Gifting Night Ch. 06

Chapter 6: Fevered Dreams

This is chapter 6 of a series. Thank you to all the readers who inspired me to continue the series with their constant support. While it is not entirely necessary to read the each chapters in progression I highly recommend it. Please remember that the Dhase are a species of my own creation, and although they are based on vampires I have drastically changed the mythos. I hope you enjoy.

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The whip ripped a fresh gouge in his back. Pain blossomed but it was a familiar pain. This pain barely registered. Besides, he didn't have enough energy to grant this pain any consideration.. He was too weak to care about much of anything. His Master occasionally invented new pains. Or perhaps Master simple dredged them from a very long memory. They were new to him at any rate.

He remembered that his Master was a Dhase. He was a Dhase as well. Master was one of the few truly 'Enlightened' Dhase. The Dhase were the monsters behind the myths of vampires. Where mythology had their story wrong was their means of survival. Dhase drained the life energy from their victims rather than blood. Sentient beings, be they mortal, monster or other Dhase, attained their peak energy when their emotions were engaged. Only the Enlightened had reached such a spiritual disconnection as to stomach the pain and suffering of others.

Little bits of knowledge Master had begun to reveal. He only remembered, these days, what Master told him. If it came from Master's lips it was canon. Sometimes when Master told him something it would spark a memory. They were vague but incredibly painful. Blessedly they faded quickly, supplanted by the nearly holy balm of Master's whip.

It was the only time Master used the whip. It was the least painful of the tools. Now it was his release from the memories. It was the highlight of his days.

"Stand UP!" Leather snaked by his face. The tip glittered and mesmerized him. He watched, in the slow motion of his heightened senses, the pulse work along the black, braided, leather towards the tip. When it reached its destination the metal head snapped back with a loud 'crack.' He didn't know this whip. He knew the sound of every tool and toy Master lovingly used on him but not this one.

The tip flicked backwards to strike at his face. The barbed hook embedded itself in his cheek, just beneath his right eye. As it sunk into flesh and bone he felt the redundant layers of much smaller barbs slide effortlessly in. A simple crack would never be enough to pull the device free. He braced himself as he, barely, saw the blur that was Master race in front of him. Before the whip had time to settle Master used superhuman strength to pull the hook free.

Bone shattered. Fragments soared. Blood, muscle and flesh tore open and spattered the floor before him as he collapsed. The pain was unbearable. Master was in heaven, drinking in the pure essence of his agony. Still he struggled to obey Master. He had been told to stand numerous times. Master hated repeated commands.

He managed to move his arms enough to place his hands by his head. He pushed against the ground but failed to budge. If he was Dhase shouldn't he have superhuman strength as well, or at least enough to pick himself up? Still, inability was no excuse. He tried to push himself over to the chains attached to the wall, hoping to use that for support. Weak hands slid futilely against the unfinished, wood, floor. There should be plenty of traction, the large splinters all throughout his body were testament to that. He simply lacked the strength to move his own weight.

He quaked, terrified of what Master would do. Never before, to his knowledge, had he been completely incapable of obeying. Early in his training, he was led to understand, he had resisted willfully and been punished to within an inch of his life. Only his reluctant obedience saved his life. He didn't remember the incident but Master had told him.

Master stood beside him in an instant and cursed, fluently, in too many languages to count. He recognized some of them. Somehow Master had discovered that, even with his memory so flawed and frail, he could speak and understand at least half a dozen languages. Each were used to convey commands to him. Sometimes Master tested him by mixing commands in multiple languages. He never failed that test. His skill was second only to his utter obedience.

Only now his obedience had faltered because his body had failed completely. Master always told him his body was weak. Here was the proof. This session had been relatively light. Master had only used the standard whip until this last cleansing blow. That whip shouldn't produce enough pain to be much of a meal for Master, even when used a dozen or more separate times, and he'd barely been able to stand before the barbed whip ever came into play. He was weak and deserved punishment.

