The Nightlife: Paris (The Nightlife Series)

by Travis Luedke

  “Help me …” I could barely speak in a whisper, my throat so dry.

  Julian struck in a blur, wicked sharp claws slashing out. The rifle flew across the room as a glorious arc of arterial flow sprayed my face from the man’s sliced throat. It tasted heavenly. I greedily licked it off my lips, moaning for more. I was wide awake now.

  The scent and taste of his blood sang through my senses, birthing a powerful ache. My mouth filled with sharp teeth, ready to sink into meaty flesh. I needed that blood so badly. Nothing mattered, but his blood. Julian gave me exactly what I needed. He held the man within reach and I hunched up off the table to sink my teeth into all that moist juicy meat in his neck. I would have stayed there, locked on, slurping down his wondrous flavor endlessly, but Julian wrenched him from my grasp. I held onto a tender morsel of his throat, sucking it clean of every last drop before spitting out the useless flesh.

  “Give me more!” I growled in a voice I had never heard uttered from my own lips.

  “That is enough.”

  I thrashed and snarled, pulling against the spikes in my hands and feet, tearing my own flesh in my struggle to be free. I could smell that sumptuous, mouthwatering blood pouring out onto the floor.

  “Be still, or I will get the whip.”

  I stilled instantly, exercising all my will power to keep from struggling.

  “Ah, good girl. You are learning.” He slid his hand up my leg and then sniffed his fingers. “He was right. You stink.” He shook his head. “Wait here.”

  As if I was going anywhere.

  He returned with a pan of water and a wash rag, and methodically washed the caked blood from my body. I watched him silently, marveling at this strange creature, wondering what he had done to me. The whip marks that had lacerated my flesh disappeared as the grime washed away under his careful hand. I had flawless skin once again, apart from my hands and feet pinned by the wicked spikes.

  The bastard stared at me with a hint of smile as he cleaned me thoroughly between the legs. I knew what he planned. It seemed I knew his thoughts. He planned to have a little more fun. His cock had grown stiff just from washing me.

  “I will not fight you. I know my place. I will never fight you.” I knew it wouldn’t change his plans, but it’s what he wanted to hear.

  He started washing my neck, shoulders, and my face. His arm was so close and warm as he caressed my cheeks with the washcloth. The heat of all that blood-soaked flesh called to me. I could see the veins in his wrist as he wiped my forehead. All that blood, an inch away, right under the skin. I couldn’t stop myself. I bit him hard in the wrist.

  “Merde!”

  Once the blood hit my mouth I couldn’t let go. I would gladly lay pegged to the table if I could siphon this wondrous elixir from his wrist non-stop. He tried to pull his arm away, I wouldn’t let him. It was too good to stop. With a grunt of supreme effort I ripped my right hand loose of the spike, the agony overshadowed by the wonders of his blood.

  I held his hand to me in a death grip, sucking every last drop I could. Julian cursed and yanked on his arm, but I would never let go. He finally did the one thing I couldn’t fight, he commanded me to release him. Against my will, against a desire so intense it drove me mad, I let go.

  He staggered back, breathing heavy. He looked dazed, confused, a lazy half-smile of contentment on his face. “A la vache! I did not think of that!” He smiled at me in genuine happiness. Then he looked at his bloody wrist.

  “Do not bite me without permission!” His compulsive order created a neat little block on my desires. But he wasn’t angry.

  “Oui, Maître.” Yes, Master.

  With a faraway look in his eye, he wrapped his wrist in cloth and tied it off. Then he began to remove his clothes. I knew he would take me again, but I didn’t care. I wanted him near me, for another chance at all that wonderful syrup under the surface of his skin.

  Atop me, his eyes gleaming with wicked anticipation, he reiterated his order. “Do not bite me. Yet.” That one word held so much promise, I actually smiled at the bastard.

  I tracked his every move as he planted his cock, doing his worst. It hurt, but not nearly as much as my spiked limbs. I endured and waited for the chance to bite him. That one hope held me firm as he hurt me.

  The moment came, none too soon. “Bite me now!” He bellowed the command at the top of his lungs with his release.

