La Chair Tendre

The cool night breeze blew across her face, carrying the scent of the fields that it crossed before alighting upon her. She could smell the end of the day, hours old, and she licked at it eagerly. It filled her mouth, made passionate love to her tongue, and passed without resistance into her parched lungs. As it lapped against the shores of her lips, she smiled and closed her eyes again. It was good to breathe the night freely. It was delicious to taste the open sky once again.  Aurore lost herself in the moment, blissfully giving herself to the very darkness. There was nothing sweeter in the entirety of existence than the dark sky above, and the crisp air below.  She spun slowly on the balcony, the darkness illuminated only by the very stars, while her dress fluttered ever so delicately in the motion, her hands wide and far from her shoulders. The view was of the rolling countryside, as line of trees far off in the distance, and farther still the scent of a city bustling and burgeoning with chaos.

Then she stopped. Like a clockwork ballerina, her motion ended immediately and totally barring the remaining fluttering of her dress. The breeze followed in suit and she smiled again. "Va-t'en, créature. Je ne suis pas ici pour vous tout de suite."

"No. Y'aren't. But yeh' are still beautiful. An' yeh' are still mine."

"Le vôtre, je peux être. Mais pas maintenant. Laissez-moi respirer, diriez-vous?"

"Aye. For now."

She danced again, her feet seemingly not touching the stonework beneath them. She merrily skipped and threw her arms this way and that, moving to some unheard music. She spun and shook. She turned her arms into brushes and painted her very soul upon the dark air all around. She was alive with energy and she meant to rid herself of it all before letting the supple leather touch her porcelain skin again. Angus watched. He loved to see Aurore dance. He gave her space and time, and enjoyed gazing upon her frivolity from his vantage point just beyond the visible world. He loved her as he had the rest, but he was realistic about the extent of her commitment. She was here to taste power, nothing more. She was here to be commanded, as so many others had been before her, and as so many more would after her body failed.

Angus watched patiently, lovingly. He let the city beyond the trees linger only briefly in his mind before he cast it away, a spent child to be put into bed and commanded to sleep. He could hear all of the thoughts in that city as a constant stream, so many cattle to be taken, but he chose to be here, watching this body dance the night away. And dance she did. To and fro, here and there, up and down Aurore flew. She flailed and shuddered, There was a sinuous elegance to her, one that any mortal would lust after, one that might cost a mortal his life.


Aurore stopped at last, and turned to the hidden Angus. She panted, her body damp with sweat, and smiled, bowing her head. "Mon Maître, je suis prêt à être le vôtre."

Angus faded into this world, muscled and powerful, and returned her smile. "A'course y'are"

...

She felt everything change, and she knew it was time. In less than a breath, she was clean, scented, and standing in a tomb again. Angus stood silently and let his eyes take her in, capturing her, and making her feel as though she was the universe itself. He cocked his head slightly, gave no indication of emotion, and leaned forward into her air, breathing her in as a cat might expose it's Jacobson's organ to something unfamiliar. He inhaled a long breath, letting the delicate fragrances mingle inside of his body, exposing all of Aurore's flesh to his heightened senses. She was a flower, ready to be picked from the field and placed upon the table, her beauty immediate, but her moment fading. Angus delighted in her rebellious nature, he adored her independent attitude, and he allowed her these trespasses against her Master.  And he was, in the truest sense of the word, her Master. He made her what she was, and he commanded her as he wished. It was this way so many times before, and it would be again...

Her arms were raised and outstretched, the black leather tightly fastened to her wrists with gleaming chrome buckles. The straps extended into the darkness, as though they were not necessarily attached to anything other than the darkness itself. Her legs were bound together, another length of jet black strapping wrapped thrice around her ankles and extended into the floor beneath her glorious, naked form. Angus smiled from the shadows and measured her symmetry with a critical eye. There was beauty here, far beyond the woman suspended from the leather. Aurore licked her lips and he knew her eyes were closed behind the black silk that covered them. She welcomed this more than any other ever had, and this excited the Vampire as little else did.

Power flowed from his fingertips and he whipped them through the air in anticipation of the pleasures that awaited his Servant. "Mon maître, le plaisir ma chair avec vos caprices. Faire la douleur exquise et éternelle."

