La Commedia Dell'Arte

To my surprise, the boy before me groans, unable to help himself. I suppose if I'd been kept in a cage and ignored for as long as he had, I'd be dying for attention, too. Still, without any clothing, it's easy to see what even a single lick is doing below, and I torture him further by sliding my fingertips slowly along his hardening shaft.

His entire body ripples, his cock twitching within my fingers. He mumbles something in Turkish that I don't understand (not that I understand any of it), the tone pleading and guilty all at once. My lips press to the wet spot I left with my tongue, and he mumbles again, this time quite clearly begging as he tilts his head even further to offer himself. Within my mouth, my fangs descend, hinged behind my canines. The tips caress against his feverish, wet skin, until they hit that perfect spot and punch in. It's a moment's work, a moment's pain, and I withdraw, letting them fold back into the grooves within my hard palate once more as I suckle on the bleeding holes.

My fingers caress along his painfully hard cock and stroke it, playing with him, delighting in the velvety feel of his heated skin. Pearlescent drops of pre leak out from his slit, and they're enough to lubricate my tease, my stroking growing faster and firmer with every draw of blood I take. It's a race against time - excited as he is, the sedative in my saliva will soften him soon. His climax is impossible, but I still tease him, stroking him and drinking from him until, at last, he wilts in my hand and relaxes back against me, exhausted.

The hand that had been on his cock moves away, letting the hanging flesh shine, soft and tender. I bring those fingers to my lips and suckle them clean slowly, enjoying the salty musk as it mixes with his coppery blood. When all my digits are clean, I slide my ring finger past my lips, catching the tip on the point of my left fang. Very carefully I take my finger from my mouth and move it to Arlecchino's, using my bleeding digit to paint his lower lip with a drop of blood. With a soft, almost doglike whine he licks at it, sliding his tongue along my blood until, at last, he licks my finger, inviting it into his mouth.

I have to trust that he won't bite me, and I admit to some trepidation even as his tongue cushions me, and his cheeks hollow in their suction. His throat works, swallowing down the scant drops I offer hungrily. At any moment I expect him to bite down, either in sudden anger or greed, but as the moments pass he shows no sign of offending. Once the small knick in my finger stops bleeding, he keeps nursing on it, eyes closed, tongue lazily rubbing against it. It's... cute.

"That's enough," I rumble at last, and when I pull my finger from his lips, he only sighs with disappointment. Quite sternly, I intone "when I unchain you, you will not run away."

"I won't run away..." he breathes luridly, his chest tightening as if the words are a moan.

I pull out my key ring and find the little skeleton ditty that opens up all the sets of shackles we have. It slips into the hole and at a turn the mechanism clicks, unfastening and falling open. By now I've released my grip on his hair, and as I move the chains and wrist cuffs away, it leaves the boy only bound by a collar, his fatigue, and whatever strength that little spell has imbued. This is always the riskiest time - if I've gotten him to a safely obedient place, then that's fine, but if I didn't push hard enough, this is when I could get very hurt.

Not that I can really be killed. Not unless he manages to rip my head off from my neck. Honestly, that seems to be the only way to drop one of the twice-lived for good.

Slowly I rise up to stand once more, taking slow steps around Arlecchino as he comes to his senses. I'm about five feet in front of him, my body tense as I watch him, when suddenly I find myself slammed onto my desk. I'd hardly seen him move, and it feels like I've been hit by a car. The supplies on the desktop go flying, and my vision swirls somewhat from the way the back of my head cracked against the window.

I look up and see him looming above me, on all fours on the desk, his hands on my shoulders, pressing me harder to the glass. Before I realize what he's doing, he's kissing me hungrily, his tongue tasting at himself and me. My eyes almost roll up beneath my closed lids, his desire overwhelming. But, of course, rules are rules.

With difficulty I manage to part the kiss just barely, and with our lips a hair's breadth apart, I hold up my right hand, fingers splayed, palm near his temple. "STOP!"