  I reached up with my free hand and pulled him down into a deep bite. It tasted even sweeter from his neck, a much heavier flow. Then he bit me back. The dual sensations of blood high and Julian’s wicked teeth digging in wiped away all pain and discomfort. I no longer felt the searing burn of my spiked limbs. I no longer felt the bleeding hole in my hand clamped around his neck.

  It was simply wonderful. My first orgasm, ever. And it kept going and going, seemingly without end. I began to move with him. I began to enjoy the glorious slide of his monstrous cock inside me. Growling, I ripped my left hand free of the table to embrace him fully.

  My nails dug into his shoulders, neck, and ass as he pumped inside me harder, deeper, and I rose to meet him. He reduced me to a wild thing, moaning and clawing and grunting, pleasure, pain and ecstasy blended together with the wonders of his bite and blood.

  I wanted it to go on forever. I didn’t want to let go, I didn’t want him to let me go, I didn’t want him to stop. But he did. And then he ordered me to stop.

  “S’il vous plait! Maître, again! S’il vous plait.” I begged.

  He smiled as I writhed with need beneath him, snapping my teeth for more. “What to do with you now?”

  I sensed it then, his fear. He feared what he had created.

  “Where has Michelle gone? Is she still in there?” He looked at me sideways, wondering if I had lost my mind.

  “More.” I snapped my jaw, itching to bite him again.

  “Oui. But not tonight. We have time.”

  He backed off, his sated smile turning to a frown. He had conflicting opinions over this development. He was disappointed to have lost the weak Michelle he so enjoyed torturing. My cries made his cock hard. But he had thoroughly enjoyed our little session of biting.

  “It never occurred to me before … my master did not feed from me. He forbid such things …” He walked off mumbling to himself, confused.

  It had never occurred to me either. I never thought his bite could be so wonderful. I had panicked and fought so hard when he first attacked me, I never considered I could enjoy the gift.

  I learned the most important lesson Julian could teach that night. Existing at his deranged whim would be a never-ending nightmare. But maybe, just maybe, the brutality of this life could be tolerable, even enjoyable, as long as there was blood.

  Without being told, without a single word of explanation, I knew I had undergone a change at his hands. He made me the monster that he was, a blood-sucking fiend. I would never ask how or why. To speak out of turn invited pain.

  I suffered my ignorance and all my unanswered questions in silence. But I knew. The undeniable blood thirst returned with a vengeance in mere minutes. My intimate knowledge of its flavor only magnified my insatiable desire for more.

  Julian returned to me and removed the spikes from my feet without a word. I was so grateful for his mercy. I almost crawled to him in obeisance. But then he showed me the chain. His mercy came at a price. He watched me with a gleam in his eye as he attached a steel collar around my neck, a ten foot steel chain on the end of it.

  “If you try to remove the collar …” He nodded towards the table.

  I knew exactly what he meant, and I would never, ever try to remove the collar.

  I nodded. “I will not fight you, Maître. I have learned.”

  He left me in the basement, naked and chained to a steel ring mounted on the concrete wall. I was thankful.

  * * * *

  Chapter 11

  I awoke fully healed. No scars. Not a scratch. Julian’s lesson left its indelible mark on my soul, but
my body had recovered marvelously. This night I discovered how every aspect of my life had turned to hell. Not only was I forced to willingly submit to the rapacious demands of my master, I also had to learn to live under the yoke of the German occupation of my beloved Paris. After another round of punishing sex and the wonders of synchronized bites, I accompanied my master out into the city.

  Everything had changed.

  Signs in German had appeared on every street, swastikas proudly displayed in public areas like a firebrand of ownership on the city. Statues of famous historical figures and French heroes lay in piles of scattered rubble. Mercedes cars and limousines bearing little Nazi flags like party streamers tore past us, driven by chauffeurs with the callous disregard of men who are above reproach. Everywhere there were German men with French women, but not a single able-bodied Frenchman to be seen.

  Julian, thin and gaunt, became an instant anomaly, the only young French male brave enough to be seen publicly. He quickly attracted the attention of the German soldiers.

  “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

  The patrols harangued us with questions. Julian played the submissive, and I remained silent, head down. They sent us on our way, leering at me as they barked at each other in their clipped German.

  I started to notice something strange about the few people walking the streets. They all had a slight haze of color surrounding them. I could see it from a certain angle, if I allowed my vision to defocus. Auras. I was seeing their auras. Everyone had one. Even Julian.

