Lord Pitt's Price

The whore squealed as Lord Reginald Pitt entered her. Lord Pitt had not been gentle, as he hadn't been with any of the whores he's been with for the past week. It was always like this when he returned from a successful hunt, and his trip to North Africa had been fruitful indeed.

He was barely thinking of the woman he was fucking. Instead, his mind drifted to the moment that he drove that stake into the heart of that monster. And he thought of the moments before, where she was pleading with him, trying to ply him with her devil's logic. She only took the lives of people who were suffering, she said. Only those who wished to leave this terrible life behind, and move on to their eternal reward.

He remembered the tears rolling down her caramel cheeks, coming down from hazel eyes that glowed faintly in the moonlight. She was a beautiful Moroccan woman, and one could certainly be tricked into believing that she was some sort of angel of mercy. That's what the people in the area said she was, but Pitt knew better. His family had been the crown's clandestine monster hunters since the days of Queen Elizabeth, and Lord Pitt inherited their vast reserves of knowledge regarding the supernatural. And when he heard whispers of an angel of mercy in Morocco visiting the sick and dying, taking them away and supposedly giving them final respite, he knew that there was something else going on.

He had barely been in Morocco for a week before he figured out that his target was a vampire, all the signs present in the dead that she left behind. He was frustrated with the families of the deceased, who did not seem to share his urgency in destroying this abomination, but it was little issue in the end. He set his trap and sprang it.

The monster did not put up a fight. She only pleaded for her cursed life, and while Lord Pitt enjoyed combat, he also took pleasure in her pathetic ministrations. What joy it is to see the devil begging, and to have such power over monsters.

In her last moments, as she crumbled into ash, the monster uttered her final words: may he have mercy on you. Lord Pitt took that as his final victory, the demon in her last moments delivering a Christian blessing.

The whole affair invigorated him, as all hunts did, and he returned to England eager to fuck. As an upstanding Anglican, he did not prefer the company of whores. But even in her younger years, his wife Celestina was always reserved in the bedchamber. And after her difficult pregnancy, she seemed almost averse to any carnal contact. She had instead dedicated herself to running the household, and raising their daughter Rose to be a proper Victorian woman. Rose had just recently come of age, and Celestina busied herself with the business of introducing her to society, taking her to salons and galas and whatever else filled up the time of women of a certain breeding.

A shame, he thought. Celestina was still rather fair, even now that she approached middle age. But the aftermath of a hunt is not something that can be shared with her. It necessitates the services of women more willing and able to take a ploughing. He kept this small apartment in London specifically for this purpose, its doors only open for ladies of the night. And he had found satisfaction in this arrangement; having a respectable wife at home while indulging in the pleasures of the flesh outside of it.

"Please, sir," the whore said meekly. "Not so rough."

Lord Pitt pawed at her breasts, his fingers leaving indentations in the rosy flesh. He paid no heed to her pleas, and continued his rut. She could only whimper as he picked up speed, his eyes betraying no sympathy for her plight. His right hand released her bosom and moved up to her throat, grasping firmly around her airway. The edges of her vision dimmed as she struggled for air, drawing focus to Lord Pitt's icy gaze.

"Take it, whore," he said. "Take it." Pitt felt a heat in his loins, and all at once it surged through his member, releasing into the whore's cunt. Satisfied, he pulled out his sticky length, and released his grip on her throat. She gasped loudly and then coughed violently, before turning over limply.

Pitt found a nearby rag and wiped his privates clean. He casually tossed the rag at the panting whore, whose name he never bothered to learn. He walked towards a nearby desk, where he kept the money to pay for these services, and he noticed a strange shadow passing in the window. Lord Pitt could have sworn that the silhouette resembled that of a man, but the thought was simply ridiculous. He was on the third floor of this building, and not even the most agile thief could move that quickly on the facade's narrow ledges.

It was then then that he heard the shattering of glass. Shards from the window flew towards him, accompanied by a form that moved at a speed that he could barely register. Pitt did not have any time to realize what was going on, before the form was on him, and the world faded to black around him.

