The Afflicted Ch. 11

"So, Aimée, what's your number? How many do you want?" he asked.

"How many what?"

Tony grinned confidently. "I detect a hint of French in your accent. How many petit morts? How many small deaths do you want? Six? Seven?

"Why not twelve?" said Aimée.

"Why not?" said Tony. "Of course, that's before I have any myself. No telling where we go from there."

Aimée looked at him with an air of distrust.

"Are you saying you can bring me to twelve before you even have one? Not even if I try to wring one out of you?"

"Absolutely," said Tony.

For the first time, Winnie showed something. She gave the tiniest snort of disbelief, though she never looked up from her book.

"You don't believe me?" said Tony to Winnie.

Her silence was a tacit affirmation.

"Very well then," said Tony. "I'll make it thirteen -- not to say it won't be pleasurable for me. We begin."

Tony dropped down in front of Aimée and immediately set to work.

He was good. Aimée had never experienced a lover with such a talented tongue and fingers. She had one orgasm standing, at which point her knees buckled and she dropped onto the fainting couch behind her (an apt description), before she had even caught her breath she was on the way to a second."

Two hours later, Winnie had not read a single paragraph of her book. She watched in wonder as Tony (also a flier) pummeled Aimée directly above her in an almost scissor-like fashion, Aimée's legs spread wide her body turned perpendicular to his.

"Are you ready for thirteen?" asked Tony.

"Oh please yes, finish me Tony," moaned Aimée. "But, please you this time. Please cum with me."

"As you wish," he agreed.

An exhausted but rhapsodic squeal escaped Aimée's throat when Tony pulled her into him again and again. He cried out himself this time, and the thrusting grew slower and slower as he poured his cum deeply into her.

Winnie did not notice the droplets that fell onto the open book in her lap at first, and when she did, she was too flushed to care.

Tony and Aimée descended. Tony gently set Aimée down on the fainting couch, then bent over to whisper into Winnie's ear -- who was still staring straightforward in shock.

"Thirteen," he said seductively. "I suspect, Winnie, that a great deal hides beneath that prim exterior. Look me up some time and we'll see how things go."

He kissed Winnie's ear tenderly, his tongue snaking out to tease her. Winnie stayed in that spot, staring at nothing for a long while after Tony departed.

* * * *

Abby had never felt so empty. For the longest time her existence had truly been multi-faceted. In a way, it was as though she saw the world as an insect might -- through countless lenses. The lenses were the eyes of everyone around her, and those views were also tinged by the emotional overtones of each person's eyes she borrowed.

Now, her world felt incredibly small. The majority of her time there was only Yusef, one of the few members of the Afflicted who had had minor empathic abilities. His empath skills were negligible, but he did know how to shield his mind from any intrusions.

At first, Abby found him to be dry and humorless. He was descended from the Afflicted branch who had occupied the city of Petra which they had carved out of the rocks. The Afflicted people living there had been able to live a nearly normal life in the cavernous city until an earthquake had cut off the ancient rivers feeding the city.

In their conversations Abby soon learned that Yusef was a deep thinker and a gentle soul. He was simply deliberate and reserved in his manner. He'd had a brother who had been blind and he was actually very helpful in teaching Abby how to navigate without the aid of others' eyes.

Then, there were the lovers. For Abby, they were the bright spot of her day. Whereas Aimée just viewed her lovers as tools to satisfy her sexual needs, Abby savored each moment a young man came to visit. Her world was truly empty when she was alone, so the young men provided her with the sight, the hearing, and the emotions that she craved so deeply.

By the time each new young man arrived, she was ravenous for contact, and they were the beneficiaries of her longing.

On this morning, man who arrived wasn't as young as the others.

He stopped at the door and saw the beautiful redhead wearing a fine silk robe which was diaphanous enough to hint at the treasures below.

"Hello, my name is..."

"I know your name," said Abby. "You are Sean Blake and you are nearly sixty years old. You hail from Ireland and you were brought into our kind by a woman named Stacia, and... oh dear, I am so sorry for your loss."

"She grew careless," said Sean in his Irish brogue. "She shouldn't have died."

"But you still miss her," said Abby. "You're angry at her, but you miss her at the same time."

