a drug, as she steadied herself, her green eyes slipping into his gray ones and holding there, like a trap.

"Why don't we get out of here," he muttered, into her ear, suggestively.

She drew back, instantly, her heart racing, her stomach churning at the warning she'd forgotten to feel until that second. This is a bad idea, she recalled, suddenly. Her eyes sharpened, "Jace, it was good to see you again," she said drawing back, nearly stumbling over her own to feet in her haste.

"Bee," he said, aggressively, and her eyes raised to meet his. Again she sunk into that gray storm, her stomach reeling, her innards pulsating. Don't you dare chicken out, her underused body demanded, as she fell still. Haunted, for a moment, the lust in his eyes was so intense she might have sworn they were red. Before he knew it, her hand was in his as they headed towards a side exit. "Give me a minute," she paused, their gaze broken in the doorway, pulling out her phone.

Opening her email, she typed the fastest article she ever had in her life, even as he drew close and began raining kisses down the side of her neck, running fingers down her side, as she muffled a groan, in want. Attaching it to her editor, she was barely aware of what she'd written as she pressed send, and the auditorium lights went black, the room empty and silent except for the damp sound of his mouth against her lips, as he trailed down, her skirt heaving upright as breath met her now unprotected netherlips.

She stifled a moan as her head rolled back, leaning heavily into the wall as he drew a leg above his shoulders and dug for buried treasure. God, this was way past knowing how to draw the alphabet, she processed distantly, as her body rolled, on waves of pleasure, becoming so intense she almost forgot where she was. That is until his mouth disappeared, and so had he, into the darkness for a moment.

Then with the metal click of teeth, the zipper on the back of her dress fell down to her waist. "Not here," she breathed heavily, feeling his fingers run down her bare skin, sending chills down her back, her chest rising and falling too quickly, her breast fighting their remaining confinement.

"It's your fault for making me wait so long, don't you think?" he warned, and he leaned forward grabbing her arm, and taking both of his hands in hers, drawing them up the wall. When he released her, she went to reach her hand forward, she found them trapped, her wrists wrapped in the silk of his tie, and slung over the wall sconce above her head.

"Have you been planning this?" she asked, suddenly struggling to get her hands down, panicking.

He caught her head, and in the dark, she could see only his shadow, but somehow she knew those eyes saw everything. "In Paris, I warned you I could be a monster, and you slipped out before we got to finish what we started. No way in hell was that happening again," he muttered as he began dragging her dress up until it clung behind her head and over her shoulders.

"I was working," she panted, feeling him, longing for him, and horrified, as his hand pushed her legs open and she spread her legs instinctively for him to step between. "And someone might see us."

"So," he said, and she could feel that smug smile as his lips pressed to hers.

His lower half was rubbing against hers, and from the way the cotton and buttons scratched against her skin, she was all too aware that despite her state of ruin, he was still fully dressed. His leg nestled between hers and she began grinding for friction. Cool hands began under her armpits and his mouth muffled her groan as those hands moved to her breasts sliding aside the silken cups easily, and her back arched, straining on her bonds as her nipples strained to a point. God, she needed this.

His lips pulled back and joined his fingers as he drew a point to his lips, she was clinging to reason by a frying thread. "Jace, a hotel, my place, anywhere. You'll ruin me if they catch us here," she gasped, hurriedly as one breast popped from his lips, but he just took the other and she was seeing stars as she felt teeth graze her breast.

His teeth clamped down on her tit, as a thumb suddenly ground down on her clit, a free hand clamped over her mouth and she screamed her release. Her mind was a complete screaming blank as she rolled on the high, her body shuddering, for the first orgasm she'd had in near a year. Hearing the teeth of another zipper rolling free, she felt the press of the silk of his shirt press into her torso, as with a quick tear, he removed the only fabric impeding his entry and plowed into her depths. A strangled moan slipped out of her as his hands gripped the back of her thighs, lifting her into motion.

