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kittydesadeI actually got work done yesterday. And I'm not doing too bad at getting some writing done today, either. Go me.
Aaand... pfui. Every once in a while I wonder why I'm not pushing harder to get a job, why I'm pushing to be a published writer instead. It's not like getting a job is any easier, or at least any more or less probable. Or something. I feel like I'm living in a holding pattern. I know I'm not, I know I'm being at least somewhat productive. I may be unemployed but I'm holding myself to a kind of job standard. A kind of work ethic. I write, and I've set aside Tuesdays as 'Terrible Tuesdays', the day when I package up a bunch of stories and send them out, or send out novel proposal packages, or what not. But... well, argh.
*sighs* I don't know. Maybe I'll feel better once I start getting rejection letters and/or acceptance letters. And checks, can't forget the checks. Maybe then I'll feel like I'm doing something with my life instead of being a bum.
But at least I'm writing.
Hey, April, here's the vamp porn... I would have put it up yesterday but the computer didn't want to let me have my zip disk. Evil thing.
Laughter permeated the atmosphere of the so-called gentleman’s club, as thick in the air as the smell of opium and alcohol. They called themselves a gentleman’s club, but it had very little to do with the elder sort and nothing whatsoever to do with respectability. This organization really had nothing in common with the more respectable establishments that catered to retired officers and men of the courts, offering them a respite from their work and their wives. It was a loose order imposed on the worst sort of rich young men, organized helling, rakes and bounders gathered together to share their vices in private.
Tonight’s vice was a young boy being passed from hand to hand like a favorite pipe. Not that anyone participating would have called themselves a homosexual if asked, even with the evidence in hand. Oh no, they were merely indulging in a bit of fun, some last rebellions against their oppressive fathers who wouldn’t increase their allowance or let them borrow the home in the south of France for a little while.
It didn’t matter to the young man. He had been bought and paid for, and all that remained now was to survive the evening relatively intact. It wasn’t as though what was happening to him was anything new. He had been playing the part of the boy whore since before his voice and testicles had descended. Every night a new party, a new set of customers, and a new name. Tonight it was the overindulged and under-used set. Tonight it amused him to take a Biblical name.
The boy who called himself James surveyed the room through half-closed eyes, making the appropriate noises as some young man’s hands fondled his genitals. It didn’t matter anyway. His body responded well enough without his paying attention to it, and he was in search of better things than a lover tonight.
Ashford Terrington was talking with a newcomer to the festivities, a young man who looked
around with wide eyes and a hesitant, shuffling posture. He clearly wasn’t sure he should be there, and Ashford was just as clearly that much more keen to have him there. James made a noise that could have been a sigh of derision or a gasp of pleasure. Ashford always had been a bit of a sadist, never daring to come out and impose his will on anyone else but all the time trying to get some sort of a pained or fearful reaction out of someone younger or more impressionable. It was one of the things that made James so perfect for him; James did a very good impression of a scared boy, and he was young enough to be titillating to the man.
His mind clouded over for a second of liquid heat as the nameless young man fondling James reached the inevitable conclusion, afterwards leaning over to wipe the boy clean. James smirked humorlessly; the gesture wasn’t even born out of consideration for their purchased boy-toy, it was more out of consideration for the next person who picked him up. Sloppy seconds were just too impolite for this circle, every new orgasm had to seem fresh and virginal. James’ would-be lover rolled to the other side when he was done and took another long inhalation from the opium pipe, settling back into his poppy dreams and letting his eyes droop closed. They were all either drunk or drugged by now.
The boy who was James, for now, was not permitted opium or alcohol. His mind was clear and he was able to navigate between unconscious and semi-conscious bodies with ease. The only people who were really awake at this late hour of the evening were those whose tastes ran more towards sex or alcohol, and those were few enough tonight. Ashford and his young gentleman were two of them, young Jasper LeGrange was another, and there was a trio in one of the corners with a deck of cards and a bottle of something pungent whom he didn’t recognize. But, again, it didn’t matter. The faces always changed and the attitudes, the characters always stayed the same. Nothing had altered that in a very long time.
Ashford caught him about the upper arm as he passed. “… like this little tidbit here…” he said, evidently continuing some line of conversation that had been established long before. “You can do exactly what you please with him. After all, who’s he going to tell?”