Sean dropped his head, looking to the ground sadly. "This is true," he said in a quiet voice.

"Come here, Sean," Abby said. "Sit at my feet and we'll talk."

"You read my mind," said Sean, bluntly. "You seem to know everything about me. You don't need to talk."

"No," agreed Abby, "but you do. Come here, Sean, let's make this a pleasant day."

He did as she bade him, and Abby and Sean began to talk. They talked of his childhood in Cork, of his first loves, of the day he met Stacia and how excited he had been to find his gift was to be a water breather. Once immersed, his skin served in the same fashion as the gills of a fish. This fascinated Abby to no end.

As they spoke, Abby's hands slowly explored his body with him barely knowing it. Her tender ministrations gradually brought him to a point of both relaxation and arousal.

Their conversation somehow naturally evolved into lovemaking, and Sean found himself lost in a fog of erotic and sensual overload. For Abby, her unions were the only time to feel truly alive every day. As such, she was determined that her partners would benefit from her gifts as much as possible.

As Sean's body eventually shook with his third climax, he held Abby close and she reveled in the desperate way he pulled her to his body.

"By the gods, girl, you are one of the most amazing things I've ever known."

"I thank you Sean," said Abby with a smile. "You are also wonderful."

"And you aren't mated yet?"

"No," she admitted.

For the first time that night, he saw a trace of sadness in her face.

"I could ask," he insisted in the heat of the moment. "I could ask if we might be right for each other. I promise you Abby, I'd never treat you poorly."

"Oh Sean, that means more to me than you can imagine. But, I'm afraid my heart does not belong to me. Nor does my life, for that matter. Both of those things belong to the Council."

"The Council?" asked Sean. "But what do you mean?"

"Nothing," said Abby. "Please, Sean. We just have this one time together. Let's make the most of it."

The rest of their time was indeed pleasurable. For their final time, Abby had to satisfy her curiosity. She filled the tub in her suite as full as possible and marveled as Sean sank to the bottom and waited for her there. In the beginning, she rode him with her torso above the water, but he eventually communicated to her that she would be safe below as well.

He pulled her down to his mouth and they moved in slow undulations. They splashed water over the edges with their motion. He was able to pull oxygen from the water and breathe it back into Abby's lungs. They emerged feeling almost reborn in a way.

Around a half hour later, Abby walked Sean to the door. Sean was clothed once again; Abby wore a simple terrycloth robe. Her hair was still damp from their adventure in the bathtub.

"You're a darling, that's for sure," said Sean. "I hope our paths cross again -- soon."

"It was delightful, Sean. Thank you for letting me get to know you."

They kissed and Sean departed. Yusef stood by the door, as solid as ever. As Abby turned to return to her bedchamber, his voice rang out.

"Abby, may I say something?"

"Of course, Yusef," she said, turning back to him with her usual smile.

"Young woman, I hope you don't take this for anything other than the compliment I mean it to be. I have seen four men come here as strangers and I have seen four men walk out of here willing to hand you their hearts. I have also seen them treated to the kind of lovemaking that is very, very rare. What I want to say is; if you ever chose to turn your attentions to becoming a courtesan, there would not be a king in the world who wouldn't give his entire treasure house for one night with you. I don't mean to suggest that you should, I just mean..."

"I know what you mean," said Abby, blushing. "And I take it as the compliment it is meant to be. Yusef, can I ask you for a favor?"

"If it is allowed, anything," said Yusef.

"Would you read to me?" said Abby.

"I would be honored," said Yusef with a smile. "And I have just the book."

He reached into his traveling bag and pulled out a worn leather volume.

"The Seven Beauties, by Nizami, he said. "It is one of the great treasures of the East. You will love it. There is nothing more beautiful than hearing it in the native Persian."

"But I don't speak Persian," said Abby, sadly.

"I will open that part of my mind," said Yusef quietly. "I will speak the words, and you will see the meaning in my mind's eye."

"You can do that?" whispered Abby.

"Of course, but don't tell anyone, I'm sure it would be frowned on."

"You can trust me," said Abby.

"I know, dear girl," said Yusef. "I know I am as safe with you as I would be with my own mother."