A sharp kick to his left side sent him crashing onto his back. He was sure he'd broken a rib or two as well. Pain lanced up his side and from within. He was finding it hard to breath. Master stood over him, unbuckling the heavy leather that masked the Dark Form. "Master?" His voice gurgled slightly and red flecked his lips to mingle with the blood running from his mangled face.

The first thing he noticed was that the Dark one was focusing intently on not feeding from him. With the intensity of the pain in his side and face he should have been a veritable feast. As the thick girdle came off something seemed very odd about Master. Unfortunately, through the red haze that obscured his sight, he couldn't figure out what troubled him. It was when the Dark One stood, straddling his head that understanding dawned.

He stared up at the pink folds of a woman. He was too well trained to slip and call her anything but 'Master' but the word 'Mistress' jumped, unbidden, to his mind. Most of the rest of his master remained swathed in the dark leather but with the girdle removed he could see the traces of her breasts straining against the material. Now that he knew to look, he could spot the slight differences in muscle mass that should have revealed her long before, were he not so dumb.

He wondered if he would remember this important fact, but berated himself immediately for his stupidity once again. Of course I'll remember! How could I possibly forget such an important fact about Master? Foggy eyes realized that she moved closer. Her lips seeped with excitement as she lowered herself to his face. She knelt above him and her juices dripped to flow into the shattered remains of his face.

His Master leaned backward slightly and placed a hand on his side, where she had kicked him. Carefully her fingers tracked across his side, searching out his pain and seeking injuries. She found first one, then the next, broken ribs. He gasped from the pain even her slight contact brought. With deliberate skill, a finger pressed lightly on each rib. The pain mounted and he stifled a gasp through clenched teeth. The fingers pressed harder and agony lanced from deep within his left side.

Even as he screamed her breath, visible through the rise and fall of her stomach and chest without the girdle, quickened. The moisture flowed more freely above him. In the midst of his suffering he smiled. His reactions excited his Master.

Soft flesh crashed onto his damaged face. His blood now marred the perfection of the left side of her chaps. He barely noticed. As she came down she positioned herself perfectly. His lips met her nether lips and the soft flesh of her waist collapsed on top of him, covering his nose. Despite himself his body tried to struggle. He would have failed if he was hale. In his current condition a child could have held the powerful Dhase captive.

When he did not immediately begin on her, she pressed her thighs together. The shattered bones of his skull grated against each other. She lifted herself momentarily for his fresh scream. As instinct took over and he began to inhale she pressed herself once more to his lips. His body struggled further but she held him still. Her gasp of delight thrilled him as he inhaled her eager lust. Her legs released their grip and he began to understand her unorthodox desires.

His chest already tormented by the broken ribs, and possibly a pierced lung, began to burn from lack of air. Instinctively he began to struggle against his lack of air but she pinned him successfully. Being Dhase he couldn't die from the lack but it hurt tremendously. Worse, she understood this and knew the all of the combined injuries compounded the sensation. She was moaning nearly constantly and her cream flowed quickly, pouring into the wound on his face. His Master was delirious in her pleasure.

As he sucked and licked the sensitive bundle, tears began to escape the corners of his eyes. It was more than just the pain. It was a strange mixture of light and dark, joy and torment. Above him, her pleasure continued to grow, nearing it's climax. It was a living entity, beckoning to him, inviting him to join with it. He reached out, his aura seeking hers. Her energy wrapped around the feeble tendril that reached for it. It began to course through him, tickling every cell it connected to.

Her fingers pressed harder. He tried once again to scream but failed as she pressed harder. His body sung with the discordant melodies of her pleasure feeding him and the intensity of multitudes of pain. His Master screamed in exultation and released onto and into him. Her energy surged into him like a wildfire. It was all too much. Overwhelmed he blacked out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ Christoph awoke an indeterminate period of time later. He realized, by the knowledge of his name, that he had fed enough to revive himself. Bridget had fed him herself. He wondered if he had been badly enough injured that she determined only her strength would repair him or if she had simply become so aroused by her dominance that she felt the need for release. She had certainly been attracted to the additional pain she had inflicted.