***

Lord Pitt awoke to a sharp pain in his head and a dull ache everywhere else. He tried to move, but found that he couldn't, his body bound tightly to a sturdy oak chair. His arms were lashed together behind him, and his legs were tied to the chair's legs. He raised his head slowly, hissing from the pain as he straightened his slumped neck and shoulders.

His surroundings came into focus, and he realized he was home, in his private den in Pitt Manor. He was on his chair behind his large wooden desk. The room was barely illuminated with candles, their orange glow hardly reaching the end of the room. They were concentrated around the settee at the center of the large room, on which there lay a bound female form. It took a second, but Pitt recognized her as the whore he hired that night.

A voice shot out from the darkness at the end of the room. "Let me tell you a story, Lord Pitt."

"Who are you?" Pitt yelled. "Show yourself."

"Long, long ago, there was a man born into war," the voice said, ignoring him. The words were spoken with an accent Pitt could not quite identify. But there were notes of refinement to it, a certain precision of elocution that tended to indicate an educated sort.

"He first killed when he was but a child," the voice continued, "defending his mother from some marauder. He failed to save her, but was successful in becoming acquainted with murder. And he would only become more familiar with death in his following years."

Pitt struggled against his bonds, trying to find some weakness as his mysterious captor seemed distracted in his reveries. But he found no slack in the rope, no place that wasn't tightly secured.

"He grew up strong, forged in the flames of endless conflict. He learned the ways of warfare, and killed many, many people. He fought under a banner, but the truth of it was that he killed for killing's sake. It was all he really knew, the justifications behind the various conflicts never really mattering to the man on the battlefield."

The whore stirred, and her eyes opened wide in panic. She tried to scream, but found her mouth gagged. A figure emerged from the darkness, tall and wiry, wearing a simple white shirt and heavy moleskin trousers. His clean-shaven face had delicate, youthful features, except for his dark, grey eyes, which carried the weight of age. His long, black hair seemed to resist the light, the candles doing nothing to illuminate his mane. He moved with an unnerving grace towards the whore, his footfalls making no sound against the wooden floors.

"Hush now, Betty," he said, running his hand gently through the whore's red curls. "I'm telling a story."

The whore seemed to settle down somewhat, though the panic had not fully left her eyes. It appeared as though there was comfort found in the man's light stroking, calming her to some measure.

"You reveal yourself, monster," Lord Pitt spat.

The man turned to him, looking slightly puzzled. "Oh, yes, he said. "Sometimes I take for granted how little men can see in the dark. I hope you don't think I was hiding. Allow me to introduce myself. I have been known by many names, but I have of late been going by the name 'Cain.'"

"Untie me," Lord Pitt said. "And then we'll determine if you were hiding from me."

"No I don't think so," he said. "Now where was I?"

Cain strode towards Lord Pitt, coming face to face with him.

"Now, there came a day when the man had spilled so much blood that he could no longer be a man. And so, he stopped being one. He became something else: a creature more suited to the oceans of blood that he was creating. He did not know how it happened, but it did, as though a gift from death himself. Much later, they would come to call him a vampire."

Cain looked up at him and smiled grimly.

"This...vampire lived for a very long time. Lived many lives, under many names. His blood allowed him to make other vampires, and every now and then he would make companions. But few are able to carry the burden of immortality, and those that were able attracted the attention of hunters. And while they shared some of their master's strengths, they were imperfect beings who had vulnerabilities that could be exploited."

Cain shot Lord Pitt a hateful glare that he felt in the pit of his stomach. "You know this, of course."

"So his existence was lonely," the man continued. "And though he could have anything he wanted, he still grew weary of his overlong life. There would never be any peace, for he was in the eyes of the rest of the world a monster. He then traveled to North Africa, intending, perhaps, to have a long, fitful sleep in the desert."

Pitt's captor looked him straight in eye. "But he met a most remarkable woman."

Cain rose to his full height, towering over the bound hunter. "In the centuries that he had lived, our protagonist had never felt anything resembling what people called love. And yet there it was, in this kind woman that smelled of rose water, my Fatima."

Pitt felt a chill run up his spine.

"She betrayed no fear upon learning what I was. She only had love and grace in her, and would suffer the curse of a vampiric hunger to be with me. And through her, I learned to turn death into a gift: a means to end suffering, rather than cause it."

