#lucifiction

POV has a vulva and vagina and is addressed in feminine terms (sorella).

CW: Claws. Glove kink. A lot of eye contact. Grindin'. Mouth stuff. The inherent eroticism of the...Anti-Eucharist? What do we call Satanic Communion?

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Late for Mass again. The fourth week in a row now. I'd just been having so much trouble falling asleep lately, and waking up was even worse. I tried to sneak in unobtrusively but Papa's mismatched eyes landed on me immediately. He paused in the middle of his sentence, drumming his gloved fingers on the pulpit for a moment before continuing.

When it came time for Communion I dutifully lined up with my siblings, anxiously awaiting my turn and sending a quiet prayer to Satan that Papa, his representative on Earth, may have forgotten my face. I kept my eyes down as I knelt before him and opened my mouth to receive the Sacrament. After a beat, my heart dropped. He wasn't moving. The Body of our Dark Lord would not be given to me so easily today. When I finally met his gaze he tilted his head just a touch and quietly tsked at me before finally holding out the wafer.

"The Body of our Lord," he said.

"Nema," I murmured. He didn't place it on my tongue as usual, instead making me lean toward him to take it in my mouth, the tip of one of his golden claws cold against my tongue.

When he said, "The Blood of our Lord," his voice dropped lower.

"Nema."

As before he held the chalice just out of reach, subtly wagging a finger at me when I didn't immediately come to him. When the wine hit my tongue I looked up at him again, receiving only an enigmatic stare. As I rose and walked back to my seat I could feel his eyes on me.

I kept my eyes down for the rest of our Black Mass, trying my best to hide behind the people in front of me, but sure enough, when the service ended I was asked to stay behind. When the basilica was empty of everyone but the two of us, I finally dared look at him. He crooked his finger at me and led me to the vestry, holding the door open for me.

"We can speak a little more privately in here, sorella, yes?"

The vestry was smaller than I'd expected, smaller even than my own little room, though much more richly realized with dark wood almost enclosing the entire space. One wall was lined with shelves and cabinets, the one opposite had an opened closet door where spare vestments hung. The golden hem of one of Papa's albs caught my eye, just peeking out from the shadows.

The only furniture in the room was a leather-padded chair and the small table set next to it. Papa sat down with a soft groan and crossed his legs, then smoothed his chasuble over his knees and sat back, looking at me expectantly.

"I'm sorry for being late for Mass again, Papa," I said.

"This is not the second time, or even the third, is it?"

"No, Papa."

He seemed to want more from me but I couldn't find the words. All excuses felt flimsy in his presence. He started drumming his fingers again, the metal tips tapping loudly on the table, pointedly communicating his annoyance.

"And why are you late...?" He asked the question like I was an idiot. Frankly, I was starting to feel like one.

"I've been having trouble sleeping, Papa. And waking up."

"Why?"

"I..." I trailed off before shrugging helplessly, "I don't know."

"Stress?"

"I guess? I don't really know."

"You seem tense," he said thoughtfully, his fingers stopped their clattering little wave; he tapped them against the table as one, "Come here, sorella."

I hesitated and he waved impatiently, continuing to beckon me until my habit brushed against him.

"You do not indulge in the pleasures of the flesh very often here, I am told."

"What?" I'd heard him just fine; The heat rushing to my face made that clear.

"Your siblings all have their fun together, but not you."

I bit my lip and shrugged again, looking at the tasteful hardwood flooring as though an answer were written in the grain of the wood.

"Look at me," the low, disapproving voice that had appeared during Communion returned, brooking no protest. I shivered when I met his eyes and his fingers tapped loudly on the table again. 

"Do you not feel those desires?" Beneath the commanding tone there was an understanding, primed to turn sympathetic if need be. I'd been here a long time and never indulged - it wasn't a leap to think perhaps it wasn't something I wanted.

"No, Papa. I...I feel them." He had it backwards, unfortunately. A lack of desire would be much easier here. I simply hadn't found anyone who was worth spending time with. Nobody else here was like him, after all. 

"It is a very easy way to relieve stress, you know? Tension," a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when I swallowed hard, trying to stand still and ignore the ache settling between my legs.

He cocked his head to the side and considered me for a moment before asking, "Do you like men, sorella?"

Of course I heard him, but once again couldn't stop a surprised "What?" He raised his eyebrows and waited, one claw rapping hard into the table.

"Y-yes, Papa," I cleared my throat, trying to will away the blush I felt taking over my face, "I...I like men."

"Good. Then kneel."

He stood, the rustle of his vestments and click of his shoes covering the whimper that escaped me. I slowly sank to my knees, heart pounding, skipping a beat at the sound of the lock turning.

He sat back down in front of me and said, "Closer," gesturing until I was between his knees. He looked down at me, studying me, finally reaching for me. 

The tight black leather around his hand was smooth against my skin as he touched my chin and tilted my face to really look at him. Cold metal grazed my neck, and he cracked a smile when I shivered.

"The last time you were kneeling before me you just waited to receive His Body," he said, tracing my jaw with his fingers, "Do you think that is what our Lord wants?"

"I...I don't know. No?" I mumbled. How was I supposed to focus on anything other than his touch? His thumb swiped across my lips, pulling them apart.

"No, sorella," he said gently, "You should come to the Sacrament eagerly. The Lord Below celebrates desire, particularly of Him." A golden claw slipped between my lips, hooking on my teeth just enough to make me move closer. His knees bumped against my side and I squeezed my arms closer to my body, unsure if I was allowed to touch him, unsure what I'd do if I could. His thumb pushed further into my mouth for just a moment before retreating.

"I will teach you how to worship," he leaned back in his chair, the warmth of his thighs surrounding me as his hips slid closer. He rested his elbow on the little table and held his hand toward me, palm-down.

"Well?" he said after a pause, "Did you think we would use His actual Body?"

"N-no, Papa..."

"Then come to my hand."

When I stretched forward he held up a finger to halt me, saying, "'Yes, Papa,'" pointedly.

"Yes, Papa."

He nodded for me to continue. As soon as my lips touched him my eyes closed and he stopped me again with a scolding tsk.

"Sorella," he said sternly, "Does our Lord ask you to come to Him blindly?"

"No, Papa."

"No, only the Nemesis would ask you to take him in darkness. You come to Satan with open eyes, understand?"

"Yes, Papa," my cheeks were blazing hot now as I stared into that captivating white eye. I was unable to stifle a soft moan when his gloved fingers finally passed my lips, the leather so tight and supple it felt like his living skin. His expression grew darker, dreamier as I took him in and out of my mouth. The next time I moaned around him I unthinkingly closed my eyes again.

Tsk.

"His Body, sorella. Again." He seemed to be waiting for something.

I tentatively said, "Nema, Papa," and that proved to be the correct answer. Unfortunately, he had to repeat himself only moments later. I couldn't help it: the claws weren't as sharp as they looked, thankfully, but they were hard and whenever they touched the back of my tongue my body would reflexively whimper and try to close my eyes.

"His Body, sorella."

"N-nema, Papa."

The way he would linger when he was all the way in my mouth made me squirm every time. I tried to go faster - not only to avoid disappointing him more but because I wanted it faster, but no. He pulled away again, a dark amusement glinting in his eyes.

"You cannot rush devotion," he said, "Luckily your Papa is a patient man, eh? His Body."

"...Nema, Papa."

His two middle fingers were offered now and his index finger was curled against my cheek, the tip of that golden claw just barely digging into my skin.

"One cannot hurry into Satan's grace," he said quietly, then, "His Body, sorella. Again."

"You must come to Satan thoughtfully, sorella. His Body."

"Again. Our Lord wants you to approach him with an open mind and wonder in your heart, understand?"

"You must appreciate and admire His grace and light, sorella. Again. His Body."

"How can you appreciate Him if you take Him too quickly to even taste Him?"

"Come to Him devoutly, sorella. Come to Him with reverence."

"Take Him lovingly onto your tongue and the heart will follow."

"Again. His Body. His Body. Again. His Body. Again. Again. Again."

I was shaking when he finally left my mouth and simply stroked my cheek rather than scolding me again. My knees ached and the collar of my habit was soaked from a steady trickle of drool that had crept down my neck. I tried my best to keep still but couldn't help pressing my thighs together, the heat building in me approaching intolerable. My panties were soaked, dragging conspicuously with the slightest movement, constantly tearing my focus.

"You did well," he said, looking at me with warm, understanding eyes, "And how do you feel?"

"My...My knees hurt, Papa," I tried to contain the whining pitch that desperately wanted to come out.

"Poor dear," he said, mostly sympathetic and only a little mocking. He motioned for me to rise and gently touched the reddened skin, inspecting it with a satisfied hum before looking back into my eyes.

"Would you like to go?" He glanced at my knees again, "Or do you feel there is more for you to learn?"

I swallowed and felt my legs tremble beneath me, "I...I'd like to learn more from you, Papa."

"Good," his hand wrapped smoothly around my wrist and pulled me closer, parting my legs with his knee, "Sit."

He sat me firmly on his thigh before I could even think to ease myself onto him, and a kind of smug satisfaction gleamed in his eye when I whimpered at the impact. His hand slid around my waist, settling at the small of my back and pulling me even closer, rubbing my aching cunt along his leg. Purely out of reflex I put a hand against him when I lost my head for a moment. I gasped when I realized what I'd done and jerked my hand away, but he returned it to his chest, flattening his palm against the back of my hand.

"I am just a man, sorella," he said softly, then added, almost hesitantly, "Your touch is welcomed."

"Y-yes, Papa."

"So, tell me," the hand holding mine to his chest drifted away, "How long has it been for you? Since you've been with someone," he clarified. Because I was straddling his leg my habit was already above my knees, but now his hand was there too. He would push the soft black fabric just a little further up, then slowly drag his claws down my leg, striping my thigh with thin lines before repeating it. 

"It's...been a few years, Papa," I bit my lip as he moved under me, his leg and hands working in tandem to prevent me ever sitting still. His fingers reached my hip and slid under the waistband of my underwear, idly tugging at the fabric. 

"A shame we did not meet earlier," he held me still with nothing but a look as he hooked a talon around the elastic and followed it inward, musing, "I could have taught you so much."

"So, sorella, what have you learned today?"

"W...what?"

"Have you forgotten already?" His fingers were still under the waistband as he moved them back to my hip and started making me move along his thigh.

"N-no, Papa, I didn't forget," I bit my lip again and whimpered as my needy, throbbing cunt rubbed against him. 

"Then tell me," he was so close that I could clearly see his eyes for the first time; one a lovely green and the one I'd always thought was just white was actually the palest blue, though both were difficult to see with his pupils flared so wide under half-closed lids.

"You...you can't rush devotion," I managed to keep most of the words steady. He hummed a mmhmm and the hand at my back pushed me to keep moving. When I started grinding against his leg on my own a satisfied sigh rumbled from deep in his chest.

"You have to...a-appreciate His light," I whimpered when his clawed fingers dug into the flesh of my hip, "And have wonder in...in your heart."

"Good," he murmured, "More."

"Our Lord wants...wants..." I bit my lip as I tried to focus on anything but my cunt, dripping with its desperation to be filled. 

"Focus, sorella," he sounded amused but just a touch out of breath himself, and pushed his leg up against me.

"Mm...y-yes...Yes, Papa...Our Lord...wants you to approach with an o-open mind," remembering anything that had happened before this moment was approaching impossible.

"More," he said quietly as the claws dragged inwards from my hip. He searched my eyes for permission before sliding his hand into my panties, breathing out a satisfied sigh when I whimpered and grabbed the silky robe between us with a tight fist. He chuckled again when my hips jerked toward his hand.

His voice was almost sing-song when he said, "Sorella," in a reminding tone. 

"How- nng-"

He cut me off, looking more than a little smug as his fingers worked further in, rubbing along either side of my slit, slowly dragging the tips of his claws along the puffy, sensitive skin.

"H-how can you appreciate Him," I whimpered when I saw his eyes were having trouble staying open too, yet still they held me, "If you...take Him too quickly to...to taste Him?" A soft sound came from him, just a little something carried on a tremulous breath, and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard. Even under the neat lines of paint on his face I could see his skin blooming with color.

"Take Him with your tongue and...the heart will follow," I said, and his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before locking back onto mine. I had to shift my weight to stay comfortable and accidentally brushed my knee against him. It was hidden well under the robes, but the catch in his breath told me what I'd felt was his cock. 

He wasn't commanding any more recitations of me, only breathing through full, parted lips as his fingers finally slipped inward. 

"So wet for your Papa," he purred. The waver in his voice when he felt the slick betrayed his calm facade. Two fingers slid inside me, gently, carefully, as another quiet moan escaped his lips. He slowly worked them in and out, my own moans failing to camouflage the sounds of wet leather.

I could feel the claws, yes, hard as they were, but it didn't seem to be the first time he'd done this; his hand was deft and sure, his skill easily overtaking the brief flashes of discomfort. His other two fingers were rubbing along outside and the claws there did dig in, poking at the tender flesh every time he pushed deep inside. Pain and pleasure warred as I clenched around him, pleasure winning out every time.

I'd been gripping his robe this whole time but now, watching his eyes mist over with desire, my hand moved on its own and traveled down his body. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered shut again when I rubbed my palm along the outline of his cock. 

"How can I appreciate Him," I breathed, "If you...If I don't take the time to taste Him?" Papa didn't seem to care that I'd gotten the words wrong, especially when I squeezed him between my fingers. He tipped his head back and groaned softly before moving his fingers to my clit. When I cried out and squeezed his cock again he muttered something as his free hand went under his robe.

"Just...just a moment, sorella," he said hurriedly, the hand on me stilling for a moment as he tugged at his vestments, freeing them from under my legs. He pushed the chasuble aside and had started pulling his alb up as well when his fingers started moving again. His eyes and attention snapped back to me when he grabbed my hand and placed it on his bulge. 

"Sorry," he breathed, "Sorry about that, now..." he seemed almost shy suddenly, as if he were embarrassed to tell me to touch him. As if simply feeling how hard he was hadn't made me moan with a mad want to feel more. He shifted in his seat, making me lean over him more, bringing my face so much closer to his. His finger was still moving so smoothly over my clit and it was getting harder and harder to both stay in place and look at him. Every time he made me cry out his cock would twitch so strongly, and he would quietly echo my moans.

"Papa," I said, "Please...I..." I started unfastening his belt, grabbing at his pants to try and free the cock I needed so desperately to touch. "You- take Him with your tongue, that's...that's what you told me..."

"Yes," he breathed, "You will, sorella, soon." His hand joined mine, assisting as I started losing focus. His claws were digging into me, helping keep the finger on my clit in place as he pulled me closer to climax with every motion of his finger.

His lips parted with a breathy moan when I finally wrapped my hand around his cock, again when I spread his leaking precum around the head. I saw him looking back and forth between my eyes and lips, and his mouth was so very close...

"Papa, can...can I-"

Those full lips interrupted me, need guiding our tongues to one another, the lingering taste of the Sacrament a reminder of what higher needs we were serving together. Every time I rolled my hips toward him I felt the metal points more acutely, but with every jolt of pleasure I minded less and less. By the time the heat finally burst through me each little stab was a welcome visitor, strange as they were. My head fell back as I cried out and his mouth was on my neck, breathing his own needy moans across my skin as I shuddered in the close embrace of his arm hugging me tight.

His lips found mine again, eagerly taking in the sound of my bliss, smiling when I whimpered at his touch. His hand moved slowly, sweetly, just on the edge of anything that would overstimulate me but playing with the sensitivity nonetheless. His cock twitched when he made me shiver, a reminder that he was still held by me, still in need.

With every stroke of my hand he seemed to melt a little more. Our leader, our guide on this Earth, Papa Emeritus the Third, touched by divinity and little else - now rocking his hips in time to my hand, his vestments crumpled and pushed out of the way, the smeared paint around his mouth revealing the soft, flushed skin of a mortal man. His hand twined into my hair, crushing our lips together in a kiss that only got messier and more frantic as he lost his composure. He couldn't keep his hands still - grabbing my hips and ass to keep me grinding against him, dragging his fingers along my thigh, the claws digging in and releasing as they wandered my body, finally tugging at the sleeve of my habit.

I broke away from the kiss that we'd seemingly fallen into hours ago and said, "I want- let me taste you, Papa, please, I-"

He ignored me and pulled at my sleeve again, "This," he said, "Take this off." I managed to unzip myself and he helped pull it off, letting it pool around my waist as he mouthed at my naked breast, groping the other.

He sighed happily against my skin and said, "I know you want- I know what you want, sorella," he sucked at my nipple for a moment before continuing, "but I want to hear you cum again, so," he looked up at me and smiled, "you will." His tone was as decisive as his grasp when he took my hand off his cock and laced his fingers through mine. He leaned back and nudged me with his leg, watching me grind on his thigh with a hungry, approving smile as he lazily stroked himself. He was still squeezing my breast, idly rubbing his thumb across my nipple as his attention flicked between my eyes and my cunt.

The claws weren't digging into me but pressing in just enough to make their own indentations in my skin, and when his thumb swiped again it briefly left a thin trace in the skin above my nipple. My thighs were covered in lines from hip to knee, and the sight gave me an odd thrill. I pressed his hand harder into me and moaned as the pinpricks turned into tiny sparks of pleasure. He seemed amused but squeezed tighter and delicately pinched, catching my nipple between the claws, his breath hitching when I shuddered with pleasure.

When my hips started falling out of any rhythm and my cries were almost a constant note, he pulled at my nipple again to bring me closer, bring me back to his mouth. He took my nipple in his mouth again and groaned when my nails dug into the back of his neck, and when my orgasm surged through me like lightning he dug his claws in and moaned softly into me.

"Good, sorella, so good for your Papa," I heard him faintly. His arms went around me as I slumped against his chest, the smooth, supple leather on his hands soothing the scratches he left in me, making me shiver when the metal points brushed across my back. As I caught my breath I felt his hitch and saw he was slowly pumping his cock. He touched my chin and made me look him in the eye again before drawing near, as if to kiss me again, but instead his lips went to my ear.

"Devotion is shown on your knees."

"Yes, Papa," I shivered. I managed to rise on shaking legs before kneeling again. He slid forward in his seat, gripping his cock as I moved closer, letting out a shaking breath when my lips touched him. When I wrapped my hand around him he loosened his grip but kept his hand close, grazing my skin with a claw whenever I was close enough. I mouthed at the underside of his cock, running my tongue along the length of him, whimpering when his claw tapped my cheek.

"His Body, sorella," he murmured, sucking in a breath when I met his eye again.

I dutifully said, "Nema, Papa," before tonguing at his leaking slit, savoring his trembling breaths as much as my first taste of him. I wrapped my lips around his cock and gently worked his foreskin down, following it with my mouth and taking as much of him as I could. When I moaned softly around him I felt his hand go around the back of my head, grabbing my veil to direct me.

"Good," he breathed, moving my head faster, "That- ah- good, sorella, just...just like that," his other hand slid along my arm to my shoulder before raking back down, the gold sketching lines across my skin. The sensation made me shiver, made me forget I'd even closed my eyes again until I heard it again.

"His Body," he reminded me, so quietly I almost mistook it for a breath. When I tried to respond he kept me in place with my mouth full.

"His Body, sorella," he laughed softly and drummed his claws against my arm. I made a questioning noise and he laughed again. He brushed his thumb across my cheek and gave me an encouraging smile. I tried to say it, managed something like eh-aw and he started moving my head again.

"It is a different way to take the Sacrament," he said breathlessly, "But you have- ah- have to do it properly, you know?" He pulled at my veil, raising me up more on my knees as his hips started rolling, thrusting his cock into my mouth more and more quickly, more deeply. His grip tightened on my shoulder, the five little points of almost-pain only making my moans louder. He groaned and tipped his head back, his whole body trembling as he panted desperately, whimpers filling the room until he gasped and pushed all the way into my mouth.

"Fuck," he choked, and his body locked for a moment until a deep growl rumbled from him and he spilled into my mouth, thick and hot and coating my tongue.

His hands loosened and he slid further down in his chair as his body went slack, his mitre dangerously close to tipping from his head as he panted for breath. A shiver rushed over his whole body from the soft parting licks I gave him. He squeezed my hand and let out a soft phew before looking at me, giving me a tired smile as he adjusted his mitre.

"Thank you, Papa," I smiled at him and flicked my tongue under the head of his cock even as he was softening in my hand.

"Ah," he flinched, "That- that will be enough, sorella, thank you." He sat up straight and tucked himself back into his pants, loudly clearing his throat as he set his vestments back into place. When I had my arms back in my sleeves he leaned over to zip up the back for me, his face lingering close to mine before giving me a soft kiss on the cheek. He brushed some stray hairs from my face and adjusted my veil for me, then took my hands to help me stand.

I tried to make myself presentable and his hands came to rest on my hips as he watched me smooth my habit. When I was done he sat back and cleared his throat again, looking away.

"Well," he said quietly, "I...I hope this has been, ah, helpful, sorella."

"Yes, I...Thank you, Papa." I stood for a moment, unsure what to do as we both stewed in the awkwardness that settled over the room, then turned to leave.

"Sorella?" his voice was soft and uncertain, so unlike the Papa I'd only known from afar until today. When I turned he beckoned me closer, taking my hand when he could. He looked up at me, searching my eyes for a moment before pulling me to him again for a parting kiss.

"Be well, sorella."

I waited outside the doors until I heard his voice echo through the basilica. He had already started his sermon when I entered, and his mismatched eyes lingered on me as I took my time finding a seat. Whenever my attention would drift and I started looking around the room, at all the beautiful artwork and ornamentation surrounding us, a sharp tap would echo from the pulpit.

When it was time for Communion I kept my eyes to the ground as I knelt before him. I waited before meeting his eye and he made me reach for the Sacrament again, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he subtly gave me a disapproving shake of his head.

Once the basilica had emptied he cleared his throat loudly and opened the vestry door, tapping his fingers against the wood as I approached.

"Late again, sorella."

"Only by a minute, Papa."

"A minute late is still late," he scolded, shutting the door behind us, "And I see you still do not understand how to properly take the Sacrament."

"I am a slow learner, Papa," goosebumps rushed over me when his fingers curled around my shoulders.

"Very well." His breath was warm against my neck.

"Kneel."

Thank you very much for reading 💚💜

I am handing out spiritual Neosporin and band-aids for all the psychic damage those claws have caused to the coochies of our minds.

If you enjoyed Terzo being such a patient and helpful Papa and can spare some cents for a broke bitch, I have a tip jar

Don't know why I made Terzo a sweet softboi here so don't ask. Turns out it was me being a flippin' genius.

Have instead a little note from my outline that made me laugh:

Yea that's basically it that's the story.

-

Also I guess sometimes people want to be tagged when I write things?????? I guess let me know if you? also want? tagged????

Translations: Italian: Buonasera, signora: Good evening [married woman] Perdonami: forgive me/excuse me Signorina: miss/young, unmarried woman Ciao, bella: hello, beautiful Cara mia: my dear/darling Bellissima: literally “very/most beautiful,” used here as good/great/awesome Amoruccia: a mocking way to say “lover” or love, can also be actually affectionate I think Dispiace: Sorry, but I’m sorry for you, like “Sorry you didn’t get that promotion,” as opposed to “Sorry I’m late.” Figa: pussy Dillo: say it Merda: shit Mio sole: my sun Mia amata: my beloved Puttanella: little whore Maiala: slut Piacere mio: my pleasure (old-fashioned) Vita mia: my life Polish (because I found out Terzo canonically spent many years in Poland and I'm making it everyone's problem): Myszko: little mouse Słoneczko: little sun Perełko: little pearl

A woman is running through the woods, terror written on the stricken features framed by perfect black pin-curls. Her wispy white gown is being caught and torn as she races through bare branches and bushes. Moments later, a devilish-looking creature follows. Something like a man, staggering but steadily gaining; soon it will have her.

It stops and casts its head side to side, piggishly working its nose to sniff the night air.

     "THE BEAST...

          ...SMELLS BLOOD!" the intertitle screams.

When they're finally close enough to share the screen, she trips and falls in her panic, thrashing wildly as the creature tries to pin her down. When she faints the creature tilts its head to the sky, mouth lolling open in the exaggerated fashion typical of silent films, leaving no question that it was indeed howling at the moon.

It looks around with a fiendish grin, twiddling its clawed fingers with glee before lowering itself to her helpless body.

     "AND NOW...

          ...IT WILL FEED!"

Surprised titters sweep across the theater when the creature draws its teeth to her neck. Even as someone who enjoys practical effects —the older and more obviously homemade, the better— it does look a little silly. Then the beast rears back with blood pouring down its chin.

"Woah," my date says, and he's not the only person having that reaction. When it cuts to the woman lying limp and glassy-eyed on the forest floor with blood spattered all over her neck, huge splotches staining that white gown, he leans over and says, "I didn't know violent movies were even a thing back then."

"Pre-Hays Code," I say, my eyes glued to the screen. The creature was picking up her body and carrying it offscreen.

The film ended abruptly; the lights came on and the theater burst into applause. The host announced a ten-minute intermission to prepare the equipment for the final film of the evening.

"How did they do blood effects back then? They didn't have chocolate syrup then, right?" Dave, my date, looked perplexed.

"Well-"

"Do you think they used real blood?"

"Maybe. Sometime they would use stuff like beet juice or paint, but they definitely used animal blood sometimes."

He frowned and crinkled his nose in disgust, "You'd think back then they wouldn't be throwing away anything edible. Wasn't this made during the Depression?"

"Circa 1917," I read from the program.

"Still, pretty surprising. I can't believe..."

I tuned out his chatter, looking around the room as I sipped my wine. He was a nice enough guy, but this was definitely going to be our last date. There were nearly a hundred people crammed into the tiny theater, and the alcohol combined with my dull companion and all the bodies crowded together was suddenly overpoweringly stifling.

"...Guess I thought they were, I dunno, classier back then?"

"Excuse me for a moment," I said, unceremoniously shuffling out of my seat.

The theater's ancient air conditioning system couldn't do much against the August night, but it was a little easier to breathe in the lobby. I flapped the collar of my shirt, fanning myself as much as I could before the final film.

The smell of tobacco wafted in as someone entered the lobby from outside. I looked over, just out of reflex, and found my eyes immediately locked onto those of the man at the door.

Not much taller than me, slicked-back black hair, slight build wrapped in a neatly-tailored black suit. Mid-to-late 40s, maybe early 50s. Handsome. Nothing out of the ordinary, until I saw the heterochromia.

I didn't usually notice people's eye color, to be honest, but one having practically no color at all was more than distinctive enough to catch my attention. When our eyes met he stilled for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, curiously, and walked closer.

"Buonasera, signora," a low, husky voice, charmingly accented.

"Hi. I mean, hello," I said, "I...Sorry, but have we met before?"

"I do not believe so. You, I feel, I would have remembered."

I felt myself blushing and just hoped the summer heat would conceal it.

"You enjoy the old movies?" he gestured to a poster for the festival.

"I'm here for my job, actually," when I saw a flash of disappointment I added, "I do like them though. And seeing a completely unknown collection like this, it's...It's just really cool."

He smiled at that and my face grew hotter, "It is fortunate someone found all these, eh?"

"Very fortunate, yes," I agreed, feeling like a complete dunce. Maybe the wine had gone to my head. I was finding it very difficult to string an intelligent sentence together.

"Well, it is a great pleasure to meet a fellow cinephile," he said. "Especially one so lovely." He bent slightly and reached to take my hand, and while a strange man grabbing at me was not something I typically enjoyed, I found myself allowing it.

Full lips brushed delicately against my fingers, strangely cool in the summer heat. The lobby had emptied out and my heart was racing; for some reason it felt like we were the only people in the world.

"Ah, perdonami," he said, swiping his thumb across my ring finger. "Signorina, not signora. Surprising." I hadn't noticed before that he was wearing gloves as part of his ensemble. Smooth, soft, black leather.

My heart thumped when he looked up at me through long eyelashes, those mismatched eyes peering curiously at me. Was he holding my hand too long? He seemed to be lingering, but time also didn't seem to be running quite so normally in his presence. He released me and stood straight again.

"I, um," I swallowed hard, "I didn't catch your name."

"Perdonami," he repeated, politely inclining his head, "Terzo. Terzo Emer-"

A voice crackled over the lobby speakers announcing the last film of the evening was about to begin.

"I...I guess we'd better go," I managed to say, despite my interest in the cinema rapidly plummeting.

"Perhaps I will be seeing you after," he smiled and gestured for me to walk with him, then opened the door for me.

"Y-yea...I'd like that."

That smile widened so pleasantly, and then our paths split as he walked to the other side of the theater. I lost sight of him in a cluster of people.

The host was standing to the side of the screen, rattling off information that I couldn't focus on at all until-

"-Terzo Emeritus," there was some applause before she continued. "All of tonight's films were donated by Mr. Emeritus, and we're just so honored to be able to screen all of them here tonight. So much early cinema was tragically lost to time, so you can imagine how shocked we were to find he had discovered such an incredible collection. A treasure trove like this...Well, for a film historian it's like finding the Holy Grail," she gushed.

I caught a brief flash of a gloved hand across the theater, waving in acknowledgment of her praise. Someone was blocking the rest of him from view, but now that I knew where he was sitting I kept glancing in his direction.

Just before the lights went down, he leaned forward in his seat, looking directly at me for just a moment, as though he already knew exactly where I was. A wave of goosebumps swept over me. Even in the dark room it was as though I could still see his eyes. I squirmed in my seat, unexpectedly and almost uncomfortably aroused.

I had to focus. I was here for work, after all. All my staring made me miss the opening titles but it appeared to be a detective serial. Not like the typical grizzled noir detective though; it appeared to have some science fiction elements. Some kind of dastardly villain was threatening an entire city. There were sections missing from the film, which didn't help my already-torn attention. Then something grabbed me completely.

The detective character hadn't been clearly shown on screen yet, but now he was creeping down a dark alley with a gun drawn, stalking some unseen threat. I thought I was imagining it until his face filled the screen.

It was Terzo. Right down to the striking pale eye.

The detective swiveled his head around, checking his surroundings, then slid around a corner onto the dark sidewalk.

I sat in a daze, absorbing nothing of the story, only looking at the impossible face. It wasn't a resemblance. It was him.

When he wasn't onscreen for a minute I managed to breathe again, until I saw someone moving in the theater. The person who had been blocking Terzo from my view jerked to his feet, walking stiffly up the aisle and out the doors.

Even with most of his face turned away, he matched the man flickering across the screen. I was snapping my eyes between him and the film, then jolted when I saw he had turned more toward me. In side profile, looking at me just out of the corner of his eye. I thought I saw a sly, knowing smile before he looked away again, just in time for the cliffhanger ending to lure moviegoers to return for the next installment.

When the lights came on people were standing and applauding and I lost sight of him again. As soon as I could move I tried to make my way over, ignoring my date's inane questions, but he was gone. I scanned the room, profoundly off-kilter and pushing rudely through groups of people, madly searching for a phantom.

The next day I called the group that had organized the screening to ask how one could fake a film from that era.

I was flatly told that in this instance, it couldn't be done. Terzo Emeritus' entire collection was on a unique kind of film, only produced for a few years. The odds of finding any intact, along with the kind of projector needed to run it, were next to zero. It was a miracle they'd been able to screen them at all.

When I asked if they could put me in touch with Mr. Emeritus, I was told that couldn't be done either.

It took me a week to finally track him down. The Emeritus family occupied a special niche of wealth and solitude that kept them almost hidden from the world, but I did find him.

Terzo Emeritus, immigrated here 1871.

Born 1852. No death listed.

If that birthdate was accurate, he would have been nearly seventy years old when the serial was filmed.

The estate was tucked deep in a dense forest of oak and pine about two hours away. The gates loomed over me, shiny black iron glinting in the sun. No intercom or guard. When I got out of my car to see if there was a way in, the gate creaked open at my touch.

My parents had always said I was too curious for my own good. They were the ones who encouraged me to become a journalist in the first place, and this...Well, there could be a story here, right? Either a strange man was making hoax movies for what, fake philanthropy? Or that was really him. At this point the simplest explanation —that he simply looked like him because they were related or something— somehow felt the least likely for reasons I couldn't explain.

A long gravel driveway twisted through the trees, ending at what would have been considered quite the mansion in the old days, and today...Well, probably still a mansion, but a more modest one by modern standards. It looked newly renovated, only showing its age in its design and details.