I can tell his pulse is hammering in his chest - I can see his body heat glowing from him, and I can see it surging with every heartbeat. It'd be a lie to say that my vampiric heart isn't doing the same. Very slowly, Arlecchino grunts, then pulls back, step by step, until he's standing some ten feet away from me, chest heaving, his eyes pale and feral.

"Good..." I purr, wincing a little as I drag myself off the desk to stand on my own two feet. "Good. Good boy, Arlecchino."

He grins in the middle of his heavy breathing, looking just a touch insane. I suppose after this last hour of his life, I can't blame him for being somewhat out of his senses.

"Sit in the corner and calm yourself."

The boy pouts, but he sulks off and does as he's told, curling up against the far corner of the room, hugging his knees as he looks at me over their knobby tops. I dislike how cute he is - I just know that I'm going to be far too indulgent. "Arlecchino, my dolls will be coming in here to clean up your mess. You will not move from your corner, and you will not talk to them. You will be a good boy." I point to him and narrow my eyes. "Tell me what you'll be."

"A good boy," he offers over his knees before ducking his head back down again, toes curling.

"That's right." My head's throbbing, and I take a seat on my bed as I take out my cell phone. I send a chime to three of my most experienced dolls, and they are up in my quarters within five minutes. It takes a moment to explain what happened. They listen calmly, their masks put away, now that we're at sea. Their plain faces are focused and obedient, and they each attend to a specific task - tending to the bleeding wound in the back of my head, cleaning off the window and my desk, or finding clothing for Arlecchino. That last task requires running down to the stock room to find something in his size, and when the girl comes back with a few selections, I tell her to leave them on the bed. I then instruct her to go find a hot meal for Arlecchino and to bring it up here, along with a bottle of water, and two steel bowls.

Within twenty minutes, my dolls are gone, the gash in the back of my head is stitched and wiped down (it will heal within the hour, but I don't want to bleed all over the place), my desk and window are returned to normal, and Arlecchino is whining softly as he watches me scrape some mashed potatoes and meatloaf into one of the gleaming metal bowls.

"Now, you are about to get a very nice meal. I'll not have you making a wretched mess out of this. Keep yourself neat and I'll let you have clothing. Make a mess, and I will punish you." I walk over to him with the bowl, and he perks up, tense, his desire to eat and please me fighting themselves as he nibbles his lip. "Do you understand what I've told you?"

He nods quickly, and so I put the bowl down perhaps two feet in front of his toes. He almost jerks forward, but then he pauses, looking at me, shaking with anticipation. At last I nod and gesture to his food, and he falls to all fours. His tanned skin sprouts black fur, and his body slowly transforms into a large black wolf with silver eyes. As luck would have it, the collar is just large enough not to choke him, but I'll have to see about getting one that is more appropriate for this talent he apparently has.

As a wolf, he manages to eat neatly using just his mouth, his long tongue licking up every stray particle that might mar his glossy coat. When his food bowl is about halfway empty, I set down the second dish, into which I've emptied the water bottle. He immediately sniffs at it, then returns to his food. I've had a pet dog before, and in the back of my mind I'm fairly certain that he's going to vomit all of this back up in moments. I could be wrong - perhaps Erbörü have more capable stomachs than my old labrador.

The painkillers I took after I'd been stitched up are helping a little, but I'm fairly certain that I have a concussion. I'm quite tired. Of course, it's been a long night, during which I didn't sleep for a moment, so I suppose there's a reason I wander to my bed and sit on it, then slowly lie down. Where's the harm in resting my eyes for a moment?

Surely nothing bad could happen.

Chapter 3

I wake up with a gasp, my heart racing. For a moment I'm still in the dream, and I feel wire loops around my neck, holding me at the end of long poles as I struggle, the taste of dust in my mouth as I howl miserably. For a few moments I stare up at my ceiling, noticing how it's striped with silvers and blues and blacks. The rest of the room is dark as well. How long was I sleeping?