Her mind was sliding backwards, as pleasure and pain orchestrated a dance between them, leaving her reeling. "I've been dreaming of this since Paris," he said, punctuating his statement with a punishing thrust.

Crying out, caution was long since passed, as she moaned feeling his absence as he lifted her weight and repeatedly slammed it down on his cock, unforgiving. It felt like it was coming out her throat and as he dropped her again and tried to drag her down further. She realized she had yet to feel the cushion of his base.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he chuckled. "Don't worry, Bee, you'll be getting the full experience tonight," he said, drawing her back down and adding another thrust for emphasis. She screamed, feeling it bottom out in her, and knowing she still hadn't found its end.

"How big are you?" she cried, as he let her stay there for a moment, adjusting.

His mouth braced over hers in answer, and her body relaxed as her ground into her, her arousal letting him slowly sink in the rest of the way. Once he rested comfortably in her depths, he pulled out and sunk back in her at first until she began pushing back to meet him.

"Bee, I feel it only fair to warn you, I bite," he whispered huskily, into her ear. Arching back, she moaned as his final few thrusts had her seeing colors. And suddenly she was reeling, as she felt a sharp pain in the side of her breast, but she was already so far gone, the sensitivity sank into the sensations as she felt heavy thick cum painting her inner walls.

"JACE," she screamed before passing out.

November 28, 2013. Paris, France. La Maison de Marie Dubois.

Jason Masterson was bored. No moreso than usual, but plenty all the same as he stood at the back of the small ballroom gathering. Such was the consequence of having plenty of money and a relentless amount of time on one's hands. So he studied the other guests with mild amusement. Maris Dubois, an older woman, who had recently traded her youth wrinkles and a desperate need to gossip kept flicking glance at a young accountant, who was single, and would make more than a fair daughter. What amused him most, was that the accountant had spent the last ten minutes trying to catch his eye.

Jason smiled to himself, it wasn't like he'd never rolled the die, on that front, but it hadn't done much for him. He loved to hear his ladies scream for him. Most of the people here were successful local artisans, and as Marie loved to acquire herself things of beauty, she had begged him to join her when they'd met at a recent opera performance. He found her outlandish and amusing, and thusfar, had yet to regret their friendship, though he knew she hoped to find a woman for him. Her daughter wasn't unfortunate in appearance, quite the opposite really, but she lacked the fire he craved in a woman, and Marie was experienced enough to know he was not for her introspective daughter.

Looking around, he was almost disappointed by the pond in the room. None had yet piqued his interest, and the night was waning, he noted dryly. The bell rang, again and the doorman went to fetch another guest. Jason couldn't help but wonder who might be arriving so late.

The french doors to the parlor opened, extending into the ballroom space, and a young woman entered. Small, but meticulously put together. Her ruby painted lips, the straight lines of her dress, and way her dark hair was smoothed and pinned back, as if having one hair out of place would have been a disaster. Jace licked his lips as he wondered what that pretty round face looked like, undone and screaming in ecstasy. A young man slipped in behind her, and took her coat, he almost growled, the predator in him offended, until a perky blonde quickly ran up and kissed him, passionately. Calming, he was already venturing across the room to the young beauty.

Pretty green eyes widened as they looked up to take him in. He caught the moment the breath caught for a moment in her chest as held out his hand for hers, and kissed in lightly. Marie came bubbling up beside them in an instant. Perfectly happy to play match maker. "Ah, Mr. Masterson, let me introduce you to my niece, Beatrice Dellevoux," she said, animatedly.

"Pleased to meet you," she said, her voice small and hitched, and American, he noted carefully.

"The pleasure is all mine," he replied, releasing her hand with a caress down its palm.

She shuttered, turning to her Aunt. "Aunt Marie, sorry we're so late, the performance ran long," she said, smiling, an innocent sweet smile. Jace could think of better things those lips could be doing as he grinned attentively.

