"To be a servant of darkness is to embrace the seduction of night, and I tell you true that nothing stirs me so much as the deception of midnight, when things not of this world are given life by way of thoughts, dreams, fears and desires. I have long come to accept that I am shadow and more, vapor and less, and the man that was will struggle always with the monster that now is. I am no more than a beast which craves flesh, a victim to carnal need beyond control that drives me to collect, to examine, to devour and delight.
And so begins a journey that devolves into nightmarish delights, born of lustful cravings that define the true emptiness of light. It is my hope that these journals will aid my benefactor when the time has come for my fractured soul to at last find peace. Long have I served, and the weariness within tells me that soon one will come, and to that miserable fool whose sins darken and pervert, may God have mercy on his soul when he is at last called to serve.
My thoughts wander as my hunger stirs, and for a time I sit her in the darkness, blank pages mocking me as I lose myself to the imagery of blood-lust for a time, feeling the pounding pulse of my heart as it rushes through my veins.
Their whimpers sometimes disturb me, soft mewings that linger down vast passages of chiseled stone long after I've left them to themselves for a time. Their tortured thoughts invade, their fractured souls caress, and I shiver at the memory of their taste, anticipation an aphrodisiac that stirs and awakens the very depth of my need. Their fears mean little and everything to me, and I am grateful always that I do not sleep - that I do not suffer the dreams of the damned.
Yet I am not entirely without feeling, and not all who serve do so unwillingly. It is to these few I devote that which I think of as affection, though understand affection is definitive and relative in nature to one's experiences and desires. But I digress, truly, for this is of little importance to those who do not understand. Simply know that eyes can deceive, and sometimes the spirit recognizes that which the senses cannot. To those who fear me, their prison is complete, and I am compelled by the madness that is me to feed from their fear. But to those who crave and thirst for what I freely offer, all doors are open, all ecstasies seduced from perception where pleasure is pain, and pain itself becomes pleasure in return."
From the diary of Jean-Paul Tibedeux, Master of Yardly Manor in the year of our Lord 1732
The wind howled and screamed as rain lashed with relentless frustration against the stone mortar of the ancient castle. Waves curled and stood up against the night in the ocean below, exploding against the black rock of the jagged shoreline in an eerily luminous display of water and foam. The castle had stood sentinel here at the end of the world for centuries, it's master a dutiful servant who lived on the cusp between one world and the next even as the darkness within him continued to evolve.
How long had he served, he wondered, as he sipped slowly at the cup of warmed wine. 200 years now? No, he was certain it had been twice that, at least. He had been thrust into his role unwillingly, albeit brought to this place by his own sins, and had long ago lost all concept of the passage of time. Taken by one who had served the Others before him, he found himself called to be judged, forced along a journey into darkness that would transform him forever. He was brought to a world that was and was not, his flesh devoured in an empowered orgy of feeding and lust that reduced him to little more than a empty shell, his soul surviving the purgatory of sexual depravity and relentless blood-feedings until all that he was had been stripped painfully away layer by maddening layer.
He sighed quietly, dark eyes brooding as they watched the storm control the night. From the bowels of the dungeons below they called out to him, strangled cries within his mind that begged for death. But they would find no comfort from him, having accepted the terms of their contracts freely, and as such had found themselves locked away in hell, their bodies used by heartless creatures of blackness, their blood a potent drug that made them a valuable commodity to the demons he was forced to serve. But what did he care, really? His heart had long ago turned to stone, all that he did compelled now by the seed of those that had violated his very being when they had raped his body and tortured his soul, forcing their heated poison deep. His time would soon be up as his body continued to devolve and transform, making him look less human and more unholy with each passing day.
Eventually his soul would be granted the opportunity to seek rest, a hope that kept the madness from claiming him completely. But until then he was little better than the masters he served, and even now as his flesh began to hunger he cupped his swelling need without remorse and rose slowly to go below in search of relief.