Something shifts by my legs, and I look to see Arlecchino laying with his shaggy back against my right leg, the top of his head pressed up against my hip and ribs. When he senses I'm awake, his head lifts and comes to rest on my chest, his pointed ears pricked towards me attentively. I blink, still somewhat disoriented, but I pet along his head slowly with my left hand. "Hello, there," I murmur, and his tail thumps against my ankle as it wags happily. "Have I been asleep the entire day?"

A grumbling growl, which I think means yes, tumbles out of his throat, then he whines and tries to lick my chin, scrambling lazily to gain those last few inches. I remember now that, of course, when I enthrall someone new and drink from them, I recall some of their memories for a short time. It's their influence on me, I suppose, and they don't last. Given what I'd seen, I can only imagine that was the moment of Arlecchino's capture.

My hand slides gently between his ears, and I ask, "how long did you live as a wolf?"

He huffs, then slowly turns back into a man, still sprawled against me. My fingers still pet along his scalp, through the shaggy black hair, and he closes his eyes comfortably. "When I couldn't find anything to eat as a man." With a touch of guilt, he adds "I would go out into the hills and kill sheep. But only when I had to."

I chuckle, sliding my fingers along his cheeks, which are hot with embarrassment. "And did you ever repay the shepherds for their loss?" Arlecchino just blushes hotter and shakes his head. My fingers slip in beneath his chin, to make him look at me. "Then I will teach you some manners, and you won't commit that faux pas again."

His smile is shy but warm and genuine. Winning, in other words. Charming, damn him.

"Now, given that I've slept all day, I really must..." I begin, but continuing is going to prove difficult, given how Arlecchino is sliding down my body, until he's resting on his stomach between my parted legs. His brows lower as he smirks, and I only watch as he nimbly unfastens the fly of my jeans. He keeps looking at me, watching, attentive, in case I should tell him to stop. Should I? Am I being too indulgent? Oh, probably, but the way he ducks his head and kisses at my stirring cock makes me gasp and lay my head back down on the pillow.

His lips are warm and just a touch chapped - I've not kept him in the best of conditions since purchasing him, of course, so I deserve it. From my crown all the way down the shaft to my sack, clad in neatly trimmed black pubic hair, and back again. Over and over until I'm painfully rigid and gritting my teeth with impatience. I can feel him shift somewhat, and when I look, I can see that he's on all fours, his head dipped to lick at my shaft like it's speckled with honey.

The sensation teases me and I groan, arching my back, until I prop myself up on my elbows, quite intent on gripping him by the hair and forcing him to finish what he's started. But when he sees my stormy look, he grins, sliding his tongue all the way up and flicking just at the underside of my cap. "Do you know what a joy it was to find a bone, cast into the trash by a butcher? It was so delicious..." His mouth descends to my cock again and he suckles on the side of it, just pressing or grazing with his teeth here and there. "I could gnaw on it for days."

The thought of being tormented like this for that long is unbearable, and I close my eyes, wincing just a touch as a well-placed caress of teeth makes my cock pulse and twitch. A thick string of precum drips down nearly to my skin, but Arlecchino is there, catching it on his tongue and licking it up, right back to its source. The way his lips purse and nurse at my furiously blushing tip is devastating, leaving me to shudder and grip at the sheets with desperate fingers.

And then his head dips and he takes everything, somehow. I watch, eyes narrowed with delight, and I feel how I push past his tongue, past his hard palate and his soft, just to the back of his throat. I couldn't possibly be the first man he's thought to please, especially given how his tongue deliciously rubs slowly as he withdraws, teasing, before pressing down again. It's so hot and so wet, and the soft, rumbling growl makes me tilt my head back with an almost pained groan of delight. I know I'm salting his tongue already, but I can't help it. I'm not going to last long with this.

The only sounds in the room are of the engine decks and decks below us, the regular wash of the ocean all around, the sea wind, and the wet suck and rolling growl of his mouth. That, and my panted breathing, of course. It's difficult to remain still, but he's not yet earned the right to be taken that way. Soon, perhaps. Very soon, if he keeps literally sucking up to me like he has been. Still, my hands curl into fists, and my hips and legs and stomach are tense. I want to fuck something, fuck him, fuck his mouth. Anything, but I'm too stubborn to change our positions. And, perhaps, too lazy. It's nice to be spoiled.