Cain turned his back to Lord Pitt.

"And then you killed her," he said.

"She was the killer," Pitt said, trying everything he could to sound calm. There was a part of him that knew that arguing with his captor wasn't the wisest choice, but Lord Pitt was raised never to show weakness, even in the face of certain death. "You cannot begrudge me for trying to save the lives of people. Your justifications ring hollow. In the end, she was murdering people."

Pitt's heart pounded, his head throbbing as he tried to put on a defiant front.

"Just get it over with," Pitt said,. "Stop boring me with your stories and do what you will with me. I have lived a righteous life saving the lives of good Christians, and I await my final reward."

Cain turned his head to look at Pitt over his shoulder. And then he tilted his head back and gave a hearty laugh.

"I admire your faith," he said. "But I promise you there is nothing waiting for you on the other side. And I already told you: I have learned that death can be a mercy. And I aim to show you none."

Cain walked back into the shadows at the end of the room. Pitt heard him leave the room, and took the opportunity to once again strain against his bonds. But there was simply no give to the ropes. And then, he heard the door open. From the shadows emerged the forms of his wife and his daughter in their nightgowns.

"Celestina," Pitt said. "Quickly! Untie me!"

But Celestina made no move to free him. They stopped in the middle of the room, their faces bearing expressions of deep terror. In the light, Pitt could see that they had been crying.

"What has he done to you?" Pitt asked.

"I assure you they have not been harmed," his captor said from the shadows. "But they have witnessed the great violence of which I am capable, and understand that I am fully in control."

"Damn you," Pitt spat. "Celestina, Rose, flee from here! He is a monster!"

Cain entered the light and smoothly approached Celestina. He gestured towards the whore on the settee. "Lady Pitt, have you met Betty here? He is the prostitute that your husband hired for this evening."

"Don't listen to him!" Pitt said. "He is a liar."

"Your wife isn't stupid, Pitt. She knows that you've been unfaithful to her. Isn't that right, Celestina?"

Celestina offered a meek nod, and shot a look of betrayal at her husband that cut through the fear in her eyes. A ball of shame formed at the pit of his stomach, and it tore at his facade of composure.

"Celestina, I..." Pitt began.

"Spare me, husband," Celestina said in a tired whisper. "What I have seen today is a great enough burden without your lies."

Pitt was shocked by the tone that his wife had taken. She had always been a strong-willed woman, but had never shown him anything but deference. His shame turned into an anger that he could barely contain, for how could his wife ever speak to him in this way? He tensed every muscle in body, willing the ropes that restrained him to somehow break. He screamed in anguish as he strained, but all his efforts were futile.

"I would like you to stop struggling, Pitt," Cain said, approaching the bound hunter. He grabbed one of ropes lashed across Pitt's chest, and lifted him and the chair as though they weighed nothing. "It is pointless. I could leave you untied, and you would still not be able to change anything. I am beyond you, and there is nothing you can do to delay my will."

Pitt felt his heart pounding wildly as he was held up in the air. His body could not comprehend the strength of this monster, and was signaling him to flee. For perhaps the first time in his life, Pitt felt no desire to fight.

Cain looked straight into Pitt's eyes. "Do you understand?" he said.

Pitt tried to reply, but found the wind stuck in his chest. He instead found only enough will to nod frantically, and Cain put him down. Back on the ground, he saw his wife and his daughter looking at him with what seemed to be pity, and he felt the shame rising to his head again.

"Now pay attention, my lord," Cain said as he strode towards Celestina. "I am going to take everything away from you, and I wish for you to know that this all your doing. Your actions awakened the cruelty in me, and I wish to return your cruelty tenfold."

Celestina yelped as Cain tore her nightgown off of her, sending the pearl buttons clattering to the floor. She instinctively attempted to cover herself, but found Cain already behind her somehow, his firm grip holding her arms behind her.

"You're very beautiful, Celestina," he said as he ran his right hand from her neck down through the gap in her breasts, resting on her navel. Celestina trembled as his hand moved its way back up her stomach and cupped the globe of her right breast. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a sharp breath from the naked woman.