I parked in the driveway and stepped into the hot sun, heading to the front door with its shining bronze knocker, when I heard a faint quacking. Off to the side of the house I could see a small pond with someone sitting nearby in a wooden lawn chair. They were shaded and mostly covered by a large umbrella stuck in the ground.

Crossed legs in white pants, rolled-up white sleeves; then their arm moved and I saw white gloves.

He was tossing seed to the ducks with one hand, occasionally bringing a cigarette to his lips with the other before flicking the ash into the grass. He leaned past the rim of the umbrella to watch me approach for a moment, then sat back.

Large sunglasses kept his expression unreadable as he casually said, "Ciao, bella," as if my showing up at his secluded home was perfectly normal. He waved at another chair next to him, "Here for work?"

"Good guess," I sat down, trying to keep my voice steady, "I don't know yet."

"I read your review of the festival," he tossed out a handful of seeds, smiled at the sight of two ducks squabbling, "You have done better work, I think."

"You know my work?"

"You reviewed an art gallery last month. That one, I liked." He tucked his sunglasses into the collar of his shirt and turned to me, that colorless eye holding me motionless again, "It is not difficult to find old newspaper articles. And I thought to myself that I may be seeing you again."

"Why is that?" I managed to say, color already blooming on my face. He smiled as if we were both privy to an inside joke and turned back to the pond.

"Do you have a question for me, bella?"

How did you fake that movie? Did you fake that movie? How old are you? How many Terzo Emerituses have there been? Are you related to the man in the film? How old are you? When were you born? How did you come across those movies? How old are you? How old are you?

He let out an amused little breath and for a moment I thought I'd said all that aloud. Or that he had heard my thoughts. He spun the bag of seed around to twist up the excess and tied it shut.

"Come, it's much cooler inside," He stood and held out his hand to help me up, "Easier to talk, sì?"

Cool to the touch, even in the summer heat, even through the gloves.

As in the theater, his fingers clung to mine for a few seconds longer than necessary, lingering as though we were on a lover's walk. We entered the house through a large brick patio shaded by a vined pergola, into the cool, dim interior. He led me to a dark sitting room, surprisingly small and modest for a house this size, then excused himself after cracking opening one of the curtains.

The window faced a wooded area with evidence of recent landscaping. The brief walk through the house had shown that there was still a lot to be done inside, but but this room at least seemed finished, albeit dark.

I opened the curtains a little more, just to be able to see. They were thick and luscious in the hand, similar to the fabric on the loveseat. Maybe the room wasn't so finished: the loveseat was the only seat in the sitting room.

He returned bearing a wooden tray with a pitcher of what looked like iced tea, then poured a glass for each of us and sat at the other end of the seat, relaxing with his arm slung around the back. I took a sip; Bitter and over-steeped.

"So," he said, "you have come to my home." The shaft of light from the window caught his eye —the normal one, and it flared a lovely green before he blinked and moved his head. There was a faint smile playing around his face as he studied me.

"I...I was wondering..."

I just wanted to look at him —the graceful motions of his hands and body, the shapely, inviting curve of his lips, so easily imagined on mine, on every part of my body-

"Wondering?" He raised an eyebrow. It seemed almost mocking.

"Wondering," I echoed. Why was I so tongue-tied?

"You came here to ask about my movies, sì?"

"Yes, your movies," I said faintly. What had I been talking about?

Had he moved? Had he always been sitting right next to me?

"Are you...Are you..." I tried to remember what brought me here, tried to remember why I would feel so hot all of a sudden, "How...How old are you?" I finally asked.

"Not something you should ask a lady, I am told," he winked at me, "I think it is also not something to ask a gentleman." His arm was around my shoulder now, somehow.

"You..." I swallowed hard, shook my head to try and clear it, "are you related to that man?"

"Which man, cara mia?" he asked innocently, "I am related to a few men."

"The man in-" I blinked hard, felt myself returning a little, if only for a moment, "the man in that movie."

He tapped a finger on his chin and looked up toward the ceiling as though deep in thought, "If you can be related to yourself, yes."

A tiny whimper choked in my throat as I tried to lean away from him, but there was nowhere to go. He leaned a little closer and in a conspiratorial tone said, "Truth be told, bella, I only gave those movies away because I could not bear the thought of my film career rotting away in a moldy basement somewhere."

It made no sense. It defied logic. Yet in my bones I felt the weight of the truth crushing me.

I believed him.

"How?" I whispered.

His cool fingers closed around mine for a moment as he took my glass from my hand, placing it on the table with his own. So smooth and intentional and genteel in his movements, like time simply moved differently around him.

He had drawn so close, and the knowing smile that crept across his face made the way his eyes roamed over my body feel...obscene. Exposing. I shivered when his hand touched my knee.

"That is a boring story," he said, "I am more interested in writing new ones." He looked down to my thigh where he was slowly tracing his fingertips in loose spirals, nearing the hungry ache between my legs.

"How?" I repeated, "How can you-" I faltered when he fixed his gaze on mine again, letting out a shaking breath when his fingers brushed across my belly, teasingly moving up my body, just grazing my breast.

His fingers slid around the side of my neck and he tilted his head, considering me, looking at my mouth, my throat, my heart, as though he could see through me.

My heart was pounding hard enough that he could surely feel it. As if he knew my thoughts his fingers moved to my jugular vein and rested a moment, feeling my blood racing madly under his touch before moving his fingers along my jaw. He brushed his thumb across my lips, pulling them apart to allow a breathy sigh to spill.

All I was capable of was breathing, and even that was getting more difficult. The tip of his thumb slipped between my teeth, so cold against my tongue even through the gloves that I flinched. He drew nearer, so close I could feel his cool breath on my face when he pulled his thumb from my mouth, wetly dragging my lip down and leaving a slick trail on my chin.

Utterly transfixed, no longer capable of moving under my own will, I felt my body going limp, sinking under him when he tilted my chin up to face him.

His tongue ran along the inside of his mouth, making my whole body throb, and his lips had just brushed against mine when he turned my head to the side. I dimly felt him undoing one, two, three buttons, pulling at my shirt collar. Cold breath against my neck.

Then pain.

I felt something pierce my neck, felt lips and tongue and teeth, felt a strange loss as if I were draining away.

"N-n..." I tried, "N-no..." so weakly I wasn't sure I'd spoken at all. I managed to bring a hand up and tried to slap or pull him away, but in my state I couldn't have pushed a baby mouse.

He gripped the back of my neck and pulled me closer, wrapping his other arm around me, and for a brief moment I felt like a solid being in the material world again. When I tried to push myself away again I saw my hand was smeared with blood. My neck was numb, my fingers and toes prickling, my head swimming.

And I could hear him: the wet smacking sounds of him gorging on me, the satisfied exhalations of someone getting their first drink on a summer day, the muffled moans of his open mouth on my skin, lewd and ravenous and obscene.

"N-no..." I whispered.

The room was spinning, dimming. Was it night already? Why was it so dark?

"The...the sun..."

He pulled away from me with a deep, satiated groan, bright red streaks running from his mouth.

"What about the sun, myszko?" he smiled at me, so kindly, and licked the remainder of my blood from his lips.

"'S goin' out," I slurred, "ss-...sun..."

"The sun will not go out for a very long time, darling girl. You can sleep now."

"Don' wanna sle-"

The light had indeed gone out, but I was awake. Awake in darkness so total I thought I'd gone blind, but my eyes adjusted and I found myself in a dark bedroom, so large I couldn't see the walls. Maybe there was an afterlife after all and this was some strange plane of existence consisting solely of a large, soft bed in a black void.

But I could feel a breeze, and hear the soft hum of the fan that was blowing on me. I started to sit up but could barely move. My arms and legs felt...well, they didn't feel like much at all, other than cold. As if they were attached to me only as a courtesy; not there to serve me any longer.

I tried to roll onto my side and it only made me dizzy.

I managed to raise my arm but it flopped uselessly onto my belly.

I could bend my knees a little but when I tried to brace and push myself my feet slid uselessly across the sheets.

I whimpered in fear, then tried to call for help, only managing to push out a weak, rasping little wheeze.

It had to be a nightmare. Ever since I was little, I could never scream in my nightmares. My mouth would open and air would silently pour out, just like now.

If I know it's a dream, that means I'm lucid. I can control this.

Okay. I can move. I can fly if I want to. And I do want to. I need to.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes, trying to focus.

Then started to cry.

I would not be flying anywhere. It all felt terribly, terribly real: the bedding, the fan, the pain in my neck-

My neck. Something happened to my neck. I limply dragged my hand toward the ache, wincing when my fingers brushed against two small wounds. No, four.

My skin wasn't tacky or dried out; I felt clean. I sniffed at my collar. No blood smell. An unfamiliar scent. Like someone else's laundry detergent.

I felt around my shirt and realized it wasn't actually mine. It was a man's shirt, and when I moved my legs again found that my pants were gone.

"H-help," I managed to breathe. Where was I?

I remembered driving somewhere. A long drive through a forest looking for...something. Someone? I was looking-

"...to meet another cinephile..."

A man with strange, dreamy, half-closed eyes and a sly, knowing smile. A smile that had drawn so close, so close I could feel his breath. My eyes widened, useless in the shadows surrounding me. Cold breath.

"Terzo," I whispered.

Taking the glass from my hand with silken grace as he leaned closer, his thumb brushing across my lips, then...the blood on his mouth.

I tried to push the bedding away. I wasn't any stronger but the fear helped me move. The room felt sickeningly, feverishly hot, even with the fan blowing on me, even with my limbs chilled from blood loss.

But even with the adrenaline flooding my body I couldn't rise. I laid there, heart hammering, breathing hard and trying desperately to think. Now that Terzo had reappeared in my mind there wasn't room for anything else.

All I could think of was him parting those soft lips, tilting his head as if angling for a kiss as he drew nearer, intoxicatingly close, his strange, discomfiting eyes flicking between mine and my lips. The delicacy with which he ran his fingers from my knee to my neck.

The warm, sympathetic smile with lips stained by my own blood.

Still some distance away, but their approach announced by the wooden floors: Footsteps.

Please, please, please, no...

They stopped outside the door. I squeezed my eyes shut, quaking at the sound of the turning doorknob. Footsteps on wood again, then muffled by carpet. The metallic kachink of a lamp's pull chain, the faint flare of light against my eyelids.

"Bellissima, you are awake," the back of his hand brushed against my cheek, making me whimper and flinch away. The bed shifted under his weight and I flinched again when he touched my shoulder.

"Here, bella, let me help you," he said gently. I whimpered again when his hands slid under me, pulling all my dead weight into a sitting position next to him as easily and delicately as if I were made of paper.

Once the room stopped spinning I kept my head turned away, trying to control myself, trying to stop the quiet, terrified whimpers escaping with nearly every trembling breath. He brushed my hair away from my face, then touched my chin and turned me to face him.

"Open your eyes, please."

I managed to shake my head the tiniest bit.

"Now."

A voice that echoed through my whole body, curling up and around my spine until it shook my eyes open.

In the soft, moody light, some of his hair loosely arcing toward his cheek, he looked like a different man. His mismatched eyes were warm and he tapped his thumb playfully across my chin before letting go of me.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

He either ignored me or didn't hear as he turned to the nightstand. His little wooden tray again, this time with a glass of water, a glass of orange juice, a small dish of fruit, and a smaller dish with some crackers. He shifted so closely that our legs were touching, balancing the tray on a bent knee.

"Can you drink?"

"Why...why are you doing this?"

"You are my guest," he said lightly. He brought the glass of water to my lips.

"I-I'm not thirsty," I lied.

"You are." His tone was so matter-of-fact. Simple truth.

"Drink," he handed me a cracker, "I am sorry to say you lost a lot of blood today. I was careless. Forgive me."

"I didn't lose blood," I managed to say, "You...You drank my blood."

He hummed in agreement as he gave me a sip of orange juice, "I did. Eat." He nodded at the cracker in my hand and I choked it down. Dry.

"So...why am I still alive?"

He pushed a grape between my lips. "Because I did not want to kill you. As I said: I was careless today. Waited too long between meals, you see?"

"Meals," I echoed, my voice hollow.

"I had already put it off longer than necessary. Planned on finding someone the night we met, but then...Well. We met." He held my gaze as he helped me drink some more.

"And sometimes it is more fun when dinner delivers itself," his mouth quirked into a smile when I breathed out a soft, fearful sound.

"I thought you might seek me out, and you did," He took my hand, gentle again, and brought it to his soft, cold lips, "I spoke to many people that night. You were the only one who noticed the man on the screen was me." He was rubbing his thumb across my fingers, the fabric of his glove so smooth and soft.

"I heard your blood racing so clearly when we first saw one another, then again when you saw who I was." He slid his hand along my wrist and I could only stare, transfixed again by his smooth, refined movements.

"In a room full of beating hearts, yours was loud as thunder," he pressed his thumb into the bend of my arm and I felt my pulse against it.

"Just as it is now."

Involuntary heat washed over me. I hadn't realized how hard my heart was beating until now, but he was right.

"You-" I swallowed hard, "you're doing it. You can control me somehow. It's not...It's not me."

"You think so?" he murmured. The hand that had been at my elbow moved up the back of my arm, making me shiver, then returned to my wrist, "Even across the house I knew you were awake because I heard your blood rushing through your body. Did I do that as well? When you were alone?"

"How could I know that? I don't know what kind of..." I paused, trying to sort my thoughts in the face of unreality, "what kind of powers you have."

He gave me another sip of orange juice and set the tray back on the nightstand, then leaned across my legs. He rested his hand on the bed, his wrist against my outer thigh a reminder that I didn't have any pants on.

"Well," he said, "I cannot control your heartbeat," His eyes wandered down my body to my bare legs, "and despite what you may think, I cannot control your mind, either. I can only...push." His fingernails were grazing my skin as he traced unknown patterns on the fragile skin of my wrist.

"Push?" My voice sounded so small.

“Sì,” His hand drifted to my thigh and goosebumps raced over my skin, "Some people yearn for oblivion, cara mia. They cry out for it but will stand at a cliff's edge forever, waiting for someone to help them take the final step. And some," he stared at me intently, "some just want to give up control to someone else."

He flattened his palm on my thigh, "To take decisions away from them," and moved up while holding my gaze, sliding his fingers across my hip and under the waistband of my panties, pulling at them so quickly they ripped. I had barely cried out when he moved closer, up onto his knee, his cool palm still on my leg.

"And you, słoneczko, why did you come here?" He planted his other hand on the headboard next to my shoulder as he leaned in.

"I...I just..."

His lips were so close to mine when he pushed his knee between my legs, pressing his thigh right up against me. With half-closed eyed he searched my face, then grazed my cheek with his lips, moving along my jaw.

When his lips brushed against my neck I whimpered anxiously and heard the smile in his voice when he said, "I have already eaten, darling girl. You should worry more about this, I think." He nudged me with his knee and a soft moan escaped me.

Next to my ear, in such a smooth, silky voice: "Tell me why you sought me out."

Even in my weakened state my body was responding, still moving just enough to continue the stimulation of his leg pushed against my cunt.

I had an answer. Just not one I wanted to give. I didn't want to admit the instant attraction, the jolt of electricity down my spine the first moment our eyes met, the fact that when he walked me to the theater doors I was already wet.

Or that every night since then I'd only been able to sleep after making myself cum while thinking about him.

He nudged me again and I whimpered again, trying to suppress it, trying so badly to not want this, want him, to wake up from this nightmare where a monster was making me ache with desire.

"Why did you come to me?" he asked quietly before biting down on the outer ridge of my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stay silent and still.

He raised himself up a bit and grabbed my chin, looking down on me with parted lips, running his tongue over his canines. Letting me see their sharpness.

"Tell me," he said in that strange echoing voice. I mewled and tried to shrink away, but sinking back into the cushions pushed my cunt harder against him. I gasped and tried to sit back up but he held me in place with a hand against my chest. My hips were rocking slowly in spite of myself, maddeningly incapable of moving as fast I wanted.

His other hand moved to the remains of my underwear. Cool fingers brushed against my hair and he smiled at the needy whine betraying my thoughts.

"If you tell me, bella, you'll get it," he slid a finger along the ruined waistband, flicking his eyes to mine as it fell away, almost exposing me completely, "what you came here for."

"No," I whispered tremulously, even as my hips continued to twitch against him.

He pulled away, chuckling when another whine escaped me. He tore the remains of my underwear off, almost too quickly for me to see, then held them out, crumpled in his palm.

"I will bring you new ones. These needed a wash even before I tore them, eh?" His smile was mocking as he showed me the obvious wet patch on the cloth. He tucked them into his pocket and rubbed his gloved fingers together. Then sniffed them.

He twitched an eyebrow up at me but said nothing as he walked away. He stopped in the doorway and looked back to me.

"You think about your answer, pretty girl. I will ask again later."

Every few hours he would return. He would refresh my drinks and snacks, ensure I was comfortable —as much as I could be under the circumstances— and torment me.

More than once I woke up feeling his cool fingers running along my body. Sometimes his lips were grazing my neck, murmuring strange, quiet things into my ear, Italian keeping it a secret from me.

When I finally managed to roll onto my side, the next time I woke he was laying behind me. His body was pressed against me, a heavy arm draped around my waist, keeping me pinned in place with his head on my hair. Breathing softly. Sleeping next to me.

Warmed by my body, he almost felt like a normal man until his fingers twitched, the icy little taps against my belly making me jump. He let out a deep breath and mumbled something. Pulled me closer with that cold hand.

I stared into the darkness. My hip was sore and I needed to roll over, but I was unwilling to let him see me struggle to move. I tried to relax but could only think about what he'd said. Even in the dark I knew my face was pink remembering it.

"You think about your answer, pretty girl."

Every time he returned it was the same: he would get close enough for his lips to touch me, delicately explore with his fingers, never do more than graze me.

When he brought me a new pair of underwear he looked me in the eye the whole time he was putting them on me, until the very last moments when he lifted my hips and saw what he wanted. He had flicked his eyes back to mine with a smirk on his face.

The next time he returned, he tore through them. Then apologized, saying he'd have to make a trip to buy more.

In a few days.

When he would slide his knee between my legs he kept his eyes on me and would always look down at his pants before he left, making sure I saw the wet patch inevitably left on his leg.

"Is this all you came to me for?" he would murmur, his voice husky against my ear, "Are you sure this is all you want?"

"I can give much more, amoruccia, much more." He had flicked his tongue against my neck and laughed delightedly when I moaned into his shoulder.

It was almost worse when he left. In the dark my limp body had nothing to do but think, and all I could think of was him. I would lay there for hours, shifting uncomfortably as my body burned. Feeling how wet I was and being too weak to touch myself long enough to cum. I could slowly rub myself for maybe thirty seconds at a time —too much for rest, not enough for release.

By the time he would return I would already be soaking wet, longing for him between my legs and desperately trying not to think about how long I could possibly maintain this.

He couldn't not feel my heat, see my flushed skin, hear my hurried breathing as soon as his lean body moved over mine.

He always knew.

"You are awake?" he mumbled into my hair, pulling me from my thoughts. I said nothing, just tried to stay still and pretend he couldn't hear my heart pounding. He let out a sleepy grunt and moved a cold hand up near my neck.

"Sleep."

"How long have I been here?"

The curtains were open for the first time since my imprisonment began. It was a miserable rainy day outside but it was good to see something other than a dark room.

He speared a cube of melon and held it to my mouth, "A few days."

"Someone will come looking for me." I reached for my juice and managed to drink it myself, albeit with a trembling hand. He smiled at the sight, something like pride in his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said, "Did you tell anyone you were looking for me?"

"Will you kill me if I say no?"

He took the glass from my weak, shaking hands before it could spill. He cocked his head to the side and studied my face —a mannerism I found myself growing fond of, then looked away to choose another piece of fruit.

"Do you still think that? That I will kill you?"

"You're a man with a lot of secrets," I shrugged, "Big ones. People with fewer bodies in the closet than you have killed to keep a secret."

"I could have killed you already if I wanted to, myszko."

"Maybe this is easier than hunting down a new person every...week? How often do you eat?"

"A few times a month. And no," he quietly said, "this is not easier."

"Then why am I alive, Terzo?"

He was peeling an orange, deep in thought as he drove his thumb under its skin.

"I do not know," he said finally, "This is not something I have done before." He held out an orange segment, pulling it back when I reached for it. "Did you tell anyone about me?"

"No," I admitted. He offered the orange slice again and I took it, "I thought about telling my boss but it seemed...silly, I guess. I wanted to see if there was anything here first."

"And did you tell anyone you met a handsome, mysterious stranger at the cinema who immediately bewitched you with his charm and wit?" That smug, knowing smile was back. When I looked away without answering he laughed quietly.

"You are blushing," he said, leaning closer, "You do this a lot around me, I have noticed." An orange-scented hand trailed along my neck, his thumb making its usual journey across my bottom lip. Terzo liked doing that.

I liked him doing that.

A few days later he had a newspaper tucked under his arm when he brought my breakfast. He set my food down and opened the paper as I ate. So quickly our strange little version of domesticity had become normal to me.

"You made it to page three, cara mia."

"Page three of the paper I worked at, after being missing for over a week," I muttered, "And they used my fucking employee ID photo." I reached for the paper, "What's on the front page?"

"The mayor is having trouble getting his new budget approved." There was something like sympathy on his face. I swallowed hard and looked down at my food.

"Do you..." he trailed off, looking out the window, thinking, "don't you have family?"

"I have a brother somewhere, but we haven't spoken in years. Last I heard he was out on the west coast somewhere."

"Friends?"

No one to raise hell for me and hold a good picture of me in front of news cameras. No one to put a spotlight on my absence. If I hadn't had a job I went to every day it could have been weeks before anyone even noticed I was gone.

"No one close," I said.

"Dispiace," he said softly after a moment. When I looked at him curiously he explained, "I am sorry for you. That this has happened to you."

"It didn't just happen, Terzo," I said, my mouth twisting unhappily.

"You are right, yes. I only mean that...I am sorry to cause this," He briefly met my eye, then looked back out the window, "For you to feel this way." He looked almost ashamed.

The only sounds were the birds singing outside. A lull descended between us until I finally said, "If I asked to leave...Would you let me?"

He looked back to me, searching my eyes. Tilted his head a little, the way he usually did when trying to make a decision.

"I think I would," he said softly, "But do not know if I can."

He stayed away unusually long that day, not returning until after dark. He fed me, quiet the whole time, barely meeting my eye. When I finished he moved the tray to the nightstand as usual, this time keeping his hand on it with his brow furrowed.

He looked like he wanted to leave already, but when he stood he slowly walked to the other side of the bed and sat next to me, our bodies just barely touching. He was looking down, restlessly tapping his fingers on his thigh, deep in thought.

"Terzo?" my voice wavered slightly. When he said nothing my skin prickled with alarm.

It's happening.

He's going to kill me.

But when he reached for me, he put his arms around me. Pulled my body to him, making me straddle his lap and face him. He settled back against the pillows, looking up at me with an enigmatic smile.

"What are you doing?"

He said nothing, only took my hands and placed my palms on his chest, covering my hands with his own. He brushed a thumb across my skin and stared intently into my eyes. His voice was low and curious when he finally spoke.

"The night we met. There was a man with you, yes?"

"Uh, yea. Dave. Why?"

"A date?"

"Yes."

"Did you like him, this Dave?"

"No," I said, after a moment.

"Why?" His thumb had slid under my palm, just the faintest embrace as his fingers stroked the back of my hand.

"He was boring. And bossy. He was annoying. Even on our first date."

"Did you fuck him?"

The plainness of the question caught me off guard and I laughed, "What? No."

He shifted under me. Just a little; just enough to remind me where I was sitting.

"Would you have?"

I opened my mouth to say no, of course not, I would never, but the words caught in my throat. Dave had tried on our first date. Casually suggesting we go back to his place after we left a mediocre movie following an even worse dinner.

"Tell me."

I had refused him that first night, hadn't even intended to go on another date with him. But when he asked me out again, I just...gave in.

Looking back to that night, I think I had already accepted the fact that when he asked me back to his place I would go with him.

"...Yes."

"Why would you fuck a boring and annoying man?"

I had been trying to keep a distance between us but my legs were tiring. I was slowly sinking onto his body and he shifted under me again, just bumping his hips against me.

"Because...Because he was there," I said. Terzo squeezed my hand and the words, "Because no one better wanted me" tumbled from my lips before I even thought them. Tears sprang to my eyes.

"Did you think I was better?" A hint of a smile pulled at the side of those sweetly curved lips.

I knew you were.

I bit my lip. He moved his hand up my thigh, around to my butt, and pulled me forward. Still so weak, my arms folded against his chest and brought our faces so very close. He studied me for a moment with half-closed eyes before continuing.

"What would you do at home, when you were alone?"

"...Nothing," I said quietly, "I...My whole life was work." His hand was slowly moving between my back and my thighs, lingering near my ass each time, caressing my skin with cool, gloved fingers. He moved his lips tantalizingly close to mine, then looked intently into my eyes and asked,

"What were you living for, darling girl?"

He wiped a tear from my cheek and moved his hand between us, brushing against the inside of my thigh. His gloves today were smooth, cool, almost satiny.

"I didn't even want to work there," I sniffed, "I didn't want to work in journalism at all." His other hand left mine and caught another tear, then wandered to my neck, worked into my hair, gently brought my head to his chest.

"So why did you?" As he stroked my hair I finally gave in, letting myself fully relax onto his body, my eyes fluttering shut at the soft, soothing pleasure of it. Of him.

"My parents," I murmured, "They always said I should be a journalist so I just...did."

"Hmm..." He went quiet for a moment, then asked, "How many decisions have you made for yourself, perełko? Real ones. Big."

"I picked out my apartment."

He tapped his thumb against my shoulder, counting: one.

"And my car." Another tap.

Silence stretched between us.

A sort of panic flooded in to fill it.

Surely there had been something.

College had been decided by my parent's finances. The job I hadn't wanted was the only paper that I interviewed with to offer me a job. I chose what I ate and wore, and what little I did with my free time.

That was it. Unless...

"Did I choose to come here?"

"I did not push you then, so yes. If you do not count my being devastatingly handsome and charming as an influence."

"So three, then," I took a deep breath, "and I don't know how one of them will turn out yet."

"Having second thoughts about your car?" he said lightly. One hand was still stroking my hair, the other rubbing my back, "Do you know, myszko, I saw a documentary once on the television. It was about sea creatures. The ehh...the tiny ones. Plankton."

"What about them?"

"They are so small, most of them, that they cannot swim against the current. That is what makes them plankton, you see? They are pushed wherever the ocean takes them," he paused, then helpfully added, "You are plankton."

"I got that."

"Just making sure."

"I'm an insignificant bug that gets pushed around by the world until I get sucked up and eaten."

"No, bella," he said, an unusual warmth coloring his words, "plankton are not all tiny, not all helpless. Some jellyfish are plankton. And ehm...other fish. I think. I did not see this recently. But jellyfish can sting, yes?"

"Yea."

"And they are too tough to be pleasant to eat."

"You ate me."

"I drank, bella. When I eat you it will be very pleasant for both of us." He laughed and rubbed my back, "It is so easy to get your heart racing, eh?"

It wasn't fair that he could hear my heartbeat.

"You say 'when' as if it's a foregone conclusion," I said, silently cursing the flutter in my chest.

"It is possible you will resist my charms long enough for me to give up," he sounded amused at the very notion, "How long did it take you to find me?"

"A week."

"And how soon after that did you start driving?"

I chewed my lip in irritation, my silence earning a gentle laugh.

"It would be a waste of a trip, sì? To not get what you came here for."

"Then what am I here for, Terzo?" My voice was rising, "You seem to know everything about me already," I tried to push away and sit up, tiring of his mocking arrogance, "Answer your own fucking questions if you know so much."

With just a hand on the back of my neck he kept me in place. I struggled for a moment but it was obvious it didn't require even an ounce of effort to hold me there.

"Let me go," I said quietly.

"No."

"Please."

He reached for my leg, pulled it over his, then pushed me firmly against his knee.

"I will let you go in a few minutes," he said, "When I feel like it." He pressed his hand to my lower back, making me rub against his thigh.

"Asshole," I said through gritted teeth.

"That is a 'when,' too, darling girl."

I tried to jerk my head up, so mad I wanted to spit right in his smug face but I was locked against him, trying to stifle any sign I was enjoying it.

"Good," he murmured, when a soft whimper finally escaped me, "Good." He kept pushing my cunt against him and it wasn't long until I couldn't keep any sounds in anymore.

"Doesn't it feel nice?" It felt like his voice was in my head, "It could be even better." He was pushing me against him faster, barely allowing me to think. I was chained there, only my wet, needy cunt making decisions. Keeping me in his thrall.

He grabbed my face, making me look at him.

"What do you want?"

I whimpered and tried to shut out the echo, tried to look away but still he held me. With two hands. How long had he had both his hands on my face?

I was panting and desperately grinding against his leg on my own.

I gasped and pulled away and he released me with a smirk, "You do not want any more?"

Rolling away from him, trying to crawl off the bed and leave, I've had enough of this, I can't stay here with this nightmare-

His hand clamped around my wrist and pulled me back. He was on his knees behind me, one arm around my waist and the other holding my hand away to keep from clawing at him.

"You have been humping my leg like a horny little bitch for days now." His voice was low and breathy in my ear, "You think I do not know how wet you are every time you are around me? You are aching for me to fill you, amoruccia." The mocking laugh I'd come to know so well rang out when I whimpered.

"And that just turned you on even more."

He pushed me onto my back, pinning my hands above my head when I tried to slap him.

"None of that," he jeered, "All I want is to please you and you try to hit me? You wound me."

I spat at him. It landed short, hitting his collar.

He tugged at his shirt to look at my handiwork, then sucked disapprovingly at his teeth and said, "You have been so well-behaved until now."

I spat again. This time it hit his chin.

"Stop talking to me like I'm a fucking dog."

He wiped my saliva off with a finger and looked at it for a moment, then into my glaring eyes before grabbing my chin and pushing his finger into my mouth, so quickly I couldn't react. I tried to bite but he squeezed my face, keeping me from closing my teeth on him.

"Lick it clean."

When I just glared he put a second finger in, the fabric of the glove dragging across my tongue as he pushed deep. When I gagged he smiled and pulled back for just a moment.

"Clean."

He made me gag again and stayed there, nothing but entertained at my tears, by my throat's attempt to reject him, only retreating when I moaned around him. Helpless against him and my body both.

"Will you obey or will you make me keep choking you?"

All I could manage was a soft whimper.

"Makes your figa hot no matter what, eh? I am already in your mouth, cara mia. I am happy either way." His soft smile and kind eyes were so familiar now, but he’d never given those while touching me directly.

His fingers were sliding easily between my lips, and whenever he reached the back of my tongue I couldn't help but moan. Soon he slowed.

He held my gaze as he released my face, then slipped in a third finger. He would pause every time his fingers got back to my lips, as if considering stopping altogether, then he would slowly push back in as our eyes stayed locked.

It was humiliating, the way he looked at me. The way he kept me where he wanted, the way my body shook, the way I couldn't help but moan when he got deep enough for his knuckles to hit my teeth. He had to notice how my hips kept flexing toward him, the way I was squirming, but he kept it to himself for once.

"Nice and wet up here, too," he said sweetly, then he slid all the way back into my throat. When I didn't gag he held there, letting out a pleased sigh.

"You are feeling calmer now, yes?" There was a dark, hungry cast to his eyes, only deepening at the soft sounds I was making around him.

"Get your tongue in between my fingers. Just because I'm nice enough to fuck your mouth doesn't mean you don't have to clean my gloves, sì?"

A satisfied breath rumbled from his chest when I obeyed, "Good," he said, "It is better this way, don't you think so?"

His condescension was irritating but when I narrowed my eyes he pressed down on my tongue and made me gag again.

"Ah, perdonami, for a moment I thought you were making a face at me," he said lightly. He finally took his fingers out of my mouth and patted my cheek with his wet hand, "You would not do that, of course."

He tilted his head to study my face as he liked to do, when something seemed to dawn on him. His face brightened, an impish grin spreading. He raised his hand to my lips again, but said, "Bite." He saw my confusion and added, "The glove." I bit down on the fabric and he pulled his hand free.