James feigned a look of bewildered fright as he watched and gauged the reaction of the other young man. Now the secret seemed to be out; the young man looked eager at the prospect of a safe (if not necessarily willing) boy lover, which mean that he was probably one of those closeted homosexuals that English society seemed to so often generate. James couldn’t understand why the fashion of the time was to prohibit homosexual activity so violently. It wasn’t as though it really hurt anyone any more than heterosexual activity did, and it was an outlet for pent-up tension that didn’t involve a risk of inconvenient pregnancies. Then again, he understood very little about the reasons and causes of the repressions under the reign of the queen Victoria. Nothing they did made sense, even to them.
“Of course…” the gentleman’s voice didn’t stutter, but it was probably only through a great effort of will. “Er…”
Ashford gave out the smirk that James would have, if he had dared show that much spirit at this early stage of the evening. “There’s an alcove if you’re prudish,” he pointed out to the younger man, who winced at the pejorative word. James-that-would-be thought it might not be prudery but simple shyness that kept the young man back, but Ashford would of course put the most hurtful name on it that he could. He pushed James towards the alcove, and gave a gentler but no less dominating nudge to his friend. “Go on. He’s perfectly clean, I checked him out thoroughly myself.”
The tone he’d used had put a lecherous implication on the words. Indeed, Ashford had checked out James quite thoroughly, more so than he was accustomed to from his usual patrons. He’d almost been afraid that Ashford would find out his secret, but the little prat had been more concerned with getting a suitably humbled sex slave than anything else. James stumbled theatrically towards the couch, positioning himself on it with his goodies hanging out and his seat in the air, inviting. The bewildered little sycophant didn’t stand a chance. He took what was offered, his joysack brushing against the purchased boy’s inner thigh like swinging dough.
He pushed and strained, more than once knocking James stomach-first into the couch. But at least he didn’t grunt, nor did he sweat more than a little, which appealed to his receptacle’s sense of aesthetics. In another situation James would have licked that tiny, glimmering sheen off the man’s shoulder, rubbed his chest against it till they were both slightly damp. It was so tempting to think of as dark curls escaped the coif and caressed the back of his neck. Perhaps just this one night; another nobleman’s son would not be missed. And after all, once he had put it about the city that the man was a homosexual everyone would assume the poor bastard had run off in shame. Yes. He could do this.
“It doesn’t,” he murmured as the man inside him withdrew, panting and sticky. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.” He let the words sink in for just a second, allowed the nobleman’s son to believe he had imagined the voice.
“You’re not supposed to say anything,” he whispered, causing James to bite his lips before he let out a barking laugh. “You’re supposed to be quiet. That’s what you’re getting paid for.” He slapped the pale rump in front of him but it was a pretense of a gesture at best. There was no real arrogance in it.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, hiding what you are, what you want. I could make you powerful. I could make you better than you are,” he glanced significantly over his shoulder and down at the instrument of so much percieved importance, wilted in the man’s lap now that the job was done. “I could make you strong.”
“You couldn’t…” He swallowed. “Could you?”
“My dear man…” Ashford hadn’t noticed him yet, he had a little time. James turned, stretched out on the couch and invited the poor idiot closer. “I can do a great many things. Come, have a little more while you think about it.” He took hold of the dark, delicate curls and pushed the head down to his groin. Submission came easier to the man; he willingly took James into his mouth and began to suckle. A few moments later James’ teeth were fastened into his neck, suckling his own feast. The heart’s final blood slid into his mouth as his cock slid from the noble’s lips.
“What…” The crimson coat hid any stain, at least for now, although his pallor was a good ten shades lighter. “What did you do…”
“Patience…” James said, and kissed him. His teeth laid open his lips, forcing what passed for his blood down the other man’s throat. He murmured against the slackening mouth, “Patience, and take what else I give you to swallow.” He did. It was all over in the time it took James to scan the room once, past his new pet’s cheek. No one was watching them, no one had noticed the strange activity and odder than usual exchange of bodily fluids.
“What… what is happening to me?”