"Visitors approach, my Lord." Her voice was as soft as a sigh and he felt an uncommon smile play upon his lips. She was his guide, a spectral of vapor and mist that had served him with a macabre display of loyalty since the day he'd assumed his role here at Yardley Manor. He found an odd comfort in the quiet, unemotional tone of her voice, a husky blend of evenly spaced words that came out sensual and arousing, yet still little more than the chilling fingertips of an impersonal seduction.
"I have felt their passing," he admitted. "In truth, I had hoped they would turn back. My holds are over-filled, dear Nexia, and I'm loathe always to send souls over to answer for the lives led that have brought them here."
"Ours is not a function of choice, My Lord. We do that which is tasked to us and no more. Those who come do not come because they have followed the path of light. It is the darkness within that brings them here to answer for their crimes."
"Did not darkness also bring me to this place?" he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.
"It did, my Lord. But you survived your penance and have been given a chance to atone. In time your service will be up and your soul will be allowed to rest. Others will have their chance as well to find redemption in the purging."
"How many come?" he asked quietly, allowing his thoughts to once again become his own.
"Three, my Lord. A man and two women. They've become lost in the storm."
He felt an uncommon glimmer of hope -- perhaps this night it was the innocent who had stumbled upon hell and he would not be tasked with the vileness of his compelling seductions. Though would it matter, he wondered, when the warm smell of blood teased his senses and the heat of human flesh tantalized and aroused.
"I'll be below for a time, Nexia. Better that I greet our guests after dinner, I think." His massive shaft continued to swell and ache as his incisors began to lengthen. He felt those below recoil in his mind, growing suddenly quiet in the hopes that his need would not turn to them.
"As you wish, my Lord. I will see to it that they are welcomed with all hospitality and given rooms for the night."
He nodded, watching as the shimmering glow of droplets came together to form the shape of a woman, with flowing curves and silken hair, before dispersing and rushing out into the night.
There was madness here in her world, and she laughed aloud against the thickness of the nothingness that enveloped her. The sound of it was harsh and high pitched, bouncing off the marble walls and returning to her, causing her to tremble in fear of herself and what she had become.
They would be here soon. She could tell it was time by the ache that had begun to grow within the pit of her stomach, an ache that some part of her remembered as hunger. She had no idea how many days had passed this time, for days here passed differently, if one could call them days at all given the lack of any true sunlight. Some were long, some short, all defined by the Creator of this place, and subject to his own whims and moods.
As if on cue, she felt a rush of chilled air wrap around her, lifting her hair back from her face in a gesture that made mockery of a lover's touch with its flat imitation. She turned her face away, whimpering as phantom caresses danced against her face and along her chin.
"Long has it been, Gherinda, since your spirit has called to us. Too long, perhaps, for your vessel has need of attention."
The voice was low and gravelly, unpleasant as it rasped against her ears and echoed within her head. Icy fingers slid along the column of her neck to encircle her throat in a clammy caress, causing her heart to race and her flesh to recoil. As the unpleasant sound of it echo'd within her mind, more fingers began to skim along her flesh and she felt her eyes begin to grow heavy. Spoken words melted into a rushed hiss of sound as the entity began to slowly chant, and she tried desperately to resist.
But the spell was too powerful and the darkness came for her with relentless need. She breathed deep and then gasped out a final cry of angst before she gave in, hoping against hope that this time the emptiness of the deep sleep would keep the horrors of the nightmare that awaited her at bay.
He watched with detached need as she came to him, her once bright eyes clouded and confused. They could never remember how they came to arrive here in his chambers, and always he was struck with the look of renewed despair that would play across their features. Her movements were sluggish but sensual, the look of honey as it drizzled slowly along the edge of a honeycomb, and he called her to him without making a sound. She whimpered, and he felt her fear as it struggled beneath the haze of the spell that had been cast upon her, the taste of it an aphrodisiac that only emboldened his need. She was his puppet, he was her master, and even as he took pleasure from her this night, she would find greater pleasure in her fear and release in her pain as it pushed her closer towards redemption.
"Do not cry, Gherinda," he soothed, his voice deceptively low and calm. He could see now how she trembled as she dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl slowly towards him. Her skin was pale and unblemished, her hair -- once ebony and dark as midnight -- was now interspersed with startling streaks of white that shimmered and paled against the smoothness of her skin.