"Hold it there," he said. He wasn't even looking at me. He was looking down as he rolled up his sleeves, exposing forearms surprisingly hairy and vascular.

"Do you know, bella, I think I have been asking you the wrong questions."

He looked back to me, smiling at the sight of me lying still with his wet glove between my teeth. He grabbed me around the waist and smoothly pulled me further down the bed, away from the pillows, flat on my back.

He moved his body over mine —with his excited eyes and delighted smile he would have looked sweet under much kinder circumstances, but it made a hard core of dread settle in my stomach. He drew agonizingly close, a whisper away from kissing me as always.

"I have been asking for you to explain, sì?" he looked a little too pleased with himself as he pulled the glove out of my mouth. For the first time he really touched his bare skin to mine, running his fingers along my lips, "But those are complicated, explanations. And you are stubborn. It is much easier to get a simple yes or no." He grinned when my eyes widened.

He pushed his thigh firmly against my cunt, then gripped my chin and kept me in place as he fixed his eye on me.

"So then, cara mi- you will keep your eyes on me," his hand moved to my throat and lightly squeezed when I shut my eyes. I shuddered from the very bottom of my spine when I looked at him, and when I whimpered softly he smiled and began.

"Tell me: did I ever leave your mind after we met?"

"Nnn-" I tried to look away, tried to lie, tried to say nothing, but it was as if the hand on my throat went into my windpipe and physically pulled the word from me.

"No," I gasped. He smiled triumphantly and continued,

"Did you think of me every night?"

"Y-...ye-" I mewled desperately, tears welling up in my eyes as I squirmed with effort, but I couldn't keep it in, "yes."

My squirming hadn't stopped, my hips continuing to move on their own, rubbing against him, already swollen, already aching, only intensifying under his mesmerizing gaze and the barrage of questions.

And did you touch yourself while you thought of me? Did you think of me every time you came? Was your cunt wet in that theater, after only a few minutes of talking to me? Did me drinking your blood make you wet? Did you dream of me? Did you dream about my cock inside you, sliding into you and fucking you senseless? Am I the first thing you think of when you wake up? Were you wet for the entire drive here?

Did you come here because you wanted me?

Your cunt aches for me every time I enter the room, doesn't it?

You liked when I tore your panties off, didn't you? Do you like spreading your legs for me? You like showing me your cunt, so wet and needy, don't you? Do you want me to fuck you whenever I feel like it? Do you want me to use you however I want?

You like me keeping you here, don't you?

Do you miss me when I leave you alone?

You want to stay here, don't you?

Question after question. He knew the answers —didn't need them— but wanted to hear them regardless. Wanted to pull them from me over and over, reveling in my humiliation as I got more and more turned on, as much by his words as his body against mine. More and more delighted each time I degraded myself with a needy whimper, each time my hips jerked in response to a question, each time I managed to shut my eyes and would then moan loudly, wantonly when he'd squeeze my throat.

When he'd had his fun he reared back and put his hands on my knees, his cold, strong grip preventing me closing my legs even if I'd wanted to. He looked over me —over his work— admiringly. Panting, trembling, wet, wanting.

"If you want me to stay, perełko, all you have to do is ask," he said, a scornful cut to his words, "I am a giving man." 

His hands were sliding down the inside of my thighs. "You will forget all about the world out there," his nails grazing the flushed, sensitive skin, "You will scream so loudly that it will drown out all the past noise of the life you pretended to be living. I promise you." He ran a finger along the crease between my leg and my lips, smiling at the soft, needy sound it caused.

He fell forward, propping himself up with his hands on either side of my head, grinning smugly when my legs closed around his body. His gaze was steady on mine as he slowly, intentionally moved his hips into place, his frame solid and insistent as he pinned my legs open.

Once again he drew near as if he was going to kiss me. I felt the lightest, briefest touch of his lips against mine and let out a shaking, anticipatory breath.

"Try not to miss me too touch."

Those sweet lips curved into a taunting smile, and then he left.

The sun was setting, the western-facing windows painting the room in crimson and pink and gold. The colors turned his face into stained glass when he pulled back onto his knees and looked down at me. Both of us were breathing heavily, both of us fighting for control over ourselves.

Something had shifted in the days since his interrogation. It had always been obvious he wanted me, but he had managed to keep a level demeanor before. Tormenting me so cheerfully, always in control, always cool-headed.

He was still showing immense restraint, hadn't taken his gloves off or touched me directly again, but when he left me his hair would inevitably be out of place, his clothes needing adjusting, deep breaths taken as he pulled away.

His lips always lingered near mine now, reminding me that I hadn't even kissed the man I was grinding my cunt against multiple times a day.

It was maddening.

Every time he reminded me that I need only ask for what I wanted it became more difficult to stay silent, my resolve eroding with each slow, torturous touch of his hand. It felt like years since I first asked myself why I was bothering to resist in the first place, and now the question was if I remembered the reason at all anymore.

He took a deep breath and raked his hair back into place. The look in his eyes was one I'd come to recognize: he was close to leaving. Maybe close to losing control. But still he remained.

Even when I looked him in the eyes and started to roll my hips, slowly rubbing my cunt on his leg on my own, just letting him watch me. His breath hitched as mine did, again when I closed my eyes and just focused on grinding against him, sick of the denial and teasing. Just craving release after so much torment.

I cried out softly as I looked in his eyes again, and something dark settled behind them. He lowered himself to me, slowly pressing his full weight onto me for the first time. The new angle brought him right up against my clit and I whimpered at the sudden shock of stimulation. When I tried to slow he started rocking his hips against me, making me cry out louder, maintaining his control over me and my body with his own.

And for the first time I felt him, straining his pants, hard as a rock. Every few thrusts he would hold for a moment and press into me, hard enough that I could feel his pulse.

Another first: finding out he had a pulse.

My interest in pretending I didn't want this faded rapidly as he kept moving. His face was buried where my neck and shoulder joined, shuddering cool air against my flushed skin.

Neither of us were hiding, letting the room fill with our breathing and whimpers and needy, hungry moans for more.

He snaked an arm under me and reached for my hair, pulling my head back, and when I cried out at the unexpected jolt of pleasure his cock flexed against me.

My panting cries were coming closer and closer together, heat building and gathering and spreading through my body when he bit my earlobe.

"Tell me what you came to me for," he breathed, "Now."

I gasped as his sinister influence butted up against the flagging remainder of my resistance.

"I...I wanted..." I tried to shake my head clear and couldn't focus on anything but my aching body. He pressed a firm hand down on my hip to slow me, ignoring my desperate whimper.

"Tell me, bella, what did you do you when you got home that night? When we met," he said breathlessly. I looked away and he gently closed his teeth on my neck, adding, "Now."

My mouth opened and, "I thought about us fucking and made myself cum twice," tumbled from my lips.

A breathy laugh in my ear, "And the next night? You kept thinking about me."

"Us in the theater," I breathed, "You eating me out. I had my legs up on the seats and...and..."

"You are wondering if I know how to use my tongue? I do," he bit down again, just a little harder, "and I like doing so, perełko. The next night."

"You...in the theater again, I'm looking for you after you disappeared and you come up behind me. You-" I whimpered when his fingers tightened in my hair, "you pin my arms to the wall and...tell me to get on my knees."

Something like a growl rumbled in his chest and he thrust hard against me again.

"Fantasizing about me fucking your mouth?"

When I nodded he panted, "Say it."

"You told me to get on my knees and fuck...fuck," I moaned, feeling the first jolts of climax approaching, "you fucked my mouth, fucked my mouth hard and, and..." I gripped his arm, buried my face in his chest.

"And how many times did you cum thinking about that?"

"Ah, t-two again, I...oh fuck, Terzo," I groaned.

His hand squeezed between us and I heard the jingle of his belt buckle as he undid his pants. His fist was pushing into me as he thrust into it a few times, then he hissed and grabbed my hand. He wrapped me around his cock then his hand around mine, groaning into my shoulder as he used me.

"You want to feel my tongue, bella? Want me to lick your cunt until you can't think anymore?" He panted, laughing breathlessly at my moans.

"Dillo. Just say it and you won't- ah, merda, won't be able to walk for a week from how hard I fuck every hole you have."

I cried out —soon now, so close, and felt him harden suddenly in my hand, then a wet warmth as he burst between us. He slowed, repeating with a ragged voice,

"Say it."

I kept rolling my hips but I was tiring, my shaking legs unable to continue much longer, and then he was pulling away...

Already tucking himself back into his pants, and when he withdrew his leg I grabbed at him, desperate to continue. All he offered was a derisive, lopsided grin.

"All you have to do is ask," he said sweetly. He watched me reach for him for a few moments, then left me with nothing but mocking laughter.

Maddening.

Using my hand to jerk off and leaving his fucking jizz on me.

Disgusting, I thought as I touched the filthy puddle he'd left on my stomach. It was still warm, somehow. Did he actually have a heartbeat still? Body heat?

Every time he used that commanding voice it became harder to resist, harder to think straight, harder to want anything but to obey him. He said he couldn't control me, but each little push made me want him, more and more, to control me. Like he was pushing not merely a thought but me —my mind— aside.

I jolted with shock when I realized my fingers were in my mouth. Covered in him.

Disgusting, I tried to remind myself, he's just playing with you, just using you. Controlling you.

The thoughts faded when I took a second taste.

If he was so disgusting, what did that make me? Licking the cum that he just left on me made me want more.

What was wrong with me?

His footsteps were approaching. I recognized them now. In so little time I'd already been conditioned to push the blankets away, to ready myself for him as I shivered in anticipation.

"Buonasera, mio sole," he ran his eyes over my body laid out for him and smiled.

"Terzo," I said quietly, clenching at the flash of his teeth.

He brought a knee onto the bed then stopped, studying my face. His eyes narrowed slightly as he cocked his head to the side. Opened his mouth to say something, then paused and furrowed his brow. He could hear my heart, beating fast but steady, hear my blood rushing, pulsing between my legs.

"Well," he said, "Well, well, well."

His lips parted into the knowing smile I'd come to crave, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"Terzo," I repeated, a whining edge to my voice.

He stood back from the bed, keeping his eyes trained on mine as he undressed. Hairier than expected, less muscle definition than expected, uncut cock half-hard and red against his pale skin.

He looked at me expectantly, still as a statue, a hint of a smile on his face.

I reached out to him, "Please, Terzo," mindlessly sliding my hand between my legs, my breath hitching as I started stroking myself.

"Say it," echoed out. His tongue flicked along his lips when he saw me shiver.

"I...I want you," I breathed. His cock twitched when I added, "Please. Please."

He moved onto the bed and took my hand away from my cunt, laughing softly at my needy displeasure.

"And why did you come here, mia amata?" His strange pale eye boring into me, almost glowing in the dim room as a victorious smile crept across his face.

"Because...Because I..." I swallowed hard as he brought my fingers to his lips, inhaling their perfume deeply before slipping his cool tongue around and between, sighing happily.

"Because I wanted you to fuck me as soon as we met," I said shakily, "I thought if I came here, if I came to you, I'd get to feel you inside me, get to taste you..."

He moved his lips to my palm and started trailing wet kisses down my wrist. "Go on," he murmured.

"When we...when you walked me back to the theater I wanted to pull you into the bathroom and-" I shivered when the cool skin of his thighs touched mine, burning hot, "I was...I was already so wet, you could have just- I wanted you to just pull my pants down and fuck me," I breathed it all out in a rush, whimpering softly when he spread my legs and shifted fully between them.

"You wanted me to take you."

"However you wanted." When he looked at me I kept going, "As hard as you wanted, as many times as you wanted, for however long you wanted."

His lips brushing against my neck, "You wanted me in control of you," he nipped gently at my ear.

"Yes," I breathed.

"You wanted to give yourself to me to use as I pleased."

"Yes."

Tracing my jaw with his nose, "You liked how I used you earlier."

"I loved it," I shivered. His cock was brushing against me, hard and ready. Without knowing why, I whispered, "I loved the taste of you."

He groaned happily into my neck and reached between us. He was sliding his cock through my folds, slickly rubbing the fat head up and down, making me moan whenever he rubbed against my clit or caught himself on me.

He brought my hand to his cock, and I was sure that even now, he would only fuck my hand again —leave me wanting as usual, but once he'd wrapped me around him he moved to my breast, tugging at a rock-hard nipple.

"Tell me what you want," his lips against my ear as he thrust the tiniest bit against me, "I want to hear you say it again."

"I want you," I breathed, then adjusted myself and wrapped my legs around him, guiding him into me as I pulled him closer, "I want- fuck," even soaking wet and aching for him I whimpered at the stretch, at the hard pinch on my nipple, and when I gasped, "I want more," I felt quiet laughs puff against my neck as he obliged.

"However I want," he whispered.

It felt like it should hurt, like it would hurt later, but I had no thoughts to spare for tomorrow, could barely think in the present. He filled me completely, giving me no time to adjust before he started thrusting hard, groaning as much at the tight fit as my nails digging into my back.

"Does it hurt?" he purred.

"A-a little..."

"Good," he said with a breathless laugh. He brought his face close to mine, "You deserve it, sì? Making me wait all this time to fuck your pretty cunt."

"Yes," I whimpered, "I-I should have let you fuck me whenever you wanted."

"That's right, słoneczko. You just needed to learn, eh?"

He pulled hard on my nipple and laughed, "Makes you even tighter," when I cried out. He pulled again, harder, and twisted, "You like being a toy, mia puttanella? You like being my plaything?"

"Fuck," I gasped, clamping down so tightly I swear I could feel every vein and ridge on his cock, "Yes, yes, I love it, Terzo, I love it."

He reared back onto his knees and pulled my hips up over his, driving into me more deeply. The entire world seemed to fall away, reduced to nothing but his cock pounding into me as I blissfully, mindlessly begged for more. Impaled, insouciant, intoxicated.

When I started rubbing my clit he swatted my hand away and brought his palm down onto my inner thigh with a hard slap, laughing at my yelp.

"You play this game with me for two weeks and think you get to cum?" He slapped the other thigh and I felt him harden inside me, "Maybe you don't get to cum for another two weeks, maiala."

He thrust hard a few more times, emptying into me with a blissful, satisfied smile at the sound of my despairing wail.

"Maybe four weeks," he sighed happily.

He nearly collapsed on me when he finished, catching his breath as his hips weakly thrust against me a few final times.

"What a delight you are, mio sole," he murmured. He kissed my neck and added, "I am going to have such fun with you."

He tried to pull away but I still had my arms around him. Even soft it still felt good to have him inside me, and I still wanted him, still wanted more.

"Terzo, please," I whispered, pressing my face into his shoulder, "Please..."

He tilted my chin to look into my eyes, "Please what, my darling?" he asked, so sweetly, "You know what I want to hear."

Admitting to both myself and another person that I had wants, let alone specifying what they were —twice in one day, no less— seemed impossible.

"Please..." I whimpered desperately, only managing, "more. Please."

"More what?"

"I...I want..." He was smiling innocently as I tried to push the words out. My eyes widened.

Push.

"Push me," I said. He raised his eyebrows. "Please. I...I can't say- I still need help with it. I...Please."

"You had no problem telling me that should have let me fuck you when I wanted to," he grinned, "or that you liked the taste of the cum I left on you."

I groaned and he laughed, gently, "This makes you blush? Hearing your own words when I am not fucking you?" He finally pulled out of me and I whimpered sadly at the loss.

"It is a shame," he sighed, "to waste this when it wants so much more. Needy cunts are my favorite," he kissed my neck again, "but it is also a waste to use my abilities on something you can do. And something I like so much to watch you do."

"But-"

"No, bella. I will not push you. I want to watch you squirm and blush every time you beg for my cock," he laughed softly at my whimper, "Nearly always I am willing to give, but you will beg still."

He kissed my cheek, so close to my mouth, "Won't you?"

A high, soft sound escaped me, dragged out by something I didn't understand.

"Your heart is racing."

Our foreheads were touching, his lips so close to mine when he murmured, "Will you beg for me?"

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Tell me," he said, softly.

"I'll beg," I whispered, "I'll always want you. I'll always beg for you."

After so many weeks, his lips finally found mine.

"Here, mio sole," Terzo handed me some folded clothing, "We are going out."

"Where?"

He leaned close and stroked my hair for a moment before saying, "It is a surprise," in a strangely subdued voice, "I will be in the kitchen. You remember how to get there?"

"I think so..."

"Bene," He patted my hand and left.

I had already showered —we both had, and my cheek still hurt a bit from being pressed so hard against the tile wall as he hammered into me. We'd nearly used up all the hot water today, but the sweet ache between my legs said it was time well spent.

The clothes seemed like mine at first: black jeans, a simple button-up shirt, a thick cardigan —the things I wore in my old life, but they felt new. New underwear, too. Terzo had been out to eat recently and left me alone longer than usual. He must have bought them for me.

It was my first time walking through the house alone —Terzo had always been with me. It wasn't frightening but I had an odd sense of trespass, as if my status as a...what, long-term guest? didn't qualify me to wander on my own. It was dim and quiet, the only sound a vague murmur of voices from downstairs. I heard a deep, throaty laugh. Not Terzo.

He was leaning back against the countertop when I found him. Arms crossed, he said, "Ciao, bella," with a slight smile. The same subdued tone as before. I jumped when someone cleared their throat to my left. The second voice I'd already forgotten.

His brother Secondo, a short, bald man with a pencil mustache and a suit as neatly tailored as his brother's.

"Ciao." Even inside he was wearing sunglasses. He nodded toward the door and started pulling on some leather gloves, "Andiamo."

His brother walked ahead of us, stepping outside into the sun before we had even reached the foyer. Terzo had his arm around my shoulder and guided me to a small bench near the door.

He took a knee in front of me. I heard the sound of a car starting, the crinkling of a paper bag under the bench.

"I would have bought you a new pair," he pulled out my shoes and moved my foot onto his thigh, "but I have always hated shoes other people bought for me. They are never comfortable, you know?" He gently slipped them onto my feet, then rested a hand on my ankle when he'd tied them for me.

"Terzo?"

His forehead was creased as though he was deep in thought, but he said nothing.

"Terzo," I tried again, "are you okay?"

He looked up to me and smiled brightly. "I am fine. Come, mio sole."

His voice was strained, and when he took my hand to help me stand he gripped my fingers so tightly it almost hurt.

The brother was waiting outside, leaning against the hood of a rumbling old sports car, smoking a cigarette. Terzo squeezed my hand and opened the back door for me, then sat in the passenger seat.

Down the long, winding driveway, through all the trees I had seen only once before, on my way in. How long ago had that been? It had been August, I remembered that much. Plenty of trees were bare now.

"Where are we going?" I asked quietly. The two of them were chatting in the front seat; indecipherable Italian. The brother was doing most of the talking. I caught a glimpse of Terzo's eyes on me in the rearview mirror. He quickly looked away.

Alone in the back seat, I felt oddly exposed, like I was a child again and the car was much too big for me. The grown-ups were talking and I was only bothering them.

I hugged my elbows tightly, feeling the need to shrink in on myself as I looked out the window. We were on a proper road now and the landscape blurred into grey and green and brown. Every time Terzo spoke I looked at the mirror, hoping to catch his eye. He was ignoring me.

Had I done something wrong? Was he...

I felt a chill and swallowed back a lump in my throat. Was he getting rid of me? He hadn't seemed upset or angry lately —the opposite, if anything. He had been incredibly sweet with me for days. Tears gathered, threatening to spill.

Had he just been making our last days together nice ones? He had replaced my clothes, and now we were driving back to civilization.

"Mio sole," his voice, a little hoarse. He looked at me in the mirror. His gaze softened, tinged with sadness as he said,

"It will be okay."

He was. He was done with me.

I looked down at my lap and chewed at a fingernail, letting the tears fall.

A few rolled to my lips; one stung. He had nipped at me yesterday and accidentally broke skin. Apologized while his eyes flicked to the droplet of blood. I think that was the last time he'd run his thumb along my lip; looking at the small red smear on his skin before licking it off.

I was replaying the past few days, searching for any hints he may have dropped that this was coming when the car pulled to a stop, the engine still running. I wiped away my tears and looked outside. Already? This wasn't the city.

Terzo opened my door and held out his hand. When I didn't move he took my arm and pulled me out. Gently, but insistently.

I couldn't look at him, could only close my eyes and tremble when he hugged me to his chest, his arms so tight around me.

"Mio sole, forgive me," he whispered, resting his head on mine, "Vita mia. You can go home now."

I opened my mouth to say you are home but couldn't choke the words out. I whimpered quietly when I felt his hand gently stroke my hair.

Somehow I heard him over the roaring in my ears. "There is a police station a block away. There is a shopping center across the street. You can find help. Someone will get you home." He squeezed me tighter when I couldn't hide my shaking anymore.

"Or..."

Or?

"I will be back later."

I finally managed to look up at him. Into sad eyes below a forehead lined with worry. The soft lips I cherished, set in a hard line. He brought my hand up to those lips, brow furrowed as he kissed my fingers for the last time. He held my hand there as he searched my eyes.

"Do you understand?" he said quietly.

I shook my head, not trusting that I wouldn't burst into screaming if I dared speak. He smiled sadly and stroked my cheek, then pulled away from me.

"Decide."

I reached for him but he pushed something into my hands. My bag. I let it fall but he was back in the car already. I glimpsed him rubbing his forehead, covering his eyes as the car pulled away.

It seemed like I should run after them, scream for him to stay, basically do anything but stand there numb and dumb, staring at the car until it turned out of sight.

A pair of teenagers were walking by, looking curiously at me. When they passed I picked up my bag. There was a small park nearby where I sat on a cold bench.

Inside my bag, the remainders of my old life: wallet, keys, sunglasses, loose hair elastics and sticks of gum. The little notepad and pens I'd used for work.

And my phone. I stared at it, wondering if it would even turn on. This wasn't a spontaneous thing; he would have charged it. What if turning it on alerted someone? I was still a missing person. Would there be a little ping in an office somewhere, letting someone with a badge know that my phone was on and near a cell tower?

"I will be back later," he'd said. But when? Ten minutes? An hour? A week?

A cop car drove by. I put on my sunglasses. I probably wouldn't be recognized, but...

Would he come back to take me home —to him? Or would he just take me to my old life if nobody else helped me? I winced at a sudden pain in my hands. I was gripping the stone bench so tightly it hurt.

The mall seemed better than the police. I wandered around, avoiding clusters of people, until I found a drug store and looked at a newspaper.

October. A Sunday. I'd been with him for over two months. Someone bumped into me and laughed a "sorry," then kept chattering with their friend. The low music playing over the scratchy speakers was digging into my ears.

I left and followed the smell of food. Terzo didn't cook, as far as I could tell. One of the brothers did, and I'd had some well-made meals in the past two months. I never went to bed hungry —not for food, but walking by all this made me realize I wasn't exactly well-fed, either. My wallet still had some cash in it. I bought as much Chinese food as I could with twelve bucks.

The food court was busy. Loud. Screaming kids. I walked off and sat by a fountain to eat.

Everything tasted so sweet. Even the broccoli that came with my chicken was coated in a syrupy sauce. I hadn't had much sugar in a while, I guess.

Except for fruit. Little cubes of melon and pineapple. Slices of nectarines. Terzo liked to have me sit on his lap, and he would feed me like our first nights together when I couldn't move. Sometimes he would position me so I was straddling him, and on those days he would give me his sly smile when he undid his pants and slid inside me. Gripping my hips to keep me in place, he would scold me when I tried to move.

"So impatient, perełko," he would smugly say.

Most days, though...Most days he would simply pull me across his legs and hold me with an arm around my waist. My arm would be behind him, and when I ran my fingers into his hair and grazed his scalp with my fingernails his eyes would slowly close as he sighed contentedly.

The clatter of a dropped shopping bag yanked me back into reality. My food was cold. It was loud here. Tears blurring my vision, I managed to throw my food away and went back outside. Back to the little park, where I sat down again.

The sun had gone down. He'd told me to decide and I had, so why was I still waiting?

Maybe there was only one decision he'd accept, and I hadn't chosen correctly.

I thought it over and over: that I'd made a mistake, that he left me there with no intention of returning. I cried off and on for hours until it felt like I'd run dry. Eventually I just curled up on my side, stretching out the soft cardigan he'd bought for me by tucking my knees into it for warmth. Eventually I dozed off, somehow.

I woke up to a cold hand on my shoulder. No warmth next to me, but his familiar scent.

"Terzo?" I said hoarsely.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

I craned my head back to look at him. Staring down at me so tenderly. He brushed my hair back from my forehead and touched my cheek.

"I decided."

His eyes were shining, reflecting the streetlights as he carried me back to the car. His brother was standing idly nearby, smoking again, still wearing sunglasses. Terzo set me down on my feet and opened the door, rattling off something in Italian. His brother seemed to protest, and they argued for a moment before he threw up his hands and walked off down the street muttering to himself.

Terzo followed me into the back seat and pulled me across his lap, bringing our lips together, both of us sighing together at their soft reunion.

"Forgive me, mia amata," he murmured. He rested his head against my neck, slowly running his hands up and down my arm, "I am so sorry. I wanted to be sure. I needed you to be sure."

It was so easy to fall into him, to let the day's anxious sorrow melt away with each touch of his hand, fading into the background when I twined my fingers into that inky black hair and breathed a quiet moan at the feel of his teeth and tongue on my neck.

By the time I moved so he was between my legs, the memory had stopped hurting.

The quiet breaths that rumbled from his throat when he entered me and the soft sounds we made together were a kind of music, drowning out the day, the doubts, the outside world.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 💜

You are all beautiful, perfect pearls and I am very grateful to everyone who reads this.

If you enjoyed Terzo edging someone for a full fortnight and can spare some cents for a broke bitch, I have a tip jar

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

The bald man, like all of them, was a liar. They did leave me alone. I spent the fourth day by myself, my only visitors those strange man-like servants bringing me food.

Every time one of them made an appearance I was more certain that “human” wasn’t a probable answer as to what they could be. Light itself seemed to bend inward toward them, something like a shift in gravity occurring every time one entered the room. They would move through the space with movements disquietingly silent and disturbingly smooth, like a cloud of coal-black smoke that had somehow coalesced into the shape of a man. The eyes that I could occasionally glimpse behind the metal mask, however, looked all too human.

The third time it- he? appeared, this time to collect my dishes, I worked up the courage to ask, “What are you?” but it merely cocked its head at me and left without a word.

Much of my solitary day was spent pacing around my cage, forced captivity apparently making me a little restless for some weird reason. I suppose they wanted me to relax here, on this insidious vacation of sorts, and I instead started throwing things around the room in a feeble attempt to rebel and feel some modicum of control.

The books I spent five or so minutes chucking at the door were all favorites of mine —Terzo did say they learned about me before they sent him— as were the DVDs I snapped in half and threw at those unsettling servants.

Finding out my favorite books and movies and foods was easy. Terzo also said he dreamed of me for weeks before seeing me.

This was a viper pit, though, and I was surrounded by liars here. The taciturn little bald man and his irritating brother were both liars. Every second Terzo spent with me was only to manipulate me.

I just had to remember that. I just had to remember that I didn’t want to be here.

The servant mutely returned the literary projectiles to the shelf and collected the scattered pieces of plastic when they brought my next meal. When it came back, I threw my plate at it and the porcelain bounced harmlessly away as it stared at me. The next time I ate, I tucked myself behind the door clutching another DVD shard, lying in wait until it came to collect my dishes again.

When the door swung open, it immediately popped its head around the corner —somehow aware that I’d been hiding and plotting— peering at me and letting out a confused chirrup when I tried to stab it. It cocked its head to the side and easily batted my weapon out of my hand, then swiftly grabbed it and went about its business. When I tried to simply run out the door it had left open, my way was blocked by another one. Another one that might as well have been a wall for how well my attempts to shove past it went.

It looked behind me, making another unnatural noise as it apparently communicated with its partner. The strange clicks and chirps sounded amused to my ears, and when I shrieked with rage and try to claw at its stupid, piercing eyes I could tell it was laughing at me, even though the sound was like nothing a human could make.

In the hallway behind the thing, I saw the long shadows and soft colors of sunset.

The knowledge that another day was drawing to a close with me still trapped was unacceptable. Enraging. I threw some more books about it before angrily settling into bed and glowering at the ostentatious details on the ceiling. Everything here was infuriatingly classy and tasteful and luxe, including the stupid, beautiful leaf-patterned wallpaper I was glaring at.

All the dark wood paneling and shelving was firmly attached to the walls, impossible to pull off, no matter how I’d tried to dig in my filed-down fingernails. Even the plush rugs were so thoroughly tacked down that I couldn’t rip them up, though with how feeble I still felt it was doubtful I’d even be able to lift them. I was wondering if I could climb high enough to start ripping that expensive paper off the walls when the door opened again.

With an irritated sigh I sat up, readying myself to find something new to throw at one of the stupid demon butlers —the thought suddenly occurring to me that I might try blocking the door with that comfortable sofa— but to my surprise, it was one of the men this time. I vaguely remembered him, with his light, wavy hair, nose you could ski off of, and skeezy little pencil mustache. He’d had weird black and white paint on his face before, like all of them had, but instead of a clownish representation of a skull he now had simple black circles around his eyes.

“Buonasera,” he said, looking at me expectantly. When I only pursed my lips and stared, he added, “Good evening,” as if a language barrier was what kept me silent. He came closer, his hands awkwardly fidgeting at his sides until he stuffed them in his pockets.

“Did you...enjoy your day?” he tentatively asked. “We- I thought you might want some alone time.”

There was nothing within reach that I could throw at him, but I tried to make it to the nightstand to grab a lamp anyway. He wrestled it out of my hands and pushed me back onto the bed.

“Calm- calm down,” he panted, breathing out a relieved, shaky laugh when I went limp.

“What...what is that?” I whimpered, “What did you do?”

It came back to me immediately: Terzo had done that too. And said we would talk about it later. The same day he’d pointedly kept me from being alone with my thoughts for any length of time. Hadn’t I remembered that before?

“We have, well…what can I tell you...” He placed the lamp back where it belonged, thoughtfully rubbing his chin and smoothing his stupid little mustache. He sat on the edge of the bed, chewing at his lip as I weakly tried to shrink away.

He finally looked back to me. His face had been carefully kept neutral this whole time, but he looked almost embarrassed saying, “The ritual...linked you to us. In a few ways. That is one of its purposes. Giving us some...eh, control. A little.”

Even with the evidence weighing down my useless muscles my first instinct was to scoff.

“It makes things easier for everyone,” he said with a faint smile.

“Coward,” I sneered, and he shrugged.

“You are probably right.” He brought his knee up onto the bed and leaned over, resting his chin on his hand as he studied me. After a moment, he said, “Calm,” again, his mustache twitching into a grin as I sagged against the pillows with a weak, helpless moan.

“It is better if you do not fight us,” he said. “Pleasuring you is an act of devotion for us.” He took my limp hand and wove his gloved fingers between mine. “And if you will not willingly allow us to serve you, then...we must force the issue.”

“O-okay…” I faintly said. He closed both his hands around mine, buttery leather so smooth against my skin, warmth radiating from his touch and spreading throughout my whole body as a comforting fog settled over my thoughts and senses.

“You will let us serve you?” He pressed his lips to my palm and began to move them down my wrist.

“Okay…”

A different voice said, “She’s so susceptible,” and I managed to roll my head toward the source. I remembered the American accent, and now saw it came from the one with the dark curls I’d managed to pull out a handful of.

“Sì,” said the first one. “Brother said she is promising.”

Where his brother’s faces had clearly been painted to appear skeletal, his was something different, more abstract and dark, like a face that was missing half its skin. I only had a moment to wonder why Terzo and the bald one had come to me bare-faced when the dark one walked around the bed, standing behind the other one and looking me over with a hint of a smirk on his long, angular face.

There was a hunger in their eyes, the same mismatched eyes they all shared, and my heart thumped hard enough to hurt. Set above his sweet smile, the strange eyes were charming on Terzo’s face, but the two pairs of them now peering at me shot tremors through every nerve, ice through every vein. There was no kindness there, no warmth; only the clinical appraisal one would give a specimen. When the dark one took another step closer, I finally put two and two together —or one and one together— and realized what else was wrong here.

“What are you-” I swallowed hard, attempting to collect the myriad hazy thoughts floating away from me at an alarming rate, “it’s just supposed to be one of you…”

“It is.”

