I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


    “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

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    Fabien

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    “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Fri Apr 08, 2016 4:00 pm

    The sound of movement in the corridor sent a renewed spear of cold terror deep into the centre of Fabien’s heart. He could feel his pulse against his tongue, drumming as frantically as any cornered fox’s might. The boy tried to rationalize the situation, to suggest happier alternatives to the horrors which were already fermenting in his thoughts: Perhaps they were passing by; it had only been hours since his last visitor. Perhaps they were discussing other matters; perhaps they had taken pity on him.

    Surely they would not subject him to another so soon? The boy was still so drained after his last fight, there had been so little time to reserve the energy needed for another.  

    And yet, the voices became louder, closer, lingering just beyond his prison door.

    Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    His storm grey eyes shivered away from the door. He attempted to turn his body, and glanced and along the length of his arms to where he was firmly laced together by his narrow wrists. The urchin’s upper lip curled hatefully back from his teeth, and he drew air deep into his lungs. Soon after he set to work once more, and began to pull downwards, using the full force of his weight in order to gain further leverage. His spine arched, and one knee lifted to force his body firm against the bindings. The metal headboard creaked, and the coarse ropes groaned in protest, but despite every effort, they did not relent. They refused to relinquish their punishing grip upon the young captive.
    Determination forced the youth onwards, and he continued until the pain became too much to bear, and his flesh too ruined and burned. Only then did he finally cease his efforts, a soft cry of misery haunting the corners of his mouth.  

    “Merde, merde, come on, s’il vous plaít, s’il vous plaít...” he gasped, his spine trembling upon the pitiful stained mattress. Sweat had already begun to clot his hair against his brow, to plaster what was left of his ghastly rags against his beaten and bruised skin.

    It should have been so easy. He had slipped free of ropes and shackles more fearsome than these a thousand times. But the knots were so tight, and his position so vulnerable, it was impossible to muster the strength.

    The boy’s fine eyes lifted, and turned once more towards with the door with a look of absolute horror. After biting down firm upon his bloodied lower lip to conceal his pain, he continued to squirm miserably against his shackles.


    Last edited by Fabien on Fri Apr 08, 2016 11:36 pm; edited 1 time in total
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Apr 08, 2016 8:30 pm

    Those hateful voices outside the door only grew louder. A disagreement, surely – a woman’s voice raised in exasperation, cut off by a man’s incredulous remark. A third voice, sharp with impatience, intruded. It evidently ended the dispute. The voices petered to gentle murmurs of agreement, a lilting question met with a brusque reply – “Non” - before the groaning floor protested quietly under the retreating footfall.

    The ensuing silence was swiftly broken. The door swung open to reveal a straight-razor sharp silhouette. Light and warmth, the high trill of laughter and the heavy scent of smoke wavered from the rooms behind him but a chill slipped about the room like a noose as though the stranger had smuggled slivers of storm-soaked petrichor and frigid night air underneath his mantle.

    The door snapped shut with a wave of his hand. The heel of his boots clicked with his purposeful stride. His attire was neat and somber and likely the last thing the bound boy would take in; one was helplessly drawn to his terrible eyes. They were dull and vague, clotted with a thick web of white as though burned from the skull to reveal the ivory sockets beneath.

    The rest of his face followed suit. It was composed of harsh lines and slanting angles that conjured up images of the bones beneath. His skin was dark as dust, his mouth sharp and hungry.

    The stranger did not hesitate when he reached the bed. His fingers, thin and long and tapering to a fine point, were sure and confident as they grasped the boy beneath his chin with startling ease for a man so obviously sightless. There was no dirt beneath the fingernails of the hand that so thoughtlessly forced his head to the side. His grip was cold and strong as iron.

    A chilling cruelty flashed in those blighted eyes and his smile exposed far too much of the teeth that seemed too long and too sharp to fit comfortably in a man’s mouth.

    “You will do.” His words were bathed in an accent that sharpened every syllable and stalked by a rasped snarl. “If you are going to beg, you may begin now.”
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Apr 09, 2016 2:16 pm

    The fettered urchin was a captive audience. Even if the boy had wished to turn his eyes away, they were fused to the approaching figure. His expression began to change until it was a carefully composed portrait of dismay, his eyes so darkly ringed and haunted they were like beads of glass set within coal. It was clearly evident he had not slept fully in quite some time, nor been granted a single nourishing meal. Already his collarbone had begun to jut miserably from beneath his smooth skin, laced with red blemishes from his unsuccessful clients.

    In what little time he had to observe his visitor, it was immediately clear that this man was not like the others. They had staggered in, sometimes in small groups, giggly and stupid on sweet wine and rich food. All powdered and perfumed, they had been drawn more to him by fascination than lust, and had been easily deterred by firm kick or a harsh and abrasive word. Many of them had so easily swallowed his lies, his list of diseases and aliments. So far, he had been immensely fortunate.

    They had not looked at him like this. No one had ever looked at him like this.

    As the man’s fingers slipped under his jaw, the boy’s breath caught in his throat. He felt sadness well inside of him like blood pooling around an open wound. It threatened to rise up along the back of his neck, until every muscle there stiffened in order to supress it. He immediately attempted to resist the touch, and pulled his head away like a stubborn colt, drawing aside from the awful cleanness of the stranger’s dark fingertips.

    All at once days of frustration and anguish began to simmer beneath his skin, and soon it was trembling through his limbs in painful waves. The gentleman’s words, simple as they were, were more than enough to ignite his anger.

    Vas te faire encule” he spat, his eyes burning from within the purple hollows of his skin. “I do not beg for the attention of sodomites.”
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Sat Apr 09, 2016 11:36 pm

    The stranger’s reply to the insult was immediate and difficult to argue with. The hand that had held the boy’s jaw lifted and struck him soundly across the face. The blow had enough force to rattle his teeth and possibly bloody his nose, depending on how quickly he tried to turn away. The ghost of his hand instantly imprinted an angry red mark of raised flesh across his cheek.

    Très bien,” he said with another flash of those dreadful ivory teeth. “But do not forget you were given the opportunity.”

    His disrobing was efficient. He unbuttoned his shirt with one hand as the other occupied itself in the undoing of the clasp of his travelling cloak. He shrugged both from his shoulders and bared his torso. Muscle and bone moved with easy competence beneath the skin. A jagged scar marred the base of his throat with a silver lattice. His white hair stood out in stark contrast to the dark skin, a ghostly shroud.

    The stranger tossed his shed garments on the chair next to the bed. Half-undressed, he was no less imposing than he had been clothed. There was something feral in the way he moved, something of a half-starved wolf in his clipped gestures as he rocked impatiently on his heel to strip his feet bare. His discarded boots were kicked beneath the chair and swiftly forgotten.

    Barefoot and bare-chested, he turned his attention back to the bed. His blighted eyes flashed a predatory silver as he reached once more for the boy. A hand stroked probingly down the length of his bound arms. They lingered with particular interest on his swollen wrists and the throbbing burns that were testament to his futile attempts to escape.

    “You have proven yourself quite the nuisance,” he said absently. His voice was a low purr on his tongue, a rasp raking across the words. “Your hosts wanted to gag you before they even showed me into the room. Said your barking spoilt the appetite.” His fingers trailed tenderly over the raised flesh of the cheek that surely still smarted hotly from his hand. “I declined, of course. Why should I be deprived of your yelping?”

    His wandering hand fell to the boy’s chest. He undid the tattered remains of his shirt to further expose the ribcage speckled with blotches and bruises. “Or your ire. I do so hope you keep that fire in your belly.” Forcefully, both hands wrenched the last of the fabric that bound his waist apart, shattering the last of his expectation of modesty and baring hips, groin and thighs to blind eyes. Evidently pleased by his new vulnerability, the man patted the inside of a thigh the one does the flank of a horse, hard enough to make the poor urchin flinch.