"Please me as you have in the past, and you will find no malice here," he whispered when she had finally reached the throne where he sat in the center of the room. It was a massive chair of polished ivory and leather that sat on top of a large, round dias surrounded by a layering of 7 large steps. She had climbed those steps with a maddening pace of arousing, graceful movements, and now came to kneel between his legs, a single tear sliding from the corner of her eye as her soft, pink tongue darted out to moisten lips already growing eager to know the taste of him, even as her mind recoiled from the taint of his soul.
"So beautiful," he breathed as he placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted her head up to meet his black, depthless eyes.
Outside thunder bellowed and lightening sizzled and snaked across the night sky.
"I have a very special task for you this evening," he said, indulging in a perverse smile that caused her to whine. Throwing back his robe, he reached down to slowly stroke his throbbing shaft, the size of it monstrous and disproportionate as it bulged and oozed, more animal than human. He groaned as he squeezed a small drop of fluid from the split of the massive purple head, gliding the tip of it along the smoothness of her lips before grabbing her head and sliding her mouth slowly down over the shaft. He was far too large to fit entirely in her mouth but he pushed and shoved none the less until she gagged, stroking the smoothness of her throat and encouraging her to relax the muscles further until he was so far in she was certain he had filled her throat completely. He moaned with pleasure as her tongue and lips began to move and suckle, tiny, feather-like strokes restricted by the fullness of him nestled within.
"Your skills improve," he encouraged, his hand now fisted painfully within her hair in direct contrast to the gentleness of his tone. And then she felt the clamminess of another against her, and she began to struggle.
"Do not be a fool!" he hissed, reaching down to pinch and twist cruelly at her nipple. The act was painful and distracting, and much to her dismay she felt herself grow immediately hot and wet between her legs.
"You will allow Candor his pleasure," he said coldly, and she knew immediately of whom he spoke. Candor was a vile creature, part man, part beast, who served as over-seer in the dungeons below. He was cruel and perverse, and delighted in torturing them with all manner of instruments whenever he had earned his Lord's favor. But never had any been forced to couple with the monstrosity!!!
The thought renewed her sense of panic even as her Master's shaft filled her throat and she struggled again as her sense of self-preservation was renewed for a time, making the creature behind her gurgle and laugh before sliding his knotted shaft between the slickened crease of her smooth, rounded globes. The reprimand was quick when Master again pinched her nipple until the pain drove her back into submission, firm fingers twisting the tiny bud until the tip grew swollen and purple.
"Do not push me, Candor," he said then, his voice low and dangerous. "I reward you as I have rewarded no other for the task you've performed, but do not tempt my good will by prolonging this act. Finish your deed before I have stopped feeding or your soul will be forfeit when the beast's jealousy is aroused."
He reached down to wrap large fingers firmly around the slender smoothness of one of her arms. With uncommon gentleness he slowly brought her wrist to his lips with one hand as he continued to hold her head with the other, beginning to carefully fuck the moist heat of her mouth with restrained need. With a groan of anticipation he turned her wrist and inhaled the delicate scent of her as his nose traced along the pulsing vein, enjoying the headiness of her before he slowly sank the pointed tips of his incisors into the yielding softness of her skin. He felt her tense as he pierced her, then she relaxed as he began to draw from her vein. He fed with languid, sensual strokes of his tongue as his lips sucked and coaxed the liquid into his hungry mouth, the sensation of his movements traveling to the sheathed nub of her center and causing her to gasp with unexpected pleasure.
But then there was a muffled snarl behind her and Condor rose up to fold over her, grabbing her hips and pulling her against him as he plunged his mottled shaft deep within her slickened folds. Had her mouth not been full she would have cried out from the violation, feeling her walls shudder and resist as the knotted, disfigured penis plunged in and out, scraping, tearing, swelling and oozing as he rode her like the vile animal that he was.