“We know, tesoro,” the lighter one squeezed my hand, “but my brother and I think there is a better way.”

“We’re twins,” the dark one said.

“We were separated.”

“We spent years apart-”

“Not understanding why we always felt incomplete-”

“Why there was always something missing.” He placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder, and the light one looked up at his twin. With a shiver, I saw that they were indeed capable of warmth, of true affection; they just hadn't deemed me worthy of it. They gazed at one another with such fondness, something bordering dangerously on infatuation. The light one had said pleasuring me was an act of devotion for them, but the only devotion I saw was shining between the two of them. The same ardor —the same love that shone from Terzo when he looked at me.

“Now we think we are meant to do everything together.”

"To make up for lost time.”

"Rekindling the bond that was ripped away from us."

"Reaffirming our connection."

"Existing together-"

"The way we were meant to."

They were speaking almost as one, all their words joining together, flowing into the next without pause, like they shared both a mind and a voice, forming a united sonic front that there was no hope of standing against. With every statement it became more difficult to follow who was saying what.

It didn’t seem like my head was attached quite right anymore.

“We have been performing this ritual for years now, and never succeeding.”

“We thought about it, and perhaps we have failed so many times in the past-

“Because we did not listen to ourselves-"

"To what our hearts were telling us.”

I stared at them, dumbfounded, trying my best to snap my attention between the two of them, but my eyes couldn't seem to consistently focus now. A strange vibrating blur of colors was creeping along the edges of my vision, the two of them haloed in the new light filling the room, two angelic things growing more unfathomable with each thing they said.

“The world has gone rotten, dolcezza-”

“Maybe so rotten that a single Antichrist isn’t enough-”

“Maybe the world needs two saviors.”

“Realizing we were twins changed us-”

“Saved us-”

“Maybe in order to change…”

“The world needs twins as well.”

They kept talking in circles, their voices joining and overlapping, meeting on certain words and parting again as they drew near. The two milky eyes bore into me, a pair of sickly moons wearing away any resistance I may put up. Corroding my edges like salt; crumbling my will like rust.

The walls between us, the barriers —no, the confines, I was sure of that now—of personal space, social nicety, basic consideration; these all melted away until they were lying on either side of me, all four leather-gloved hands on my body. They seemed of one mind, both sliding a hand down my belly and pulling open my thighs, both mouthing along my neck and shoulders and warming my skin with soft, searching lips.

“I-I don’t want to…” I whimpered, unsure if it was my own will or simple reflex that made me say it, but the dark-haired one smothered my protestations with a kiss, surprisingly tender for its intent. The other one was still stroking my thigh, tracing long lines across my skin while his brother started unbuttoning my shirt. He pulled away for a moment and licked his lips.

“You want to,” he smiled, taking in my flushed cheeks and quickening breaths, “You want your Papas to make you feel good, and we’re going to.”

“Better than you can imagine,” the other one murmured before taking my nipple into his mouth and sucking. He bit down, just hard enough for me to flinch back into reality.

“What do you mean ‘papa?’ You- you’re not my father,” I managed to say, “I’m not supposed to be here! I don’t want to be here, I-”

“You want to stay here.”

“You’re safe here.”

“Who treasures you out there?”

“Who loves you out there?”

“No one.”

“No one.”

“No one else in the world will cherish you-”

“They way we do.”

They said, “You are meant to be here,” together, and both sets of hands pulled up my skirt.

“N-” I tried to protest again, but the light one kissed me this time. Together, their hands gently teased me, rubbing my lips and coaxing them apart before sliding inside me and taking turns plunging their fingers into my cunt, slicking their matching gloves with traitorous, undeniable arousal. One started stroking my clit while the other fucked me slowly, the sound of wet leather filling the room almost as loudly as my cries.

“Doesn’t that feel good? So nice and wet for your Papas, so inviting,” the dark one purred.

“Why would you want to be anywhere else? You’ll be so much happier here."

"With us, you can feel like this every day.”

I whimpered in protest but it was futile; the light one’s tongue was in my mouth again, intoxicating and insistent. My eyes rolled back in my head as my head spun, floating in spite of the cement in my skull weighing down all thought, all judgment.

The two of them were nestled so closely against me, so comfortingly. A pair of faithful protectors flanking me like guard dogs; had I ever felt so safe? Had anyone else ever adored me like this?

Maybe staying here would be better.

My hips had started rolling, desperately chasing the pleasure of rapidly-approaching climax being pulled from me one smooth, sure motion at a time, and when the kiss broke I found myself following his lips with mine, immediately needing more.

The two of them were so close, both staring intently into my eyes as I came, both cracking identical, wicked smiles as it rocked through me.

I’d put up a fight, a respectable and proper amount of denial, and now the facade of Not Wanting It had been utterly destroyed. They descended on me like a pair of wolves, hungry mouths and tongues intent on consuming every bit of me, not caring that I would give it to them willingly now, if they only cared to ask. 

It all became a blur of kisses and exploring hands, fingers in my mouth and cunt and ass, the two of them working in tandem to pleasure me, moving me somewhere beyond reason, so overwhelming that rational thought simply melted away. By the time I started begging for their cocks I’d lost count of how many times they’d made me come —not that there were many clear divisions that could be tallied.

They denied me for so long that eventually I started grabbing at the two of them myself, desperately palming their lengths through their pants, begging for relief, release, anything, and being soundly ignored. It would have been bad enough —how much I needed— with just one of them but two hard, unavailable cocks pressing against my thighs was maddening, like dying from thirst 10 feet from the oasis.

Finally, with an enigmatic stare between them, each pinned one of my hands above my head as I pleaded for them to let me taste them, for them to fuck me, for them to fill me however many times they wanted.

“We will,” their whispers surrounded me, one after the other in a thrilling echo, “We will take you, we will fuck you and love you and fill you with our seed.”

“You want it, yes?” the light one smiled down at me, “You want to be ours?”

“Yes,” I moaned.

“You want to be our carrier?” the dark one nuzzled into my neck, puffing an amused breath when I whimpered an affirmative.

“We want to give it to you, we want to make you our prime mover, want you to receive the gift of our seed.” I had no idea who was speaking anymore. Their words, their voices, their unsettling pale eyes; all worked through my muscles and nerves, calming me —molding me— into a happy, compliant plaything as physical reality became less important.

All I knew was that everything I needed was here.

They descended again, more than just kissing me; claiming my mouth, invading it. All three of our tongues dancing in a sloppy whirl as both of them drove their fingers into me. They moved in tandem, both of a mind with one another and me, breathing and moaning together, a single unit motivated by a shared desire. Both my legs thrown were thrown open across their thighs, splayed wide and shameless when they released my hands at last.

The light one touched his forehead to mine as he unfastened his pants and finally let me grasp his cock, thick and flexing in my hand. He smiled and let out a shaky breath when I shivered in anticipation.

“Please,” I whimpered, “put it in me, put this inside me, please, I need it, I need you, please-”

“Soon,” he said, “We want you to be ready for us.”

“I am ready,” I whined, “Fuck me, please.”

The dark one raised his head from my breast and grinned, “We haven’t even tasted you yet.”

“I don’t need that, I need-”

The light one put his hand over my mouth and hushed me, saying to his brother, “She is a greedy thing.”

“The best kind,” he chuckled in reply. “Maybe she needs to see what else we offer besides stuffing her cunt full.”

Just the words made me moan, my eyes rolling back at the memory of the first night and how good they’d all felt inside me when the terror wasn’t drowning out the pleasure. At the time I’d been so conflicted, unsure why I didn’t wholly hate what had been done to me, but the answer was so simple: The cock in my hand was hard and fat and eager, and I’d gotten to feel five of them in a row.

Why had I cried so much? Wasn’t I lucky to get fucked so well by all of them? To take the gift they so generously gave me? One of them had been so big it felt like I’d tear in half, but after he made me come he slid inside me so easily, it barely even hurt when he-

There were tears in my eyes again and I shook my head, blinking them away. The light one tilted my face to his, snapping me back to the present.

“Is that all you want, treasure?” he kissed my cheek with a soft laugh. “Just want your Papas to pump you full of cum? This is all you would ask of us?”

“Yes,” I pleaded, and he laughed again. When he pulled away I stretched out for him with a cry, missing the feel of his dripping cock the second it left my hand. The dark one pushed me back against the pillows with a firm hand on my chest, holding my gaze as he slowly unlaced his pants and freed himself.

“You’ll have it soon. There is more for us to do.” He stroked his length slowly, smiling down at me as he kept what I wanted more than anything out of my reach.

The light one shifted between my thighs and they each moved one of my legs out of the way, the dark one leaning over my body and trailing wet kisses down every bit of sensitive skin he could as the other made his way up, their mouths working closer to one another. Just as before, one of them pushed his fingers inside me while the other played with my clit. Any composure I may have had was long gone; staying still and maintaining any dignity was impossible now. I whimpered with mad need as their lips and tongues slowly drew nearer, and finally the fingers that had been so deftly stroking me pulled back, spreading me open to allow his brother’s tongue to take over.

I dimly heard the dark one say, “Good,” and thought he was speaking to me, but he continued, “She loves it, keep going,” as though the way my hands were tangled in his brother’s hair and keeping his mouth on me wasn’t enough encouragement. The light one groaned with pleasure when I tightened my fist in his soft brown waves, and he pushed another finger in with his brother’s as he sucked my clit between his lips.

“Are you going to come again, angel?” the dark one was suddenly inches from my face, grinning excitedly, then laughing as I greedily pulled his lips to mine and nodded. I moaned into him, bucking against his brother’s heavenly mouth as the heat built, and when he grabbed my nipple and tugged hard it pushed me over the edge. Screaming as it surged through me, almost agonizing in its intensity, in how long I’d been so very in need of it, I arched off the bed and tried to close my legs, tried to shut out the light one, but together they kept me spread open. The tongue stayed on me even as I shuddered and tried to break free. They were nowhere near done with me, and what I wanted mattered less than it ever had with them.

“Again,” I heard the dark one laugh, “Give her another.”

The two of them together were too much to fight, and even as I bucked and writhed beneath them I couldn’t escape another orgasm. I heard them both laughing, and when the light one rolled his tongue against me again I started kicking him to put an end to it. I wanted it, wanted more, but my body wouldn’t cooperate. They were loving me so intensely, and my traitorous body wouldn’t accept the gift so freely offered. Frustrated tears flooded my eyes again. 

Why can't I take it? They want to give me so much, so much that I want and I'm not even good enough to accept it, I don't even deserve this but they're trying so hard to take care of me, to show me love-

The dark one hushed me, brushing away my tears with a gentle touch as the other moved over me, both of them running their hands along my body in soothing strokes until I finally stopped shaking.

“We are going to give you much more,” the light one said, cutting off my reflexive, despairing protest with a kiss —why? Isn’t this what I want?— his lips and tongue still covered in the taste of me.

The dark one nipped at my ear and murmured, “As much as you can take, sweet,” and I whimpered into his brother’s mouth as both their hands started moving slowly down again.

I finally broke away and gasped, “T-too much, please-” but the light one silenced me with a finger on my lips.

“My brother still needs a taste. That is only fair, yes?”

“Please,” I moaned, “Just- let me- I-I don’t want-”

He interrupted again —he knew, surely, that I couldn't articulate what I wanted anymore. Did I even know?— pushing his fingers into my mouth as the dark one started trailing kisses down my belly. 

“You want it,” the light one smiled at me as I moaned around his fingers, “And we want you to be ready for us.” My eyes filled with tears again, confused this time, and he made a sympathetic sound before softly kissing my cheek. “Soon, tesoro. You will understand how your Papas love you.”

My body jolted when the dark one’s tongue swiped across my clit, still swollen and sensitive and making me let out a muffled cry for mercy. He swirled his tongue through my folds and started merely grazing my clit, moving it everywhere else to keep me hot and keyed up but to give me at least a little break.

The light one finally freed my mouth to say, “You taste too good, tesoro,” cupping my cheek and looking adoringly into my eyes. “We are going to be spending much of our time there, worshiping you at the altar of our faith.”

“It- it’s too much,” I managed to say, and he smiled again.

“You will learn to take it.”

Fingers pushed inside me again, pressing insistently at a sweet spot that made my eyes roll back as the dark one’s tongue returned to my clit. The light one patted my cheek, then moved back between my legs with his brother.

More fingers slid inside me, my cunt so wet and willing that I barely felt them. Both their tongues slipped eagerly against my clit, both of them echoing my wild moans and whimpers as all three of us grew more frantic. They made me come again, so easily it took me by surprise, and this time they stopped licking me and instead kept their hands working on me. I clenched so tightly that they struggled to push their fingers back inside me, but they wouldn’t give up.

I realized my hands were in both their hair, clutching the dark curls and lighter waves like my life depended on it, and without fully realizing what I was doing, I pushed their mouths back against me.

“She wants more,” I heard them laugh together before they started working their tongues again. I felt another finger inside me, then another, and finally felt the stretch as I wondered exactly how much my cunt was taking. Their mouths were moving differently, as if they had lost focus, and when I looked down between my legs I gasped.

Their tongues were still on my clit, yes, but also on one another’s. Panted breaths and groans of pleasure came from both of them as they shared my taste with each other.

“What- what are you-” I whimpered, unable to form a coherent thought. Both their eyes locked on me and they breathed together,

“We share everything,”

and then they were kissing one another in earnest as they fucked my cunt harder together. The light one snaked a hand up my body and squeezed my breast.

“Everything,” they said, and then moved to include my clit again in the messy kiss they made me a part of.

This is wrong, this is fucking crazy, how can I-

Scattered thoughts whirled around my mind, unable to coalesce into anything useful. The whole world was their mouths and hands, their determination to pleasure me, to draw me into what they had decided was pleasurable. And at this point, what they wanted and what I wanted had started to bleed together so intensely that what I thought I wanted might as well have been this.

This was what I wanted from the very moment they both climbed into bed next to me, I was sure of it.

“-could probably get both our hands in,” I heard one of them laugh.

“She is ready.”

I was lying with my eyes closed, panting for breath and trembling through aftershocks, only dimly feeling their arms around me, pulling my limp body on top of one of them. A mustache tickled my cheek. The light one was underneath me, coaxing my lips to his for another kiss as his brother positioned my body to his liking.

I moaned softly as the light one finally slid his cock inside me. There was no need for patience or gentleness; he immediately buried himself to the hilt in my cunt, sopping wet and in desperate need of filling, growling out what sounded like a curse in another language. He started thrusting slowly, as if he thought I needed to adjust to him and didn’t want him to fuck me senseless the moment he entered me. His twin was leaning over us both, whispering things to me in English and to his brother in another tongue.

“His cock feels good, doesn’t it, prime mover?” He grabbed at my breasts as he mouthed along my shoulder, “We told you your Papas would take care of you, hmm?”

“Harder,” I moaned, tipping my head back to let him slip his hand around my throat.

“You want more?” the light one laughed, “She wants more.”

“She wants it,” they said together, and the light one pulled me back for another kiss. His thrusts slowed for a moment, and he moaned with me the next time he pushed inside me, his brother’s fingers joining his cock sliding inside me.

“Fuck,” the light one gasped, “Yea, just-” he tipped his head back with a groan. The dark one was palming his brother’s cock, squeezing it with his fingers as they both slid in and out of my cunt.

“Taking it so easily, dolcezza,” one of them said, “Sweet little cunt’s so wet it’ll take anything, hmm?”

I pressed my face into the light one’s chest and moaned, lost to the world as they fucked me so oddly together, still wanting to get fucked harder but unable to deny how good it felt already. They spoke briefly, quietly, and then they both stilled.

When I felt the head of a second cock pressing against my cunt my head snapped up in shock, even through the haze of pleasure.

“What are you- no-”

“Shh,” they hushed me together, and the light one pulled me closer with a firm hand on my back of my neck.

“You are going to love it,” he breathed, his eyes sparkling excitedly as I cried out in agony.

“Stop, stop, no-” My eyes were brimming with tears and he gently wiped them away with his thumb as the other one continued to slowly push his cock in alongside his brother’s.

“We have to have you together,” the dark one breathlessly said, “Have to- we have to.” The light one snaked his hand between our bodies as his brother groaned into my shoulder.

It felt like I was going to tear in half. The both of them were thick, and all the groundwork they’d laid with their fingers and tongues could only mitigate so much of the pain, but to my shame it didn’t hurt as badly as I expected once the light one started stroking my clit again. When the dark one slid a finger into my ass and they started slowly thrusting together, my shame only compounded as it started to feel so fucking good.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I whimpered a stream of obscenities as they stretched me, filled me, used me.

“Prime mover,” their voices were distant, breathy and colored with wanton hunger, echoing and overlapping all around me again, like when they had first mesmerized me. “We told you it would feel good. You get to have both of us together inside you and then you'll be full of your Papas’ seed, together, always together, you are where we reunite the way we were meant to. You are the bridge, you are the medium, the vessel, the garden and soil, you are the means of the greatest transmutation...”

I’m a wet hole and a womb to you, I faintly thought through the haze. Their whispers were reverberating through my body again, rippling and slithering across my skin like thick liquid fire, filling me and the room both, replacing any will I’d one had with their joined reality, pressurizing the space so rational thought was sucked away.

There are worse things to be than a receptacle for something divine. If I was outside, if I was free, all I would really be is alone.

What am I fighting this for? If I have to —get to be fucked by men who are this intent on loving me, isn't that better? I'm cherished here.

“No one will ever hurt you again,” they said as they hurt me, “Isn't this better than how you used to live? Don’t you love it? We will make you so happy, you will be our treasure, ours alone, protected and kept so safe in our hearts…”

Somehow the words continued to pour from both of them, even as we kissed, even as they kissed.

"Why would you want to leave?"

The speech flowed freely alongside and through all our moans and cries of pleasure, the cacophony only stopping when one of them panted, “I’m-” and the other frantically said, “Me too, but she has to-” and moments later they both emptied inside me, coating and filling my cunt with the reward of hot, wet seed. Outside the grunts and curses I barely heard my own whimpering breaths as the light one rubbed my clit in a near-frenzy.

“Come for us,” I heard the dark one say, “Please, you- you have to, please.”

I might as well have been a puppet for how they controlled my whole body now. I came almost on command, clenching so tightly on both their cocks that I almost squeezed them out as I howled through it. It almost wasn’t even enjoyable anymore, tired and worn out and used as I was.

Almost.

They both sighed in relief, then slid out of me as one.

“Oop,” I heard the dark one mutter, “Gotta move- keep her up. Cum’s leaking out.” I felt his hands on my hips, tugging me into position with my ass up in the air. My body was so limp that I couldn’t stay up, and after a few attempts to keep me propped up the dark one gave up and simply held me place.

“You do not want to waste any, yes?” The light one kissed the top of my head when I moaned with exhaustion. “We will let you lie down soon, treasure. You have earned your rest.”

They were both running their hands along my body again, rubbing my aching muscles with a gentle touch, lavishing me with praise in soft, soothing voices.

“You did so well, amore. You must be the one, you are the first one to take us both at the same time. We finally found someone special, hmm? Didn’t we make you feel good? You made your Papas feel good, took such good care of us with your sweet cunt, and we will take care of you too, our treasure, our perfect prime mover...”

I felt a soft kiss from each of them, and right before I drifted to sleep I heard them say,

“We will see you again tomorrow.”

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 💜

How we feeling about these very healthy and stable brothers?

If you enjoyed this disgusting pornography and perhaps have a dollarydoo to spare for someone who's very, very broke and has a horrible cat to feed, I have a tip jar.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈 (Terzo) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈 (Primo) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈 (Secondo)

Translations Italian in italics, Polish in bold:

Mio sole: my sun Myszko: little mouse (meesh-kah) Cazzo: fuck Amore: (my) love Moja/moje: my/mine (moh-ya/yeh) Puttana/puttanella: whore/slut, little whore Pizda: pussy Perełko: little pearl (peh-roo-kah) Kotku: kitten/little cat Słoneczko: little sun/sunshine (swoh-netch-kah) Obiecuję: promise Sogni d'oro: sweet dreams Dobrze: good Kurwa: shit (kuur-vah (technically it means whore/bitch, but it's an interesting sort of "punctuation" curse, so it can mean a lot of different things in context. It can mean shit, fuck, cunt, etc — it's almost just "generic curse word" from what I can tell. It's interesting.) Scusa: excuse me Bella: beautiful Słońce: sun (swohn-tseh)

Waking up next to —or rather, being awoken by Terzo had yet to lose its charm. Today, like so many of our mornings together, it was with his lips on my shoulder, nudging my hair out of the way with his nose and breathing in the scent of my skin.

“G’morning,” he mumbled into my neck. Without needing to see my face, he knew I’d opened my eyes. His hand slipped down my arm from shoulder to hand, where he laced his fingers into mine, then he nuzzled into my back and let out a precious, contented little sigh. Even though his body always warmed up overnight, his breath still made me shiver.

He pressed a little closer, as though I hadn’t noticed he was hard, and nudged me with his hips.

“Do you just wake up like that?” I yawned.

“Sometimes,” he said, nudging me again, “It is more fun to feel you up for a while, though.” He snaked his arm underneath me and squeezed my breast.

“I’ll bet.”

“I am thinking you may enjoy it too,” he breathed a soft laugh and then his mouth was moving across my shoulder again, a switchback trail of bites left in its wake. I wriggled back against him, tingling in anticipation when I felt him stiffening more, and a moment later he pushed my leg out of the way and slid a cool finger inside me. He shuddered with me, sighed with me, rocked his body in time with mine as he so easily drew waves of pleasure from me with each languid motion. When his fingers were gliding freely he stroked himself a few times and started rubbing the head of his cock along my slit.

He lined himself up and pushed in, purring, “Always so wet for me.” It had been over a week since we first had sex, and even after fucking him at least a dozen times, even wet as I was now, there was still a pleasant, burning stretch taking him inside. He worked in slowly, always more interested in teasing me than immediately pursuing his own pleasure. His own gratification always came, of course, but not until he’d heard me beg and whine for more. When he was inside me, though, it always reminded me why I was so willing to beg in the first place.

I closed my eyes and just let it wash over me: his cock filling me so sweetly, hitting the right spots so perfectly, his hips rolling so eagerly. His thighs slapping against me, forehead pressed into my back as he sighed out praise and adoration, telling me to be loud, to tell him how good he was making me feel and how much I loved being here, like this, with him. Just as easily as he had first charmed me, so too did I affirm all this for him.

The life we’d already started to stitch together was so easy to slip into. He still cared for me like when I could barely move —when I was even more at his mercy than now— except now he would have me sit in his lap as he fed me, usually with his cock inside me. He would casually talk about the news and the weather and something funny he had read, a smirk on his face as I put all my effort into sitting still and trying to focus on anything but him throbbing inside me.

Terzo seemed to know, intuitively, how best to treat me; how I wanted him to torment me. It didn’t feel like we’d known one another for years —it was still too new for that, but there was a familiarity and recognition I’d never felt with anyone else. The man I’d called my captor a week ago, now a lover and simply captivating.

Gripping me tightly, he spilled inside me with a groan and a few more hard thrusts. He only took a moment to catch his breath before moving me onto my back, sliding his hand between my legs and his tongue into my mouth. The sounds he drew from me couldn’t quite drown out the wet sound of his fingers fucking his cum deep into my cunt, but if I was even a little quiet he always took it as a challenge. Smoothly stroking my clit and occasionally dipping back inside me to keep his fingers slick, he made me come so easily.

Another nice thing about waking up like this was that in the morning he usually wouldn’t make me beg for it. Morning-sleepy Terzo doled out orgasms freely and enthusiastically, and it wasn’t uncommon for us to fall back asleep and repeat it all over again.

“So good for me,” he murmured, slipping his fingers between my lips, “Lick them nice and clean, mio sole. We taste good together, hmm?”

He pushed his fingers into my cunt again and propped himself up with his chin on his hand, smiling down at me. On mornings like this, with his hair a mess and early sunlight filtering in, he could look almost angelic. A being sweet and soft and kind; not at all a thing that preyed on humans and survived on their blood. He watched me clean his fingers again, looking like he could melt with happiness.

After all this time holding me his body was warm enough to feel like a living man, and after a lifetime of underwhelming partners I was finally held in such a way to feel alive myself. No one in my past had been like this. No one had been like him.

His lips parted as though to speak and then he looked away, suddenly distracted and mentally moving elsewhere. He kissed me again, long and slow and deep, then curled up against my side and closed his eyes with another happy sigh.

Not for the first time, I wondered what he’d stopped himself saying.

Usually when Terzo had a contemplative morning moment it was quickly forgotten, but he seemed distracted all day. Having difficulty focusing wasn’t unusual for him either, no more than being flirtatious and horny at all hours, but today he seemed to be completely off-kilter. He barely let me out of bed, hands and mouth restlessly wandering my body when he wasn’t napping —another thing he hadn’t done much of since I’d been here.

When his hand started creeping down my thigh for the fifth time, I asked, “Is it a full moon or something?” with a laugh. He raised his head from my chest, looking mystified.

“You’ve been all over me today,” I said, raking his hair back from his face.

“It is surprising that I want you?” he buried his face between my breasts again, greedily mouthing at my flesh before sucking at my nipple. After a moment, he mumbled, “You smell very good today. Just want to…want to have you on my tongue all day, I think.” He moved on top of me, tugging at one nipple and closing his teeth around the other, switching back and forth like he couldn’t bear to neglect either side.

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Little over a week. It can wait. I am eating you today instead.”

“Should I be worried?” I teased.

“Mmhmm.” He released my nipple with a wet smack of his lips and grinned at me, “I am going to wear you out today.” He shifted back, pushing my legs open with his, wriggling his hips firmly into place against mine. “Did you have plans today, myszko?”

“I had a meeting with the governor, actually,” I breathed, turning my head to the side to let him nip along my neck, “and dinner with some fr-” he interrupted me with a kiss, moaning softly as he undid his pants.

“You have to stay here for dinner,” he mumbled against my lips, already rock hard and rubbing his cock along my slit, “Not allowed to leave me hungry.”

He touched his forehead to mine, letting out a shaky exhale as he stroked himself against and along my heat, “K-kurwa, you- maybe it is a full moon,” he laughed breathlessly, “Play with yourself for me, amore, I want to- want to watch you.” He pulled back to his knees, slowly pumping his cock as he looked down at me, already breathing hard through parted lips.

I slid my hand down to obey, our eyes locked until mine rolled back, and he pushed my legs further apart, settling back on his heels as his gaze flicked between my eyes and my cunt. I moaned loudly, biting my lip and pulling on my nipple, writhing and whining for him as he moved faster in time with me.

“T-Terzo…” I whimpered, reaching for him, and his tongue flicked across his wide, breathless smile. He inched closer, rubbing the fat head of his leaking cock through my folds, pushing at my entrance before moving up and down through all my slick again.

“Want me to fuck you, moja myszko?” he breathed, “Want my cock filling you up and fucking you hard?”

“Yes,” I whined. I was used to him having an unnatural amount of control over himself, but he’d never just hovered at the edge of fucking me quite like this.

“Beg,” he said, head tilted imperiously, a smug, hungering grin splitting his face.

“Please,” I whimpered, “Please fuck me, please...fill me, please fuck me hard.” My hips were starting to jerk wildly as I rubbed my clit, and I threw my head back as my climax approached. He fell forward, shoving my hand away as his frantically pumped away.

“Terzo-” I objected with a whine and tried moving my hand back, but he swatted me away again. The arm he was leaning on moved up and his hand tightened in a handful of my hair, tugging my head back so he could mouth at my neck and shoulders.

“Going to fuck you so rough it leaves bruises,” he panted, “Take you however I want, after-” he choked back a groan and bit at my shoulder, a desperate whimper escaping him, as if he was confused about something. I was used to the feel of his teeth by now, had come to crave the dulled little spikes of welcome pain, but felt a flash of worry at how hard he was biting. It felt less like one of his usual playful love-bites and more like the first time I'd felt his fangs; the first time he'd been inside me. He grunted and bit harder, shoving his cock against my opening as he came, spurting messily all over my cunt. Without even pausing for breath, he roughly swiped his fingers through my folds to gather his cum and pushed them into my mouth with another odd, strangled moan.

“Like that?” he was still grinding his hips into me, still hard somehow, “Like the taste of my cum, puttana?” I whimpered and nodded, still rolling my hips, still mourning the lost orgasm. I was barely aware he’d lined himself up when he shoved his cock inside me with a sharp thrust, immediately buried to the hilt.

“Play with yourself again. You want to squeeze my cock nice and tight while I fuck you.” I managed to sound out his name around his fingers and he pushed them further back, growling, “Do it.”

I complied with a whimper, rewarded with his thrusts getting harder and faster alongside my own sounds of pleasure. Another growl rumbled from him as he grasped at my leg, pinning it under his arm and against my chest.

Ever since I was young I'd thought I was naturally inflexible and just had a stiff body, but only a week of Terzo using me as he pleased had revealed that no, I'd just been holding myself that rigidly my whole life. Decades of tension had my muscles coiled tight as a trap about to spring, but now...pleasure, affection, peace, everything felt so easy with him, and my body was already so pliant and adaptable in his capable hands. I still wasn't sure how old he was —centuries, maybe— but every time he touched me I felt rejuvenated. I felt new.

However long he had been walking the earth, he didn't let his age hold him back. Within a day of me finally giving in and admitting I wanted him, he'd figured out exactly where I needed his cock and was relentlessly reminding me of that. He took such joy in pounding into me until I saw stars, until I was only capable of mindlessly crying out for more. On a normal day he fucked me better and harder than I'd ever experienced, and today he was like a man possessed. 

“Like that?” he said again, burying his head in my neck as his thighs started slapping loudly against mine. “My fucking whore, my fucking slut,” he hissed, “Your sweet pizda love getting used like this?” His hand pulled at my hair again as the other left my mouth to wetly slap my breast, and then he grabbed me roughly, pinching my nipple between his knuckles until I gasped and arched my back off the bed. He grabbed my face and made me look at him again.

“Like me using you, my little mouse?” His eyes were wide and wild as he panted cold breaths against me, “Ought to fuck you like a whore every day, use this wet fucking hole the way it wants.”

“Terzo, I-I’m gonna-”

“Come for me,” he commanded, laughing at the instantaneous reaction, fucking me through it hard, then harder through the aftershocks until he groaned and shot inside me.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, trembling and nearly falling on me, “fuck, fuck, perełko, fuck-” He shuddered and wrapped me up tightly in his arms, still fucking into me even as he finally softened.

He raised himself up and looked into my eyes again, wide with panic.

“Did I- was that too much?” he asked, “I-I do not understand what…” he trailed off helplessly, radiating genuine anxiety. He seemed to forget sometimes that I’d signed my entire life over to him —that he, for all intents and purposes, now owned me and could do anything he wanted with me. Even when he would order me to do or say something humiliating, behind the wicked little grin there was always something tender. When he wasn’t actively horny he was quite gentle with me, actually. Affectionate, and even sweet.

He was horny most of the time, though, of course.

“It...was a bit...” I said, slowly, “I liked it, but, are you, uh...are you okay, Terzo?” His eyes were flicking across my face, anxiously searching for confirmation that he’d gone too far.

“Can you let go of my hair?” I winced. His fist instantly loosened. He stared at it and moved his hand away, as though it were some unruly creature, something with a mind of its own that needed to be isolated.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, slowly, clumsily untangling our limbs and bedding, “I…sorry, myszko.” He laid down next to me and pulled me into his arms. “You are okay?”

“Yea, I’m okay,” I said, “Are you?”

He thought for a moment. “I think so? I am feeling a little, eh...discombobulated?” He looked down at me, confused and a touch concerned. I brushed the hair out of his eyes, seeing that they were still roaming around the room as though he were agitated.

“You getting sick or something? Do you get weird during a full moon?”

“I am not a werewolf, myszko.”

“Maybe vampires get loopy at the full moon, how would I know?”

He pulled me tighter, resting my head against his chest. “I do not get loopy.”

“You haven’t eaten in a while.”

“True,” he mused, “But I have gone longer between meals. When you finally arrived here I hadn’t fed in almost two weeks.”

“What’s the longest you’ve gone without eating?”