* * * *

Brana was a bit harried. Running the dorms and all that entailed was a difficult enough job as it was. Now she had the four special cases to worry about and their schedules.

The boys, in particular, were a challenge. Four days now, and every evening she arrived to find a very, very long line of women. As soon as the women spotted her, she would be surrounded with each woman begging to be given a night with one of the young stallions.

"I have work," she said sternly. "Schedules to manage, food to order, stacks of paperwork."

"But..." started one woman.

"I will see you when I can," she said. "Just, give me a few minutes and then you may come in, one at a time, to plead your case."

Brana retreated to her office and angrily worked her way through sheaf of orders and requests on her desk. When she was done, she deliberately poured herself a cup of tea to drink and drank it slowly, determined not to let the circling buzzards outside compromise her schedule. At last she opened her door and called out.

"Very well ladies"

A well-coifed, bejeweled woman in expensive clothes pushed her way to the front of the cue and forced her way into the office.

"Brana, dearest."

It was Irina Neratoff, a woman who had served on the minor council several times during her five hundred years. Brana remembered Irina's granddaughter, Marian, from a decade before. She had been a rather spoiled cadet at the beginning, but had turned out to be quite a dear.

"Word has it that you are harboring some young stallions in need of companions."

"It's true," said Brana. "If Marian is available, just let me know."

"Oh goodness no, Brana -- I wish to volunteer myself. It has been so long since I've been able to drink from a lovely young fountain. Gregor is certainly a wonderful lover, but a stallion he is not."

"Irina," said Brana. "You are twenty-five times the boys' age. Though they are lustful, they are innocent. You know far too much and would spoil them."

"I would educate them," insisted Irina. "How thirsty I am just thinking of it."

"Well, I'll put you on the list," she said. "The final word is up to Galen, of course. We'll let you know."

That was, of course, a lie. Beyond the restriction of no one person for more than a day, Galen had left the choices entirely up to Brana's discretion. She had learned that 'the list' was an answer more easily accepted than a simple 'no'.

The parade of women continued through her office. Some were bored, most were licentious and randy, and then there were the few:

It was the last woman of the day. Brana had thought everyone had left, but stepped into the office to see the woman starting to leave.

"Hello?" she said curiously.

"Oh," said the woman in a trembling voice. "I had changed my mind. I was just leaving."

"No, please," she said. "Do come in."

The woman came closer into the stronger light and Brana had to hold back a gasp. There was a haunted look about the woman that was unmistakable.

The Afflicted always looked alive. Some chose to look younger than others. The shallow and vain usually chose an appearance of around twenty years of age. Others valued a more mature look, but the look of an Afflicted was universally vibrant.

This woman looked weary and spent. It was the look of one who might be dying, who might be growing weary of her time on earth. By mortal standards, she might have looked like an Asian woman in her thirties. By hospital standards, she would have been diagnosed with consumption on first blush.

"How may I help you, good woman," inquired Brana.

She led the sad lady back into her office.

"My name is Seika," said the woman after a long pause. "My mate was Haru Morimoto; he was taken in a raid by the black guard some fifteen years ago."

"I am so sorry," said Brana.

Seika began to break down, tears flowing freely.

"I have tried," she sobbed. "I laid with my brother-in-law because he looked like my husband. I submitted my name to the Council and they sent me many candidates, but none of them were right for me. I even lived in a brothel. I thought, perhaps out of the hundreds of men I might find one who my body cried out for. There was no one. "

"Now," she continued, "now I go to the singles quarters once a week and find someone, just to feed my body, but it doesn't seem worth it. Nothing seems worth it."

She cried some more. Brana crossed to sit beside her and took her hand gently.

"I was ready," said Seika. "I was ready to go. Just yesterday I stared at the door of my apartment. I watched the line of light peaking around the edges of the entryway. I was this close to simply opening it and stepping out. I don't know what stopped me."

"Then I heard of the stallions," Seika said quietly. "It isn't that I wish to take one to mate. I wouldn't presume so much. No, I thought of their seed. I thought back on my times with Haru. We were each other's first mates, and yes, I knew him as a stallion. I still remember the times just before the Blood ritual. I drank from him for days at a time, it seemed. We were so young -- so alive. I thought, perhaps, that is what my body needs. Perhaps if I could taste so much, if my skin could be bathed in that deliciousness swimming with life -- perhaps that could wake me once again. I know it's silly, but those were the thoughts going through my mind. I'm sorry for wasting your time."