    “Will you give me that satisfaction?” Cruel amusement echoed in the words. “Not to begin choking on your tears too soon?”
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Sun Apr 10, 2016 3:27 pm

    The impact of the stranger’s hand caused pain to erupt through the boy’s jaw like a blade severing through flesh. It tore the air from his lungs, and plucked a single, shocked gasp from between his clenched teeth. The urchin was briefly dazed, and a frail line of warm blood began to seep from his nostrils, until it further reddened the youthful contours of his lips.  He was left briefly stunned and painting, unable to follow his visitor’s movement at his side. When the boy’s head eventually rolled back and dark eyes lifted, his features had been transformed into a look of unimaginable hatred.  He said nothing, merely turned his body as much as his bindings would allow, and aimed a mouthful of bloodied spit at the gentleman’s feet.

    It was a regrettable move. In turning his head, the boy had forced himself watch the stranger undress, to see him slip free from his dark clothing with such purposefulness. And there was something else, something wrong about the way he moved. It seemed sometimes too fast, too animal-like. He was so tired, so hungry, it was only natural that he should project phantoms where there were none. And yet, as he studied the movement of his lean limbs, and dreadful pale eyes, the sensation only worsened. Cold sweat continued to bead over his skin until it was slick and gleaming.

    When his visitor approached, the severity of Fabien’s trembling increased. Soon it was so violent that his wrists were knocking gently against the bars where they were laced. The boy flinched as the hands reached out for him, and terror began to creep its way into the corners of his mouth and widening eyes. The sensation of fingers on his bound skin incited a sharp cry of pain. Even so slight a touch upon the burned flesh was near torture. In his attempts to unleash, the youth had near skinned himself alive.

    “T-they make a mistake in keeping m-me here.” He rasped, unable to keep the quivers of terror from destroying the confidence of his words. The boy was briefly silenced when his shirt was peeled aside, replaced instead by a deep, shuddering breath. He allowed himself a moment to compose, and then he continued. “J-just as you are making one now.”

    Some of urchin's bruising was old, faded blotches of purples and reds that darkened the smooth lines of this throat and bled out over his hips and waist. But there were fresh marks too, left by fingernails and teeth upon his thighs and lower stomach. The muscles there flinched and contracted when the last shreds of cloth were ripped from his slim figure.

    Vous pouvez aller en enfer.” He rasped, and began to carefully raise one knee so that he might use his leg in some form of defence. He would not stop fighting. “They s-sent you in here to frighten me, didn’t they?”

    “I am n-not afraid of you.”


    Last edited by Fabien on Fri May 06, 2016 3:06 pm; edited 1 time in total
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Mon Apr 25, 2016 9:28 pm

    The stranger had found himself occupied with the delightful lure of bruised flesh newly bared from beneath its rags but the boy’s snarled obscenity quickly drew him back. Lazily, he reached for the thin stem of his throat. His grasp was brutal, clearly intending to firmly choke every whisper of air from the boy’s lungs.

    Non?” he said, cocking his head. This near, his white teeth were chillingly like a serpent’s, a bead of moisture glistening like venom along their curve. “Then you are a fool.” He bent his head and his cold tongue licked the slick mess of blood and spit from the boy’s lips. A shudder rattled through the bones of his spine and he nearly purred, “And you can join me in hell.

    Only when the urchin’s temples were throbbing with the strain of retaining consciousness despite the merciless hand about his neck would the intruder act. He wheeled around to gather himself on his knees between the boy’s legs. He held him firm by the bony joint of his knee, his hand both a firm deterrent to any flailing kicks and leverage to force his legs further apart and allow him room to settle between them. He released his throat, the skin beneath his fingers already stippled with purple.

    Once satisfied with his vantage point, the stranger lowered his mouth to his captive audience’s chest. His eager tongue trailed down the line of his sternum. It lingered with keen pleasure where the skin stretched taut as a drum between his hip bones. His sharp teeth prickled the flesh, teasing, coaxing murmurs of discomfort from the nerves. The sensation hastily erupted into a crimson burst of pain as they punctured the skin.

    He had bitten him hard enough to draw blood. His exhale as it spurted hot over his tongue was coloured with the faint breath of a moan and vibrated like a beast’s purr against the skin.

    It seemed to ignite something in him. Impatiently, as if possessed by ill-contained energy, he reached for the soft skin between the urchin’s exposed thighs and possessively cupped it in his hand before taking it hungrily into his mouth. He rolled it over his tongue with unabashed delight, his mouth cool and wet.

    Without interrupting the tempo of his mouth’s wicked work, he reached with one hand to unbuckle his belt. It loosened the last of his clothes enough that he could slip them down past his hips. He was already hard, achingly so, a fact made inescapable to the urchin as his mouth reluctantly retreated to allow him to bend his back and press that firm skin between the juncture of his quivering thighs. It was hot and hard and wholly threatening.

    His unoccupied hand forced the boy’s head to the side, smashing it against the bed and effectively baring his throat. It was not apt to be a comfortable grip as the palm on his cheek bore most of the stranger’s weight, driving the poor urchin’s face to the bed with a grip like steel.

    His breath was cool where it fluttered along the rise of the captive’s cheekbone, still marked red from his hand. “This is your last chance.” Despite the snarl that stalked the words, his voice was cool, with nary a tremble to mark it. “To beg me not to hurt you.”
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Fri Apr 29, 2016 2:31 pm

    The humiliation that had briefly coloured the boy’s skin was crushed from him. He choked air back into his agonised lungs with a terrible gasp left him coughing as if the nourishing air was poisonous. In his pain, the boy was briefly left dazed, the bones of his frail chest pressed miserably up against the surface of his skin.

    The next thing he became aware of was the gentleman’s tongue, coiling its way down and along his bruise marked chest. A sharp pulse of disgust leapt through the urchin’s entire body. In sudden burst of panic, he frantically attempted to twist his body aside, to angle his foot so that he might push the stranger’s legs back from him.  Only the intensity of the pain put an end to his squirming, futile battle.

    Fabien released a sharp, heated cry of pain as his entire lower body arched upwards from the bed. The boy’s stomach muscles tensed, and his body instinctively attempt to curl inwards protectively.  When his cries of pain softened, the youth lowered his storm cloud eyes hatefully upon his blind visitor. Pain awakened his hostility, and he attempted to fight against his bonds like a feral hound.

    The boy’s spirited movements were sharply replaced by a quivering, writhing wave of discomfort as he became aware of where the man’s interests had turned next. He had, for the most part, averted his gaze from the blood, from the stranger’s ungodly teeth and his demonic lips. But his interest was briefly, unpleasantly stolen and he looked upon him in livid horror.

    “Y-you’re a real... sick... fils de pute, you know that?” He snarled. “Y-ou should be locked up.”

    Despite his growling and visible repulsion, the boy’s flesh twitched appreciatively against the stranger’s tongue. Soon it had begun to cruelly respond to his guest’s efforts, and the skin which stirred against his lips became increasingly firmer, slicker and hotter.

    The boy did not know where he ought to focus his attention. His eyes were desperate to depart, but instead they siezed miserably on the gentleman’s hands, his long clean fingers. Soon the urchin found himself watching in torturous fascination as he unclasped the clothing from around his waist. And he continued to watch as more and more  dark skin was revealed. Then suddenly he had seen enough, and he dared watch no more.

    Dieu Ah” the boy whimpered, and his whole body began to tremble. Blood continued to seep in vibrant ribbons down towards hollow of his inner thigh, rolling like tears over the side of his hip where it would soon stain the sheets. He was terrified. His thighs quivered meekly against the stranger’s hips, the awful pressure and unfamiliar firmness was almost enough to break him. It threatened to tease a soft, tearful confession from his youthful lips. To encourage a plea for leniency, or empathy. That this was new to him, that he was sorry for being so coarse. That he didn’t know what to do, and didn’t want to hurt.

    But as his skull was pressed down into against his prison bed, it never came.

    “I beg you t-to... crawl back... to w-whatever... s-stinking pit... you came from.” The words were spat from between his clenched teeth. He had attempted to unearth courage, despite the fear which shadowed every word he spoke.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Mon May 30, 2016 10:38 pm

    The stranger’s lips split in a smile that was nearly a snarl at the boy’s final answer. It bared those terrible teeth, his mouth stained dark with the blood he had already drawn from the quivering hollow of his hip.