"Oh, tha'at I will, love" he replied as a thick black grip materialized in his closed hand. Tendrils of heavy leather, each tipped with a wide, flat spade, bore from the grip and quivered under his desire. He walked about her, circling and watching for motion of any kind. Aurore remained perfectly still, even as he dragged the flail across the stone loudly. He came to rest on her left side, faced her obliquely, then raised the flail and brought it down across her thigh as lightly as a dragon landing upon an archer. She screamed loudly, her flesh erupting into great red welts. Blood welled up against the skin and erupted through the exposed capillaries as though her body was weeping in pleasure, thankful for the blessing of pain. Angus moved to her right, changed hands, and mirrored the dispensation of punishment upon her other thigh. Again her body wept in delight.
"Merci, Maître. Mon corps est vivant avec les cadeaux que vous offrez. J'ai envie de plus, si vous êtes aimable et courtois." she muttered through quivering lips. Her breasts were flush with excitement and her quim began to throb visibly. She licked her lips again and lay her head back, and tightened her hands around the straps.
"Amazing." Angus thought to himself.
"Pas plus étonnant que celui qui a fait de moi, Maître" she replied silently to him.
Angus was thrilled.

He moved behind her, raised the flail, and delivered her flesh stroke after stroke of delight. Her back was painted in streaks of scarlet, and she writhed with pleasure with every kiss of the flail. She became more aroused as he went on, reaching orgasm after orgasm that racked her body. Her thighs glistened with her juices, and her sweat, and her blood, while tears of ecstasy flowed down her face. She was trembling and moaning erotically until she finally cried out "Maître, vous m'avez plu au-delà de toute attente! Ma chair ne peut pas supporter la joie de ce genre. Je vous en prie, laissez-moi votre gloire pour toujours."

Angus turned away, his arousal apparent. He bowed his head and she fell from the vanishing leather into a heap. His embrace was sudden and violent, yet loving. This was his crowning achievement. He had made this woman into his servant, and soon she would be aching to be out there, alone in the night, wanting to hunt for herself. She would want to find mortal flesh to pleasure, and to seduce. She would be free, yet ever his servant. She embraced her Master in return, and kissed him deeply. She ran her hands up his body, and down to that place where her fingertips could pull the seed from his lust. She stroked him, and nuzzled his throat, all the while letting her hands find a rhythm he would respond to. Angus allowed this, and took pleasure in his servant's efforts. He felt his own climax coming, and bared her neck to his mouth. As he erupted into her hands, and onto her wounded wrists, she pulled furiously at his flesh, tugging and stroking hungrily. He sank his fangs into her, and tasted her with that ancient ache. Her motion trailed off, and Angus pulled away. She licked his essence from her hands and bloody wrists, savoring the creature. He lifted her, turned her, and admired this beauty.

She smiled as the moved away, glancing over her shoulder. Angus nodded lightly, and quietly said "Mine"

She returned the nod and replied, "Bien à vous, Maître. Bien à toi."

Son Cœur Solitaire

Philip was alone again. He wiped the windows one last time, dropping the rag into the bucket and weaving through the office space to the janitor's cart. The office was dark, but the glow of the city warmed the space near the windows, enticing him back to the view. He stood, looking down at the city below. It really was beautiful. He pushed his forehead against the freshly-cleaned windows and imagined falling through the skyline, the neon vapors caressing him, cladding his nude form in glitter before splashing into the pools of reflected sky. He sighed, pulled back, and went to grab the rag.

He finished cleaning the space,  locked the door behind him, and opened the next office. That office. He saved this one for last every night, savoring the torture that tugged on his weary heart. Philip opened the door, pushing the cart inside. His heart skipped. The view outside was completely obstructed by the adjacent building, the dark windows.held a secret. They held the key to a man's heart. Philip closed the distance to the windows with the surety of a cat. He waited, checking his watch. Almost time. He watched the second hand sweep towards the 12, could almost feel the minute hand begin to move, and he held his breath.

Light.

A deep amber light.

Followed by the shadow against the window directly across the street. The silhouette of something beautiful, wrapped in the glow from behind.

Philip breathed out ever so slowly.

There he was.

And the game began. He could see the shadow turn, adjust the light somewhat, perhaps moving a shade or turning a gel of some kind. No matter what it was, Philip never could figure it out, the light dimmed some, and changed color slightly, brightening to something a bit closer to the early morning glow of the sun against the dark sky.

Philip's heart hammered in his chest. The form across the street was visible in the shadow, he could see the elegant style of the man. He was so very beautiful. Philip traced his form with his finger, imagining the feel of the man's skin. He was in love with a total stranger. He was completely taken with a man he had never actually met, knew nothing about except what he could see through the window, and didn't even know what his voice sounded like.

But Philip loved this stranger so.