His breathing weakened and then faded altogether. James listened and watched as the color faded from the young and wealthy man’s face, the lustre of what any other man in the room would have taken for fever lit up his eyes. The corners of his lips began to turn up in a mirthless smile. “You’re changing. You’re becoming stronger, better, more powerful.” It wasn’t really an explanation, not yet, but it would do until they got out of the house and out of the town. Then the real lessons could begin.
“I feel…” he frowned. “I want…”
“You feel hunger. Appetite, rather. Do what it is you want to do. They can’t stop you now.”
Understanding flooded through the young man’s eyes, or a semblance of it, and then the carnage began. James took care of what little screaming there was, but the inhabitants of the room were for the most part drugged insensible and remained silent while their fellows died around them. They waited like sheep until it was their turn, which really was all to the good in this situation. Easier to avoid mistakes with such a young man. If anyone was left alive when both of them had finished, James couldn’t hear their heartbeat.
“What now?” Despite his timidity of earlier the young man showed no sign that the bloodbath had disturbed him. Quite to the contrary he looked flushed, excited.
“Now,” James slipped an arm about his young protégé’s shoulders. “Now you come with me. I have a small house outside the city several hundred leagues from here. It’s about time I took on a child, and you’ve certainly shown a hefty appetite. None too delicate, though,” he wiped a bit of blood off of the corner of the young man’s mouth with someone else’s sleeve. “Now you come with me, or you take your chances on your own. In either case, I very much doubt that anything can hurt you now.”
“Hurt me…” The thought seemed to confuse him, especially in light of the way he was glancing around the room at what he had done. “Yes… yes, I’ll come with you. Where are we going?”
“North.” Once dressed, the pretended boy-slave had little to do to guide his new friend out the door and down the street. They looked incongruously normal in the pre-dawn light, two drunken young men staggering home after a night of heavy drinking and pipe smoke. “We are going north, far and away from here. It’s damnably cold this time of year, but that can’t be helped, and no one will be stirring out of doors at any rate if they can help it. We can live a long and prosperous time up north. I promise you, you’ll enjoy it.” Too-dark lips stretched back from pointed teeth as the young man thrilled to hear the news. “Oh, but there is one more thing…”
“Yes?” The smile faded.
“What is your name?”
Aaand... pfui. Every once in a while I wonder why I'm not pushing harder to get a job, why I'm pushing to be a published writer instead. It's not like getting a job is any easier, or at least any more or less probable. Or something. I feel like I'm living in a holding pattern. I know I'm not, I know I'm being at least somewhat productive. I may be unemployed but I'm holding myself to a kind of job standard. A kind of work ethic. I write, and I've set aside Tuesdays as 'Terrible Tuesdays', the day when I package up a bunch of stories and send them out, or send out novel proposal packages, or what not. But... well, argh.
*sighs* I don't know. Maybe I'll feel better once I start getting rejection letters and/or acceptance letters. And checks, can't forget the checks. Maybe then I'll feel like I'm doing something with my life instead of being a bum.
But at least I'm writing.
Hey, April, here's the vamp porn... I would have put it up yesterday but the computer didn't want to let me have my zip disk. Evil thing.
Laughter permeated the atmosphere of the so-called gentleman’s club, as thick in the air as the smell of opium and alcohol. They called themselves a gentleman’s club, but it had very little to do with the elder sort and nothing whatsoever to do with respectability. This organization really had nothing in common with the more respectable establishments that catered to retired officers and men of the courts, offering them a respite from their work and their wives. It was a loose order imposed on the worst sort of rich young men, organized helling, rakes and bounders gathered together to share their vices in private.
Tonight’s vice was a young boy being passed from hand to hand like a favorite pipe. Not that anyone participating would have called themselves a homosexual if asked, even with the evidence in hand. Oh no, they were merely indulging in a bit of fun, some last rebellions against their oppressive fathers who wouldn’t increase their allowance or let them borrow the home in the south of France for a little while.
It didn’t matter to the young man. He had been bought and paid for, and all that remained now was to survive the evening relatively intact. It wasn’t as though what was happening to him was anything new. He had been playing the part of the boy whore since before his voice and testicles had descended. Every night a new party, a new set of customers, and a new name. Tonight it was the overindulged and under-used set. Tonight it amused him to take a Biblical name.