    “Very well.” The words were hot in his throat, pressing as obscenely against his captive’s cheek as the eager skin that pushed against his inner thigh. “Let us see if you live long enough to regret it.”

    His back arched in a sinuous writhing of bare muscle beneath dusty skin, thrusting his hips forward and grinding his aching cock deeper between the urchin’s trembling thighs. The threat was clear and wholly a misdirection; his penetration came not between the tense slant of shivering thighs but as a dazzling torrent of pain at the base of his throat as the intruder sank the sharp ivory of his teeth deep into the muscle where his neck met shoulder.

    It was unnecessarily cruel. His teeth did not sever the arteries or veins that wound up the delicate structure of his bruised throat. Instead, he sheathed his teeth to the hilt in the thick muscle. It would hurt, terribly, nerves singing with the deep, stinging pain of their invasion. Blood spurted into his waiting mouth, certainly, but not much. Surely not enough to graciously relieve the boy of the burden of consciousness.

    The stranger relished the mouthful of hot copper that gushed from the wound. His thick groan was a growl that buzzed through the skin of the boy’s neck. His grasp tightened, forcing the boy’s head into the bed with a force apt to make him hurt.

    The hand that was not restraining the boy impatiently traced a path of shivering flesh up his sternum. He lifted his head only long enough to wet his fingers with his mouth, the fingertips gleaming red from his tongue, before reaching between the crook of the urchin’s shuddering legs. The skin that had responded so prettily to the attention of the stranger’s hungry mouth was now taken in his hand and rolled between his fingers. The touch was firm and sure, that of a horsemaster bringing an unruly colt to heel.

    He shifted his weight, his greedy mouth still sucking tenderly at the cut at the boy’s throat, to allow him to press the slickened skin between his palm and the smooth plane of his stomach. When he rocked forward, the skin trapped between his body and his hand throbbed with the slick friction.

    This was, perhaps, crueler than the bite; every lazy thrust simultaneously overwhelmed with the pain of the stranger’s lips and tongue on severed flesh and the twisting pleasure of the stroked skin rutting against his stomach. The stranger was quick to take full advantage of this dilemma, the muscles of his torso moving liquid beneath dusky skin and a warmed moan on his bloodied lips.
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Tue Jun 07, 2016 7:40 pm

    Fabien saw those teeth, sharp as shards of glass and unnatural in every way. Wrong, although he did not understand why. And the stranger was moving too swiftly for him to even begin contemplating it.

    The boy’s eyes appeared perpetually cast in shadow, and the flesh of his eyelids were almost weighed down by exhaustion. Only terror kept them bright, kept the pupils quivering anxiously against the dark. It was painfully clear that he did not know how to be. How best to brace his body or where to find comfort for the pain he had been expecting, but never experienced. There was no possible way to curl inwards, to hide his face or slip an arm around his bare chest. The openness of it left him gasping through his teeth, seeking the air in small pained breaths.

    Then when the vampire’s teeth punctured his skin, when the pain came so brutal and sharp, something within the boy broke. He cried out, screamed loud enough to wake the dead from their slumbering. The wretched cries were surely terrible enough to be heard along the corridor, offered to any who lingered just beyond the door.  And they were miserable enough to turn the skin turn cold, to make those in the pursuit of pleasure pause and shiver.

    The boy continued to cry out long after the teeth had been lodged deep into his skin. But gradually he began to grow quieter, softer. The sharp whines replaced by dull, unhappy groans. He had not realised at first what the stranger was doing, had done. And when it became clearer, his entire body began to tremble more fiercely than it had before. Soon it would be enough to shake the bed beneath them.

    “Aahhn... fuck” the boy rasped, his youthful voice full of pain and deep disgust.

    “What is... w-what is wrong with you?” He managed to croak, his words threatening to fragment into sobbing convulsions. He did his best to fight it. He did not want to cry.
    The urchin had not followed the vampire’s touch as it moved across his chest, and he had only barely registered the bloodied fingertips. The pain had made everything else seem suddenly so out of focus.

    The boy was slow to realise that his flesh was hardening against the stranger’s hand. That his fingers were over and round his skin, that they were coaxing something terrible from him. Almost at once he struggled against it.

    “S-stop,” he snarled hatefully, his upper lip twisting from his teeth like a dog prone to bite.  

    But the pain was being blissfully, mercifully softened by something more soothing, more comforting. And soon ripples of exquisite pleasure were curling the youth’s toes, parting his bloodied lips.

    The boy closed his eyes, and bit down hard upon his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. He tried to ignore those undulating motions, the way they rolled over his eager skin in relentless waves. But soon they became too much, and his shuddering gasps veered dangerously close to a moan. His body praised the stranger’s actions highly, the skin between his legs slick and hot against their bodies. And despite all his efforts, his fighting, the boy’s hips began to stir and he was plunged back into agony.

    “Stop it... I... I’ll... I’ll kill you.”
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Wed Jun 29, 2016 4:34 pm

    The intruder made no motion to stifle the cries of pain he had drawn from deep in the boy’s quivering chest. The hand that had forced the urchin’s head to the side lifted to curl about the base of his slender throat in a gesture that seemed to contain a possessive, encouraging pleasure. It was a tight grasp, although too low to actually hinder the slithers of air gasped desperately to his lungs. His agonized groans vibrated like a cicada’s wings beneath his fingers.

    The boy’s revulsion only seemed to increase the intruder’s delighted animation. He lifted his lips from the wound still weeping piteous scarlet drops at his neck to focus his attention more thoroughly on the slick skin that twitched and throbbed so appreciatively in his hand. His fingers were over and around his skin, coaxing deeper, greater ripples of pleasure from the dismayed nerves.

    The boy’s snarled promise brought the motion of his wicked hands to a halt. He bent his head to whisper into his ear, “Oui, mon cher?” The words were breathless and coloured with a helpless affection fit to make the skin crawl. His mouth dripped with blood.

    Surely the wretched urchin would think it a miracle when his words produced the intended effect and the stranger disentangled himself from the sprawl of limbs and leapt from the bed with manic glee, hitching the fabric back over his hips where it was much askew. He stooped over the clothes he had discarded. The bed blocked much of the boy’s view, concealing the purpose of his rummaging until he stood and revealed a small knife held with easy familiarity in his palm. The light skittered nervously along the blade’s thin edge.

    The blind man stepped quickly back to the bed that had so swiftly become a torture rack. He ran the flat of his hand across the boy’s shivering collarbones, the touch hurriedly exploratory. The touch of his hand was followed by the point of the knife that dinted the skin of his shoulder where it rested.

    “I hope you mean it.” The blade was held so loosely in his hand that the point merely grazed the skin when he lazily dragged it along the flesh. It was apt to prickle the nerves and send chills racing through the pebbled skin. Where it met the rise of the clavicle it bit into the flesh, luring wet pinpricks to the surface. The cut was a thin red ribbon below his neck, an angry line like the memory of the guillotine.

    The stranger’s breath hissed past his teeth and he reached for the urchin’s bound arms. There was little weight in the touch – it was fluttery, fleeting, merely perfunctory as he found the coarse rope biting into the boy’s mottled wrists. His unoccupied hand pressed a thumb into his forearm to hold him steady as he readied the knife.

    “This will hurt.” There was palpable joy in the warning that the youth would have little time to consider before it proved true, the rope becoming too tight on already abused skin as the blade pressed beneath it. A rocking motion confirmed the knife’s sharpness as it severed the fibers into a disgruntled fray and, abruptly, the pressure fell away and the boy’s hands were bound no longer.

    Once his wrists were free, at least from the bed if not from each other, the intruder stepped clear, leaving the boy to either puzzle out how to untangle the rest of the rope or suffer the handicap.

    He deliberately brandished the sharp knife between two fingers, ensuring that the boy saw it before he tossed it with a clatter to the floor between them. It skittered to a rest next to the bed.

    “Here is your chance,” he said, his voice panting hot in his throat. His pale eyes flashed silver. His muscles, exposed beneath the bare skin, were taut, his enthusiasm as tangible as the glint of his sharp teeth. “Kill me.”