She got up to leave but Brana held her arm to stop her.

"Wait," said Brana. "I have to tell you, it's true."

"What?" asked Seika, incredulously.

"Seika, I was talking with Madame Villepreux-Power just the other day and she told me just such a thing. She said the seed of an Afflicted stallion is so alive, so curious, that it has often been known to have healing effects. Here."

Brana wrote down an address and slipped it into Seika's hand.

"There is a young man named Claude," she whispered. "He will spill more onto you and into you than you could ever imagine. If there is a cure in this route, he is the one to provide it. Meet me at this address in three hours."

As Seika left, Brana wondered superstitiously if she was bringing bad luck on herself for telling such fibs. Madame Villepreux-Power had said no such thing, but this woman was near death. Brana didn't see the harm in a little white lie if it gave this poor woman hope.

* * * *

It had only been five days, but Claude was growing a bit weary of the routine. Each day, a new woman. Each day, another goodbye; and each day he still missed the girls desperately. His mind hopped back and forth between memories of, and longings for, Abby and Aimée in equal measures.

Now, he was being used as some sort of charity worker. Brana had briefed him on this Seika and he wasn't very happy about it. A hopeless woman who might be dying; the idea frightened him in many ways.

Yet the woman who presented herself at the door surprised him. She was dressed in an elegant silk kimono and her hair was pushed up with beautiful jade hairpins. Yes, her eyes bore a haunted look -- but she was certainly lovely.

"Thank you for having me," said Seika demurely. "I know an aging widow would not have been your first choice, but I promise you my skills are not lacking. I have the experience of two centuries and the techniques of five continents at my disposal. I assure you, I will do my best to please."

A half hour later, Claude believed every word she had said. His own mother (a stunning sexual being with six centuries' experience) had initiated him in the ways of expert manual and oral pleasure, but Seika made even the wondrous Frederique look like a highly skilled amateur when it came to pleasing a man. In those mere thirty minutes, Seika had worked him with her hands, her mouth, and even her feet. She had pleasured Claude in ways that left him practically paralyzed in ecstasy. Every time he was near, she seemed to know the perfect time to retreat and leave him at the edge. Several times, she actually let him begin to cum, but squeezed the base of his cock in some way that stopped things at once. Twice, he was sure he felt the surging cum retreat into his system.

Now she was ready. She was kneeling in front of him and sliding his huge member all the way into her tiny mouth and entirely down her throat.

"Now," she gasped as she pulled him out, releasing the vice-like grip she had around the base of his shaft.

It had been a long time coming and with Claude's condition there was a titanic amount. It had been some time since a lover had been able to contain all of Claude's first burst of the day, but Seika seemed hell-bent on doing just that. Stream after stream poured down her throat and she swallowed it greedily. At last she couldn't take any more and pulled back, aiming his cock down her body for the last few bursts (which, by themselves, would have been all a mortal could ever hope to muster).

Claude's eyes were closed in gratified bliss as Seika rose up, rubbing his glistening cock between her breasts as she did. Opening his eyes, Claude almost cried out in surprise. This was a different woman. Her eyes were bright and no longer had circles beneath them. Her smile was genuine and not forced, and beyond everything there was a renewed hunger in her eyes that was undeniable.

"Did I please you well, young man?"

"I... oh my god," gasped Claude. "Can I ask, whoever I end up with as my mate, will you give her lessons?"

"I promise I will," she said with a smile.

Then she blushed and whispered.

"And much to my surprise, I think it is a promise I might be able to keep."

An hour later, she was riding him to her third orgasm. Her tiny frame could not contain his entire ample shaft, but she took in all she could, his mammoth cock bouncing against her cervix with each descent of her slender body.

Claude was near another orgasm and she elicited another anguished groan as she stopped him once more.

"Why do you keep doing that?" he cried.

"It builds up," she explained. "Done properly, you gather even more fluid within you. I want so much, so very much indeed."