"I promise to be gentle with you, Lady Pitt," Cain whispered in her ear. "I wish only to reveal to you a pleasure that you have been deprived of by your husband."

Celestina said nothing, but her arms seemed to no longer struggle against his grip. He released her wrists and her hands fell to her side. His left hand came around and prodded her legs to part. A finger drew a slow trail up the inside of her left thigh, before landing on her mound.

Celestina gasped as Cain began to toy with her most intimate parts. His fingers danced deftly across her flesh, eliciting all manner of sensations new to the her. He fingers were soft, but insistent. He began with a feather touch, but applied increasing pressure as her body responded to his manipulations. Soon, he was applying steady strokes across her nub, his fingers gliding across her natural lubrication. His right hand tightened its grasp around her breast, causing her to moan. And when Cain started lapping at her ear, the added stimulus sent her over an unfamiliar edge.

Muscles tensed all over as her climax ripped its way through her body. Celestina gave a ragged scream as she convulsed. Cain stopped stroking and let his hand cover her mound. His right hand left her breast as he wrapped his arm across her chest, steadying her. His firmness somehow grounded the wild sensations, bringing her a sense of comfort amidst the pleasure.

Celestina fell limp in his embrace, and he gently guided her down to the carpet. She lay on her back breathing heavily as he removed his tunic, revealing a slender but muscular torso that looked as though it was carved from marble by one of the Italian masters. Cain then knelt in front of her and spread her legs. He brought his mouth close to her sex, and let her feel his breath on his wetness. Celestina shivered in anticipation.

Pitt could only watch as his wife shuddered in pleasure from Cain's oral attentions. Every lick seemed deliberate, every mild touch and prod and stroke designed specifically to heighten the sensation. Cain rose, his mouth glistening with Celestina's wetness, and he moved up to kill her. She returned his kiss hungrily, seeming to revel in tasting her own arousal. Cain's hand moved back to her sex, but this time, he sent two probing fingers plunging into her. Celestina gasped as they entered, but quickly brought her mouth back to his. Cain started pumping his fingers up and down, slowly at first, and then more urgent. Celestina broke off the kiss as the sensation became too much, releasing a sensual growl that Pitt could have never imagined coming from his wife.

Celestina started shaking, and Cain extracted his fingers. She continued convulsing as clear liquid discharged from her quivering cunt. Cain cradled her head as she continued to climax.

When her screams finally died down into a whimper, she looked up at Cain, and then looked away in shame. Her chest heaving, she tried to speak. "I never knew...it's too much," she said, almost choking on her words.

"Hush now," Cain said as he undid the buttons on his trousers. Out sprang his rigid cock, which was of a size and girth that made Celestina's eyes grow wide as saucers. Once again, he knelt between her legs. He collected her wetness and smeared it on his member, then looked directly in her eyes as he pushed forward. He entered gradually, and Celestina felt her body opening up to him, adapting to this sizable intruder. And she experienced a novel kind of anticipation, each tentative thrust deeper into her making her feel as though she was a vessel to be filled.

"Oh God, forgive me," she whimpered. She looked around the room; to her husband all tied up in the chair, his face torn in anguish and defeat, and to her daughter Rose, kneeling on the floor, her cheeks practically glowing bright pink. But she also detected a curiosity in Rose's eyes, shining through the discomfort of seeing her mother be fucked. And she looked up at the man about to fuck her, and though she had seen him do horrible things to the staff that ran the house, in the moment she thought him beautiful, and could think of no greater satisfaction than having him fully inside her.


As though sensing her submission, Cain drove his full length into her. She felt sensations in parts deep inside her that she previously did not know existed. It was as though a shockwave was radiating from her womb, spreading pleasure to her extremities. Cain stayed there for an agonizing moment, feeling her depth, before begin to piston in and out of her. He found a steady rhythm that to Celestina felt like the upper limit of what she could take, taking her to ecstatic heights that fell just short of completely breaking her body and spirit.

The room started to fall away from her vision. Celestina could hardly think of anything but the pleasure. To this point, though she was not very successful, she was trying to keep up a measure of her composure. But those concerns fell away now, and she screamed and moaned in wild abandon as orgasm after orgasm rippled through her.