    The stranger hooked a finger into his belt and tugged it free. It slithered loose with a hiss. He looped it lazily in his palm, his arm loose at his side. When he spoke, his voice was low, stripped of all its brimming delight to reveal the hard bones beneath.

    “But you will keenly regret it if I do not stay down.”
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Sun Jul 03, 2016 5:11 pm

    Fabien was left dazed. The sudden absence of the stranger’s weight, of his firm hands and monstrous teeth left numbness in their wake. He lay gasping like a broken fawn released from the jaws of a wolf, his young heart beating so hard against his ribs the walls of the room began to sway.

    The urchin’s dark eyes had been reduced to mere slits, stormy crescents beneath his purpled lids. So withdrawn and quiet had he become, it seemed the stranger may be disappointed. That the source of his entertainment had already fallen into a despairingly defeat. But no, the boy’s eyes soon grew wide with horror and questioning.

    He was a sight to behold. His bare skin was gleaming, coated fine sheen of terror induced sweat. It rolled over his ribs, collected in the wasted hollows of his body like rain water.  As the knife passed so close to his throat, every muscle, every tendon he possessed rose to the surface of his flesh. His lips parted, and something hovered behind his teeth, a plea for his life perhaps, an apology. But whatever it was remained captive, unspoken.

    The boy youth merely closed his eyes, squeezed them shut as he felt the blade pass over his skin. His body leapt fiercely beneath the sharp the sting of pain, and a soft whine of fear rang like a bell in his throat.

    “I h-hope you burn in... h-hell for this... y-you evil.... bastard” he rasped, his breath so fierce it lifted his chest from the bed.

    The bound creature observed his client with exhausted perplexity. And when blade and rope tightened against his skin, unhappy groans were plucked from his lips. But they were only soft, nothing compared to the awful, aching cry of pain when his arms were released from their torturous confinement.

    Having achieved his liberty, the urchin was left looking upon the blind man in troubled disbelief. He gazed upon him, silent and shivering, until with painful clarity he began to comprehend.  Then his expression became truly piteous.

    A film of tears passed over his large striking eyes, and sorrow tugged viciously at the back his throat. He refused to give in. Refused to allow it to claim him, and it was supressed stubbornly behind his clenched teeth. Then with his arms still bound, he shuffled his body until he could drop unsteadily to his feet. It took a moment for the boy to regain his balance, to remember what it was to stand. As he rose, sad rivers of jewelled blood slithered from his shoulder wound, and moved serpentine over pale skin.

    Quickly the boy loosened what remained of his bindings with his teeth. The pain was almost intolerable. The skin was so burned and raw from his attempts to break free, it wept. Despite this, the urchin was nothing if not determined. Once his hands were free, he moved to claim the knife. But the handle immediately slipped from between his clumsy, swollen fingers. Fingers that should have been so deft, so certain and strong. This early failure enticed desperate sadness to rcollect at back of his throat once more. And this time, it could be detected upon his gasping breath as the weapon clattered to the floor. The knife was nervously seized again, and held between both his aching hands.

    The boy thought only to get something between them first. So with as much force as he could muster, he kicked the nearby chair out towards the stranger’s legs. Sought to create a barricade of confusion, a distraction composed of garments and wood. Something to give him time to approach quickly, and from the side. His feet were light- the agility of a child of the streets, even one wasted by hunger.

    But when the attack came, it was fear alone that guided him. With knife clenched in burning hands- the bloodied and bruised creature made his attempt to strike. His movements were that of a wild animal, full of aggressive desperation. He struck low, beneath the ribs, to the stranger’s side, his stomach. Any place flesh was bare, where arteries could be severed with that gleaming blade.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Jul 10, 2016 3:39 pm

    A glint of sharp mockery haunted the stranger’s face at the rattle of his knife falling from the boy’s clumsy fingers. However, for all the impatience breathing hot from his parted lips and the derision in his cocked brow he remained, to his dubious credit, mercifully silent. He allowed the boy to fumble in peace as he restlessly shifted his weight.

    There was something inescapably feline in it as he rocked on the balls of his bare feet, wordless and expectant. It was the first warning the wretched guttersnipe would have that this would not end in his favour.

    Palpable delight sharpened his features as the urchin leapt into action. The weight of his discarded garments on the chair disrupted its center of gravity. When it was kicked it tipped back and fell with a loud clatter that snatched most of its momentum as it slid across the floor. The stranger took an instinctive step backward and cocked his head, clearly relying on his ears to ascertain the boy’s strategy. He was startlingly light on his feet – warning number two should the boy have eyes to see it.

    The distraction worked as intended and the intruder had no time to turn to face his assailant. However, he did not recoil from the lunge – instead he braced himself and met the impact with a sudden attack of his own. He collided hard against the boy and drove him backwards, too abruptly for him to lose his feet.

    The knife was trapped between them and the point glanced up the stranger’s bare abdomen, splitting the skin. Dark blood swelled. When he slammed the boy’s back against the wall hard enough to drive the air from his lungs, the force lodged the blade deep beneath his ribs. His exhale was a hiss between teeth. The knife’s handle quivered.

    His forearm was a warning pressure at the base of the urchin’s throat, his elbow digging painfully into his shoulder as he pressed his arm against his chest to prevent the reach of his hands. The belt was still looped tightly in his fist. His breathing had quickened, the dim silhouette of his pupils dilated.

    “Ah, bien,” he breathed. His pale eyes were ghoulish in their silvery delight. With the hand that was not pinning the boy against the wall he reached for the knife wedged deep in his abdomen. It was clear that it was only the solid bone of his ribcage that had halted the blade’s upward climb. It had to be rocked out from the skin and something like a groan lived on his lips when he finally worked it free.

    He tossed the knife to the floor. Its blade was red and wet. A stream of dark blood sputtered weak from the wound beneath his ribcage, swelling the growing stain on skin the colour of clay. The gash underneath was jagged, uneven, ugly. It was a jarring contrast to the approval that dusted his tongue when he spoke; “You are not all bark after all.”

    The words of praise weren’t likely to lessen the shock when the stranger abruptly pulled the coiled belt around the boy’s head and drew it firm against his throat. It tightened enough to make the flesh bulge around it. Without pause he stepped back and jerked the makeshift leash hard and down, causing the piteous creature to lose his balance and forcing him to the floor throat-first. A firm heel grinding the bones in the center of his back would ensure he did not rise – the tension he kept in the taut lead that forced the boy to keep his head raised to avoid strangling himself was redundant, purely cruelty. A splash of hot blood pattered the prone boy's back from the still-dripping knife wound.

    His teeth flashed. “But I fear it is not enough to save you now. You should have begged when I gave you the chance.”
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Thu Jul 21, 2016 3:02 pm

    Fear turned the boy’s eyes dark, like rock pools neglected by the sea. His youthful expression flushed with astonishment at this unexpected success, and his eyes did not leave the blind man. Only his expression changed like clouds blotting over the sun, and his lips parted in a silent gasp of surprise. But such delight was fleeting, and soon a frost of terror was once again creeping over his skin.  

    When the impact came, the urchin was too stunned to feel pain. Time seemed to slow around them. The stranger’s movements were a blur, an incomprehensible haze of dull colour and sudden force. He did not know when his back met the wall.  And it was only with slow awareness that he realised there was a pressure beneath his throat, a force pinning him in place.

    The boy dared not look down at what he’d done. He had not cut another before, not so deeply, not even in fear of his own life. He had always fled, always used some trickery to escape into his streets. He did not like to see blood, and shied away from his own attack like a dog provoked to bite.

    It was only when the fog of pain at last began to clear, that curiosity compelled him to examine the stranger’s flesh. The depth of the wound sped hope like an arrow into his heart. Suddenly the boy was tense and watchful as a hare awaiting indication that the wolf might grow weak. That he may stumble aside, and clear a path for the boy to leap to freedom. That perhaps he had done enough for the fates to smile kindly on him, as they had so often before.