There was a shift in the air, a slight tension moving through his muscles before he answered, “Seven weeks.” I opened my mouth to ask what prompted such a long starvation, but when he tensed again I kept silent. Thus far, he had been pretty free with information about his past and his nature; if he wanted to keep something to himself, he had a reason. Whether that reason was good or not…

“Well, I’m hungry,” I said, and started sitting up.

He grumbled, “Staying,” and pulled me back.

“Food,” I insisted, poking at him where I could.

“You eat so much,” he muttered, “I am becoming a waiter.”

“Apologies for my weak, human stomach, sir.” I tried to wriggle away and he brought me back with a soft laugh.

“You are sure humans eat multiple times a day? I do not remember eating so much,” he teased, “Has this all been a scam, kotku? Am I just a meal ticket for you?”

“And how much food did you have in 1700s Italy?”

He finally released me, stretching back against the pillows. “Not enough. I would be taller, I think, if I grew up in the past few decades.”

“People were all shorter back then.” I got up and started getting dressed.

“I was tall where I grew up,” he said, a little wistfully. “Not so much now, in America.”

“Where did you grow up, anyway?”

He coyly raised a brow and said, “A foreign land."

“You don’t say.”

“Moja słoneczko,” he patted the bed next to him, “if you have something to ask me, you will have to come over here.”

“Mmhmm.”

“My hearing was better in the 1700s as well,” he smiled, “And I have something here for you to eat.”

I crossed my arms and stepped a little closer, feigning innocence, “Really? What is it?”

“You will have to come closer to find out, my darling.”

“Something there? In the bed?”

“It is under the blankets with me,” he beckoned me closer, snatching my wrist when I was finally close enough and dragging me on top of him.

“I must confess something to you,” he murmured as his nose trailed across my neck and jaw, “It is less something to eat and more something to have in your mouth. Ideally for a while.” He nipped at my earlobe and slid his hands back to my ass, squeezing hard and pushing me against his cock. “But after a while you do get a taste of something. Something I know you like.”

“How are you hard again?” I sighed, and he puffed a laugh against my neck.

“I told you, you smell good today.” He started kissing a cool trail toward my mouth. “Very good.” He groaned in frustration when my stomach audibly rumbled.

“Go get your food. Then hurry back so I can eat too, hm?” He chuckled softly and brushed cold fingers against my neck, letting me know he heard the way his words made my heart beat faster, lingering for a moment before kissing me on the pulse point.

The whole day was like that: his already-high libido inexplicably skyrocketing, seemingly endless energy devoted to my body until I finally had to plead for a break. Spending an entire day having sex may sound fun on paper, but the reality involves a lot more soreness and aching muscles. He offered to give me a massage, and despite my suspicion I accepted, only for him to be unable to keep it even slightly nonsexual.

Apologies were mumbled repeatedly, but he couldn’t keep his hands to himself for more than a few minutes. When I suggested he take a cold shower he pouted.

“A shower is no fun unless you are in there too.”

“It’s not supposed to be fun,” I said, pushing him away from the bed in exasperation. He returned shivering, insisting on warming up next to me, which of course undid any effect the freezing water may have had. By the time he was finally yawning I was so thoroughly worn out I didn’t even bother brushing my teeth, just fell into bed and almost immediately passed out.

I woke up in the middle of the night to muffled moans, feeling a cool tongue on my thighs, and I jolted in surprise.

“Terzo?”

“Oh,” he sounded surprised too, for some reason, “Ah, you woke up. Ah.”

“What are you...In my sleep, man?”

“It is...not what it looks like?” I couldn’t make him out in the dark but there was a sheepishness to his voice that was brand new to me.

“Were you going down on me?” I rubbed my legs together. I was wet; he must have been doing it for a while.

“I, eh…” he trailed off.

“Look, I don’t really mind, even after today, but that’s not something we talked abou-”

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I just…”

“What?”

He made some weak explaining noises for a few moments, then simply dove at me, shoving my legs open with a desperate growl.

“Hey, whoa-”

His tongue was on me instantly, but not just on my clit, and not like he was trying to pleasure me, exactly. He was licking everywhere, moaning against me as he roamed, almost like…like he was cleaning me.

“Oh.” I reached an exploratory hand down and he nipped at it. “Hey!” I yelped.

“Sorry,” he panted, and his tongue was immediately on me again, licking a wide stripe along the crease between my thigh and my lips. I sniffed what I’d gathered on my finger. I wasn’t wet; I was bleeding. The way he was moaning against me was exactly how he’d sounded when he drank from me.

“Terzo, my peri- ooh,” I faltered when he slipped two fingers into me, returning his tongue to my clit a moment later.

“I will- I will make you come, amore,” he said, quickly, “Obiecuję. I just- first I-” He whimpered this time as his tongue traveled again.

“This is-” I gasped, “Are you really...nng.” He moaned in response and pushed a third finger inside me before speeding them up.

He kept his word; he did make me come. Eventually.

It was so drawn out that even before he had four fingers in me I was already begging him for release. I tried touching myself because he was taking maddeningly long, but he nipped at my hand, growling, saying “Mine.”

Even after my orgasm he kept pumping his fingers in and out of me, not coming up to kiss me as he usually would —not that I particularly wanted to kiss him at the moment. When his fingers left me I could hear him sucking them clean before he stuck his tongue inside me, panting as he greedily worked to get every bit of blood he could before finally pulling away.

“What the fuck?”

“Sorry, I-”

“Did you really do that?”

He groaned, “Sorry,” again and slipped his fingers back inside me.

“Terzo, what-”

“I can’t...sorry, I…” he was looking down, mesmerized by his fingers sliding in and out of me, no doubt very colorfully. I tried to close my legs and he pushed them back apart.

“Hey-”

“Please,” he said, very quietly, “just...just let me…”

“Dude,” I wriggled away from him and he let out a soft little cry like I’d hurt him. His bloody fingers were immediately in his mouth and he reached his free hand toward me as I rolled out of bed and backed toward the bathroom. In the dim light I saw his arms fall limply to his sides.

He stared silently at me and a sudden flash of alarm rippled through me, making my skin prickle with a kind of fear I’d never known. His eye, the sinister one, had either caught a light source or was...glowing.

“Terzo?” I wavered. He said nothing, but his head moved slightly and for a split second his other eye —the normal one, or so I’d thought— was shining like a cat’s. I thought he’d been up on his knees but I realized he was slowly moving. He’d sunk into a crouch without me noticing, and he had reached the edge of the bed.

A terrified whimper squeaked from me, and something in the air surrounding him responded. The low, rumbling growl of a big cat, something primal and predatory, wormed past my inner ear and instantly sent adrenaline roaring down my spine. When I felt the cool tile of the bathroom under my feet I startled, unaware I’d still been moving away from him.

He was close now, almost within arm’s reach. I hadn’t seen him take a single step.

I slammed the bathroom door shut and threw the lock, knowing it wouldn’t stop him if what I thought was finally happening was finally happening.

“Open the door.”

He sounded completely hollowed out.

I desperately shook my head, not fully aware that he wouldn’t be able to see the gesture. The doorknob rattled loudly.

“Open the door.”

The commanding voice, the one that had been so dreadful during my initial captivity, that had since become something thrilling and desirable, now made my heart freefall into my stomach. I hadn’t wanted to resist him for days now; maybe that’s why I managed to this time.

I heard a distinctly metallic creaking, and another whimper shrilled from me as I backed away. I heard the knob turn again, then the crunch and splinter of the hardware being twisted from the door. It swung open with a soft creak.

It looked like he was walking completely normally —albeit with his face covered nose-to-chin in my blood— but he did it in complete silence. All the reflective surfaces caught little bits of moonlight and illuminated the room, and his silhouette made it undeniable: His eye did have a glow to it.

I jammed myself into the corner, sliding to the floor between the clothes hamper and the glass wall of the shower, balled up and cowering.

Trying to accept that I was going to die.

“Please, please don’t do this, Terzo, please…”

He sank to his knees in front of me and softly asked, “Why would you lock me out?”

“You’re scaring me,” I whispered, “Please don’t kill me. Please, Terzo.”

“Why would I kill you?” he wondered, faintly, “I only want to taste you.”

“Terzo! Stop, please!”

He had been reaching for me but now he froze.

“I am scaring you,” he murmured, as if he hadn’t heard me say that only a moment before, “I...I am sorry. I- please, I...sorry. Sorry.” He slumped back to his heels, eyes still on me, now only shining with a confused sheen of tears.

“Mio sole,” he whispered, his voice finally sounding like his own again, “did I hurt you?” I shook my head and he sagged with relief. I flinched when he reached for me again, and even in the dim light I could see the pain on his face.

“Perdonami, amore, perdonami,” he said softly, “Please forgive me, I would never…”

“Never?” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks, “Never?”

“I would never-”

“You were going to kill me.”

“No, myszko, no, I-”

“You asked if you hurt me. You didn’t know.”

He didn’t say anything, just slid back into a sitting position and stared wide-eyed at me. Then he sniffed the air and I practically felt his gaze lock between my legs.

“You need to shower. Now.”

When I didn’t move he slowly stood and held out a hand to me.

“Now,” he repeated, his insistence beginning to edge on desperation, “please.”

“I-I can get up by myself,” I said, shakily, still not trusting him to let me touch me again. He was still as a statue, just staring at me again, but without the overwhelming emptiness that had enshrouded him mere moments ago. I dared to say, “Go away,” but couldn’t keep it from pitching up into a question.

He nodded, kept nodding like he was agreeing with someone who was still speaking, as he turned away. He didn’t leave the room though, just took a knee in front of the sink and started rummaging around the cupboard underneath.

Still frozen in place, I could only take in the scene in front of me: The man I called my lover, nude in the moonlight, hair disheveled, smears of fucking menstrual blood across half his face, digging around under the bathroom sink a few minutes after I’d been certain he was going to rip me to shreds.

“Ah,” he muttered, slapping a box onto the sink, “here we are.” He replaced the other things he’d pulled from the cupboard and walked back to me, holding it out. Tampons.

“...Why do you have these?”

His shoulders twitched into a tight shrug. “People were working in the house for months before we moved in. These were here when I got here.” He sounded so normal again. He shook the box at me, and when I still didn’t move he sighed and set it down on the floor near my foot. He left without another word, but I did hear him trying to make the door close properly again before he hissed with annoyance and gave up.

I could hear him muttering and humming to himself, receding back into the bedroom, and I finally let out a long, shuddering breath. It took a few tries to climb to my feet, so badly were my legs shaking. All I could think of was him staring at me from the bed, so still and quiet even as he stalked toward me. I shivered and my heart started racing again.

I’d been looking right at him and hadn’t seen him move.

Just like when he first drank from me: he’d been sitting at the other end of that sofa and somehow kept getting closer. I hadn’t even felt him put his arm around me; I just blinked and it was draped across my shoulders. Another blink and his hand had been on my knee.

Even that first time, though, with his fangs in my neck and my blood pouring down his throat, I hadn’t felt as gripped with terror as tonight. I knew he was strong, but didn’t know he could rip apart a door.

And I knew he wanted my blood. His breath always hitched if something made me bleed —usually him, with what I’d thought were accidental bites and scratches but was now unsure about. But he’d never...changed like that.

I thought I was safe here, but if he wanted to kill me I could be dead before I knew what happened.

The light flicked on and I yelped in surprise. He was in the doorway, still mostly in shadows.

“I am going into the woods for a bit,” he said, then melted back into the darkness.

I heard the bedroom door open and close, then only a few moments later heard the door to the outside —the one almost directly below our room— slam shut. I couldn’t help but peek out the window; he was already at least a hundred feet from the house, moving swiftly and silently. He disappeared from sight almost immediately. Still nude.

I almost didn’t want to shower, didn’t want to be to wet and naked in a slippery enclosed space in case he changed his mind and came back for me. But if he came back I couldn’t do anything to stop him.

I heard a drip and looked down. A spatter of blood on the tiles.

He’d probably lick that off the floor in his state. I wiped it clean and got in the shower.

When I returned to the bedroom he was stretched out in bed, reading by the low light of the bedside lamp.

“Perełko," he greeted me so very calmly, marking his book and setting it aside.

“Terzo,” I said, warily.

“Come here. It is alright.”

“Are you…” I paused, “back to normal?”

“Yes. Come,” he beckoned me closer with a tired smile, then moved over and patted the bed. “Please.” He looked normal again, and the instinctive fear that had gripped me earlier was gone, but I clearly didn’t come as close as he wanted.

“Please, let me explain,” he said, “Let me apologize.”

“So explain from there,” I said. He sighed and raked his hair back. “Why is your hair wet?” I demanded, now realizing his face was clean too.

“I swam in the lake for a while.”

“You mean the duck pond?”

“There is a lake about a mile away from here.”

I stared hard at him. In maybe twenty minutes he’d run two miles, swam for “a while,” and still had time to change and get comfortable in bed with a book. Until now, all I’d known about this side of him was that he drank blood, had good hearing, and could use some kind of hypnotic ability. The ongoing revelation of tonight —that I knew almost nothing about his actual nature— shot a chill through me. It was so easy to think he was just a human with...some quirks.

“I am sorry for frightening you,” he said, softly adding, “That has never happened before. I...I did not realize what I was doing was scaring you.”

“Me backing away from you and locking the door wasn’t clear.”

“I am not sure how to explain,” he said, “It was as if...I don’t know. It felt like...I was normal, everything was fine, and then you shut me out for no reason. I know now why you did-” he hastily added, “but at the time it felt very sudden. Like you had suddenly decided to reject me.”

“I was rejecting you. You weren’t listening to me. You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

He winced and looked away. “I know,” he said quietly, “I do not know...I don’t know what happened. It...it was madness. It just came over me. It...seemed like you wanted…” he trailed off, avoiding my eyes.

“What if it happens again?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated.

“Were you going to kill me, Terzo?”

“I do not think so.”

When I stared at him he rocked his head back and forth, uncertain, but finally saying, “I only remember wanting to taste you. But not the urge to actually, eh...drink.” He finally looked at me, softly continuing, “I needed to taste you. It woke me up, the smell, and I just...had to.”

I sat down. “How have you not gone berserk in a crowd yet? I mean, you have to have been around someone on their period before.”

“Of course,” he said with a wry smile, “and I knew it was coming for you, but-”

“What do you mean you knew it was coming?”

“I do not think you understand the things I can smell, perełko. Your scent changes.”

“Apparently I don’t understand a lot of the things you can do,” I curtly said. He winced again and looked away.

“Okay, so you knew it was coming before I did, but this still happened.”

“As I said, this has not-”

“Hasn’t happened before, I got that.”

“You are asking me things I do not have an answer for. All I can tell you is I had barely opened my eyes before I had my tongue on you, and I could not get enough of it. It...it was the whole world, mio sole. Everything I ever needed or wanted was between your legs.” His lips quirked into a tight smile, “More than usual.”

“And now?”

“I still smell it.”

“...And?”

“I want it, but...at a manageable level.”

“Am I going to wake up like that again?”

“I do not think so.”

When my mouth twisted unhappily all he did was helplessly shrug.

“I cannot say if I will wake up like that again,” he said, “but...I think it will be okay.”

“Haven’t you ever...I mean, you’ve had relationships before.”

“I have.”

“So...what? You never happened to be with someone while they were on their period?”

“I have.”

I stared at him again.

“You are wanting to ask if I have tasted that blood before.”

I nodded.

“Yes.”

I groaned, “Then what the fuck, man?” and he shrugged helplessly again.

“I wish I knew, perełko.”

“Just...I know there’s blood, but it’s...you know it’s not just blood, right? There’s...tissue in it.”

“I am extremely aware of that.” His mouth twitched into an uncomfortable smile. “I am very familiar with what else is in menstrual blood.” I couldn’t help but crinkle my nose in disgust. I wasn’t grossed out by the functions of my own body —it had been happening for most of my life now, after all, but there was a line.

He scratched at his chin for a moment, his voice dropping low and quiet when he spoke again. "When I drank from you I almost killed you, perełko. I...do not trust myself to do it again. But I want to. Very badly. This is your blood, and it does not hurt you to take, and I get to pleasure you. It pleasures both of us.”

“Giving me head isn’t the issue here.”

“Well...I’m sorry. I do not know what else to say,” he sighed. “What do I do?”

I wanted to say, “Find me a bank vault to sleep in every month,” but what came out was, “Let me think about it.”

He smiled ruefully. “Do you trust me enough for me to sleep in here?”

“...For now.”

“I am glad to hear that.” He put his hand on my knee, brushing his thumb against my skin for a moment before moving over and making more room for me. He yawned and patted the bed again, then pulled off his shirt. I went to hang up my bathrobe and returned to see him stretching with another big yawn, relaxing into a soft nude tableau in the moody light.

On its own, his body was nothing extraordinary. He was slender and a little short, no visible muscle despite the frightening strength apparently coiled under his skin. Hair thatched across his pale skin from chest to ankle, the same inky black as on his head, just as fun to pull on. His cock was unassuming when soft, doubly nestled in foreskin and more thick hair. But even now, with the memory of his fearsome reveal so fresh in my memory, I loved looking at him. He turned and smiled at me, obviously hearing my heart thump.

“Something on your mind, myszko?”

“Shut up.”

He grinned and pulled the blankets away for me, sweeping them back over us as he cuddled up against me. When I turned off the light he sighed contentedly against my shoulder and hugged me tight.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “Again. I hope you know I would never...I never want to frighten you. Or make you unhappy.”

“I know."

He found my hand, leaned over, and brought my fingers to his lips.

“Please forgive me,” he said softly.

“Probably will,” I yawned.

“You are very tolerant of me.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Sogni d’oro, amore”

“Night.”

Maybe it was my body remembering the surge of adrenaline summoned by the man curled up against my back, or maybe I just wasn’t ready to fully drop my guard again. Whatever the cause, I couldn’t sleep. And even though we’d both been yawning, it didn’t seem Terzo could either. The two of us kept shifting, trying to get comfortable, and it wasn’t long before I felt his hips moving away slightly. Not enough for me to miss that his cock was stiffening. When I took a few deep breaths to calm myself, he came closer, pressing that thick cock against me.

“Trouble sleeping?”

“Mm,” I said noncommittally, trying to ignore that he could hear my heart.

“Mm?” The arm he’d slung over me moved slightly, his hand sliding from my belly to my breast. His lips, cool against my skin, started making their way across my shoulders as he rocked his hips against me, letting me feel how hard he was already. His fingers closed around my nipple as he squeezed my breast, pulling and rolling it between his thumb and fingers, finally making me give up a soft sigh when my cunt clenched tight.

“I want to make you come again,” he said, his voice soft and breathy against my neck as his hand left my breast and moved to my thigh, “You will let me?”

When I nodded he pulled my legs open, slipping his cool fingers down before pausing.

“Huh,” he said, clearly amused, “First time ever that you are dry here.”

“It’s the tampon.”

“I know,” he rolled away and I heard him looking through the drawer in the nightstand, returning after a moment, his fingers even colder than usual now that they were coated in lube. He spread it as he spread me, teasingly avoiding my clit until he applied more.

Moving slowly to make me desperate and loud; that was his usual way, but now as soon as I was nice and slick he gently stroked my clit with his finger, not wasting any time with the normal teasing and denial. He breathed a laugh when I whimpered loudly, moving my hips so eagerly I was almost just grinding against his hand.

“Feel good?” his teeth raked against my shoulder when I moaned in response. “Dobrze. I want to hear you come for me, amore. I want to hear it a few times.”

I was no stranger to his fingers, but this was the first time he’d ever been unable to slide into me and draw the pleasure out. I don’t know why I was surprised that he was good at it, why I thought it would be a limitation for him and why I even considered the possibility that only touching my clit would hinder him. I was so used to him freely fucking me however he wanted, prolonging every possible moment, that it snuck up on me. Every deft movement felt electric, his slender fingers expertly guiding me through wave after wave of pleasure. He explored my neck and shoulders with his lips, laughing softly when he made me come and immediately continued, pushing me over the edge a second time.

“Fuck,” I panted, “Terzo, it’s- it’s too much, I-” his fingers relaxed but stayed nearby, gently stroking between my legs, keeping me hot and sensitive. I could feel his cock twitching against me, pressed against my ass and pulsing every time he rolled his hips against me. When I reached between us and started rubbing my hand along the length, he inhaled sharply and groaned into my shoulder.

“One more,” I heard the smile in his voice, even as he thrust into my hand, “At least one more, hm?”

It ended up being two more, in quick succession. When I finally pushed his hand away he laughed, and while I was catching my breath he moved my leg again, shifting me more onto my stomach. He slid his hand over my cheeks and squeezed a handful before giving me a spank.

“I know where I want to fuck you tonight,” he said, voice husky as a slick finger rubbed my ass, “Want it here, myszko?”

“Mmhmm,” I groaned, still blissed out. He pressed his finger in immediately, his breath catching as I moaned into my pillow. He worked in and out easily, pausing for more lube before slipping another finger inside me.

“You are nice and relaxed, eh?” he murmured, “I made you feel good?”

“So good,” I sighed. He breathed out a laugh as he got on top of me, squeezing my legs between his as I heard the slick sound of him getting his cock ready for me. Even relaxed as I was, there was no way I couldn’t feel the stretch as he pushed into my ass, breathing out a soft “fuck,” as he slowly made his way in, lying over me and letting out his own quiet whimpers as he sank deeper with every slow thrust.

I loved it like this, feeling how hard his hips flexed at this angle to get every inch inside me, his weight pressing down on me as he rested his forehead on my shoulder, shuddering cool breaths against my skin.

“You take me so easily,” he breathed into the back of my neck, “like we were made for each other,” His hips started moving faster, struggling to find a rhythm at first, and he said, “Stick your ass up for me, perełko. You want me to get nice and deep in you, right?”

“Yes,” I moaned. After a few more thrusts he grumbled with irritation and grabbed at a pillow, jamming it under me to me prop me up. The new angle made me whimper, “Oh fuck,” and he moaned in agreement.

“That- cazzo- you like that, eh?” he twisted his fingers into my hair, “Like my cock stretching your ass?”

“I love it,” I said breathlessly.

“Say it.”

“I-I love your cock-” I whimpered as he interrupted me with a few hard thrusts, “stretching my...my ass.”

“Want it harder, mia puttanella?” he purred, “Hm?” I could only nod and moan an affirmative that kicked into a desperate whine as his thighs started clapping loudly against mine.

“Kurwa- you- ah-” when he couldn’t seem to string a sentence together anymore his hand went around my neck and turned my head to kiss him. Both of us whimpering madly, tongues dancing to their own messy rhythm as we got lost in one another. He broke away with a groan, wrapping his arms around me, snaking a hand to my breast, resting his head against me as he sped toward the finish.

“You-” he was panting, “just- just a perfect fit, I belong inside you,” he moaned into my hair, nearly louder than me now, “and you are mine, somehow- mine, you are mine, mine to love and-” he abruptly cut himself off with a strange, desperate whimper, then I felt him spill inside me and he slowed his hips to their final, parting thrusts.

I knew “amore” meant love, but I also knew how dramatic he could be, how flamboyant in his admiration of the world he could be. He would probably call a lamp amore under the right circumstances. But the way he said it —not just in English so I couldn’t mistake it, but his voice underneath, too...It didn’t seem like nothing. It didn’t seem like something idly said and forgotten soon after.

When my heart pounded and he didn’t comment on it, I had to wonder.

“Mm,” he pressed a soft kiss into my shoulder, “Love the feel of you, myszko,” he mumbled against my skin, still inside me and making soft, sweet little sounds as he caught his breath. He squeezed me into a tight hug before flopping onto his back with a satisfied sigh. I stayed where I was, weighing the last few minutes against the last few weeks.

“Mine to love and-”

The next morning, I had just taken out my tampon and was about to throw it away when a thought occurred. A problem. I dug through the bathroom vanity, then called for Terzo.

“You don’t like alcohol right?” I’d wrapped the tampon in some toilet paper but his eyes still locked on it immediately.

“Right…” he said, clearly distracted. 

“Get me some, please. Rubbing alcohol, even.” He looked at me curiously, flicked his eyes back to the tampon, then nodded and left.

A few minutes later he returned, asking, “What are you up to?” as he handed it over.

He stared blankly as I held the tampon over the sink and doused it with the rubbing alcohol. I tossed it in the trash, washed my hands, then turned around and crossed my arms. He was still staring, face empty.

“Making sure you don’t dig through the trash like a raccoon.”

There was a very long silence.

“You are clever. I am irritated.”

“You would have, wouldn’t you.”

He chewed at his lip and scowled at me.

“Gross, dude.”

He let out a petulant hmph and went back to the bedroom to sulk.

He managed to wait another day before asking, “Can I try again?” He was on his hands and knees, lips wandering my body, gradually making their way down. I tensed, indecisively biting my lip.

“I think I will be okay this time,” he said. His hand slid up my inner thigh, just brushing a finger between my legs. “Please,” he mumbled against my skin, “you smell so good, please.”

“What if you...lose control again?”

“Start yelling for my brother. Secondo.”

“Why the hell would I-”

“He knows about it,” he murmured, trailing kisses along my thigh, his cool tongue slipping against my skin. I sat up, pulling away from him.

“Myszko-”

“What do you mean ‘he knows about it?’” I demanded.

He looked perplexed. “I told him…?”

“So your brother knows my period made you lose your mind.”

“I wanted to know if it had ever happened to him!” he protested, “How am I supposed to know what happened on my own?”

“...I see your logic, but in the future if you’re going to talk about my body with your weird brothers, could you at least ask me first?”

“Oh,” he said, a little sheepishly, “Ah. Yes. Sorry.” He reached out for my leg and gave me a reassuring squeeze, “Sorry, mio sole.”

“So...what did he say?”

“He told me to ask Primo,” he sighed, then moved closer to plant a soft kiss on my knee. “I did not feel like it, so I just told him to keep an ear out.” His hand was resting on the opposite knee, waiting for me to let him push them apart. His eyes were locked between my legs as he murmured, “Can I? Please?” against my thigh.

I got out of bed and looked at him. He was pretending very hard to be keeping cool, but the desperation pouring from him was almost palpable. Even disregarding his frightening abilities, our agreed living situation —our arrangement— meant he didn’t have to ask. He could take whatever he wanted from me at any time. Yet here he was, practically begging permission to touch what was essentially his property, his face drawn in a silent plea until I nodded.

He broke into a wide grin, and when I returned from the bathroom he’d taken off his shirt and was lying on his back with his fingers laced behind his head.

“What are you doing?”

With his eyes closed, he smiled and said, “Readying myself to be a throne.”

“So you want me…”

“Right here,” he gestured at his face. When I positioned myself over him he sighed happily and looked into my eyes, smiling serenely as his tongue flicked against me. He pulled me more firmly down against him almost immediately, moaning a “thank you” before losing himself.

“Terzo.”

He didn’t respond, just kept moving his tongue over me like it was his sole purpose in life.

“Terzo!”

“Mmf. What?”

“I think I’m done for now.” I’d shifted onto my back a while ago, and now I moved away, just sliding back a little along the mattress. He stretched to keep his hands on me.

“Oh. I-” he scooched closer, eyes briefly flicking to mine before going back to my cunt. “You are sure?”

“It’s been almost two hours,” I pointedly said. He blinked.

“I am fine, amore.”

“Okay? Wasn’t about you there, to be honest-”

“I thought perhaps you are concerned about, eh, my jaw, maybe? Or my tongue or something?” His hand rubbed my knee and he smiled at me, more brightly and enthusiastically than I’d ever seen, “But I am very willing to continue.”

“I got that.”

He hesitated before saying, “You are sure you do not-”

“I’m sure.”

“Not even a little?” His eyebrows swept up to match his pout. “A few more minutes?”

“Terzo…”

“I did not know my time was up,” he said, draped in the mourning of a man who has lost everything in the blink of an eye, “It is sudden, you know.”

“Two. Hours.”

“Okay, okay,” he sulked for a moment, then tentatively asked, “May I take a goodbye ta-”

“Dude.”

“...Sorry.” He sighed and moved up to sit next to me, still staring longingly between my legs.

I cleared my throat to drag his attention away. “Your face is a crime scene right now.”

“Eh? Oh.”

I pointed to the bathroom. “Shower. Please.”

He sighed again. “Okay.”

He left for the bathroom and I followed a moment later, just leaning in the doorway and watching him. The sounds he'd made in the past two hours were like nothing I'd ever heard from him, but here he was, meekly setting his own powerful wants aside in submission to mine. In a normal relationship respecting your partner's wishes wouldn't be so noteworthy, but "normal" had left my life the moment our eyes first met. Terzo was obsessed with my pleasure, yes, but he was more than happy to be selfish when it came to my body. He had to still be feeling guilty about frightening me so badly; why else wouldn't he simply pin me down and devour me to his heart's content? That he'd even waited a day before asking spoke volumes.

He turned off the sink and stood straight, looking at me in the mirror with a smile on his freshly-cleaned face, then waved me over and put his arms around me.

“Thank you, perełko,” he murmured, planting a kiss on my head, “I know it is strange for you.” He rubbed my shoulders and went to turn on the shower. “But you see? I did not, eh...lose my mind this time.”

“Very happy about that.”

He grabbed my hands and pulled me to him, then started unbuttoning my shirt. “I am happy to do that when you are not bleeding, you know.”

“What?”

“Lick you for hours.” He smiled and unfastened his pants, following me into the shower. He slipped his hands around my waist and his lips to my neck, murmuring, “I like the taste of you, and I like the sounds you make.” He moved me toward the wall, his cock already hard and throbbing as he pressed my body against the wall, and I shivered at the sudden cold of his body and the tiles both.

His voice was low when he said, “Especially the sounds you make because of me. Those, I love.” I could feel him stroking himself as his other hand drifted from my hip.

“Stop trying to be sneaky.” I swatted at the hand curving along my butt and inching toward my cunt, “Keep your fingers to yourself.”

“You misjudge me,” he pressed me more firmly against the wall, laughing softly in my ear, “I am innocent.”

“Sure you are.”

He nipped at my ear and laughed again, “I have no choice then, eh? I will have to put my cock inside you instead.”

“I guess so,” I sighed as he slid between my legs, not inside me yet but letting me feel him.

“Stick your ass out for me, mia puttanella. You want it, don’t you? Show me.” He gave me a spank, roughly grabbing me as he slid his cock through my slit, then his hand slapped onto the wall next to mine.

“Say it,” he purred, the tip of his cock just catching on me.

“I want it,” I gasped, “Fuck-”

Almost growling, he said, “Beg for it.”

My vision blurred momentarily; he rarely used that voice multiple times in quick succession. He didn’t need to.

I squeezed my eyes shut to steady myself. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me,” I whimpered, “I-I need your cock, please, please.”

He pushed in slowly, just barely, then nipped at my earlobe.

“Told you to beg, mia puttanella,” he laughed a little, “You want all of it, yes?”

“Yes- fuck, Terzo, yes, I-”

“Beg.” This time I whimpered because the room spun, but I shut my eyes again and pleaded. He grunted when he buried himself to the hilt, pushing me fully against the wall and breathing hard into my neck as he fucked me.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get rough with me —we both liked it— but how rough he was getting was different. Ragged breaths accompanied each aggressive thrust, each slap of his thighs against mine echoing loudly against the tiles, and the stream of words coming from him almost angry in their intensity.

“You fucking love it, your hot little cunt needs me to fuck it hard every day, you love having this fucking hole filled up don’t you, my fucking slut, my precious little whore, begging for my cock every fucking day, give it to you nice and hard the way you like it, tell me you love being my whore, love that I own your cunt, you fucking love that you belong to me, don’t you, beg for it, beg even more, beg for every inch of my cock, beg for me to fuck you nice and rough, fucking-”

The tiles under his hand suddenly crunched, and the heel of his palm pushed into the wall.

“Shit!” I gasped, “Terzo-”

He slowed for a moment, then panted, “Ig- ignore it. Doesn’t matter.” He grabbed my chin and turned me just enough to kiss him, messy and whining as he desperately rutted into me, filling me with each sharp thrust. I couldn’t think about the dubious structural integrity of the tiles pressed against my cheek, could only cry out against them as his cock mercilessly worked in and out. He moved both hands to my hips, digging his fingers in and brutishly slamming us together, whimpering into my shoulder until he finally emptied into me with a deep, rumbling growl. He panted against me, still pressing me into the wall, still buried inside me and trembling.