The boy who called himself James surveyed the room through half-closed eyes, making the appropriate noises as some young man’s hands fondled his genitals. It didn’t matter anyway. His body responded well enough without his paying attention to it, and he was in search of better things than a lover tonight.
Ashford Terrington was talking with a newcomer to the festivities, a young man who looked
around with wide eyes and a hesitant, shuffling posture. He clearly wasn’t sure he should be there, and Ashford was just as clearly that much more keen to have him there. James made a noise that could have been a sigh of derision or a gasp of pleasure. Ashford always had been a bit of a sadist, never daring to come out and impose his will on anyone else but all the time trying to get some sort of a pained or fearful reaction out of someone younger or more impressionable. It was one of the things that made James so perfect for him; James did a very good impression of a scared boy, and he was young enough to be titillating to the man.
His mind clouded over for a second of liquid heat as the nameless young man fondling James reached the inevitable conclusion, afterwards leaning over to wipe the boy clean. James smirked humorlessly; the gesture wasn’t even born out of consideration for their purchased boy-toy, it was more out of consideration for the next person who picked him up. Sloppy seconds were just too impolite for this circle, every new orgasm had to seem fresh and virginal. James’ would-be lover rolled to the other side when he was done and took another long inhalation from the opium pipe, settling back into his poppy dreams and letting his eyes droop closed. They were all either drunk or drugged by now.
The boy who was James, for now, was not permitted opium or alcohol. His mind was clear and he was able to navigate between unconscious and semi-conscious bodies with ease. The only people who were really awake at this late hour of the evening were those whose tastes ran more towards sex or alcohol, and those were few enough tonight. Ashford and his young gentleman were two of them, young Jasper LeGrange was another, and there was a trio in one of the corners with a deck of cards and a bottle of something pungent whom he didn’t recognize. But, again, it didn’t matter. The faces always changed and the attitudes, the characters always stayed the same. Nothing had altered that in a very long time.
Ashford caught him about the upper arm as he passed. “… like this little tidbit here…” he said, evidently continuing some line of conversation that had been established long before. “You can do exactly what you please with him. After all, who’s he going to tell?”
James feigned a look of bewildered fright as he watched and gauged the reaction of the other young man. Now the secret seemed to be out; the young man looked eager at the prospect of a safe (if not necessarily willing) boy lover, which mean that he was probably one of those closeted homosexuals that English society seemed to so often generate. James couldn’t understand why the fashion of the time was to prohibit homosexual activity so violently. It wasn’t as though it really hurt anyone any more than heterosexual activity did, and it was an outlet for pent-up tension that didn’t involve a risk of inconvenient pregnancies. Then again, he understood very little about the reasons and causes of the repressions under the reign of the queen Victoria. Nothing they did made sense, even to them.
“Of course…” the gentleman’s voice didn’t stutter, but it was probably only through a great effort of will. “Er…”
Ashford gave out the smirk that James would have, if he had dared show that much spirit at this early stage of the evening. “There’s an alcove if you’re prudish,” he pointed out to the younger man, who winced at the pejorative word. James-that-would-be thought it might not be prudery but simple shyness that kept the young man back, but Ashford would of course put the most hurtful name on it that he could. He pushed James towards the alcove, and gave a gentler but no less dominating nudge to his friend. “Go on. He’s perfectly clean, I checked him out thoroughly myself.”
The tone he’d used had put a lecherous implication on the words. Indeed, Ashford had checked out James quite thoroughly, more so than he was accustomed to from his usual patrons. He’d almost been afraid that Ashford would find out his secret, but the little prat had been more concerned with getting a suitably humbled sex slave than anything else. James stumbled theatrically towards the couch, positioning himself on it with his goodies hanging out and his seat in the air, inviting. The bewildered little sycophant didn’t stand a chance. He took what was offered, his joysack brushing against the purchased boy’s inner thigh like swinging dough.
He pushed and strained, more than once knocking James stomach-first into the couch. But at least he didn’t grunt, nor did he sweat more than a little, which appealed to his receptacle’s sense of aesthetics. In another situation James would have licked that tiny, glimmering sheen off the man’s shoulder, rubbed his chest against it till they were both slightly damp. It was so tempting to think of as dark curls escaped the coif and caressed the back of his neck. Perhaps just this one night; another nobleman’s son would not be missed. And after all, once he had put it about the city that the man was a homosexual everyone would assume the poor bastard had run off in shame. Yes. He could do this.