    Such flights of fancy were immediately crushed when the stranger spoke. When he began to work the knife free like easing a blade from impenetrable tree bark, the boy began to shake. And when it was cast so easily aside, and the stranger showed no signs of weakening, the urchin’s eyelashes were wetted with tears.

    “But how... how can you not be hurt?” He croaked in tearful frustration. “Ce n’est pas possible.

    The boy was distracted from his aching unhappiness by belt being laced about his slim throat.

    “W-wait” he gasped, before being hauled down onto first his knees, then his chest. His fingertips scoured over dusty floorboards hard enough draw nail from flesh. Hot blood beaded like wax over his sharp spine, marking his bruised skin like a seal over parchment.

    “D’accord...”the urchin managed to rasp, before he was briefly silenced.

    The pressure of the stranger’s foot caused the boy’s back to bow. Soon his body was a near crescent, with shoulders straining like a colt’s proud neck hoisted by the bearing rein. Despite near writhing in pain, still the youth managed to speak.

    “W-we play it your way, Monsieur.” He choked. “I w-will do now what y-you ask of me.”
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Mon Aug 08, 2016 6:18 pm

    At some point in the brief struggle the stranger’s hair had slipped loose of the black ribbon in which it had been bound. Long tendrils of white had escaped and now slithered down his exposed chest like the ghost of bindweed. They nearly glowed against the tawny dark of his skin. The stranger – the assailant – took the opportunity of the boy’s incapacitation to reach up to his tilted head and completely free his hair. He shook his head with the impatience of a wolf, his mane of white hair falling loose and wild about his shoulders. The discarded ribbon fluttered limp to the floor like the pulled wings of a moth.

    His sightless eyes seemed all the more clotted with an eerie landscape of dark clouds for the silvery hair framing them. His unoccupied hand idly held the gasping wound at his side. Blood reddened his fingers and a rasp of laughter warmed his words.

    Non, non,” he said. “Impossible n'est pas français.” Whatever the private joke, it sharpened his smile into a seam of starlit teeth with its delicate mockery.  

    The boy’s words brought a hot pant to his tongue and the stranger’s fist turned to wrap another inch of belt about the back of his hand, tightening it against the urchin’s throat enough to force him to choke against it in earnest. “Oh, mon cher,” he said with a happy sigh. “We have been playing it my way from the first.”

    He crouched over the prone boy, the tension in the makeshift leash going lax enough to allow the suffering creature to rest his cheek in the dust of the floor. He reached for the boy’s neck and cradled the front of it in his cool palm without any real strength, his middle finger drumming along the band that bound his throat.

    “But I appreciate your cooperation. Spread your legs.”

    The command proved redundant as he did not wait to see if it would be obeyed before wrenching the boy’s knees apart and settling himself contentedly between them. The touch of his hand left a sinful smear of red where it grazed the shivering of bruise-dappled skin.

    He released his grip on the belt constricted about the urchin’s throat to allow both hands to ease the fabric from his hips once more. He rocked his weight from his feet back to his knees to slide it off entirely, discarding it into a crumpled heap on the floor before returning to his possessive slant between the knees that trembled.

    Hot blood spilled on the boy’s skin. Something just as warm pressed firm into the small of the boy’s back, against the curve where thighs met pelvis. Evidently the knife that had bit deep into his flesh had done little to quench his appetite.

    Will you do what I ask of you?” he breathed teasingly into the boy’s ear. His teeth came together on the delicate ridge of cartilage hard enough to draw a whimper of blood. “Will you beg for the attention of a sodomite now that it will do you no good?” His hand slid between slim thighs, found the place where he would slake himself. The ends of his hair drew against his skin like a serpent.

    “I will very much enjoy this either way.”

    The words had not yet died on his lips before his muscles grew hard and he pushed into the wretched creature trapped beneath him. His breath came as a warm gasp. The poor urchin was at once painfully full with the knowledge of his monstrous intruder.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Aug 13, 2016 4:56 pm

    The boy lay gasping with relief.

    His dark eyes were dull, dull and clouded like those of forest creature mauled by ravenous hounds. A delicate thread of saliva glistened from between his wet lips, claiming the floor beneath his chin. Blood had surged to the boy’s ears, transforming his mind into a hellish chorus of discordant whining and shrieking.  In this moment, he felt blissfully numb. He might have remained there for an eternity, his body still and weak with exhaustion, his young muscles twitching beneath his pale flesh.

    So when the stranger’s hand slipped about his neck, the boy released a soft, disoriented murmur of displeasure. It was gentle enough to be a plea for mercy, had his senses been sharper. But no words were formed. Instead, the youth’s lips trembled with misery, his smooth features scarred by terror. He was incapable of movement, until he felt the stranger’s hands upon his legs. Then his head turned and lifted as much it could, and he strained to look over sharp slant of his quivering shoulder.

    The urchin managed to steal a single glance, a short look at the new horrors which awaited him. He looked upon the flash of dark skin as the blind man disrobed, and the dark blood that still fell from the impossible wound. The rapidness of his movements caused the boy to panic, compelled him to take action.

    W-wait,” he repeated hoarsely. “I don’t want-“

    Time had suddenly sharpened, as it does for those sentenced to some dark fate. The boy’s fingertips clawed across the dusty floor as he tried to haul his body forward, and away.  His eyes looked bruised, as though something inside him had ruptured and was bleeding.

    The sensation of blood rolling in warm over his slim sides caused the boy’s throat to restrict. A shiver of disgust rippled down his spine, and turned his voice thick.

    S’il vous plait, Monsieur. I-“ The urchin’s words were low, and breathless. It was as if his tongue had been blunted through the attack, his thoughts made stupid. For all his sharp words, it was painfully clear the boy did not  know how to begin reasoning with this monster.

    When the stranger’s teeth connected with the tender skin of his ear, the boy’s body leapt against his client’s chest. It split open something inside of him. Fear and desperation suddenly bubbled to the surface, pouring from his lips in a fount  of gushing despair.

    “Let me go!” He gasped. Something in the weight of his voice had changed. It was no longer hissing and defiant, stuffed with false courage and aggression.  Instead it had turned softly questioning and higher in pitch. Unmasked, it was the voice of a frightened child.  “I am sorry, I am sorry for what I said. Please don’t – please don’t hurt me.”  The boy struggled as he begged, his body coiling like a snake beneath the stranger’s skin.

    His protests were stilled abruptly by a new sensation. It burned fierce and angry from between his tense thighs, and the pain stole the boy’s breath. “Ahhnn- .... s-stop.”He sobbed, before his words were replaced by sharp breath of discomfort. Tears  spilled with ease from behind his dark lashes. He did not seek to conceal them. There was nothing to think on, nothing but the pain, and the horrible shame of it.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Mon Sep 19, 2016 1:27 am

    The monstrous intruder licked the sliver of red blood from the boy’s cut ear with the point of his warm tongue. The taste of it like rust on his teeth only seemed to encourage his terrible pleasure. His breath shivered like shattered glass, the blood pooling low in his gut throbbing for the joy of filling the writhing creature beneath him.

    “Ah,” he breathed. “Very nice.” His dark pupils had dilated like a drop of spreading ink beneath the clotted white that obscured them. His voice thrummed rich and hot in his chest. “What a shame if you had bee—“

    He was interrupted by the boy’s sobbing protest. It drew his corpse-white gaze and the fingers about his throat crept along his windpipe to delicately tip the urchin’s sharp chin up. His fingers were wetted with the tears that slid down his cheeks and pattered on his cruel grasp.

    “Shh.” It came out as a shuddering hiss. “Hush, now, ma petite biche.” The words were falsely consoling, warmed to a whisper with fierce affection. They rasped in his throat.

    The stranger eased himself in deeper, deeper. He pushed past the urchin’s quivering resistance until it gave way and packed himself tight. He inhaled sharply, his breath hissing through his teeth. When he arched his back to alleviate some of the aching fullness, the sliding friction of it sent a shiver rattling the bones of his spine.