Minutes pass, and he only goes a little faster, swallowing a few times at my head with every dip, rubbing with his tongue on the way up. Rinse, repeat. It's maddening, my cock leaking more and more, until at last I slap my hand on to the back of his skull and hold him down, my hips jerking up, plunging myself into his mouth, right up to the hilt. With my teeth grit, my almost tortured urgent cry sounds angry, my nails just digging into his skin as I shoot my cum into his gulping throat. The feeling of being swallowed at with every pulse makes me shudder and melt, and I collapse back onto the bed with a helpless gasp, my hand sliding away from his head to land, limp, on the sheets.

Slowly he lifts his head, suckling at my softening cock to tease away every single drop. I grit my teeth, closing my eyes tight as I allow this moment of masochism to happen, my body slowly squirming until, at last, my wet flesh and his lips part ways. He almost dips his head again, but I lift a hand, fingers splayed, palm hovering near his temple. I don't even need to say the word stop for him to do it, and he quietly moves to the side, resting on his hip as he watches me with more than a little hunger. That's alright, he's allowed to lust after me. All good boys should.

I stretch languidly, letting him watch my exposed, wet genitals shift with the movement until, at last, I move my hands down to fasten my pants once more. He pouts, biting his lip, though I can't imagine what he thinks I'm going to do with my cock right now. Or in the next hour. "I should put you in a little steel cock cage, Arlecchino. Just to torment you. How would you like that?" I muse with a lazy smile.

The boy huffs and sits up, hugging his knees with his back against the wall against which the side of my bed is pressed. His erection is poorly hidden between his slender thighs, and my laziness dissipates in favor of the desire to torment him. He looks at me from under brooding brows as I sit up, and he lifts his head curiously as I stalk over to him on hands and knees. His legs slowly part when I touch them with my hand, then part further when I nudge my hips in against his own, his turgid cock just grinding against my fastened jeans and shirt-covered stomach.

Almost immediately he tilts his head, offering his neck, breathless, even as his hips grind against mine. The movements almost feel like he's begging, rather than mindlessly humping, and I lean in closer, pressing my lips against the side of his throat. Arlecchino closes his eyes and moans, his cock throbbing, then twitching again as I wrap my hand around it. I don't prick him with my fangs, but I do press down with my more mundane teeth, gripping his neck and keeping him still as I rapidly beat him off. There's no tease or romance to it. There's nothing slow or sensual about it. I want him to cum, so he's going to whether he wants to or not.

I mean, I highly doubt that he is upset about this.

The boy squirms, gripping my shoulders, his toes curling as he tries to thrust up into my hand. I can't see him at present, given my mouth's present occupation, but I can feel his fingernails grow, pricking at my skin through my shirt as he holds onto me. His skin gets hotter beneath my teeth and lips, and his cock throbs suddenly, his spunk splattering onto his heaving chest over and over and over again. I listen to his breathing and notice that it's lowered in pitch, the sound wetter somehow.

What have I gotten myself into? Has he half shifted while I was toying with him? My heart pounds in my chest, and I slowly release my hold on his neck. He growls and groans with relief, and very slowly I pull back, just enough to look at him and see how far he's gone. His eyes are pale, nearly silver again, and his teeth are pointed and bestial, his lips tight and nervous. When he moves forward suddenly I freeze, not sure what to expect, but not wanting to back down.

To my surprise, he licks at my mouth and chin, his breathing almost squeaky and tight, delighted, like someone's pet might be. His tongue flicks gently, lapping at my lips, though he doesn't want to kiss. I think this is a sign of submission, and as I relax and let him adore me, he relaxes, too, and shifts back into the darling boy I'm growing fond of.

With a little smile, I admit "I meant to have you in those clothes hours ago."

He just grins, leaning back against the wall, his toes curling and uncurling in much the same fashion a puppy's tail might wag. "Can I wear them so you can later tear them off?"

My purr delights him, and I croon "I so enjoy how you think, Arlecchino."