“Fuck,” he breathed, “I- fuck,” he made a few more weak thrusts, whimpering quietly into my hair. “You felt so good,” he groaned, “I- I just…” His hands moved across my body, hugging me tightly against him, “The- the humidity in here...I could smell you so strongly.”

“Ohh…”

“Sorry,” he said quietly, “I did not mean...if that frightened you, I…”

“It didn’t scare me, just...worried me,” I said. I was used to all manner of filth pouring out his mouth, but was also seeing a lot of new behaviors from him in the past few days. “Um, the hot water is going to run out soon though, so…”

He whimpered again, sadly, and slowly pulled out of me. I saw the water running from our bodies turn pink, and his muscles tensed.

“...The smell again?”

“Yes,” he said, and for a moment his grip on me tightened. “I think this was perhaps not my best idea.”

“Most of it was fun.” I lightly said as I grabbed the soap, trying to wash myself in the water that was cooling by the moment. I glanced back at him and he was just staring at the hole in the wall.

“Hey,” I nudged him, “wash up.”

He mumbled something, absentmindedly complying as I stepped out. He followed soon after, looking sourly at the tampon applicator I was rinsing off in the sink.

He coughed and mumbled, “Scusa, bella,” his eyes still locked on the bit of plastic in my hand until he left the room with nothing but a towel around his waist. He wasn’t in the bedroom, and didn’t return until after I was dressed.

“I am being made to accompany my brother to a hardware store,” he sighed as he opened the closet, “He is coming up to take a look at that first. And the door. And I, eh...must speak with Primo.” He cleared his throat, looking almost embarrassed as he threw some clothes on.

“Copia is handy with these sort of things. He can at least see if we need to call someone else in,” he said. “Do not worry about him. He is...shy. He will not say much, probably.” He kissed me on the cheek and hurried out.

I sat down heavily on the bed and addressed the empty room: “Fucking hell."

It was flattering in its own way, that he seemed to lose his fucking mind like this because of me, but the intensity was...a little much. He said I could call Secondo if he scared me again, but if he was twisting metal and breaking through tile with his fingers, what could his brother do? I didn’t even know if he was always this strong or if it was because of this particular madness.

At the sound of a timid knock I smoothed my hair and braced myself to meet another member of his odd family. The door cracked open and a man with light, wavy hair and the same dissimilar eyes entered nose-first.

“Eh, hello,” he said with a little wave, “I am here for- Terzo said…”

“Yea, the uh...the bathroom,” I waved back. Terzo and Secondo —the only other one I’d met— both carried themselves with so much confidence, but this one walked through the room as if I would start screaming and throwing things at him at any moment, as if he were sorry for merely existing. His eyes flicked to mine for just a moment before he looked at the hole that had been ripped out of the door, then disappeared into the bathroom.

The little metal box he’d been carrying, barely the size of a child’s lunchbox, creaked open and I heard some exploratory thuds and scuffs, followed by the clatter of tile hitting the shower floor and some muttering. When I went to check on him he was holding a precarious handful of shattered tile as he poked at a much larger hole in the wall.

“Oh, shit,” I said.

“Mm,” he agreed, “It is not too bad, though. Not as bad as it looks, I mean.” He sounded much more confident talking to the wall.

“I...I didn’t know he could- I mean, we-”

He stooped to close his little toolbox. “We know about it.”

“You...know about…”

He met my eye again for just a moment and tapped his nose. He paused a moment before tapping his ear, too. I could only imagine the shade of red my face immediately assumed.

Can they smell me across the house? Just how much can they hear?

He cleared his throat and looked away. “Well,” he said, awkward again, “If you will, eh...excuse me.” He started to shuffle past me, still holding the broken tiles, when I saw a dark splotch on his hand.

“Are you- I think you’re bleeding.”

“Eh?” He twisted his hand around to get a better look, “So I am.” It was so dark I could barely see any red in it. I couldn’t help my curiosity.

“Do you all have blood like that?”

“Eh, yes? I mean, yes.”

“Why’s it so dark?” I stepped closer and tilted my head for a better look.

“You will have to ask a doctor.”

“It’s almost black,” I frowned, “It doesn’t taste like human blood, right? Can you drink it?”

“Eh...em…” he seemed more uncomfortable than ever as I peered closer. My hand reflexively moved to touch it, but even though I stopped myself he still startled back.

“Sorry,” I said quickly, “I...sorry.” His eyes had widened and showed no signs of returning to normal.

“It is no problem,” he stiffly said.

I apologetically said, “Just curious,” and he nodded and hurried out.

“What are you writing, słoneczko?”

Typically on a rainy afternoon like today we would be curled up together, but I was sitting apart from him, cross-legged on the bed and occasionally looking him over. He was reading, as usual, and I had started outlining something important in a little notebook I’d found.

“Just working on a little project,” I said, showing him the page.

“’Vampire notes?’” he read with a smile, “Am I to be a specimen?”

“You are.”

He stretched out and ran a hand up my thigh, quirking a flirtatious eyebrow at me, “You will be examining me very closely, then.”

“I will.”

“The last time you investigated me turned out very well for me,” he grinned, “I accept.”

I poked his stomach and said, “You can’t kidnap me again. You’ll have to get another move.”

“Perełko, please,” he scoffed, “I have moves. Many of them. And ‘kidnapping?’”

“Terribly sorry, my lord, you abducted me.”

“I was your captor, my darling, not your abductor,” he scoffed again, then snickered when I smacked his shoulder. “How did you write for a living, not knowing the meaning of words? English is your first language, yes?”

“Whatever,” I grumbled, irritated that I had mixed up those words, and unsure how.

“I am ready for my interview,” he said, very solemnly, giving me a wink when I scowled at him.

“First question: Why do you have normal teeth?”

When he quizzically cocked his head, I elaborated, “When you drank from me you bit right through my skin, with like, perfect puncture wounds. But your teeth are normal.”

“My teeth are not normal, myszko,” he furrowed his brow, looking slightly amused.

When I said, “Show me,” he gave me a broad, uncharacteristically sunny smile. “They look normal,” I said.

“Give me your hand. And keep still.” Very carefully, he guided my finger underneath the upper teeth. I jerked back in surprise.

“What the fuck?”

He ran his tongue along his teeth. “Told you.”

They felt sharp, even the flat ones. “Why do they feel like that but look normal?” I demanded, poking around his mouth. He shrugged.

“But...you’ve bitten me before,” I said, “Tons of times. How do you not draw blood every time?”

“I have been like this for over two hundred years, kotku. I can control myself.”

“But...my teeth look sharper than yours,” I said, feeling around his mouth again.

“Primo says they- please stop poking me- he says they are, eh...a bit of an illusion?”

“What.”

He shrugged. “My brothers and I can all see one another’s teeth just fine.”

“You’re telling me your teeth are magic.”

He shrugged again and opened his book. I tore a sheet of paper out of the notebook and shifted around to face him.

“Open up, please.” He looked at me with amusement again, then opened his mouth and kept reading. I folded the paper just enough to fit in his mouth, then held my breath and raised it toward the bottom of a tooth.

Surely my fingers had just...been wrong. My sense of touch was misfiring.

At a distance I could see with the naked eye, maybe a few millimeters, the paper hit something solid. Something I couldn’t see.

“What the fuck,” I gasped, “Your teeth are magic?”

He looked at me like I was being ridiculous. “I do not think it is magic, kotku.”

“I am looking at something literally invisible. In your mouth.”

“Primo says-”

“What the fuck.”

“He thinks it is like a camouflage ability? That people- humans- sense we are different, and their brains cannot, eh...cope,” he said, as if it was all so simply explained. “He thinks your brain is filling in the blank of what should be there. Does that make sense?”

“It absolutely does not make any fucking sense.” I sat back and tried to process all this. After a long, heavy silence, he cleared his throat and set his book aside.

“Would you like to see?”

“What do you mean? Can I see?”

“You can.” My stare got a roguish smile in return. “I can show you,” he said, “and it will be fun.”

“...Fun.”

“Very.” His eyes crinkled mischievously. When mine narrowed in suspicion, he clarified, “I am not going to drink your blood, amore.” He reached over and moved my notepad to the nightstand.

When his hand slipped around my waist, I said, “’Fun,’ huh?”

“Very,” he smiled, gently pushing me onto my back and leaning over me. “There are other ways for you to see, but this is the most pleasant.”

I couldn’t help but ask, “What’s an unpleasant one?”

His nose was tracing the line of my jaw, cool lips trailing along my skin as his hand slid up to my breast. A soft kiss was delivered just under my ear, with a single word: “Terror.”

“And why would that do it?”

“It is the easiest way to get your brain a little, eh...more primal.” His thumb swiped across a hard nipple, and he elaborated in the low, seductive voice I loved. “Would you rather try that? It can be fun also.”

“...Sure.”

“Then let me tell you a story, myszko. Paint you a little picture.” He moved his lips closer to my ear. “You are walking home alone at night when you notice me behind you. You do not know why, but you are immediately afraid of me, immediately trembling and anxious. A strange man following you is worrying on its own for a woman, yes? But there is something about me that has you so frightened, much more than you would be normally. You do not know that I let you see me, to make your heart pound so loudly and your blood race so sweetly.” A low laugh rumbled from his chest when I shivered. His hand moved over my heart.

“You try to lose me without me noticing, not understanding what is behind you, only knowing you have to get away. But when you think I am gone I reappear ahead of you. You try-” an amused little exhalation hit my neck, the cool puff of air sending goosebumps across my body, “try to rationalize that it could not be me, there is no way I could have come from that direction, but when I look in your eyes you know it is me. I will simply pass you by the first time, let you think you were mistaken, and overreacting, let you feel relieved now that you think I am gone.

“But then I am in front of you again.” His teeth closed around my earlobe for a moment, just enough to pinch, enough to make me softly whimper and squirm under him. “You are certain it is me again, but how could that be? Your whole body is shaking, you are walking faster and faster, but I am always near. Sometimes I am behind you again, sometimes I am across the street, but I am there.” His teeth grazed my neck and I whimpered again, my heart pounding under his palm.

Something was emanating from him as he took me on this troubling little journey. A darkness had gathered around us as his voice had fallen lower and lower, smooth and almost hypnotic, keeping me frozen in place even as my pulse raced. Every cool puff of breath against my skin made me want to shudder, but it was as though his very will was wrapped around my nerves.

My body was screaming for me to try to run, to flee, right now, right this fucking second…! but the only way my muscles still operated was to respond to him. The instinct to escape was getting quieter and quieter, and his wasn’t the only voice in my head, but my own was becoming a little more distant. His breath hitched excitedly for a moment and he pressed closer.

“You are almost home when you lose sight of me. You are so relieved that you start running. So close to safety, you are almost crying.” His fingers flexed against my skin, caging the hammering in my chest as his lips brushed against my ear.

“Then I catch you.”

His hand moved smoothly down my belly into my pants, cold fingers stroking my feverish heat for a moment before spreading me open and sliding a finger inside me.

“I pull you off the street,” he breathed, humming approvingly at the moan that escaped me and pushing in another finger, laughing softly when my hips rose to his hand, “I have you against a wall, and you are trapped.” When I whimpered softly he chuckled again, “You try to fight me, but I am too strong for you. You try to scream, but I have my hand over your mouth.” His fingers slowed, pulling out of me and slickly curving along the length of my slit. He kissed the side of my neck and pulled back, smiling with dark amusement gleaming in his mismatched eyes.

I whispered, “Then what?”

With parted lips he slowly ran his tongue along his teeth, smiling a little more widely.

“I come closer.”

I flicked my gaze between his eyes and his mouth, not seeing anything unusual, and then he thrust his fingers back inside me. My head tipped back when I cried out, and when I looked at him again I saw them.

He did not have normal teeth.

All of them were sharp, but his canines especially. His fangs. I gasped and he pushed a third finger inside me, working them hard and fast as I clenched with fear around him.

“You like them, hmm?” he purred.

“F-fuck,” I whimpered. Before I could think to say anything else, his lips were on my neck again, making me whimper with a flash of fear.

Those teeth loudly snapped shut next to my ear. “If I had known scaring you made you this wet I would have done this weeks ago,” he laughed.

“What the fuck,” I gasped, still reeling as he kept fucking me, “How- I don’t- oh fuck, Terzo, how-” He silenced me with his lips, urgency slipping his tongue against mine and hurrying his hands to get his pants out of the way. He jerked at mine and I heard fabric rip.

“Usually I would drink you right away, but when I know there’s a wet, needy cunt nearby, aching for me to fill it-” he tore off my pants and threw the shredded remains to the side, then lined himself up and immediately pushed his cock inside me. He threw back his head with a rumbling groan as he sheathed himself, looking down at me with a triumphant grin before he snapped his hips forward and started fucking me.

“I would take you right there in the street,” he breathed, then buried his face at the joining of my neck and shoulder. His voice dropped to a growl, saying, “Fuck you against that wall, take you like the horny slut you are, the way you want. Isn’t that right, puttana?”

“Yes,” I moaned. He groaned and snaked his arms underneath me, grabbing my shoulders to pull me into each aggressive thrust. I stammered, “I-I would want you to...to-” then threw my head back, unable to think about anything other than his thick cock ramming into me, or how even the cries he drew from me couldn’t drown out his growls or the sound of his balls slapping against me.

“Should have taken you the second I saw you,” he panted, “Should have hunted you, made you mine,” he punctuated the mine with a hard thrust, then pulled out, keeping his cock just outside me as he grabbed my face. His eyes were wild as he moved his hand to my hair and pulled my head back, saying, “You know what I want to hear.”

“I’m yours,” I moaned, “You made me yours.” I rolled my hips toward him, desperate for him to be back inside me.

“Say it again,” he commanded with a breathless laugh, flashing his teeth again, pushing against me just enough to make me whine for it.

“I’m yours.”

“You would have loved it, me fucking you in an alley like a common whore, eh?” He thrust hard into me again, not bothering to wait for a response, “Your cunt was made for me to fuck,” he said, heavy breaths growing ragged as his cock plunged so deliciously in and out of me, “Say it.”

“My cunt was made for you, I was made for you to fuck,” I cried out, clenching tight around him as the room spun, as he looked down at me, parted lips expelling gasping breaths and showing off the fangs I knew he wanted to sink into my flesh, “This is where I’m meant to be,” I panted frantically, “All I want is to feel your cock inside me every day, all I want is you, you’re all I need you’re all I want, fuck, fuck-”

He bit down on my shoulder with a growl —not breaking skin, but the desperate, hungry whine that followed told me how badly he wanted to. Before I could tell him to, tell him how much I wanted him to lose control, to take me how he wanted, to consume me, his cock flexed inside me. His hips swiftly slammed into me and he emptied himself into my cunt, thick ropes of hot cum fucked hard into me with a bone-deep groan.

Still clinging to me, he freed a hand and snaked it between us, shuddering deep breaths across my skin as he stroked my clit. He was still thrusting weakly, even as his cock softened, whimpering with me every time his fingers drew a cry of pleasure from me. He was murmuring something against my skin, so quiet I couldn’t hear it over my own voice, and with how easily he was pulling me to climax I couldn’t bring myself to care about words.

His voice drifted back in, whispering “Come for me, amore,” as he nipped at my ear, “Let me hear how good I make you feel.” My hands went into his beautiful black hair, crushing his lips against mine as I nodded over and over, yes, yes, you make me feel so good, letting his tongue muffle my cries as the electricity between us surged. When my back arched off the mattress and my head fell back in a mute scream of ecstasy, I dimly heard his voice again.

“All I want is you, you are all I need, you are everything I want…”

Vampire notes:

His powers/abilities/whatever (That I know of):

Strength

Speed (running, maybe swimming?)

Hypnosis/compulsion —“Pushing.”

Heightened sense of smell and hearing. Maybe night vision?

Claims to be almost 300 years old —provably at least 110.

Magic fucking teeth —easily breaks skin, no tearing

He both loves and needs to be in control, and he lost that completely when I was on my period. His teeth look normal, most of the time. He says they’re not magic, but he’s a walking corpse with powers and capabilities far beyond humans, who lives —as it were— solely on human blood, so I don’t think his opinion is entirely accurate. Vampires are real. Why not magic?

The next day, I was sitting cross-legged on the bed next to him again, peering intently at his face as he read.

“How long are you going to live?”

He shrugged. “I can be killed, but I will not die of natural causes. I do not age. A car accident could kill me tomorrow or,” he paused for a moment of thought, “I could live forever. As far as I know.”

He yawned and set his book down on his stomach, then scooched closer and put his arm around my hips as I scribbled down my notes.

“So...how much vampire stuff is true?”

“Like in the pictures? Not much.”

“Silver?”

“Eh?”

“Does silver hurt you?”

“No,” he sounded mystified, “Why would it?”

“Holy water? Crucifixes?”

“Aside from messing up my hair and most crucifixes being ugly, no, no effect.” He idly rubbed my back and yawned again. 

“Stake through the heart?”

“Why this fascination with killing me, myszko? Do you have weekend plans I should know about?”

I poked his side. “Is that a yes?”

“No. A stake through the heart will only ruin my shirt.”

“Hmph.” Pop culture and mythology both were utterly failing me. “Can you cross running water?”

“Of course.”

“I assume if you could turn into mist you would have done it already to show off.”

“Correto.”

“Same with shapeshifting into animals?”

“I wish I could become a cat,” he sighed, “I think I would make a good cat.”

“You’d be an excellent cat,” I said, mussing his hair. “You definitely would have shown off if you could fly.”

He swatted my hand away and smoothed his hair back into place. “If I could fly I would have swooped you up to the sky with me ten seconds after we met.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. He winked at me, then yawned again and closed his eyes when I asked, “If someone throws a bunch of rice at you, do you have to count it?”

“Why would I count rice?”

I shrugged, “Dunno. Garlic?”

“No longer delicious, sadly, but edible.”

“Must be tragic for an Italian,” I said absentmindedly, looking back through my notes. He gave a neutral, “Mm.”

“So...you drink blood and you can hypnotize people. Is that it?”

One of his eyes opened slyly. “I am a legendary lovemaker.”

“That is not one of the myths.”

“So you agree it’s the truth?” His hand slid down to my butt and squeezed, then to my waist when I poked him. “Let me prove it to you, since you somehow do not believe me.” His hand was creeping toward the ticklish spot on my back. He laughed when I swatted his hand away, then pouted, “You are no fun.”

“I’m plenty fun,” I flicked his nose and he lazily snapped his teeth near my finger. “What about fire?” I continued.

“What about it?”

“Would fire kill you?”

His face fell, suddenly serious. “...Yes. Horrible.”

“Well yea, it’s fire.”

“It...it takes much longer for us.” The hand that had been idly rubbing my back stilled, then dropped away.

“Because you heal more?”

“Because our bodies can sustain much more damage than a human before it is fatal,” he said. He hesitated before adding, “Please do not set me on fire.”

I poked his side again. “Don’t do anything to deserve it.”

“I will strive not to.”

“Have you seen that? One of you die like that?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Primo has. If a day comes when you feel the need to kill me, I would much prefer decapitation, if you would be so kind.”

“Can’t heal that, huh?”

“No. As far as I know those are the only ways I can die, and I cannot stress enough how much I would rather-”

“I get it. I don’t know how I’m supposed to cut your head off without you stopping me, but I’ll try my best to decapitate you, okay?”

“That is all I ask,” he said, gazing off into nowhere. I cleared my throat and ignored the contemplative look passing over his face.

“What about getting crushed to death?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you suffocate? Wait, do you actually need to breathe?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

“Once I held my breath just to see how long I could do it.”

“And?”

“After about two hours I felt a little tickle in my lungs. I got bored and stopped.”

“Huh.”

“So maybe a day or two without air would kill me.”

“Wonder if you could live in space.” He just shrugged again. “Wait,” I said, “you get short of breath when we have sex.”

“And?”

“Do you have to breathe?”

He thought for a moment, looking perplexed. “Huh. Maybe I do? Maybe it is just reflex.”

“If you run around for a while do you breathe heavy?”

He scratched at his chin and said, “I do not think I do, actually,” supremely baffled, then said, “Maybe it happens around you because you take my breath away, eh?” with a smug smile. When I groaned and smacked his belly with my notebook, he laughed. “You liked it, myszko, admit it.”

I smacked him again and said, “To think you wasted your obvious gift for comedy on science fiction movies.”

“If not for sound ending my career in the pictures, I could have been a true wonder.”

“So you’re saying people being able to hear your jokes ended your career?” I teased.

He let out a gasp and theatrically clutched his chest, “You wound me, moje słońce. What did I ever do to you?”

“Aside from kidnapping me and tormenting me for weeks and almost killing me a few days ago?”

“Tch,” he sucked at his teeth, “You liked two of those things quite a bit.”

“Mm,” I raised an eyebrow at him and looked back to my notes, “What if your heart was cut out?”

“Myszko…”

“Your heart does still beat, and your lungs do work.” I thought for a moment. “Do you have all your organs from when you were alive? Are they different?”

“I have not been to a surgeon to find out.”

“I know you don’t like alcohol, but you can drink it, right?”

He looked at me curiously. “Yes.”

“Can you get drunk?”

“It takes a very long time and it is very unpleasant, but yes.”

“Interesting...Can you throw up?”

“Perełko-”

“If you can get drunk I think that means you still have a functioning liver. I just want to know if your stomach still works too,” I pressed.

He sighed. “Yes, my darling, I can vomit. Does this revelation make you happy?”

“Do you still have stomach acid?”

He frowned, nose crinkled in disgust, and said, “This is getting a little distasteful.”

“Terzo...”

“Mm.”

“...Are you certain you’re actually dead?”

He said nothing, just propped himself up on his elbows and stared at me, head cocked to the side.

“You have a bunch of functioning organs,” I said, “You have a heart that pumps blood through your body and lungs that, uh...what’s the word...respirate.”

“And?”

“’And?’ What do you mean ‘and?’ I’m no doctor, but I think having a working brain, heart, lungs, liver, stomach-”

“Myszko-”

“You have functioning sweat and salivary glands.”

He laid back down with a heavy sigh.

“How could you have all that and still be dead? Your hair and nails still grow. You shave! You even still have some body heat!”

“I am dead, myszko,” his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Are you sure?”

In a snippy tone, he said, “I died and was buried.”

Back when he was a definitely-living human it wasn’t uncommon for people to be mistakenly buried. Being put in a grave in the 1700s didn’t prove anything, but I bit back my objections when I looked at his eyes. They were lost, wandering around the room, and when he spoke his words seemed to come from somewhere a great distance from us.

“There was a stone with my name engraved on it,” he said. His voice was soft, getting more and more bitter as he continued, “I was pulled from my grave by the man who turned me. He told me my mother sold the last of her jewelry to pay for that stone.”

“Terzo…”

“The mason who made it had known my mother his entire life, me my entire life, yet he made my mother give up the last things of any value in her home.” He didn’t smile, exactly; it was more like he bared his teeth at the memory itself, “He recognized me.”

“Terzo-”

“He wept when he saw me, pleaded for me to take his wife instead. Their baby.” His lips curled into a contemptuous sneer, “Wretched man. He looked so relieved when I did take his wife, he just cowered in the corner and waited for me to finish. He didn’t even scream when his own child died, only when I finally reached for him too-”

“Terzo!”

He flinched and came back to me, blinking haunted eyes.

I gingerly reached for him, and his belly trembled under my palm when I asked, “Did you really?”

“Really what?”

“Kill the baby.”

“Yes.”

I stared at him, his wide, dissimilar eyes providing me with no adequate words.

“And the woman,” he said quietly, “and the coward they lived with.” His gaze slowly drifted from mine, and then he sat up and got out of bed. I heard his book thump to the floor and he simply kept walking to the door.

“Hey-” If there was anything I could say to alleviate this, I hadn’t thought of it when I opened my mouth. He stopped in the doorway and turned his head slightly. Not looking at me, but waiting nonetheless.

“I’m sorry, I...I didn’t mean to pry...Are you okay?”

“I am going for a walk.” He shut the door behind him a moment later.

7. Claims to not age

8. Mythology has proven useless.

9. There are very few ways he can be killed.

10. He might not be dead.

He was quiet for the rest of the day, and the next, and the next. Subdued and thoughtful; still affectionate, but in a strained, distant way. Terzo was prone to melancholy, usually experiencing some kind of mood —for better or worse— at least once a week, but this was the quietest I’d ever seen him.

Reading all day wasn’t unusual for him, but it seemed more like he was simply looking at the object, working through only a few pages an hour. Eventually he simply left. He sat out by the pond for hours, listlessly smoking, and when I eventually went to find him he was sitting alone in the library, in the dark, staring out the window. When I came up behind him and laid a hand on his shoulder he leaned into my touch, though, giving me a faint, wistful smile before silently following me to bed.

He pulled me on top of him, throwing his head back against the pillows and whispering to himself, sighing softly at the feel of my lips on his neck and shoulders and chest. The words breathed across my skin weren’t in English when he bothered to speak at all. With every shudder of pleasure his hands tightened on my hips, but his eyes only opened when his face was turned from mine.

11. I don’t think he had a lot of control over himself in the past.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 💜

You are a flawless gem of a person, just as sparkling and multifaceted, every bit as precious and valued.

If you enjoyed Vampire Terzo going apeshit over menstruation and angsty over babykilling, I have a tip jar and am a broke bitch :]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

Thank you again Ghestie Soda for the proofreading 💜💚

⛧ I've got a little over 14k words of the next part written already, but I unfortunately also have a lot of life shit going on at the moment and focusing on writing has become very difficult, so I can't say when part III will be released. Same with all my other vampire stuff, sadly, though I have put some time into Secondo and Primo's stories recently.

⛧ Oh! And not to spoil anyone's fun, but the decapitation conversation was actually a coincidence and has nothing to do with the non-canonical!! magazine cover. It's just one of the classic ways to kill a vampire, and I legit didn't realize what I'd done until months after I wrote it 🤭

⛧ Either way, I hope you enjoyed this little continuation of Vampire Terzo, and fingers crossed I'll be able to provide the next chapter soon.

EDIT: CAN'T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO SAY, AS IS TRADITION, THAT I'D LOVE TO HEAR IF YOU JORKED !

There were worse ways to serve the Ministry than helping former Papa Primo in the greenhouse. It was warm in here, and it was easy to forget about the frigid morning air until the wind howled outside for a moment, briefly rattling some of the looser panes of glass. Primo paused his work to observe.

“Would you like me to tell someone in maintenance about those windows, Papa?”

Primo nearly always had a dour air about him, at all times seeming one second away from biting off the head of anyone in front of him, but I’d learned to read his moods over the past few months. The tiniest crinkle of his eyes told me he was pleased I’d asked. Practically an ear-to-ear grin for him.

“If you would be so kind, sorella,” he said in his soft, thin voice. I jotted a reminder down in the little notepad I carried with me —another thing that had warmed Primo to me was that I was nothing if not diligent, and I saw the approval in his otherwise enigmatic face before he went back to his pruning.

After a healthy stretch of silence, he asked, “Are you excited for the party?”

“A little.”

“You do not seem very enthused.”

I tried to hide by sticking my head behind some large leaves to reach some damaged parts. Papa Perpetua’s birthday party was all anyone could talk about the last few days. A lot of that was gossip as to why his twin brother was out of town for the occasion, but people were excited to celebrate Papa —it was worth celebrating! I had never gotten used to him, though, and after so many months, my unease upon seeing him had only grown.

There was nothing I could point to, no act or word that could explain why he unsettled me so. Nothing beyond the way he moved, and the frigid anxiety that crept down my spine when I caught his eye.

I had joined the Ministry mere days before Papa Emeritus IV was unseated. In the span of a week, he had enchanted me and then fallen into bitter, secluded disillusionment. I had been swayed to belief, though, and was optimistic that Papa’s brother would be just as wonderful to follow —how could he not? Yet when I first laid eyes on him, a chill ran through me. The same mismatched eyes that marked all the Papas felt unnatural peering out from his odd metal mask. More unnerving than magnetic; calculating rather than charismatic.

“I’m not really a party person,” I finally said, then asked, “Are any of the flowers going to be used tonight?” quickly trying to change the subject.

“No, no. Not enough are in bloom,” Primo said, “Only the Stargazers, and they are, eh...too pungent.”

“I’ll say,” I chuckled, and Primo’s lip actually twitched into a hint of a smile. One small patch of the lilies had bloomed early, and just that one small patch of hot pink flowers was almost overwhelming the greenhouse with their scent.

He slowly got to his feet with a strained grunt and patted the dirt off his knees. “Regardless, I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Probably won’t stay long,” I said, then stood and stretched my back.

“Well…” he seemed...hesitant? I’d never seen him look uncertain about anything, but now he reached into his pocket and restlessly tapped his papery fingers against the small envelope he revealed. “You may want to consider planning for a longer night.” He handed it to me, traces of the soil on his fingertips streaking across the paper.

“What’s this?” I looked at him curiously and he gifted me a rare smile, then, shockingly, a pat on the shoulder.

“Open it in your room. I will clean up here.” He stooped to pick up his pruning shears, then shooed me away.

The party was a blur. I barely spoke to anyone, too preoccupied running through the message over and over. After reading it so many times I had it memorized:

You have been granted the honor of attending a private event celebrating the birth of Papa V Perpetua.

This privilege has been extended only to a select few; your discretion is required.

You are expected in the basilica at midnight.

As I restlessly played with the envelope in my pocket, I watched Papa.

He charmed everyone in the room as though it were nothing, the laughter that surrounded him evidencing a wit as sharp as his smile. Not to mention the fawning way people looked at him as he walked away: admired and desired in equal measure. I didn’t understand it.

He seemed handsome, but with half his face always covered it was impossible to say. He was slender and lean with a swaying grace to his movements, assured and feline-confident, but something about his body and mannerisms didn’t sit right with me. He moved a little too smoothly through the world, and wherever that pale eye settled, I was certain it saw too much.

Did no one else see it? Did no one else notice that he just...wasn’t right? Papa —my Papa— had been beautifully, vulnerably mortal, never seeming different or apart from his adoring flock but for his position. I didn’t need to hear stories of his empathy, his warmth, how grounded he was; his kindness and humanity were plain to see upon meeting him.

Nobody spoke of Papa Perpetua that way. He was respected, he was revered, and he was wanted —almost fanatically so— but I never heard of him being loving. To the contrary, he was frequently described as aloof and solitary, a contemplative and quiet man when not in front of a crowd. His cool demeanor had still enchanted so many, though; a distant and detached man will always attract attention if he’s powerful or handsome enough.

A sudden collision and the shock of a cold drink spilling over most of my habit jolted me from my observations. An unfamiliar bishop slurred, "Sorry," and clumsily attempted to pat my arm —as though that would dry me off— nearly spilling the rest of his drink on me in the process. I reeled back, less from his touch than the fact that he smelled as though he’d switched his bathwater out for cologne. I couldn’t help pulling a face, nor reflexively waving my hand in front of my nose. He frowned at me and whirled around, tottering precariously into the crowd without another word.

The bishop saw Papa across the room and changed course toward him, and as I watched I saw Papa sniffing the air. The displeasure on his face matched mine as he realized the aromatic drunkard was making a beeline for him. Papa said something to the people around him and ducked into the crowd, out of sight within moments.

The wine had soaked through my sleeve, but thankfully I had plenty of time to go back to my room and change. More than a few of my siblings were wandering the halls, hungry hands and mouths seeking each other out in the shadowed pockets of the Ministry, paying me no mind as I scurried past.

I removed my soiled habit and was about to pull on a clean one when I smelled the wine on my shoulder. Papa seemed to have a good sense of smell; even if I found him discomfiting, I didn’t want to smell like a brewery at a private party especially for him.

I started washing my arm off in the small sink as I ran through what I’d seen. He didn’t just have a sensitive nose. His focus had snapped onto that bishop from nearly thirty feet away. And not because the man was drunk, either; the disgusted crinkle of his nose told that loud and clear. The man’s cologne had been strong, sure, but to notice it from that far away…

It was odd, but it was also 11:40. I could think about it later.

There were already a dozen people waiting in the basilica when I arrived. No one I knew personally, though I knew some of their faces: an elder sibling who oversaw the Sisters of Relief, the more medically-minded students, another I knew to be applying their talents to restoring artworks in the archive, a sister whose singing voice was prized in the choir.