    The tips of his fingers pressed into the boy’s neck. The belt had shifted, loosened, baring the dark purple stain of a growing bruise. He pushed forward on his feet to whisper into the skin at the back of the boy’s neck, the motion thrusting him deep between his thighs once more. “Of course I am going to hurt you.” His breath panted hot against the flesh, stirring the soft golden curls at the nape of his neck. “You are mine now. Je prendrai soin de toi.”

    It was intimate, too intimate, the smell of them mingling like the blood that still splashed from the wound at the intruder’s side. The boy was apt to feel every pulse of blood, every stirring, stroking, pounding movement the stranger made keenly, impossible to ignore on raw, aching nerves that buzzed like a chorus of locusts under his touch. His guest seemed to understand this and bore into him as though seeking to possess him utterly.

    His hand remained curled around his throat. When those fingers were not taut, seeking leverage, they caressed his neck and collar with a fondness that was nearly manic in its desire. This too was hard to bear.

    Those fingers slipped beneath the collar that bound his throat, painful on the purpled skin. The stranger’s pale eyes glowed with delight at the boy’s cries of discomfort.

    “Go on,” he panted softly into his injured ear. Wicked pleasure coiled beneath the words. “I like to hear you cry.”
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Wed Sep 21, 2016 3:40 pm

    Fabien could not recall a time when he had felt so vulnerable, so trapped by forces beyond his control.  

    The grey-eyed urchin raised his gaze toward the door, and his lips parted as though he meant cry out, to plea to the brothel staff for help. But no such cries came. He predicted their ‘assistance in perfect detail, the delighted squeals of laughter from behind the door. He could not bear to think of their chatter about him, how he had cried like a child and begged for their protection.

    So he was left alone, alone with the sounds of his misery and pained moans. Such things were torturous.  He could not stop the hopeless sobbing, the whimpering which bled from his bruised throat.

    The blind man’s voice did little to ease his suffering.  The boy wished bitterly that he would just take him in silence.  Instead, his words caused the urchin’s skin to flush with humiliation. It was a small mercy that his client was, at least, denied the satisfaction of seeing his skin colour in distress, his cheeks and ears redden. A mild comfort, though it did nothing to make their joining any less intolerable. The stranger's wretched tenderness caused the boy’s chest to heave.

    Ahnh... dieu, mais ça fait mal.” The youth gasped, and attempted to haul his body forward, away.  Instead of escape, the boy merely braced into belt and firm palm like a colt pulling into its first harness. He gasped against the stranger’s fingers, his throat gleaming with sweat.

    As his assailant sank deeper into his unwilling body, the urchin’s spine bowed, and his narrow hips writhed in pain. Soon after his sharp shoulders were trembling against the dark skin of the blind man’s chest. His presence was smothering. Whichever way he moved, he forced himself up and against that firm body, those forceful hands.

    T-tu es fou” he rasped softly in horror.

    The boy lowered his head like one in prayer, offering little but the sharp jut of his shoulder blades. He yearned desperately for something to cling to. His hands had become so tightly clenched, that the nails had already begun to pierce the skin of his palms.

    Upset though he was, the stranger’s palpable delight still managed to rouse his disgust. “Vas te faire encule.” He snarled, and attempted to turn his head like a dog provoked to bite. He kept his head turned in this way, his dark eyes stealing a glimpse of the stranger’s white hair.

    “Y-you should... aahh-“ The boy swallowed thickly.

    “You should have that-“The boy’s tongue stilled as the deep, rocking sway of their bodies stole his breath. He fought to maintain his concentration, to continue to speak.

    “T-that... wound... attended by a s-surgeon quickly.”

    “Before you ... bleed out... here... in this room.”


    Last edited by Fabien on Mon Oct 17, 2016 8:12 am; edited 1 time in total
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Oct 16, 2016 7:02 pm

    The room had filled with the boy’s whimpering cries and the hot, eager breath of the one drawing them with such malicious ease from the raw nerves of his throat. The floorboards creaked beneath their motion. The groaning protest only emphasized the vulgarity of the scene unfolding in strokes of persistent pain and brutal efficiency on the floor.

    “Language,” the intruder panted in response to the boy’s snarled insult, the rebuke eaten through with laughter. He thrust in deep as though to underscore this chastise, his breath quickening as the piteous urchin instinctively clenched around him.

    At the boy’s scornful proposal, the hand around his throat abruptly tightened. It dug into the skin already sore and dark with the rose-rot reds and purples of fresh bruising. He cupped his neck in his palm and sought to cruelly crush his windpipe until he was straining and gasping for air.

    “Your concern is touching.” It broke apart in his throat and was nearly a snarl. “But tu as raison. This is a waste of the blood I have worked so hard for.”

    His thrusts between the trembling thighs grew shallow and came quicker and quicker until, with a hiss against his teeth, the stranger pulled out, his muscles shivering with strain. Their unjoining was abrupt, cool air replacing the heat of the body at his back.

    However, he was not finished with the boy. If he had been made malleable by the crushing grip around his throat that threatened to darken his vision, he would find himself forcibly lifted by the neck like an unruly dog, the end of the belt wrapped loosely about his neck dragging with a slither on the floor, and turned by the shoulder to lay on his back. If not, the stranger had few qualms in roughly using his knee to aid him.

    Once he had positioned the urchin as desired, the intruder released his throat. The press of his body returned between the thighs raw from being rubbed against the rough floorboards. Hot skin, still throbbing with eager, impatient expectation, pressed into the boy’s stomach and the stranger used the crook of his thumb to grind it obscenely against him. Fat drops of blood splattered on his skin with a tapping like fingers from the wound at the stranger's side.

    It was a shame the pale stars of his sightless eyes could not take in the shivering mass of stippled bruises and crusted blood beneath him. Surely this monstrous stranger would have smiled to see the blackened skin of his thin wrists worn away from his frantic escape attempts and the wounds from his own sharp mouth marring his hip and shoulder with dripping seals of scarlet.

    The stranger’s hand pressed over the boy’s mouth and he forced two fingers between his lips up to the knuckle in his wet mouth. He lowered his head to the boy’s ear. His unbound hair fell around them in a ghostly shroud.

    “But do not worry for me,” he growled huskily into the skin behind the boy’s ear. “It will be replenished very, very soon.” His warm breath stirred the fine hairs of his throat.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Thu Oct 20, 2016 2:01 pm

    The boy gave out a startled cry of pain as he was so cruelly thrust into. His fingertips were bloody. He had released his palms, having near split the skin. And now they scored the filthy wooden floor, leaving cat-like scrapes along the unpolished surface. The brothel staff would find those later, when they came to tidy his cell.

    The stranger’s grip swiftly put an end to his struggling. And soon the sounds of soft choking and agonised, strained gasps would fill his ears.

    The urchin made a desperate attempt to seize the stranger’s wrist, and to force apart his clamped fingers one by one. He succeeded only in scraping against his dark skin, before his efforts began to die. Then slowly, like a wilting flower, his nimble fingers drifted away. Soon all of the urchin’s writhing movements had begun to lessen, and the tension in his muscles melted to nothingness. He seemed to fall into the weight of the man’s palm, his fight for air replaced by a blissful kind of defeat.

    The boy was so tired. He felt his thoughts and body drift sweetly, felt himself depart from the pain in his body, and the raw, burning ache between his legs. There came a numbness instead, a darkness that crept in at the corners of his eyes.

    When his client pulled away from his body and released him, the boy winced in discomfort. He was pulled almost unwillingly back to his senses, back into that awful, awful room.
    Perhaps foolishly, he initially assumed it was over, and at once released a low shuddery, breathe of relief. But it was quickly replaced by a tearful groan of dismay as his assailant reached for him once again. This time, the urchin did not fight him.  He had achieved his aim, had crushed the last sparks of strength from the youth’s slender limbs. He was now as docile as a spring lamb.

    As he was hoisted with ease from the floor, the boy’s head began to shake back and forth in pitiful unhappiness. He did not understand the blind man’s words. They were that of a mad-man, the snarling nonsense of an animal. He chose to relent to him entirely, allowing his limbs to be moved like that of a carcass, his breath still laboured and weak. After the punishing hardness of the floor, he half welcomed the comforting softness of his prison bed. His body seemed to sink into it thankfully, like a wounded animal finding peace in soft leaves.