He tested his strength and found himself barely able to stand. He staggered over to the mirror and realized he must be in her bedroom. For as long as he had been in her service he hadn't left his concrete chamber. The face staring back at him was frightfully pink. His body had stopped healing before it was complete. A lifted finger confirmed the integrity of his skull and ribs. Everything was still sore however.

He tried to figure it out. He should have been able to heal even this damage with ease. These repairs shouldn't have taken so much energy that he remained barely able to stand, or that they remained half-healed. He realized what his pain induced haze had masked from him. Bridget's "learning sessions" were deliberately intended to induce the very painful memories he tried to flee from. She drank deep last night as she fed off of his emotional turmoil. She drank too deep and nearly killed him.

He sighed as he looked into the mirror. If she fed from him now he would die. For the moment he was too weak for her to torture him back into his pain induced fugue-state. He chuckled softly. He would soon escape her. She had brought him so low that she couldn't erase his personality again which meant he could resist her demands that he feed. All of her ploys depended on either his complete submission or his lack of sentience.

A weak smile crossed his lips. He didn't know how long he'd been under her 'care' but he hoped it was short enough that his death would set Daphne and Katherine free. His heart dropped at the simple thought of the two. He'd gladly traded his life for theirs. If he had been captive for years, he knew Katherine would have granted Daphne the strength to defeat Bridget when the confrontation arose. If it had been a few weeks then so much the better. His death would mean something.

"It was all in vain you know." Chris tried to spin to face the voice but he lacked the strength. His legs buckled and only leaning heavily on the vanity saved his balance. As Bridget's comment ran through his mind he realized, with a shock, that there had been compassion, even sympathy, in her voice. "The young one has run away from the ancient." There was sorrow in her voice.

She wore simple, if very tight, blue-jeans and a white baby-doll t-shirt. It was such a departure from anything he had seen her wear that he was taken aback. Dressed like this she no longer looked the terrifying nightmare. Dressed like this she was actually very attractive. Her breasts sprang forward enticingly in the tight shirt. Her hips shifted seductively as she leaned from one side to the other. His eyes were continually driven back to her firm legs, which came together with that acute angle that had always driven him wild in women. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail high on her head. The overall effect of the look complimented her early to mid twenties appearance.

Bridget slowly crossed the room. The closer she got the clearer her aura became. Although there was some contempt in her mood, likely for Daphne, she was riddled with guilt and sympathy. Her hand came up to caress the pink, tender, skin on his face. Her dark eyes were round and damp as she met his. "I've never gone that far before. I almost killed you." The sympathy rapidly shift to a desperate concern while the guilt strengthened.

"You think you've never killed before?" He couldn't believe her temerity. If he didn't know better he would be forced to believe she was lying, but her aura shone brightly. It was possible to mute one's aura but never camouflage it. "What about all of those people you have thrown at me, terrified and alone, to drain completely?"

"The humans?" She was confused. It showed in both her expressive eyes and her life-force. Chris suddenly found himself reevaluating her as she began to contemplate the accusation. Clearly she had never considered humans alive in quite the same manner as other Dhase. Clearly she had meant she had never brought another Dhase, or perhaps just a youth under her 'guidance,' so close to death. Daphne had implied that this virtual demon had killed her fellows but never in so many words. "I never really thought of them as more than food." She couldn't meet his eyes. "I meant I'd never come so close to killing another of our kind."

Her voice was small and frail. He barely heard her. "Can you forgive me for everything I've done?" He still could not read the truth in her eyes but he felt her honesty and her guilt.

"I don't know." It was barely a whisper; the voice of one who'd caught their lover cheating. Her eyes raised slightly while her head remained down turned. Tears streaked her cheeks. His heart twisted at the intensity of pain flowing from her eyes, from her very soul. He needed to change the subject. "Tell me something. Why do you do it? Why do you feed like that"

Once again her face turned away in shame. This time her body followed, imposing itself protectively between her accuser and her vulnerability. This close, their bodies nearly touching, he finally realized how small a woman she truly was. While he leaned heavily against the vanity, his six foot frame reduced significantly, she still barely reached his mid chest, making her a tad shorter than even Daphne. The Dark Mistress, Lady Death, was nowhere near as imposing when not shrouded in darkness and leather. Of course, appearances were deceiving. At his strongest, Chris was no match for Bridget in even the simplest of fist fights. She had the power to drain his life in seconds should she choose.