Even as one part of her shivered and gasped from the delicious feel of the Master as he suckled at her wrist and filled her mouth with his hardness, the other recoiled and shuddered in revulsion as that monstrosity fucked her from behind with deviant thrusts of greed and lust. His hips bucked and his shaft swelled, and all the while her master fed, teasing her clit without even touching the sensitive tip so that she knew -- much to her horror -- that she was going to climax even as this creature from behind filled her with his blistering seed. Faster and harder Condor pumped and plunged, and she felt him swell even more, bulging painfully inside of her, pulsing and throbbing as he approached his climax.
And then the master himself shuddered and drew away from her wrist. He looked over her shoulder and she saw the look of hunger there, torn between jealously and lust, watching greedily as the man-beast rode his whore, the unholy monster's swollen sack slapping with a loud, wet rhythm against her trembling thighs. With a low, rumbling growl the Master pushed himself into her face completely and she began to gag as he exploded and his fluid poured down her throat, pulsing jets of heated cream that strangled her as he held her head to him with both hands now, forcing her to drink deep. As she gulped greedily at the bitter fluid, her body began to overheat as if flames licked all along her skin, and then with a strangled gasp of her own she climaxed, a consuming blend of pleasure and pain. She tightened around Condor who had moments earlier emptied himself into her and now tried desperately to pull free of her convulsing walls, even as the Master's eyes turned suddenly red and accusing.
"Why do I find you still here, Condor?" he said, his voice different now, more a snarling growl than human sound. He stared unflinching at the minion, and she began to tremble with fear as she felt the pulse of his displeasure began to swell and consume. Her master was two halves of one beast, and true to his word, the beast now confronted Condor, sated and angry to find his puppet being violated by another.
"My Lord," Condor wheezed as he finally slid free from her to stumble backwards. She did not move, did not make a sound, though she could not help but smile as she heard the foul creature began to snivel pathetically behind her. She hoped the fuck was worth it.
"Did I not warn you?" he asked Condor quietly.
"My Lord, I mean no disrespect. I have served you for many centuries with all manner of loyalty!" His words slithered and ran together, reptilian in nature as panic began to take hold.
There was a rush of wind, the smell of it noxious and foul, and then she heard Condor scream out from behind her before the sounds became muffled beneath a screeching, writhing mass of vines.
The Hedge Beast!
"Take him back to the dungeons where he belongs and feast for a span of 2 days. No more and no less."
She could hear Condor's weakened pleas, but the sound faded to nothingness as the Hedge Beast carried him off to the dungeons below - a vile creature of invasive vines and piercing spines that would violate and feed with painful demand. Even better - this the beast would do from within the grand chamber that sat at the bottom of the surrounding cells where they were kept - the 'grooming' chamber as Condor lovingly referred to it, a hideous place of pleasured pain where he strapped the helpless to all manner of devices therein to be tortured and probed to the Master's delight. It was rare that Condor himself was on the receiving end of discipline, but when he was, at least the Master was gracious and allowed them all to watch, and she smiled in anticipation.
But of course then, she began to cry.
Odd what one would come to call gracious, she thought with a rare moment of lucidity, when one lived in hell.
"We're lost," Crissy said flatly as she fired up another joint. "I told you we should have waited until tomorrow."
"Will you just shut the fuck up you stupid bitch!" Chase snapped, fighting back the urge to reach across the seat and choke the living shit out of the nagging cunt. She looked at him without speaking, without flinching, and simply drew deep on the hand-rolled joint, pulling the smoke easily into her lungs and then blowing it slowly out and into his face with a look that said 'piss-off'.
From the back seat, Savannah's head bounced painfully against the headrest as she struggled against another wave of nausea. She still couldn't remember how she had gotten here, certainly she didn't remember meeting these two, and their fighting was making her head ache even more. She had a hazy memory of being on Holiday somewhere -- Ireland, maybe? But after that, everything grew fuzzy and disjointed. There were vague images of a sparse hotel room, and she remembered stopping at a local pub for dinner. The next thing she knew, she was waking up in the backseat of a cramped compact car, bouncing around fog-enshrouded moors as a monstrous storm consumed the night and threatened to sweep them all off the road. To make matters worse, those few moments when she was actually coherent, she was forced to listen to the two of them in the front seat fighting and arguing about their destination, wherever that happened to be.