    The press of the stranger’s warm skin against him induced a convulsion of disgust. He breathed in a mouthful of his scent. It was the smell of blood, of his own skin, and something else which was strange and unnatural and caused his entire body to shake violently. The boy arched his neck, and turned his chin away. A small, quivering sob caught as the back of his throat and he swallowed it miserably.

    It was almost agony to form words, but he attempted them all the same. They were little above a whisper, soft as a breath of winter air.  

    “S’il vous plaít... don’t.. don't hurt me anymore.”

    “Tell me...  what you want from me.”

    “Tell me how to please you.”


    “Only don’t-“

    The rest was lost behind the stranger’s palm, as he sealed the boy’s mouth shut, and his teeth were forced apart by probing fingers. The boy trembled beneath him, terror illuminating his grey eyes. The delicate skin about those eyes was swollen and crimson with tears.

    He frantically searched the blind man’s face, before the deep reach of his fingers caused the boy to begin gently choking against him once more.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Fri Nov 04, 2016 3:59 pm

    The boy’s teeth gouged into the stranger’s fingers but he didn’t have the leverage to bite him even if he had the presence of mind to try. His guest used the hooked fingers in his mouth to wrench his chin up. It bared the speckled curve of his slender neck to his waiting mouth.

    “Hush,” he shushed him, whispering it soothingly into the crook of his throat. “You have been a pleasure.” His lips drew over the taut skin where his jugular vein frantically pulsed, peeping blue behind the strip of muscle slung from clavicle to skull. The air was cold where he had wetted the skin. “But it is nearly over.”

    He removed his fingers from the urchin’s mouth, dragging a trail of slick spit across his cheek that quickly cooled, and cradled the back of his head. His fingers became tangled in the golden curls that were now matted with blood and sweat. He pressed his sharp fingertips at the bottom of the boy’s head to lift it and his throat jutted out to better meet his hungry lips. They closed over his throat in a kiss.

    “Your part is done.“ The words sparked and rasped with anticipation, flint striking steel. “Now close your eyes. Rest.

    His tongue licked as an animal’s against his throat. The vein throbbed ripe and full against his lips and the intruder shivered, the skin pressed between the crook of his thumb and the boy’s heaving stomach pulsing in response. The points of his teeth, sharp as shards of glass, dinted the flesh. His breath washed in hot waves.

    There was a sharp lance of pain as those terrible teeth clamped onto his throat. They punctured the skin and sank deep into the muscle, neatly pricking the bulge of his jugular. Blood spilled hot and sweet over his tongue and he groaned. The pulse of the boy’s heart filled his mouth.

    Warmth unfolded like the bloom of a flower in his stomach, racing with such intensity it was almost pain in his limbs. His voice broke in a growl as pleasure surged through him until he was nothing but that, teeth clenched and breath a shudder as he gave way and painted the urchin’s belly in hot spurts. He panted into his throat, his mouth smeared with scarlet. His eyes flashed a sulfurous yellow like the head of a struck match and his lips closed once more over the wound, his breath coming in groaning pants. Blood sprayed over his tongue, and the unfortunate boy’s guest drank.
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Sat Nov 12, 2016 2:52 pm

    Fabien no longer struggled, and at first he did not fight. He let the stranger have him, the only indication of resistance evident in the gentle quivering of his flexed throat. But he allowed his client to arch his neck as prettily as a freshly bridled colt accepting the rein. It was clear he had meant his words. That he intended to anything to keep his client content, to prevent further suffering. Anything.

    But the boy could not disguise his unhappiness. His muffled, whimpering cries seeped from between the vampire’s fingers. And the boy’s narrow nostrils flared in discomfort as he struggled for air.

    A fresh river of warm, salted tears had begun a fresh course, slipping its way down from the corners of his finely shaped eyes. It ran in gleaming lines over his temples, down into the soft warmth of his pale hair to anoint his skin like holy water. When the stranger finally released his jaw, the boy greedily drank upon the dry and dusty air. He released shuddery gasp, his frail chest expanding and retracting with frantic energy.

    He wept still, though his tears were quiet. In truth, he was not sure how he could still manage to cry. It was not like him. Even though his entire body hurt, and he felt so foul, so unclean, it was never like him to cry.  He had not cried when he had left home, abandoning his family without a farewell. He had not cried when he had been beaten in the street. But he cried now, and it felt like he might never stop.

    The skin around the urchin’s eyes was bruise-ringed, and his dark pupils followed the stranger’s movements anxiously. He was gasping still, when he felt the firm press of his mouth. Something within him shuddered, galvanising his muscles with a violent twitch. He sucked air into the back of his throat, hissed it between his teeth where it transformed into a husky sob.

    Then, just as he was bid to, the boy closed his eyes. His purple eyelids fell heavy, and the room went dark. It was only half peaceful. Although he could no longer see the strange, unnatural eyes, and the lean, powerful body; he could hear his panting breath. So close, and warm, and intimate. He could feel the firmness of him, the heat of his body rippling over his pale skin. The urchin sought to take his mind elsewhere, to escape into his thoughts.

    But when the pain came, when it tore into his body, the boys eyes were open. He could not recall pain like it. It cut through him, clean and white and hot as metal he had watched heated in a furnace. He did not try to understand the source of such pain, but thought only to escape it.

    The boy’s body arched into the stranger’s chest, he thrust up and against him with such force his joints clicked. He released a sharp cry, a terrible sound that almost seemed to cling to the walls. It was like that of wounded animal, full of agonised confusion, with something angry that growled deep within the heart of it.  The boy’s arm lifted, and his hand sprung forth with cat-like swiftness.  He sought the flesh of the stranger’s shoulder, attempted to scour across his dark skin, to mark him with his filthy jagged nails.

    He fought on, until the coldness began to creep in. Until his strength began to wane, and the colours of the room began to soften and pale.
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    Tariq
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Tue Jan 03, 2017 4:03 pm

    The boy’s cry of anguish filled up the room with his pain and terror and, like a pebble thrown over a precipice, revealed the awful depths of his final despair.

    However deep his sorrow, it fell on deaf ears. The stranger latched to his throat with shoulders driven taut with animal hunger had not the sense to comprehend it. The frantic beating of the boy’s heart thundered in his ears, the scent and taste of his rich, hot blood filling his mouth and nose and pouring thick in his throat until he succumbed utterly to it.

    The hand that scrabbled at his shoulder found purchase and scored dark lines of crimson in his flesh. Blood rose in pinpricks, gathered together, and sluggishly wept over the rise of his bare shoulder and down the inside of his forearm. The stranger did nothing to discourage this assault. His body was rigid against the trembling urchin, every bone sharp beneath the skin in his ravening eagerness.

    The urchin began to wilt beneath him as his piercing and draining took its toll. The heartbeat pounding staccato in the intruder’s ears began to slow. He appeared to return to the dusty attic room all at once and reluctantly pulled back from the bloodied wound at his throat to nuzzle tenderly into his neck.

    He murmured something unintelligible into the graceful horn-white curve of his neck, blackened with blood and flecked with bruises and angry welts that would never have a chance to heal. His sightless eyes were distant. The whirling stars within them had dulled as he had withdrawn into whatever place the blood took him. His skin was already beginning to deepen with a healthy flush of red that darkened it to ochre.

    With the gentle hand of one tending to a wounded animal, he took the curled hand that still clung to his shoulder and pressed it back into the bed. Their fingers interlaced easily now that the boy lacked the strength to fight him. His lips moved to the curve of his ear.

    “You were good, gamin,” he breathed softly. His voice was hoarse. The space between them was tacky with the jagged black of his own blood and rapidly cooling come. “I will remember your hand on my knife. Bonne nuit, mon cher.

    His lips trailed lazily behind his ear. They wound down to the trembling arch of his throat, where his pulse still fluttered faintly in the carotid arteries struggling to move his dwindling blood. Gently, he placed his warm mouth over the artery. With his fingers still intertwined in the hand that had gone ashen and limp against him, his sharp teeth severed the skin a final time. He shivered at the blood that obeyed his summons and rushed to his waiting mouth.