All esteemed, all respected, and all senior to me in age, position, and deeds. I studied them all carefully, trying to figure out why I’d been included, when I saw someone else I recognized. I didn’t know his name, but he was the assistant to former Papa Secondo and that was, as far as I knew, his only notable distinction.

I must have been invited because Primo liked me, that was all. While it didn’t feel great to know I was here simply because someone with some sway was fond of me, I had joined the Ministry only a year ago and already had a former Papa thinking well of me. Earning the favor of someone as infamously cantankerous as Primo was an accomplishment of a sort.

“Everyone gather around, please.” An elder Sister and Cardinal stood in front of the altar, beckoning us all closer. “Papa Perpetua will be here momentarily.” She had barely finished her sentence when the bell tower tolled midnight. Before the twelfth chime rang out, the basilica doors opened and Papa entered, flanked by two Ghouls.

“Welcome, Papa,” the Sister and Cardinal said in unison, then gestured for us to repeat it. The chorus of faithful greetings brought a slight smile to Papa’s face as he approached the altar.

He had changed from his formal cassock into much more casual attire: jeans and a loose button-up shirt, both black as night. He stuck his hands into his pockets as he strolled toward us.

“I’ve been informed by my Ghouls that my birthday party isn’t quite over yet,” he said, his tone light and breezy even as his canny eyes scanned the room.

“We’ve arranged a little surprise for you, Papa,” the Sister smiled, then turned to face us again. “We’ve invited some very special members of the Congregation here tonight: our most talented, most dedicated, most devout...to have some well-deserved fun.”

Oh no.

My heart started to race, thumping hard when Papa Perpetua’s face split into a sly grin.

Despite being at the Ministry for a year, I hadn’t...indulged in quite so many things as my siblings eagerly did. A lifetime in a strict Catholic household was a hurdle I hadn’t quite been able to jump yet —I had devoted my new life to sin, sure, but that didn’t mean I was ready for an orgy.

I was already running through a litany of excuses when she clarified:

“You’re all going to play a game with Papa.” 

A game? Papa looked curious too. “A Ministy-wide game of hide and seek,” she grinned, and this time his face lit up in a way that made me shiver.

“Now, listen up,” the Cardinal raised his hands to quiet the amused murmurs that filled the room, “Ground rules: You pick a spot and you stay there! No moving around or actively avoiding Papa. The dormitories and certain maintenance areas are off-limits, and there are Ghouls posted around the grounds to mark other off-limits areas.”

A Ghoul was walking around with a small wooden box, offering it to each of the attendees.

“Everyone is to take a token. If Papa finds you, you bring that token back to the basilica so we can keep track of how many players are left, understand?”

The Ghoul held out the box to me, and I pulled out something like an ornate poker chip, metal and surprisingly heavy for its size.

“Last person found is the winner,” said the Sister, and someone in the group asked what they would win.

“The winner gets to request something from Papa, of course. Either a personal audience, or, you know, dinner or something,” she laughed. “Papa will do his best to fulfill this request. Right, Papa?"

The cunning smile that had been creeping across his face reached his eyes when he said, "Of course."

“Now," she continued, "aside from the off-limits areas the Cardinal mentioned, the entirety of the Ministry grounds are fair game. You’ll all be given a ten-minute headstart, and then-” she grinned, wriggling her fingers in a spooky threat and dropping her voice low, “Papa’s on the prowl for hidden siblings.”

The Cardinal clapped his hands together, and pleasantly said, “Everyone ready?”

Another wave of murmurs arose, but all I could focus on was Papa Perpetua. He looked...excited. And very pleased, but not like he was appreciating a kind gesture from his devoted followers. More like a cat who’s spied a particularly fat and unsuspecting mouse.

“Ready...set...go!”

Most people dashed away immediately, shrieks of laughter echoing as they fled into the building. I stood frozen for a moment, then felt Papa Perpetua’s gaze settle on me. I met his eyes, he smiled, and then I turned and ran.

I jogged down dim, empty hallways, faintly hearing the echoing footfalls of my competitors, trying to think of where in this huge building I could hide. Would it be better to go outside? Ten minutes sounded like a lot of time, but the estate was multiple acres. And it was cold out, except for-

The greenhouse. I careened around a corner and redirected myself. I didn’t know how much time had passed already, but I was pretty sure I could make it within the time limit. And since most of the other hiders had run deeper into the building, I reasoned that Papa would probably follow them first. When I opened the door to the outside the night air was like a slap against my hot, sweaty face, but the greenhouse was in sight.

In the distance, so faint it could barely be heard over my pounding heart, I heard,

“Ready or not, here I come!”

“Shit!” I yelped, then slapped a hand over my mouth, as much an old reflex against obscenity as it was to keep quiet. I dashed to the greenhouse, sighing with relief upon finding it unlocked.

Much of the day’s heat had faded, but it was still preferable to being outside. I shut the door behind me and considered my options. The small potting shed was an obvious choice, but maybe too obvious, and there wasn’t much in there to really conceal me. There was a large stack of bags of soil next to the shed, though, and they happened to be arranged well enough that I could potentially hide.

I crept toward one of the walls and took a good look outside. The half-moon and small lampposts marking the paths around the grounds gave decent visibility, but aside from some bare trees swaying in the wind I saw no movement. I started moving the bags of soil around a little, just to make myself a more comfortable hiding spot, occasionally peering outside to make sure I was alone. I sat down on a soft, cool sack of dirt, tucked my knees to my chest, and waited.

Alone in the quiet dark, I finally thought to wonder why I was taking this seriously.

A request of Papa Perpetua? Did I even want to win? Objectively, I knew it was a good prize, and an enviable one, but just the thought of being close enough to converse with him gave me the creeps. What would I even ask of him? A vacation? To be initiated past my current novice status?

I bowed my head to my knees and shut my eyes against a sudden flood of tears, summoned by the bitter realization that there was something I wanted. Something impossible: I wanted his brother to be Papa again.

Even a year later it was still so vivid in my memory: the sunlight streaming through the stained glass surrounding us as Papa Emeritus IV had so gently taken my hand, helping me kneel before him. I still remembered the smooth leather of his glove, cradling my cheek and asking if I was willing to dedicate myself, to devote myself to the inversion of my entire previous life. I was one of a dozen new devotees that day, but when he smiled at me it was as though the entire rest of the world disappeared. He was looking at me only. He held my face, and he held me. He anointed me, marking an upside-down cross onto my forehead with a fragrant oil, and I felt like I mattered for the first time in my life.

My existence had been so empty, and when he helped me to my feet it was in a world now blooming with color and music. When I looked into his eyes, I would have walked through a house on fire if it pleased him. Those eyes held untold depths of kindness and understanding.

At least...they did.

Before him.

Papa Emeritus IV had been the sun, but he was Frater Imperator now, and Frater Imperator was shrouded by a darkness as total as an underground cave, as hollow as my heart when I looked at him now. In the brief time I’d known him as Papa, he had a smile for me every time we passed in the halls. He greeted me by name —he remembered my name. Frater Imperator smiled at no one, and his eyes never stayed on anyone long enough to bother remembering them.

Within a week of that moment, feeling seen for the first time, he was gone. The reign of Papa Perpetua had begun.

I tried. I had pledged to devote myself to this community, hadn’t I? When I still called myself Catholic I’d lived through three Popes and embraced them all in turn. Why would a new Papa be any different?

When Papa Perpetua had first entered the basilica and stood before us I felt a tiny bit of hope. He looked frightening, sure, resembling his brother nowhere but for his eyes, but he exuded confidence and composure. He seemed bright and quick and energetic; much younger, somehow, than his twin.

Then he spoke. Papa Emeritus’ voice was heavily accented, lending him an unusual, charming cadence, pleasing to the ear. Perpetua, on the other hand, had evidently been raised in America. And he sounded like it. His rough voice sounded like every man I’d ever heard at a pulpit growing up.

I still sat through his Black Masses every week, but purely out of duty. My new faith only survived by way of the other former Papas and their sporadic weekday services. That was how Primo had first noticed me.

A distant noise grabbed my attention and stopped my crying. I craned my neck to look for the source, wiping my nose and sniffling as quietly as I could. There, toward the Ministry building: a movement. It was him. Walking across the grass, the arms that were too long for my liking swinging casually by his sides, just barely visible in the dark. The faint moonlight reflected off his strange mask as he scanned the grounds, the skeletal contours completely shadowing his eyes. He slowed to a halt and raised his face to the sky. Even from this distance I could tell he was sniffing the air.

I swallowed back a sudden lump of fear. Seeing him like this: outside, at night, completely comfortable despite his clothing offering no protection from the cold —not even wearing his usual gloves— was profoundly unsettling.

He started walking toward the greenhouse. I curled up tighter, wanting to just call it quits and go to bed; unable to articulate why being found didn’t feel like a good idea.

A gust of cold air announced the door opening. I heard his shoes scrape across the floor, then…

“Ugh.”

I peered at him through a gap between the bags of soil. His nose was crinkled in disgust again. He took a few more steps in, then turned and left, shaking his head as if to clear it.

Daring to peek through another gap while trying to keep my shaking breaths quiet, almost certain my heart was pounding so loudly he’d be able to hear it; I saw him walking past, behind the greenhouse and, presumably, further into the grounds. I heard the faint sound of some twigs snapping, moving further away, then silence.

The sudden loss of adrenaline left me limp and shivering as my muscles finally released. I’d been holding myself so rigidly and so taut that I’d nearly drawn blood from my palm, and I shook my hands to bring the feeling back. Even with how strange and off-putting I found Papa Perpetua, I couldn’t understand why he’d sent me into such an unbelievable panic. It was as though him finding me would be more like being caught, and just the thought of his long, thin hands nearing me dropped a core of dread into my guts, hard and cold as a stone.

But he didn’t like the greenhouse.

I’d been sitting in it for so long that I’d forgotten; even with their blooms closed for the night, the perfume of the Stargazer lilies hung heavy in the air. Papa’s delicate nose was no match for them.

A smile crept across my face. Maybe my one wish couldn’t be granted, but maybe he wouldn’t find me at all. Maybe I could have one tiny victory over Papa Perpetua, if only in a stupid game for children. Maybe Frater Imperator would hear about it, and he would hear my name. Maybe he would remember me again.

I was dozing off when a man’s scream jolted me awake. I snapped to full alert, scanning the portions of the windows I could see through. Another scream, back behind the greenhouse; distinctly tainted with fear.

“No, no, no!” Maybe 20 feet away and getting closer. I heard a loud thud, then a husky laugh. 

“Papa, please! Ple-”

The man’s voice cut off suddenly, replaced with a wet gurgle. A strangled, gasping groan, another thud, and then a long, raspy, satisfied sigh. I could just hear Papa, muttering over the sound of something dragging along the ground.

“Ghoul!”

I jumped at the shout, so loud it could have been right next to my hiding spot. A metallic mask was coming toward the greenhouse, just catching the moonlight.

“Another one for the clinic,” I heard him laugh, “That’s the last of them, though.” I didn’t hear the Ghoul respond, only Papa Perpetua speaking again. “You said there was one more left! That’s him!” Another pause, then a growl, “Fucking useless. Fine.” The Ghoul passed the window again, carrying a limp body over their shoulder.

I couldn’t see who it was. I only saw the blood smeared across Papa Perpetua’s mouth.

I clapped a hand over my mouth, then froze as he slowed for a moment, turning his head as if he’d heard it, his neck angled just unnaturally enough that it made me shudder. He kept walking, though, accompanying the Ghoul back to the main building.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whispered, “Oh, bad. This is...this is bad.”

It had been ridiculous to think Papa wasn’t entirely human. I had thought it more than once, but chided myself back to reality each time. But his just-barely-too-long limbs and just-slightly-too-sharp teeth, his unusually-keen perception and eerie, unsettling way of moving through and looking at the world...he had never been quite right, and now I knew why.

Even if I could make it back to the dorms in one piece, would I be safe there? How many of those esteemed devotees had been taken to the medical clinic while our Papa grinned with their blood in his mouth? What if all the Ghouls were part of this? Was it even possible to return to the dorms, or would they turn me over to Papa if I tried?

I was the last one, though. Maybe I would just win. Maybe if I made it to the basilica, where the Sister and Cardinal were supposed to be waiting, I would be fine. There would be witnesses.

Except...they had to know.

Why else would they arrange something like this in the first place? They would know about the others who were taken for medical care.

They knew. And they still did this. Primo invited me to this.

So much for the favor of a former Papa, a man I’d begun to tentatively think of as a friend. I fished around in my pocket for my little notepad and started writing as legibly as I could in the dark.

Papa-

I don’t know what I did to displease you, but I will be asking to be moved elsewhere when I can. If I live through tonight…

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t quite prevent the rest of my resignation letter from being a little ingratiating, but eventually I tore out the pages and quietly emerged from my hiding spot to put my note in the potting shed, where he’d be sure to see it. Even now, thinking back to his hesitation to extend the invitation, almost certain he’d known about Papa Perpetua, I felt an inkling of affection for the old man. I’d grown fond of him, even if he apparently felt differently.

I took one of his small trowels from its hook on the wall and weighed down the note with it, both to keep it in place and because I knew a tool out of place would immediately get his attention. I moved to return to my hiding spot and froze.

Clouds had covered the moon, and a dark silhouette was approaching.

A burst of adrenaline propelled me back to my little nook, and I curled myself into a tight ball just as he entered. When the door shut this time, however, he stayed inside. In my haste to conceal myself I’d laid down facing the wrong way; all I could fix my panicked eyes on was the side of the shed as I tried to make out his quiet footsteps over the blood roaring in my ears.

“You’re a clever thing, aren’t you?”

If I hadn’t been so rigid with fear I might not have been able to stay still. He was near, but still looking. Circling.

“Everyone else just hid in closets and cupboards,” moving further away, occasionally sniffing, “but- well, one of you hid up a tree. But he got stuck and the Ghouls had to get him down. No fun for me.”

Circling closer again: “No one else thought to camouflage themselves. No one else knew they could.” The sounds were slightly muffled now. He was in the shed. “No one but you. I would say it was dumb luck, but Primo did say you were bright.” My heart thudded painfully at the confirmation of his betrayal, and then I heard the rustle of paper.

“’Did you know about Papa Perpetua?’” he read with a laugh, “Oh, sweetheart. They all know at least some of it. And I don’t think any transfer requests will be approved, either.” When he ripped up the paper I pulled my pen, the closest thing I had to a weapon, from my pocket and held it against my chest with a white-knuckle grip. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath as his sniffs and footsteps circled the shed.

Fingers slowly tapped into place, one by one, on the bags behind me.

My thin whimper earned a soft laugh, and when he touched my shoulder my flinch got another.

“Found you.”

A strong hand wrapped around my arm and pulled me to my feet. I fell back against the shed and cried out at the impact, turning my face away from him and simply waiting for whatever dreadful thing he had planned to begin.

“What’s the matter?” The concern in his voice sounded almost genuine, but he couldn’t help a little waver of laughter on the last syllable, “You won, didn’t you?” His palm landed heavily against the wall next to my head. “You get to ask anything you want of your Papa.”

Not mine, I thought as I fought back tears, you never will be. He was going to lift me from the baptismal waters, reborn and finally belonging, and you-

“Surely there’s something you want,” he drew closer, his other hand now on the wall, caging me.

you would only drown me.

“Please don’t kill me,” I whispered.

He sucked his teeth disapprovingly. “Waste of a wish.” In the corner of my eye I saw his head tilt curiously as he asked, “What’s that you’ve got there?” He touched my hand, still holding the pen in a death grip, and tried to pull it closer. His hand bumped against me and I felt something shake loose from my pocket. The metal token fell heavily to the patch of concrete under our feet, and his attention snapped to it. Without thinking, my hand flew toward him and plunged the pen deep into his neck.

He let out a horrible wet sound as something dark spurted from his mouth. Even in the dim light I saw his eyes blinking rapidly, and the pale one locked on me as he pulled my weapon from his neck. He coughed up another dark spatter, then loudly grated his throat clear.

“Good-” he rasped, rubbing at the open wound now trickling more of that inky fluid, “good one.”

For some reason, I stammered, “I-I’m sorry,” and he let out a thick, wet laugh.

“Didn’t think you had that in you.” He leaned closer, “Still so meek you apologize for it, though.” The pen dropped to the floor with a dull metallic clink. He lifted something in a handkerchief to his nose and inhaled deeply, then spat black off to the side and wiped his mouth before looking me in the eye again.

“It’s just a game, dolce,” he said, “It’s an honor to be invited, remember? No need to risk your place here by attacking your Papa.”

I looked at the dark smear at the side of his mouth and asked the only thing I could think of:

“What are you?”

A cold smile spread across his face. 

“Something you’re better off not knowing about.” 

A disgusting, muffled symphony of bones and joints came from within, a tune sung by no human skeleton as he stood straighter, slowly squaring his shoulders back and standing tall. His arms dropped a little lower, his legs stretched longer, and he stood more than a few inches higher than before. I saw his limbs retract slightly, closer to normal human proportions but not quite there. When he spoke again his voice was almost the same, but lower and rougher.

“So, dolcezza," he said, "tell me: what is it you want?” I looked up at him, into the eerie, still-human eyes, and gathered my wavering courage as best I could.

Somehow, staring into the face of unreality, I managed to say, “I...want Frater to be Papa again.” There was a beat of silence.

“Can’t be done,” he said, flatly.

“But-”

“We serve higher powers here, child. Certain things can never be undone. Even if I wanted to grant your request, I couldn’t.”

I looked down at the ground, eyes blurred with tears, and hugged myself tightly.

“What else you got?” he asked. When I simply shook my head he touched an off-putting hand to my shoulder, “Come now, the winner must have a prize.”

“That’s the only thing I want,” I whispered.

“Dream a little smaller.”

“Just…” I wiped my eyes, then blurted out, “can’t you just be kind to him?”

“Eh?”

“He’s your brother, and he’s miserable.”

He sighed. “Satanas, but you are devoted to that dope.”

I kept myself from yelling “He’s not a dope!” and stared into those cold eyes as stubbornly as I could manage.

“If I were to do that, what would you offer me?”

“What? What about my req-”

“You already used that, dolce. You asked me not to kill you.”

“And you said it was a waste of...why are you asking me then?”

He shrugged. “Curious. So what would I get in return for being nice to the old man?” Old man?

“You’re twins.”

“Mm,” he hummed in agreement, “we are indeed brothers. ‘Twins,’ though…” A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, “Not precisely.” He stepped closer to me, making me back fully against the wall, and plowed past the myriad questions summoned by that answer. “So you want me to be nice to him?”

“Not nice. Kind.” I said, hesitating before I added, “And...not just that.”

He sighed and sniffed at his little bundle again, “What else?”

I hesitated again, embarrassed to have him hear it, but needing him to.

“Can...just- tell him about me- about this, I mean. Not me. Just...let him know someone still cares about him. And...thinks of him.”

“How sweet,” he laughed. “That’s two extra wishes, then. What can you offer that’s of any worth?”

I had nothing. Nothing but…my brows knit together as I weighed the trade.

It could tip almost any scale, the love I bore for the man Frater Imperator used to be. And this one toppled over almost immediately.

After a moment, I quietly said, “I can offer you something no one else has ever had.”

“Oh?” he sounded amused, “And what’s that?” I bit my lip and looked away, trying to hide the flush that immediately crossed my face. He cocked his head curiously to the side, then I saw the realization dawn in his eyes, followed by a wicked delight.

“Oh?” He stepped closer. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Not once?”

Another nod.

“Primo told me you’ve been here for a whole year, and you never…?” he trailed off as he ran a cold finger down the side of my neck. I shivered and shook my head.

His voice dropped lower, “Are you lying to me, dolcezza?”

“No!” I said, “I’m not a liar.”

“Nothing?” he pressed, “No one’s ever gotten inside you, not a drunken prom date or-”

“I wasn’t allowed to go to prom,” I hotly said, blushing and furious at this interrogation. He laughed softly and moved closer still.

“Tell me,” the finger on my neck went to my chin, turning me to face him, “has anyone else even touched you?” I shook my head, avoiding his eyes, desperately unhappy that already his hands had been on me more than anyone else.

“A kiss?”

“No.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he laughed, “have you even hugged someone you weren’t related to?”

“I’ve hugged people,” I snapped defensively. He smirked.

“Whore.”

“If you’re just- if you’re just going to be an asshole about it, then-”

“Now, now,” he chuckled, “just having a little fun with you, dolce.” I blinked back furious tears as he leaned toward me.

“You will offer yourself, all of that, to me? Just to be kind to my brother?”

I’d already given his brother my soul to carry; what was my body compared to the burdens weighing him down? How could I not help him?

I nodded.

“Speak it, child.”

“Yes,” I whispered, “I offer myself.”

“I accept." He immediately pressed himself against me, pushing me firmly against the wall and his lips against my neck, smearing hot kisses against my skin.

“Tell me, dolcezza,” he murmured, “have you even touched yourself before?”

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut. “Only a few times.” Only for the sake of trying to sin had I done it, still too ashamed of pleasure for its own sake.

“Only since joining us?”

“Y-yes…”

He chuckled softly, and his lips brushed my ear as he asked, “Have you ever made yourself cum?” I flushed and looked away.

“That a no?”

I bit my lip and nodded, face burning.

He was practically purring when he tugged at the collar of my habit. “And after a whole year here, too. You must be-” he paused, then grinned. He grasped my chin and looked intently into my eyes.

“You were saving yourself for him, weren’t you?”

I looked away with a whimper, wishing I could sink into the earth and disappear. He laughed at me again, then, to my horror, his voice changed.

“Would you imagine being on your knees in front of me, tesoro? Making Papa so happy and proud?”

Tears spilled from my eyes hearing it. A perfect imitation of his brother, every syllable draped in his accent and mannerisms.

“Don’t-” I whispered.

“You stroke that pretty cunt at night and think about me using every sweet hole you offer up to your beloved Papa, hmm?”

“S-stop,” my voice had no hope of keeping steady. Papa wouldn’t talk like that, he wasn’t like that at all, he-

“Oh, cara mia,” even his laugh was a perfect replica, “if you only knew how many stupid little things like you had the innocence rough-fucked out of them by dear old Cardi.”

“Stop,” I pleaded, “Why are you doing this?”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled, back to his normal voice, “I’ll just be me, then.” He brought his lips back to my neck, hot breath fanning over my skin as he tasted me. “If you come back for more in the future, you can ask for it, though. I won’t tell him,” he murmured, “Though I’m sure he’d be happy to know someone still thinks about him at all. If I tell him a sweet little virgin sister was pining after him, he might even think of you when he jerks off. Would you like that?”

“Please…” I whispered, “I just...can we just do this?”

“Well, if you’re so eager...” he nuzzled at my jaw, the cold metal mask pressing against my cheek and making me shudder. A finger ran up my neck, dragging a sharp nail across my skin, then tilted my chin up to face him. Our noses were almost touching as he fixed his eyes on mine, letting out an excited, shivering breath carrying the faint scent of blood.

Half-lidded eyes locked on me, and then his lips parted to slowly meet mine. Surprisingly soft and surprisingly gentle for a first kiss from a monster. What had been faint on his breath was obvious on his tongue, and the question of whose blood I may be tasting made me shudder. My first kiss was brief, thankfully, and that sharp finger keeping my mouth angled for his momentarily caressed my skin before he gripped my chin and pulled away. He stretched back up to his full height, the one I’d never seen before tonight, then swiftly scooped me up in his arms. I squeaked with surprise and tried to squirm out of his grip, but his hands wouldn’t budge.

“You’re too short,” he grunted, as he carried me across the greenhouse, “I’m not going to keep bending over.” He stopped and looked around, scanning the interior before muttering something. He started heading toward the door.

“Where are you-”

“You want to fuck on a radish bed or a normal one?” he interrupted. The temperature outside had dropped dramatically, and he chuckled when I reflexively curled my body against his. The wind whipped at the loose sleeves and collar of his shirt but he seemed unbothered, striding confidently back to the Ministry. I was already shivering as we neared the doors, but he carried me past the entrance, around the side of the building. I clung helplessly to him in mute panic as he started walking toward some bushes.

I had just about summoned the will to protest losing my virginity in a shrub when he broke into a sprint.

“What-”

We were in the air. There was a brief hanging moment before my stomach felt like it would crawl out of my throat, and then a jolt of impact.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” I whimpered, panic stifling the self-censorship that usually kept that kind of language inaccessible to me.

He was scaling the side of the building like it was nothing. With an arm still wrapped around me he was leaping and clawing his way up, one-handed. I heard a breathy laugh when I pressed my face into his chest, only capable of a weak, terrified keening.

He finally stilled, balancing in a one-legged crouch on a windowsill. After a few moments of scratching at something, the window opened and he carried me through to a dark bedroom. He set me down and I immediately reached for a wall, dizzy and so anxious I could barely stand.

“Careful, there,” he said, and one of his long, strange hands slipped around my waist to keep me on my feet. With his free hand he shut the window, then turned back to me and grinned, “Don’t want you to get hurt, dolce.” The horrible wet cracking sound emerged from his body again, making his words come out crooked. I stood frozen, dumbstruck as I found out he had not been at his full height before. And I had overestimated how much of him might be human. 

He loomed over me now, limbs and features an uncanny representation of a person. His face still looked the same, mostly, but there was a wrongness to it. His jaw seemed sharper, his smile more so, and his body had given up the facade of what would fall under “normal” human proportions. A person if you squinted; something just to the left of a real man.

I couldn’t tell if he was unable to stand up straight now or if he was leaning over simply to intimidate me, but when he reached a thin hand out I backed away, feeling not even a little stable or steady on my feet, yet totally unwilling to share solid ground with him. He slowly stepped closer, smirking at my retreat, moving me further into the room until the back of my legs hit the bed and I awkwardly fell back to sitting.

His leg went between my knees as he stood before me, running a hand through my hair and along my jaw, making me look up at his mocking, angular face.

 He held my gaze for a long moment, then flicked his eyes further back on the bed and nodded for me to move. Once my legs were on the bed he advanced, observing me with a predator’s intensity. I wasn’t entirely sure what to do, so I knelt on the other side of the bed and just tried not to shrink away.

A long finger hooked into the collar of my habit and tugged me forward, up onto my knees and into a loose embrace. His hands moved from my shoulders down my arms, then pulled me against him, bringing our faces to almost touch. He stared down at me, almost contemptuously, and I whimpered softly when his hands circled my waist, one palm flat against my lower back as the other started undoing buttons. He had settled back on his heels enough that we were at eye level, so I clearly saw when the corner of his mouth twitched, as if to smile.

“I have things that need unbuttoning too, dolcezza.”

“Right,” I nodded, numbly working to open his shirt, grateful to look at something that wasn’t his unnatural face. He bowed his head to the crook of my neck, the cold radiating from the metal mask raising a wave of goosebumps as his low voice reminded me, “You are offering yourself, not simply being taken. That means you participate.”

When I nodded again the hand undoing my habit grabbed my hair and pulled me back to look him in the eye again.

“That’s not how you address me.”

“Y-yes...Papa.”

His hand returned to my back, pushing away the fabric to expose a patch of skin to the cool air. I’d finished unbuttoning his shirt and moved my hands away, hesitant to touch someone else’s skin —a man’s skin, sort of— and he pulled me closer, pushing my palms into the hair on his chest, and then his face was buried in my neck again.

With a deep inhalation, he sighed, “You were in there so long that you picked up their scent. You smell like a spring garden, dolce.” I felt his tongue slipping against my skin, then across my face to kiss me. He pushed into my mouth, working a hand into my hair to keep our lips together, and I kept my eyes squeezed shut and tried to reciprocate, feeling foolish and ignoring the warmth spreading through my chest. Cold as his mask and demeanor were, his hands were warm and his mouth was certain.

He pulled away, flicking his tongue across his lips. “I believe you,” he said, a mocking smile crossing his face, “That you’ve never kissed anyone.” When I flushed with embarrassment he laughed, “Didn’t know they still made ‘em like you nowadays.”

“Like me?” I wavered.

“Good Catholic girls. Plenty come to us still sweet and innocent, but they never last. And most of the time they’re not as innocent as they look.”

“I’m not innocent,” I protested.

“No?” his hand slid over my breast and gave me a squeeze, and he laughed when I looked away with a whimper. “It’s not an insult, dolce. It’s...cute. You know, normally I would just pull that skirt up and bend you over, fuck you until you can’t do anything but scream for more,” he said, smirking at the heat that instantly bloomed on my cheeks, “but you...you, I am going to savor.” His tongue was in my mouth again, just for a moment, before he pulled back to add, “I’m still going to, of course. Fuck you until you scream.” When I whimpered again his lips were already smiling against mine. I suppressed a squeak when his knuckles closed around my nipple, tugging through my clothes before spreading his fingers out to knead the soft flesh.

“So, sweetness,” he pulled hard at my nipple again, smiling at the tiny sound that escaped me, “have you ever seen a cock before?”

“I’m not a child,” I said, hotly, “I know what...what they look like.”

He tilted his head to catch my eye. “Can you even say ‘cock?’”

With my face burning, I muttered, “I can say anything I want.”

“Ah, but can you say what I want?” once again his sharp finger was under my chin, keeping our eyes level. “Your mouth is one of the things you’ve offered to me, dolcezza. You’re going to use it to say, “I want your cock, Papa.’”

“I-I…”

His face was insufferably smug upon hearing me falter. “Say it,” he grinned, “Just say ‘cock.’ Hell, say ‘cunt,’ or ‘pussy.’ Anything. ‘Balls,’ even. I’m going to make you say them all tonight, so you might as well get used to them. So come on,” he leaned in, theatrically cupping his ear, “One naughty word for Papa.”

“...C-cock,” I choked out.

“Again,” he sighed happily.

“...Cock.”

“And what do you want?”

“I…” I swallowed back an anxious lump, “I want your...cock. Papa.”

He pulled us tightly together, looking gleefully down at me. “Again.”

“I...want your...cock, Papa.”

His lips returned to my neck, “Keep saying it,” and he started unbuttoning the rest of my habit.

I squeezed my eyes shut and just tried to keep my voice steady, trying to focus on anything but the shameful, discomfiting sensations radiating from between my legs. “I want your cock, Papa.”

“Say it until you mean it.”

I kept repeating it, so distracted by the effort that he successfully drew more and more tiny whimpers from me with his hands and mouth.

Eventually, he nipped at my earlobe and said, “Well done. Now say, ‘I need my mouth and ass and pussy stuffed with my Papa’s thick cock until every fuckhole is overflowing with hot cum.” When I gasped and tried to pull away he cackled and held me tight.

“Just try it,” he laughed giddily, “Just once,” then his arm jerked and fabric ripped. I cried out in surprise and he tugged again, and then my habit was slipping off my arms and past my hips, pooling on the bed around my knees. When I instinctively tried to cover myself he laughed again and pushed my hands away.

“I’m going to see it all anyway,” his mouth was on my shoulder, soft indentations of his teeth left as he explored. I barely felt him unclasp my bra, and when he tossed it to the side I couldn’t help trying to hide myself again. My hands were moved away with a smirk as he cupped my breasts and rubbed his thumbs over my nipples. It seemed to please him, that they hardened immediately, and that I blushed and looked away.

He rocked backward and pulled me along with him, my habit abandoned on the bed behind me as he settled into a seated position with me straddling his lap. He whipped off his shirt in a flash, then pushed me down against him until he was fully between my legs, with no space between our bodies.

“Feel that?” he grinned.

“Feel what?”

He moved his hips, nudging me. Poking me with something hard. His hand was on my chin before I could look away.

“Say it again, dolcezza,” he said sweetly.

I swallowed hard, caught between the shame of profanity and the growing need building in his presence. “I want your cock, P-papa…”

He breathed out a laugh and took my hand, guiding me along its length. Even through his pants I felt it move. He leaned back, resting on his hands, and nodded for me to continue. As he watched me he somehow seemed both bored and incredibly amused, just smiling slightly as I clumsily rubbed my hand against him. It was straining against the thick black denim, the heat and hardness oddly thrilling. When it twitched against my palm my heart pounded, and in spite of my overwhelming anxiety a part of me was more than curious about it. Maybe more than excited, even.

“You’re going to have to touch it sooner or later,” he idly said, “and the longer you wait, the less time you’ll have to get used to it.” He pointedly pulled one of the laces free from his pants, undoing a knot that had seemingly been waiting to burst.