"Oh, think nothing of it dear. In fact, you look like you could use a drink. Why don't you let Mr. Masterson take you? I'm afraid he hasn't had a soul to talk to," she said, winking, and Jace had to give the woman props. She lacked subtlety, but he certainly had needed a reason to continued their conversation.

Marie hurried away, and Jace offered his arm. She hesitantly smiled and took it. "Sorry about my Aunt, she's about as gentle as a brick to the head," she said, keeping slow stride with him.

"I quite like her style," he said laughing.

"Yes, well I'm quite certain my Aunt believes if I do not marry soon, I'll just shrivel up and die an old maid. My job keeps me busy," she said, looking at him.

"What do you do?" he asked, quite content to keep the conversation on her.

"I keep a rather infamous blog for theatre reviews. I love the stage, but I particularly love experiencing it from the audience. One day I picked up a laptop and starting writing. Just for small local holes in the wall at first, and a few months later, I was sending reviews to major newspapers, who wanted my reviews for their columns. These days, I shuttle back and forth so often, I can't seem to stay still," she said grinning. He could see the passion in her eyes as she spoke of her work. They arrived at the bar and she picked out a fine red wine, as they returned to a nearby space to continued speaking. "And you? What do you do?"

He smiled. "I'm an investor, business owner, and stock market broker. I spend my freetime as a patron for the arts," he said and all dis comfort slid away, as she slid into her comfort zone, asking him about places he'd been and shows he'd seen, finding more than a few in common. It was a wonder in fact that their paths had not crossed before, she remarked.

Suddenly they looked up and the party was dwindling down, she stood a rosy blush to her cheeks as she stumbled a little. "Woah, must have had more wine than I thought," she said, and he was up, with his arm in his a second later.

"Let's get you some fresh air," he cautioned, removing his jacket and sliding it over her shoulders as they stepped out into the frigid air.

She drew it close as they walked out onto the balcony, his arms still around her, as they looked at the lights from the nearby city, the country estate, gorgeous in the moonlight. He looked down and found her already looking up at him. "You're a little too good to be true. I'm kind of worried you're the evil villain in disguise," she said, and he officially knew she'd had too much to drink, as she smiled, her eyes that clear glassy shade you only get when someone's gone too far.

"A monster maybe, but would that be the worst thing?" he said huskily, tucking a single slipped strand behind her ear and watching her blush.

A breath later she decisively leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Fireworks went off in his mind as he pulled her flush against him, deepening the kiss. She laced her fingers through his hair and pulled him back just as passionately.

Grinding into him, he was thinking of taking her home, drunk or not when suddenly she yanked back and leapt from his lap. A moment later, he saw the offending distraction as she fumbled dragging her phone out from a clutch he'd forgotten she'd been carrying.

"Hello?" she gasped, her chest heaving as she looked back at him, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flush. Suddenly her expression fell as she gave him a longing glance and returned to her phone call. "When? Yeah, alright. I can be there in an hour," she sighed.

She looked at him sadly. "I have to go."

He smiled calmly, but his lower brain was trying very hard to figure out how to salvage this. "You can't stay for a little longer," he said, lowering his eyebrows suggestively.

She just shook her head, handing him back his jacket. "I had a good time tonight. Maybe we'll meet again soon," she said, and with a quick peck on his cheek, she was on her way inside. His mind was still trying to keep up, as he followed her inside, but she was already excusing herself from her aunt and brother and slipping out into the dark. He followed her out, but there was a car already waiting for her as she drove off into the night.

The accountant from before also came outside a moment later, and Jace glanced around hurriedly. Seconds later, he pressed the man against the side of the house, inhumanely strong, and sunk his fangs deep into the man's throat. Pulling out just as the man's pulse grew too weak, he licked the wounds closed and snuck him back, dropping him just inside the entryway, before storming off into the night; a smug smirk on his face.