    He drank until the well had run dry; until the boy’s heart stuttered weakly and finally fell silent and still in the tomb of his chest.
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    Fabien

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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Fabien on Fri Jan 06, 2017 3:21 pm

    Fabien did not know when he realised he was going to die.

    He did not know when it finally became clear that he would not leave this room, this bed... his prison cell. Not ever. That he would never slip bare foot over his filthy streets, as free as a cat. Never feel the rain mist upon his skin, or see the moonlight glitter upon the Seine. That he would never again behold the churches illuminated at dusk, their painted windows glowing holy with candlelight.

    When he sensed that he was dying, it was not quietly accepted. He did not walk towards his fate, open his arms up and allow it to recieve him into its sorrowful embrace. Instead, his fragile heart continued to fight on valiantly, to pump life through his wasted limbs, to rage. The mark of terror however, had been seared into his expression. It continued to blacken the corners of his dark eyes, to move like a shadow across his sharp features. The boy’s pallid lips had become a hard slant, and through his teeth, each breath came slow and heavy. Each exhale a small, pointless victory.

    The stranger’s words made the urchin’s entire body shudder. He could not see his eyes, only the glow of his hair, ivory white against his dark skin. Foreign skin, that smelt so strange, so distant. He did not even know his name.The corners of the room were beginning to darken before him, enfolding around the bed like inky wings. Closing out the light like the drawing of a curtain. He hated it.

    The boy did not know whether pain or blood loss made him delirious, for the sound of the stranger’s voice was suddenly different.  It’s sound too velvet, too inhuman. There was a lull to it that seemed to dull the hard throb of his fear, to ease him gently into the enfolding darkness. He felt then that this creature might indeed drag him down to the pits of hell. Or lead him onwards to paradise. Perhaps even eternal bliss had to accept payment in pain and blood first.

    When he felt their fingers entwine, and felt the warm weight of the stranger’s palm enfold his own, the urchin whined softly. It was a sharp, animalistic sound, the startled pitch of a dying hound. And it was then that tears spilled anew from the dark pools of his eyes, and he knew he would die like this. He would die with the skin of cheeks still wet, with his hair still damp with sorrow. Without dignity, without mourners, and he was not ready. He was not ready to go.

    “S’il vous plait...” the boy begged. His youthful voice had transformed into a dry husk. “Not here... not like this.” Deep within his chest, his lungs had begun to rattle faintly, the musical crackle of his lungs like that of a consumptive. But they too would not give him up without a fight, as air wheezed through lungs too weak to contain a single breath.

    “S’il vous plait... I want...”

    Whatever he’d whatever, whatever dreams he’d had would die with him.
    Numbness had began to creep into the boy’s fingertips, his feet. He felt light, much too light. And everything was losing focus, becoming as glazed as winter-frosted windows. It was only the fresh burst of pain that awakened him, and his fingertips tightened within the stranger’s grasp. It was a final pulse of strength, like a lover reaching ecstasy.

    And after releasing one final breath, tinged with a sob of wretched unhappiness, he was gone. So simply, so easily.

    The light left the boy’s eyes slowly, expiring like the sun behind the silvery rooftops. His expression did not change. It did not soften in death. There was no gentle look of peace, no resignation that relaxed the taut muscles of his finely sculpted face. The boy remained unhappily focused on the filthy ceiling, his lips parted in anguish.


    But the urchin’s conjurer’s fingers remained loosely curled within the vampire’s grasp. They were still so sweetly knotted against him, holding on in a way that seemed almost quietly affectionate.

    They would remain there until the vampire chose to let him go.
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    Tariq
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    Re: “Merde,” the boy whimpered, the word trembling over his broken lips.

    Post  Tariq on Sun Jan 15, 2017 7:40 pm

    There was a sense of urgency to the monster’s movements now; it was a race to take all he could before the boy’s heart died and his blood soured to poison.

    Blood-starved organs struggled and grew erratic. The long sheathes of lungs that filled the hollow of his chest began to wither and curl like dry leaves in autumn, no longer pliant and strong. The great weight of the brain in its smooth fortress of solid bone became confused, sending electrical pulses to limbs that were no longer capable of responding to them and failing to decipher the scant messages it received in perplexing flickers of warmth and light. Soon it would yield to the numbness that encroached on it, sinking into the dark waters of unconscious with the stubborn valor of a captain going down with his ship.

    But still the dying boy’s heart drummed on. It ticked out a span that was measured now not in years, but in precious seconds, and every missed beat brought it nearer to the end.

    It was almost intolerably beautiful. The vampire had little use for death, but dying –  such flawless serenity amid crushing terror, intimacy from revulsion, the easy familiarity of trembling limbs and gasping mouths and the yielding compliance of an intricate set of moving parts that had already surrendered itself utterly to his irresistible will – it was the most exquisite thing he had ever known, in this life or the one that had come before.

    The boy – he did not even know his name – gasped his last breath. Still his heart pulsed, stuttered, and pulsed again. And then, inevitably, it faltered and fell still.

    The vampire felt it like the reverberation after the final pounding of a great drum. He sensed it with his mouth, in his teeth, with his own heart that for a queer moment seemed to resonate with pain as though in sympathy with the previous owner of the blood that lit it, incandescent, from within. He pulled away abruptly, his mouth dark, and knelt panting over the boy’s still body.

    And then he collapsed with a groan. He rested his cheek on the corpse’s still-warm chest. His eyes were glowing, radiant as silver stars. Their hands remained clasped together with fingers intertwined sweetly.

    He remained there, panting and shivering against his late companion. He did not ponder the life he had cut short because there was no such thing – there was only someone who had been and a thing that now was, and the former had been far lovelier than the latter. He was taken by a delicious shudder at the thought of it. He gave himself over to reliving the memories of terror and petulant rebellion, of skin quivering against, around him, of hot blood washing over his tongue and even, for a delectable moment, the lancing bolt of pain when the boy had driven the blade into his side.

    “Je t'aime à la folie,” he breathed, ridiculously, giddy with joy. He lifted his head to kiss the base of the urchin’s throat and shifted against him. He probed warily at the wound the boy had inflicted in his side and found to his satisfaction that it had already sealed. There would be a scar by this time tomorrow and then nothing, not even raised flesh to commemorate it.

    The hot blood still prickled with an intensity that was almost pain in his veins, but the vampire’s awareness was nearly wholly restored. Begrudgingly, he extricated his hand from the corpse’s tender grasp. He lifted himself from the cooling body and swung his bare feet over the side of the bed.

    He dressed as efficiently as he had disrobed, the familiar clasps and buckles easy to navigate by touch alone. His pale eyes were distant as he worked. It was impossible to guess what it was he was occupied with, but now and again his slender fingers trembled as they worked his belt back through the loops around his waist.

    The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon by the time the intruder had languidly finished gathering his accoutrements. He had been forced to track his knife by the scent of his own blood congealed on the blade, an experience he had found charmingly exotic. It had been tucked, still dark with blood, into its proper place and the vampire exhaled through his teeth as he prepared to exit the room that was, unbeknownst to sightless eyes, a grisly scene indeed.

    He slung his traveling cloak over his shoulders and hefted the wallet within its pocket in his palm as he tried to gauge how much lighter it would be before the night was done. The life of one sullen street-urchin would not cost him dearly, surely? He would have to pay his debt before they had a chance to lay eyes on the gruesome murder-scene, lest they raise a scene in an attempt to coerce him out of more. He was not the only eccentric with a taste for soft-bellied boys fettered to beds, he knew, but few had to make such a dreadful mess of it.

    The vampire was not built for regret, but as he closed the door behind him he could not help but feel it a shame to leave such a delightful creature behind. He was struck by the powerful impression that he could still open the door and gather the limp body in his arms to nurse back to wellness.

    Tarde venientibus ossa,’ he thought wryly, and then, with a bit less humour, ‘You are too old for a pet.’ The vampire descended the stairs with his spine erect and his pale eyes glowing like a wolf’s in candlelight.

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