“...Yes, Papa,” I whispered. I loosened the rest of them and then hovered my hands nearby, uncertain what to do next. He grinned and wriggled underneath me to pull his pants off. I was doing my best to look elsewhere but could see he wasn’t wearing underwear. He took my hand and wrapped it around it, guiding me up and down the length, while his other hand went around the back of my neck and pulled me close.

“Look at it.”

I hadn’t lied when he asked if I’d seen one before, though my experience was...sparse. At summer camp, a boy had gotten his swim trunks pulled down in front of me and a group of girls, and at one Thanksgiving dinner with a distant branch of the family, my great-uncle’s dementia led him to wander naked into the kitchen before he was hurried out of the room by his wife. I’d been to museums, though my parents had tried their best to shield my delicate eyes from any nude artworks. But the only time I’d seen what could really described as a cock was when I was in high school and happened to see a dirty magazine someone had thrown near a dumpster. I’d only seen one page before I nervously scurried away, but never entirely forgot the sight of it.

Papa Perpetua’s...seemed different. It felt so big in my hands, swollen hard and hot, thick and heavy, and when the sheath of skin wrapped around it pulled back, it looked almost grotesque. There was more than veins running over it - bumps and textures and strange ridges were everywhere. It was darker than the rest of his body, too. Much darker.

“All of that’s going inside you, dolce,” he smiled.

I quietly asked, “All of it?” and he snickered.

“You’re going to love it,” he squeezed his hand a little tighter around mine, “Grip it harder. You want to make your Papa feel good, don’t you?”

“Yes, Papa.” When I obeyed, his breath hitched for a moment and then I felt his fingers drifting to my hip. His hands smoothly moved back, grabbing my butt and squeezing hard before a finger hooked into the elastic of my underwear. I started to tremble as his finger followed it inward, tickling through the hair before tugging the waistband down enough to let him slip his hand against me. He breathed a laugh when I whimpered, flexing in my hand.

“So hot down here already,” he worked his hand further into my underwear, just stroking the sensitive skin with a smug grin that only widened when my hips twitched toward him. His middle finger slid through me a moment later, spreading the slick I’d been denying. What I couldn’t deny was how easily his finger slipped inside me, no more than I could keep myself from crying out and leaning into him.

“Nice and wet for your Papa,” he purred, mouthing along my shoulder and neck, “Does that feel good, dolcezza?” I whimpered in response and he pushed in harder, deeper. “Speak.”

“I-it f-feels good, Papa,” I stammered, and he hummed approvingly before he started moving in and out more rhythmically. He pressed another finger inside, chuckling at the moan that escaped me.

“You ever tasted your pussy, dolce?”

“What?” Tasted it? He pulled his fingers out of me and slid them between my lips.

I liked the taste of his skin, and I liked the taste of me on his skin. I moaned around his fingers and felt more of that heat radiate out. He pulled his fingers from my mouth and replaced them with his lips, chasing a secondhand trace of me with his tongue. His hand patted mine, making me aware that I’d stopped stroking him, and then a moment later his arms jerked. Fabric ripped again, and the remains of my underwear were tossed aside.

His fingers pushed inside again, working in and out before he asked, “Did you take the Ministry’s sex ed course?”

“Y-yes, Papa…” He pumped his fingers a few times before sliding out, following the course of my folds.

“So you know what this is?” he smoothly stroked the nub that I’d been taught was the only part of the human body made solely for pleasure. He laughed when I cried out and clutched at his chest, curling into him.

I’d touched it a few times, but the skill needed for that particular act of devotion was one I still needed to practice. He seemed to know my body already, smirking as he made my whole being tremble with each languid motion. He was still twitching in my hand, still hard and wanting, but I was incapable of anything but crying against his shoulder as my hips rocked desperately in search of every ounce of feeling.

It was building inside me – the heat and electricity and waves of pleasure I’d heard about, and when my cries were almost one continuous note Papa grabbed my face, thumb digging into my cheek and fingers twisted into my hair, mismatched eyes intently locked on mine as I followed his guiding hand into a new world.

I faintly felt his lips on me, murmuring something into my skin, impossible to hear over the pounding of my heart. His hands were running over my body as I gasped for breath, slowly bringing me back to the world. His voice faded back in.

“...Told you I would make you scream,” he puffed a laugh against my ear, “Wait’ll you feel my tongue.” I managed to hum a questioning sound, still out of it and not up to speaking.

“Tell me again, sweetness: what was it you wanted?”

“I...I want your cock, Papa,” I murmured.

“Then you’ll offer me your mouth.”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, Papa.”

“Good girl.” He scooted back away from me and settled onto his elbows. I slowly moved between his legs, hesitantly kneeling as he looked at me expectantly.

“I don’t...know what to do,” I said.

“I’m aware,” he smiled. He nudged me with his leg and I brought my face close enough for him to touch my head. “Use your hand again,” he sighed when I obeyed, then, “Just start licking, dolce.”

He was pulsing against my tongue, guiding my head where he wanted me as I tracked my tongue across and around the myriad strange shapes and bulges. It’s not normal, I thought distantly, his body isn’t right, but he shoved my head further down and pulled my thoughts elsewhere.

“Take them in your mouth,” he breathed, “Get a good taste.” I let out a muffled whimper and he chuckled. “You just keep tonguing my balls, sweetheart, no need to talk.” His hair was coarse against my lips, tickling my nose and throat, distinctly scented with something I couldn’t identify. He was so...squishy, like a bag half-filled with water, with two hard-boiled egg yolks floating inside. Is that normal? Is any of this-

He shifted his legs up and pushed my mouth further down again. I tried to shake my head in protest and his fingers tightened painfully in my hair.

“Stick your tongue out,” he just sounded amused, “I’m going to be your first for everything, dolcezza.” I obeyed with with a soft whimper and just let him move my tongue as he pleased over the tight ring of muscle. “I’m going to do this to you too,” he laughed, “and more. Speaking of which,” he shifted around again slightly, “Stick a finger in. Get it wet in your mouth first.”

I swallowed my disgust down and let saliva coat my finger, then tentatively slid it inside him.

“Good,” he breathed, “In and out, now,” he pulled my hair again, bringing my mouth back to his cock and pushing the fat, blunt head between my lips. He started guiding my head up and down and I closed my eyes, just letting him use me as I kept my finger moving. I kept gagging, my mouth doing its best to reject him, but every time I whimpered I felt myself clench. And every time I gagged his breath would hitch excitedly as he tightened around my finger.

The scent of him had worked deep into my lungs, and now that I was tasting him so directly on my tongue...I found myself starting to seek it. All the bumps and ridges rippling across my lips sent sparks of pleasure up and down my spine, and I began to swirl my tongue along the paths and creases between them, my tongue tingling, hungering for more. I had been letting him direct me but now started exploring on my own, chasing the flavor of his skin and whatever seemed to be leaking from the tip.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

I moaned a yes and worked my finger harder. Every time I pushed deep, his cock would twitch in my mouth and more would drip onto my tongue, bright and sharp and salty.

“Good girl,” he murmured, tipping his head to the mattress and relaxing back. “You keep drinking your Papa in, I’ll make a good whore of you yet.” I whimpered around him and kept trying to work my way down, no longer just wanting to please him but needing to.

“You want more of your Papa’s cock in your mouth?” He chuckled when I loudly moaned and kept trying to take all of him.

“Here, dolcezza,” he nudged my leg with his, “Bring your sweet little cunt to my mouth and let me taste you.” I awkwardly moved over his body, positioning his face between my legs as I tried to keep as much of his cock in my mouth as possible. “Now try,” he said. “You can take more from this angle, see?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, and now he slipped into my throat almost effortlessly. His hands were on me, obscenely spreading me as he twitched in the back of my mouth. Some part of him brushed against me —his nose, I realized, when he took a deep, perverse sniff. He groaned with pleasure, hardening dramatically in my throat, and then he brought his tongue to me.

I used to think heaven was a place in the sky, a seat forever at the right hand of the Lord; then I was sure I'd been witness to the gates of paradise at the hand of Satan's earthly avatar, but no. I was wrong. Heaven was in the mouth of the demonic thing beneath me, and the only place I could ever consider spending eternity now was here: on a tongue that eagerly sought every miniscule spot that could bring me pleasure, deft and sensitive as any serpent’s.

Resting my head on his hard belly, completely lost to everything but his mouth, nothing but needy, mindless noises pouring from my lips, I simply rocked my hips against him and lewdly sought his tongue. He squirmed under me, bouncing his cock against my cheek, and I ignored him. He’d tormented me all night —for months, actually, and I couldn’t bring myself to care about what he wanted, even as I still craved the taste of him.

When his hand worked through my hair and pushed my mouth back around him, I groaned with reluctance and tried to focus on my own body, but my body also immediately snapped back to wanting him. Even as his tongue rolled eagerly against and around my clit I was trying to consume him, rocking back and forth between his mouth and his cock, moaning wantonly every time he pushed into the back of my throat.

His fingers slid inside me again —for some reason I hadn’t considered that the two things could happen at once— more than before and deliciously stretching me, thrusting them fast and hard until I climaxed again, muffled by him still filling my mouth yet so loud it was a wonder people didn’t come running to see who was being murdered.

He started thrusting into my mouth, as hard and fast as his fingers, and I dimly marveled at how easily I took it before he grunted and flooded my mouth. The same bright and salty taste, but hot and sweet now too. A thick nectar that gave me another orgasmic jolt the moment it touched my tongue; a love potion I would be equally happy to drink or drown in.

My mouth had become so sensitive when he came in me, the feel of his cock hitting the back of my throat nearly as good as his fingers in my cunt and I chased that feeling, sure that if enough of his seed coated my tongue, that alone could make me cum. With my eyes rolling back in my head I swallowed it all, mewling desperately as I worked my greedy tongue against him, earning a few more spurts before he groaned and sagged beneath me. 

His hand was on my head again, stroking my hair as he caught his breath. “That’s it, dolcezza,” he sighed, and his cock flexed in my mouth, “The more you have the better you’ll feel, so you drink up.” I lapped at the tip, whining when no more came out. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m going to fill every fucking one of your holes with it tonight.” He laughed softly and patted my head, “Would you like that, sweetness? You want more?”

“Yes, Papa,” I whimpered. He took a deep, groaning breath and settled more comfortably underneath me, then he was spreading me open again with an admiring hum.

“Did you like my tongue?” he said, clearly amused at the sounds I made just having his fingers nearby. Despite my head feeling a little clearer, my whole body throbbed as I replied, “Y-yes, Papa.”

“Your cunt just clenched up,” he mused, “you sad that it’s empty, dolce?” I bit my lip, wanting to have him inside me again yet feeling the old shame nagging again already. His fingers strayed closer, teasing my entrance with a feather touch.

“Yes, Papa.” In spite of myself I tried to move closer.

“Ask for it.”

I whimpered softly and bit my lip again. Just a few minutes ago I would have gladly screamed any profanity he wanted, but now it was like a lock was clicking shut over my vocabulary again.

“’Papa, please fill my cunt again,’ or maybe, ‘I’m offering up my cunt for your use,’ or ‘My pussy feels empty without you inside it,’ any of those would be fine,” he said, and I could hear the smugness in his tone. “You’re practically dripping wet, you know. It’s no secret,” he was rubbing his thumbs along the outside, playing with my hair and keeping me spread open. “You should say what you want. It’s easy, just-”

“I-I’m offering...myself for your use,” I said quickly.

“Say what I told you to say,” he chided. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block everything but how close his fingers were to where I wanted them.

I took a deep breath and said, “I’m offering my cunt for your use.” His fingers immediately pressed back inside me, curling into sensitive areas I never knew about, all the slick making my arousal audible.

“There, doesn’t that feel good?” he cooed, “Don’t you love Papa inside your pretty little cunt?” When I whimpered a yes, his fingers left me and I let out an offended cry. “Don’t worry, sweetness, I’m going to be inside you all night, one way or another,” he said, then smacked my thigh and added, “Onto your back.” I pushed myself up onto my shaking arms and managed to crawl off of him, flopping to the bed as he tucked himself against my side. His arm went under me, turning me toward him, holding me like a lover as his lips claimed mine again.

He’d ceased being gentle, his tongue twisting against mine much differently than before. It felt...longer. Sinewy. The fingers stretching across my thigh and pulling it over his leg felt longer too, and bonier. His hand followed the curve of my mound and slipped inside me again, coaxing me toward another climax with finger and thumb working in tandem. Until he pulled his mouth away to look down at me with a smug grin, I didn’t even realize I’d twined my fingers into his dark, glossy curls.

The arm underneath me somehow twisted closer, allowing him to grasp my chin and keep our eyes locked. One of his fingernails was digging into my neck, just enough to hurt, and then from the corner of my eye I saw his thumb. Except I was definitely looking at a claw. Whatever was nearly drawing blood under my chin wasn’t a fingernail. When I whimpered in fear, unable to take my eyes off it, he chuckled.

“You like it, dolcezza?” He slowly dragged one of those talons across the delicate skin standing between my carotid artery and death. His fingers slipped out of me and moved further down, pushing at-

“N-no,” I blurted out, “That’s-”

“I’m claiming everything,” he purred, “You offered me your mouth and your cunt, now you offer this,” he grinned. “Say it.”

“I-I…” his finger was rubbing and pressing, and it felt good but-

He gripped my chin tighter, keeping my eyes locked on his. “You’re mine tonight,” he reminded me. “Tell Papa you’re offering your ass.”

“I’m...offering you my...my ass, Papa,” I whimpered. He pushed in immediately, laughing at my cry as always. I couldn’t feel the claws, but his fingers were so bony and knobby now, and I could feel every knuckle as they moved in and out. He crushed his lips against mine again, serpentine tongue snatching up every mewling breath as they came more and more quickly. The blood that had tainted our first kiss was long gone, and now he simply tasted good, almost as good as his cum and almost as good as he felt sliding in and out of my ass. Another finger entered me, then another, and when I whimpered in pain his thumb returned to my clit and coaxed me back to pleasure.

“Could probably get my whole hand in you if I wanted,” he said, and I immediately squeaked in fear. “I doubt anyone else would stake a claim there though. With you, I mean. Another time, maybe.” He nipped at my neck and chuckled, “Feels good though, doesn’t it? Looking forward to me fucking you here later?”

“N-no,” I lied. He pulled away with a knowing smile, then moved to sit back against the headboard.

“Up,” he tugged at my arm, pulling me into his lap again, grabbing my hips to push us together and make me feel him throbbing underneath me. His teeth grazed my ear, sharp and jagged now, as he growled in a low voice, “You want your Papa’s cock, yes?”

I whimpered and tried to avoid answering, but he grabbed my face, gripping me so hard that the claws dug into my cheeks.

“I know you want me to just take you, dolcezza, and let you tell yourself later that this wasn’t something you wanted, but I won’t have any of that Catholic shit. You want my cock. Your pussy is sopping wet with how bad you want me to fuck you, so you’re going to do it. I promised to stuff your pretty little cunt full, and I will, but first you’re going to admit you want it.” He was rubbing the tip against me, just barely pushing for entry. He tightened his grip on my face and kept my eyes fixed on his. Just teasing at my entrance was enough to make my hips rock for want of him, finally drawing out a whine.

"I...I want it," I whispered. He grinned and finally obliged me, purring, "That's it," when I finally started sinking onto him, “You’ll take every inch, won’t you?”

“Hurts,” I whimpered. He kissed my cheek and hummed sympathetically.

“I know, dolcezza, but the sooner you take all of me the sooner Papa can make you feel good. The more I'm inside you the more you'll like it.” He nipped at the outside of my ear and said, “If you rub your clit it’ll be easier.” I whimpered softly, and he added, “Unless you want me to do it again. Want Papa to touch you again, hmm?” I nodded against his shoulder, jumping when his hand suddenly cracked across my butt.

“Words.”

“Please touch me, Papa,” I whispered.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, but his hand moved around my backside, sliding back inside, into-

“You wanted me to stretch your ass again, sì?” he purred, “You didn’t say what you wanted, so I had to guess.”

“N-n-” I tried to protest, but he silenced me with his mouth, filling every hole with a part of him. The boniness of his knuckles had somehow increased, and there was a distinct swell and taper to the shape of his fingers as they worked into me.

It still felt as though he would tear me open, but his fingers kept me distracted, kept me clenching tight as I slowly took more and more of him inside me. I’d always assumed it would feel smooth, that human anatomy was meant to fit easily together, but instead I felt all the odd bumps and ridges, and the strange bulging parts that seemed designed to tease.

“Y-you…” I whimpered softly and tried to collect my thoughts, “you’re…this isn’t- it’s not...normal...is it?”

His breath was hot against my neck, “Normal to me, sweetness.”

“But this-”

He flexed inside me, drawing out a cry of pleasure and interrupting me. “It’s better than anything you’ll get from a human,” he breathed, “You’ll compare every cock to mine for the rest of your life.”

He firmly pushed me down to take all of him, filling me completely and ignoring my pained gasp. "Go on," he said, nudging my hips encouragingly. I started sliding up and down the thick, pulsating shaft on my own, trembling with a mix of pleasure and torment. When he pushed another finger into my ass I moaned loudly, almost rutting against him like an animal, and he smiled and said, "Good girl," before twisting his tongue into my mouth again. 

His arm went around me as he moved me onto my back, then my legs were pinned against my chest before he snapped his hips forward. He seemed further away, as though his arms had lengthened, the physical form he inhabited not quite bound to the rules of reality. The way his cock moved inside me had to be proof of that. It felt like...like a giant tongue undulating and pressing every foreign bulge into the spot it was needed most, like the coaxing, come-hither motion of his hands when he’d wrung those orgasms from me. It felt...alive.

I looked away, casting my head to the side, still trying to pretend this was merely something I was enduring and not the greatest pleasure I'd ever known, greater than the sum of the entire rest of my life. The room brightened as the moon emerged from the clouds, and something caught my eye. Something red on the nightstand, something like-

My eyes widened. A jewel.

Perpetua slowed, his voice honey-sweet as he asked, “Something wrong? You looking at this?” He reached over and grabbed it, letting the chain dangle in the dim light. Two large red jewels hung next to the heavy black cross.

Frater’s-

The heat behind my eyes was almost unbearable, and tears spilled over my cheeks as he brought it near. I choked back his name, desperately cursing the warmth of my memories and the feel of the thing that he called a brother inside me.

“Since you didn’t get to save your body for him, I figured his bed was the next best thing,” he purred in my ear, thrusting deep into me and wrenching another tortured moan from me. “Next time he sleeps here it’ll be under blankets covered in us,” he pressed the cold chain to my cheek, then gripped it with both hands, pushing it across my neck.

“Maybe I’ll keep you here until he gets back from his little trip, hmm?” his voice dropped to almost a growl, taunting me. “Just long enough for him to see you drunk on my cum and begging for me to fuck you to death.”

The world blurred around me as I sucked in a thin, struggling breath. He laughed at me and started pressing it down across my throat with every thrust.

“Feel good, hmm? You get nice and tight every time.” His tongue slithered across my face and down to my neck, leaving a hot, tingling trail in its wake. His teeth raked across my neck, feeling different, somehow, from before. “And when I mentioned old Cardi seeing you like this, your cunt tightened like a vise,” he said, “That turn you on, dolce? Imagining your precious Papa watching you enjoy my cock so much?”

It came to me like a vision: me, sitting on Papa Perpetua’s lap, filled with cock and fingers and tongue, wantonly moaning for more, and then Frater’s eyes wide with shock. Crying out in dismay, completely distraught that one of his flock could betray him like this. That someone he’d cared about could enjoy watching his warm, beautiful eyes fill with tears. My cunt clamped down hard, instantly jolting me closer to another orgasm.

“F-fuck,” I choked out. He stopped moving, his lower body flush with mine, and just looked down at me as a wicked smile crept across his face.

“Shocking language, sweetheart,” he grinned, and even as he looked perfectly still, I could feel it inside me. Throbbing, swelling, probing, in search of every nerve capable of pleasure. “Not even fucking you and your sweet little cunt is going nuts,” he laughed. “You want your Papa to make you feel even better?” he finally let go his grip on the chain, allowing me to breathe in shuddering, disoriented breaths. He stroked my cheek almost tenderly as he locked his eyes on mine, a mocking smile splitting his face and showing his teeth. I hadn’t imagined that at least —his teeth were different. Sharper and longer. Made for tearing.

“Tell me you want it,” he said. His eyes bored into mine, and in the dim light I saw his pupil —the left one— warp and change shape. I whimpered in fear and he blinked that eye closed as though it was irritated, and when it opened again it had changed completely. A horizontal slit like a goat’s, but not holding its shape steadily, shifting in mesmerizing patterns and taking on colors humans aren’t meant to see.

“You want it,” his voice rumbled low as a thunderstorm, morphing into something deeper and truly foreign. His cock pulsed inside me, flexing hard, and he let out a shivering, impatient breath, biting at his lip with the fangs he apparently hid from his Congregation.

“I-I want it,” I whispered, stricken, devastated, and terrified, but no longer able to deny that he felt good, that him just waiting inside me, filling me and stretching me, had my cunt clenching and aching. He grinned, and for a brief moment I thought I saw something like smoke come from that unsettling eye, something that traced through the light and vanished before it could be properly seen.

“I want it,” I repeated, starting to whine as I lost myself in his eyes and the sensation of his unnatural body around me. The grucifix —Frater’s grucifix— slipped across the bedding, the heavy chain clinking dully as it sank into a crevice between my body and the bed. He flashed me a toothy grin.

“As you wish, dolcezza.”

It was almost torturous, the first time he pulled nearly all the way out, like all the ridges on his cock were only intended for causing pleasure on their way in. It felt like it should hurt, but each time he thrust back inside it felt better, especially since he started doing it harder and harder.

“Satanas, but you are sweet,” he breathed. “You sound so innocent now, but you’re gonna be nice and broken in by the time I’m done with you. Gonna have you begging for it, dolcezza.” His rhythm changed from slow withdrawal followed by a hard, swift insertion, to pure aggression.

My cries became just as frenzied and primal as his; he was raggedly breathing into my neck and biting down hard enough that I felt skin break, but fucked hard enough that I didn’t care. I felt his tongue slithering across my skin, unnaturally long and dexterous, slipping through my blood and making him sizzle with pleasure at the taste of my life. He buried his face at the joining of my neck and shoulder, long arms holding me in a crushing embrace as he snarled into my neck like a hellbeast and slammed his cock into me so hard that I screamed.

He grunted, hissed something in a language no human tongue could form, and then I felt him spilling inside me, blazing hot and thick. He kept fucking it into me, filling me until I could feel it oozing out around him with every thrust. It felt like fire inside me —not burning or painful, but warm and vital, just as bright as it had tasted on my tongue.

My cunt was coated in his seed, and already I was aching for more. My hips started moving on their own, trying to move him in and out.

“Aren’t you lucky, getting fucked full of your Papa’s cum,” he said, his voice distant enough that I didn’t mind the mocking tone, “Your siblings can only dream of being so favored by the Dark Lord, sweetness.” His tongue slid across my neck again, and he started to say something when I interrupted.

“M-more,” I said, desperately. He grinned at me.

“More, please, more…”

“More what?” he smirked.

“More...more cock,” I whimpered, “more- fuck me more, please, Papa, more cock, I want more of your cock, I need more of your cum, Papa, f-fill me again.” I moaned from the bottom of my very soul when he started moving his cock in and out again. Something was being pulled out from under me; the forgotten grucifix.

He didn’t even have to ask. I opened my mouth and offered my tongue as soon as he brought it close. The metal had been warmed by my body already, and I didn’t even mind the chains rasping across my swollen lips —not when Papa stuffed every inch of his cock into me. He slid the long end of the grucifix into my mouth, in and out a few times, then left me sucking on it.

“Serving your Papa feels good, hm?” he purred, laughing when I could only nod and moan for all the sin on my tongue. “I might keep you, dolcezza. Keep you in my room and pump your holes full of cum every day, would you like that?” I moaned something like a yes; words, thoughts, and anything that wasn’t his thick, hard cock pounding my cunt were swiftly fading from importance.

“You want to be my whore?” he breathed, “I think you’d serve me well.” When I tried to talk around the grucifix he pulled it from my mouth with a smile.

“M-make me your whore,” I moaned, “make me- anything, Papa, just fuck me more, fuck, I-” He grunted again, and my eyes snapped open feeling him empty into me again. I cried out at the nearly orgasmic sensation that washed over me.

“Papa, Papa,” I whimpered, “Please-”

“More, sweetness?”

“More,” I pleaded.

“Are you sure? You wouldn’t rather wait for my brother?” he sounded utterly delighted when I practically wailed with need. “If I told Cardi what a good, devoted whore you were for your Papa, he-”

“More, please,” I was almost sobbing as waves of pleasure radiated from my cunt, racing through my whole body, “Your cock feels so good, Papa, please, fuck me, fuck me again, please, give me more of your cum, please-” He finally cut off my babbling with his lips, moving his hips a little more slowly and letting me feel every inch of him rippling through me. With every slow, deep thrust I felt more of his cum oozing out of me as I was fucked to overflowing, but that was okay.

He would give me as much as I wanted.

The time spent in the clinic was all foggy, but there was plenty of pain over the following days for me to remember. More just overwhelming soreness and aches than actual pain, though the bite in my shoulder had ended up needing stitches.

The same elder sibling who’d been in the basilica that night had tended to me. They had a bandage covering most of their forearm, and neither of us asked the other any questions. We barely spoke at all. They saw the bites scattered across the rest of my skin, the sides of my body almost uniformly purple from waist to thigh, the bruises covering most of the rest of me, and that spoke for us.

I was taken off the chore roster for two weeks to recover. Just as well; I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see Papa Primo ever again.

I did see Papa Perpetua, just once. Ten days after I was released from the clinic, we passed one another in the hallways —him flanked by an intimidating pair of Ghouls, me by myself— and he winked at me. His eye had changed again for a moment; just the briefest flash of his hellish nature, more than enough to send fire racing across my skin and into my blood.

I ducked into an empty lecture hall, clutching my pounding heart with a clammy, shaking hand. My back practically slammed against the door in my haste to close myself in, my hands flying to pull up my habit, wincing when I slid my hand into my underwear. I was soaking wet, clit swollen and pulsing, and I vaguely felt my nails digging into my cheek as I tried to stifle my moans. I ignored the pain. Even as my body ached because of him, it still ached for him even more.

Even in my sleep he was there: haunting me, taunting me, giving me no rest and no dreams of anything but him. Even when I didn't remember the dreams I still woke up to soaked underwear and a throbbing cunt every morning. 

I hunched over, whimpering as I drove my fingers inside myself, frustrated at the lack of size and dexterity, yearning for more. The feeling of fullness hadn’t left my mind any more than he had, and even when I focused solely on my clit it wasn’t enough to make me unaware of how empty I felt.

I had gone back through the materials from the Ministry's sex ed course, finally daring to look at all the illustrations and pictures I'd shamefully averted my gaze from the first time. I didn't have to study the diagrams of the human penis to know that wasn't what I had experienced —though I still did stare, if only for comparison. The thing on the page and the thing that had been inside me had no commonality beyond being intended for penetration. 

Even cowering shamefully with my back against the door, I made myself cum quickly. I wasn't any better at it —not much, anyway, but the taut arousal that gripped me made it easier. My legs shook so badly that I almost swayed off my feet, but I managed to stay upright, only dropping my habit toward the floor. I straightened my veil and stepped back into the hallway, half-expecting him to be waiting for me with his wicked smile. 

If he held out his hand to me again, was I so wretched that I'd take it? 

For the sake of my savior I'd given myself to a devil, and I'd liked it. 

The chair was hard, digging into the back of my legs. I'd been waiting for at least twenty minutes and still heard nothing behind the door. I looked again at the envelope I'd been given, vainly hoping that this time I'd be able to see through it and divine what my future held.

"Sorella? You can go in."

I mumbled my thanks and tried to stand tall, stand up straight as I stopped in front of his desk and handed the envelope over. 

The bruises were almost gone, but the memories remained fresh. I still woke up needing release every morning, and every little thing seemed to make me remember anew. 

This time it was the breeze.

Papa Perpetua had had me on my stomach again, using my ass again. The skin on my front was sticky from one of the times he’d fucked my tits and cum over my chest and face, sticky enough that the blanket would occasionally catch. Even with how good he felt, exhaustion had set in. I'd lost count of how many times he'd made me cum, but I was starting to hurt all over.

The obscenity that lived on his tongue and in his cum —the aphrodisiac seemingly exuded from his very pores, trapping me in a clouded, lustful place— simply couldn't compete any longer with the ache that had settled head to toe over my body. Even though every touch and every taste lifted me a little further from my body, even though it briefly pulled me from reality every time, into a dream where everything was sheer ecstasy, I could never quite float completely away from the weariness.

My eyes had been dropping shut in spite of him continuing to pound into me, and when I jolted back to fully awake, my eyes had landed on the closet door. One of Frater's suit jackets was hanging there, and for some reason, even though I could barely remember his face at that moment, my eyes had filled with tears.

I didn't quite think this through, Papa, I'd dimly thought. I'm sorry.

Perpetua had yanked my head back by my hair. “I’m the one making you cum, you little cunt, and you’re still thinking about him?” 

He'd hissed and reached past me, grabbing one of the neatly tucked-in pillows and bringing it closer. “Here. Maybe that shit he puts in his hair rubbed off on this.”

He had shoved me down to the bed and pushed my face into the pillow. Even as I thrashed for air it had come through: the smell of his pomade had caught there. Tears flooded the space between my eyelids and the pillow, dampening the world around me, the aroma filling my nostrils every time he slammed his cock into me. The same scent that the open window wafted to my nose now. 

Every breath was him. 

A voice pulled me back to the present, low and almost monotone.

"You are to be my new assistant.”

As he read the letter I tried to keep myself here by looking at his eyes, both their colors beautifully standing out against the black paint. The same eyes as Papa Perpetua; so much lovelier for their lack of malice. The paint surrounding them and on his lip was more neatly done than I'd seen in months. 

He ran his gloved fingers through his hair and muttered something. He had been mostly blond that day when he first cradled my cheek, now gone over more to gray. His gaze had a tendency to slide over and past people nowadays, as though he were simply moving through a different world than everyone else, but he looked in my eyes now. 

"My brother-" he couldn't hide the bitterness in his voice —and I don’t know that he bothered to try, "says here that you are a very devoted follower."

"Yes, Frater," I managed to say. When I'd knelt in front of him a year ago I'd nearly forgotten how to breathe, and it seemed that would be a continuing struggle in his presence.

All my life had been spent in service of the whims of cruel men. Men with no doubt of their place in the world, whose confidence had swept my own needs to the side in service of God —A God whose will only they knew, of course. I didn't know how to live without being led; my entire existence one of servitude, the very idea of wanting something for myself utterly foreign. I'd come here, come to him because I didn't want that anymore. That didn't mean I knew how to move forward on my own, though. I knew I needed to forge a new path, but had no idea how to do so.

Papa Perpetua had shown me one path: a path shadowed and profane, yes, but befitting the Dark Lord. The heat blooming between my legs at the mere thought easily proved its allure. Temptation was sacred here, giving in more so; denying the self only worthwhile if delaying a pleasure was the best way to enjoy it. Maybe that path would stay open and maybe not, but right now I didn’t see time spent here as a delay, nor a denial of the self.

His gaze drifted out the window for a moment. My heart ached looking at him; so blank and carved out.

Someday in the future I could manage by myself. Someday I would be done with following, with service, with docile obedience in the face of authority. I could live a life free of servile submission. But right now, looking at the man who had changed the course of my soul...

When he met my eyes again, there was a flicker of recognition. He didn't smile, but there was a tiny twitch in his cheek, as though he wanted to but had forgotten how. 

"I converted you," he softly said, his voice a little hoarse, more than a little detached. "I welcomed you for catechesis."

"You did, Frater." 

After a moment, he looked back down to the letter and cleared his throat.

"I remember you."

There was nothing inherently wrong with being led, especially if the path took you out into the light. I would follow him. Happily.

Thank you for reading💚💜

Another big thank you to my proofreaders 💜

A thousand Shakespeares working at a thousand typwriters would fail to capture but a fraction of the beauty of your souls.

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As usual, I'd love to hear if you jorked it :]

Italian:

Dolce/dolcezza: Sweet/Sweetness.