"I was created in pain." Her voice was barely audible, even in the utter silence of the room. "He raped me even as he flayed my skin, inch by inch. Had he not drained me first I would have died." Bridget turned away as tears began to stream down her face. "I came from an era of subservience and submission. I was a peasant and he, to all appearances, an aristocrat."

Chris couldn't help but to let his hands go to her shoulders. Slowly, carefully, he pulled her against him. She didn't turn to face him, but she allowed his action; acceptance enough. Her hands crossed her body to grip his lightly, and even pulled his slightly down the front of her shoulders. "At first I resisted, struggled against him. But he was too powerful. If he had just tortured me I probably wouldn't have accepted death. Too much anger and pain with that. It was the other things he did that pulled me across. I welcomed death for its release from the shame and humiliation of everything he had done."

"He never expected me to survive. I daresay, if he had he would have killed me without draining me fully." Bridget released his hands and spun within his embrace. Her dark eyes were wet with tears; both fallen and unshed. "I taught you that Dhase who bring pain are enlightened. In a way we are. We need no symbiosis. You see, 'the monsters,' as you call us, almost never fall to apathy. We are all destroyed eventually. To pass on the Gift requires both a certain strength of soul and a strength of body. When you do not notice the years pass..." She choked down a sob. "All of my partners die. I have never had to worry about watching a beloved human wither and die."

Finally she could no longer continue and began to openly cry. His arms slid closed, enfolding her completely. He lost track of time then. He didn't know how long her lowered head poured tears onto his stomach. At this moment she was no longer the Dark Mistress. She was simply a woman bearing centuries worth of pain.

Slowly the tears abated. As he felt her need to be held slide away he stepped back. His hands came up; his thumbs swept belated moisture from her cheeks. Her round eyes shifted upwards once more to meet his. Her soul held a deep, desperate, longing which reflected in her eyes. Chris understood. His head shifted forward and their lips met.

It was nothing like the light, but loving, kisses of Daphne. It was even farther from the hungry, powerful, connection with Katherine. It was tentative. Christoph wondered if Bridget had ever kissed anyone while still alive but decided that if she had she may not even remember after so long. His lips pressed to hers, with all of his repressed compassion, in an attempt to show, or possibly remind, her what was meant by a kiss. Gradually her confidence grew and her intensity followed in suit.

Pressed against her as she cried, he had grown slightly. Now, with her body pressed enticingly against him and her lips to his, his length grew solid. She must have put the boxers on him as he healed, thought why he could not fathom. For as long as he had been here he had been nude. Then again the entire time that he could remember she wore the leather outfit that masked even her gender.

Her hands, willingly trapped between them, began to run across his bare chest. He shuddered from the delightful contact. If there was one thing his 'Master' had proven time and again it was that her hands were just as adept with inspiring pleasure as pain. Until now she had used that skill to blend the two, making the pain that much greater a torment. When he shuddered her nerve broke and she began to pull away in panic. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," he whispered, refusing to release his grip without a struggle, one she apparently was unwilling to provide. He knew now her fear. She had spent so long bringing one with the other she was afraid she could no longer identify the difference, or else that he would be unable to. He stepped close to her once more and let his hands run down the strong back, to rest on her slender waist, bare between her short shirt and tight jeans.

As their lips met again he lost himself in her passion and enthusiasm. It was as if, denied all these centuries or more, she sought to relive her life in this one moment. He wondered at the softness of her skin. For all her reputation and fierceness he would have expected her skin to be as hard as cured leather. Of course, he would have expected her soul to be harder than diamond but it poured in such a complex mix of emotions from her mouth. All at once she was a raging volcano venting its pressure and an apologetic stream, trickling its calm path.