He first saw him by mistake, he'd dropped the duster he was using and knelt down to get it, his eye catching the shadow in the window a few floors below. Philip worked hard to get other floors over the next months, lower ones. It was hard to arrange, but he pressed on. Every night, he would run to the window exactly at midnight. And there he was, in his glory. The love of Philip's life.  The love he never knew.  Eventually, Philip got the right floors, and the right offices, and the right schedule. When he got transferred to days for a few weeks, Philip thought that his heart was broken forever, that the stranger would move away or change schedules. He was terrified that he would never see that form again. And when he finally got his shift back, and ran to the window that first night back, his heart flew. When that form paused, and Philip could see that smile as those strong hands slid up and began to unbutton that crisp shirt, he thought his heart was going to stop right there. When those hands paused, and didn't move again until Philip himself mimicked the motion, well... it was the most powerful love anywhere.  Philip knew that it didn't matter if he never again loved anyone else. He knew this love, and that was enough.

Years passed. The game remained the same. And Philip's love never seemed to age, even though Philip had grayed some in the past years his love had not. They played, stripping slowly in front of each other across the street, each taking a turn, each relishing the moment when skin was revealed. Eventually, they were naked to each other, and Philip could feel those eyes gazing upon him, feasting on his skin. He was careful to always be in shape, but not too muscled... just enough tone to be beautiful in the mirror. His love was the model of a man, Roman sculpture framed in passion. Like no other on this Earth. And every night they bared themselves again and again. Month after month Philip waited and hoped and pleaded with the gods for an invitation, for  a beckoning, fuck, even just a lifted eyebrow. But it never came. The shape across the street would eventually turn away, glancing one last time before shutting off the light. Philip pondered what must be happening over there. He saw the imaginary wife calling from the bedroom for her man. The secret love they shared was unknown to her, and she would take him with lust and desire. He would carry his fevered passion to the bedroom and take it out on her flesh, all those hidden needs. Philip wondered if his love saw his face on his wife, wondered if that man would one day finally want him so much that it would overcome the need to save face with his society. Philip wanted him so badly, and he knew that his love must feel the same way. It was the only explanation.

Years of this and Philip never wavered in his devotion to the game, and was never disappointed, but never was his need for contact with this god fulfilled. Philips's heart was so achingly empty during the daylight, and only when the sun set did the hole begin to fill as anticipation made the pain bearable.  He dreamed of his lover calling him with a waving hand, saw them meeting in the lobby of the building. He could smell the wondrous scent and taste the succulent lips of this man he loved for so long. He had waited so very long. And in his dream, Philip and his lover stepped into the elevator, tension building as the floors swept past. There was the outside of the door his love walked through every night, there was the window they watched each other through. And then he was wrapped up in those strong arms, kisses drowning kisses, heat and desire and love making the wait worth every minute. He saw them making sweet love to each other through the night. All through the dream Philip wept with ache, and a love he might never know for real. Their bodies swayed against the sheets, and for the first time in his life, Philip was full with life and love. The dream continued on for eternity, their days filled with tenderness and cute reminders of what was. He saw his lover greeting him at the office when Philip brought him lunch, made just the way he liked it. He saw the flowers that his lover would have delivered to the offices where he worked.

It was everything he ever wanted.

Philip woke, tears streaming down his face. Reminders of what could be. Night after night, Philip resolved to go over there and simply knock on that door and profess his love. Night after night, he simply felt happy to play the game.

...

Philip was older now, so much older than he ever thought he could feel.  His muscles softer, his skin wrinkled and toneless. To the office workers who stayed too late, he was that old fag who cleaned the place. They left him alone, mostly, which was a godsend for Philip. His heart never stopped reaching out towards the window across the street.

But this night, Christmas Eve, Philip was very tired. He made his way towards the windows as his watch wound towards midnight. He stood with his head against the glass and felt his chest tighten as the hands crept slower than ever.  He placed his hand on his chest, ready to unbutton his shirt once again. The pain bloomed and spread, his breath hitched, and Philip knew this would be his last night at the game. His watch snapped midnight, but the light didn't come on. Tears, burning with a lifetime of loneliness poured down his face. The night he dies, he wouldn't see his love's face.

"You will see me, Philip" said a thick Scottish accent from just behind the dying man. "I'm here"
He turned around,  the pain in his chest now a train crushing him down. "You... I love you"

"I know. And I love you."  The man leaned in and put his forehead against Philip's. "And I, you"

With three words, Philip knew he'd lived a fuller life of wanting than he ever could have a life of having. "I waited. What is your name? I want to know your name before I die" His chest was heavy, but through all of it, he could smell cloves on this beautiful man.  His love smiled at him as the world grew gray and close. His love leaned in and pressed his lips on Philip's own, his breath sweet and luxurious. They kissed, for longer than seemed possible. A lifetime of aching washed away with one kiss.

"My name is Angus MacRae. I will remember you and your beautiful heart, Philip"

Philip could taste the kiss on him.

Angus held him close as he passed. "I'll remember you always"  He kissed this kind, sweet man again, feeling his weight change in his arms.  Close to an ear that stopped hearing, Angus whispered...


"Mine."