“It doesn’t,” he murmured as the man inside him withdrew, panting and sticky. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.” He let the words sink in for just a second, allowed the nobleman’s son to believe he had imagined the voice.
“You’re not supposed to say anything,” he whispered, causing James to bite his lips before he let out a barking laugh. “You’re supposed to be quiet. That’s what you’re getting paid for.” He slapped the pale rump in front of him but it was a pretense of a gesture at best. There was no real arrogance in it.
“It doesn’t have to be like this, hiding what you are, what you want. I could make you powerful. I could make you better than you are,” he glanced significantly over his shoulder and down at the instrument of so much percieved importance, wilted in the man’s lap now that the job was done. “I could make you strong.”
“You couldn’t…” He swallowed. “Could you?”
“My dear man…” Ashford hadn’t noticed him yet, he had a little time. James turned, stretched out on the couch and invited the poor idiot closer. “I can do a great many things. Come, have a little more while you think about it.” He took hold of the dark, delicate curls and pushed the head down to his groin. Submission came easier to the man; he willingly took James into his mouth and began to suckle. A few moments later James’ teeth were fastened into his neck, suckling his own feast. The heart’s final blood slid into his mouth as his cock slid from the noble’s lips.
“What…” The crimson coat hid any stain, at least for now, although his pallor was a good ten shades lighter. “What did you do…”
“Patience…” James said, and kissed him. His teeth laid open his lips, forcing what passed for his blood down the other man’s throat. He murmured against the slackening mouth, “Patience, and take what else I give you to swallow.” He did. It was all over in the time it took James to scan the room once, past his new pet’s cheek. No one was watching them, no one had noticed the strange activity and odder than usual exchange of bodily fluids.
“What… what is happening to me?”
His breathing weakened and then faded altogether. James listened and watched as the color faded from the young and wealthy man’s face, the lustre of what any other man in the room would have taken for fever lit up his eyes. The corners of his lips began to turn up in a mirthless smile. “You’re changing. You’re becoming stronger, better, more powerful.” It wasn’t really an explanation, not yet, but it would do until they got out of the house and out of the town. Then the real lessons could begin.
“I feel…” he frowned. “I want…”
“You feel hunger. Appetite, rather. Do what it is you want to do. They can’t stop you now.”
Understanding flooded through the young man’s eyes, or a semblance of it, and then the carnage began. James took care of what little screaming there was, but the inhabitants of the room were for the most part drugged insensible and remained silent while their fellows died around them. They waited like sheep until it was their turn, which really was all to the good in this situation. Easier to avoid mistakes with such a young man. If anyone was left alive when both of them had finished, James couldn’t hear their heartbeat.
“What now?” Despite his timidity of earlier the young man showed no sign that the bloodbath had disturbed him. Quite to the contrary he looked flushed, excited.
“Now,” James slipped an arm about his young protégé’s shoulders. “Now you come with me. I have a small house outside the city several hundred leagues from here. It’s about time I took on a child, and you’ve certainly shown a hefty appetite. None too delicate, though,” he wiped a bit of blood off of the corner of the young man’s mouth with someone else’s sleeve. “Now you come with me, or you take your chances on your own. In either case, I very much doubt that anything can hurt you now.”
“Hurt me…” The thought seemed to confuse him, especially in light of the way he was glancing around the room at what he had done. “Yes… yes, I’ll come with you. Where are we going?”
“North.” Once dressed, the pretended boy-slave had little to do to guide his new friend out the door and down the street. They looked incongruously normal in the pre-dawn light, two drunken young men staggering home after a night of heavy drinking and pipe smoke. “We are going north, far and away from here. It’s damnably cold this time of year, but that can’t be helped, and no one will be stirring out of doors at any rate if they can help it. We can live a long and prosperous time up north. I promise you, you’ll enjoy it.” Too-dark lips stretched back from pointed teeth as the young man thrilled to hear the news. “Oh, but there is one more thing…”
“Yes?” The smile faded.
“What is your name?”