  The German patrols had dark swirls of color, business-like, suspicious, and at times malicious. Those smiling Germans with women on their arms were much lighter in color and spirit. Julian hated them all equally. His aura was darkest of all, almost black.

  I walked all over the city at his side, seemingly for hours. I didn’t understand why, but I sensed his thirst at the edge of our connection. I felt the same endless craving.

  “Remove your coat.” I looked at him with unease. Julian had chosen my attire. Under my coat I wore a white lingerie robe of silk chiffon and lace, and nothing else. It was see-through.

  “Maître?” I held my coat close. I couldn’t imagine why he would require me to take it off out in the street.

  “Now,” he growled, none too happy I questioned him.

  I took it off. I would walk through the streets naked to avoid his wrath.

  His plan became clear when we approached two soldiers languishing on a street corner, smoking cigarettes. “Gentlemen, I would like you to meet the lovely Michelle. She is soft, willing, and very reasonably priced.”

  I stared at him in shock. Julian was the devil incarnate.

  The soldier closest to us moved in to grab my arm with a nod to his companion. “Ja, she is lovely. She comes with us now.” The other soldier pointed his rifle at Julian.

  “Sure!” Julian held his hands up, smiling, innocent. “She is a gift. Follow me, I know a place.”

  He led us to an unlit alley. The soldier on my arm slid his hands all over me, feeling me up, pinching my nipples. The press of his blood-filled hands stirred my thirst. All that juicy flavor just under his skin. As he pulled me along, I nuzzled close, seeking the warmth of his neck.

  “She is friendly!” The soldier smiled at the other, his aura shifting to a spectrum of darker colors.

  I heard it then, in my mind, a cold calculating order of compulsion.

  I looked to Julian, caught his eye, and then I knew. We were hunting, just like in my dreams. My mouth filled with sharp teeth. I felt the itch at my fingertips as my nails extended to wicked sharp talons, ready to grip the waiting flesh. We passed into the obscurity of the alley, but my vision was clear as day.

  “This is a good place.” Julian struck, latching onto the other soldier’s neck like a viper’s attack. I heard bones crunch under Julian’s powerful squeeze.

  The smell of the blood was irresistible. I sank my teeth into my soldier’s neck and wrapped around him in a loving embrace. Surprised and confused, he tried to push me away. Eventually he returned my hug. I loved the feel of his soft, warm arms, the beating pulse of his blood flow hugging me close. And he enjoyed me. His hard cock pressed against my belly as he convulsed in ecstasy. In that moment I loved this warm, blood-filled man, so affectionate and tasty. I would gladly yield my body in exchange for his blood.

  But then I felt his racing heart falter. He shuddered in my grip, crying out as his heart beat skipped staccato fashion. I realized I was killing him. Despite my desire to continue, I let go.

  Julian dropped his soldier to the ground like refuse, a lifeless sack of flesh. The man had died in his embrace. He noticed the soldier cradled in my arms. “What are you doing?”

  I understood then what he wanted of me. “S’il vous plait, Maître!”

  The murderous look on his face struck terror into my heart. He sent me an unmistakable image from his own memory. My bloody, abused body staked out on the table, a whip cracking across my torso.

  I looked to the man in my arms, so young, barely more than a boy. But I had no choice in the matter. I tore his throat out with my teeth and, drained him of every drop of blood. I didn’t want to, and yet I enjoyed every second. Julian had made me a monster.

  I hated myself, my weakness, my fear, my easy submission to his depraved demands. Most of all, I hated that I liked it so much.

  We returned to his townhouse in the early morning. He pointed to the basement stairway. “Strip.”

  Naked again, and back on the collar and chain.

  He took me hard, fast, and painfully, but I began to enjoy his animalistic attentions.

  I hated myself even more for finding pleasure in his touch.

  The next night was more of the same. I submitted to anything and everything he wanted. I relished it more each time, the harsh painful sex, and the killing. By the end of the night I looked forward to being chained in his basement. I knew he would do painful, wicked things to me once the collar was attached, and I wanted him to use and abuse me.

  It became impossible to tell who was more wicked.

  Night flowed into night. Blood, sex, death, and always the collar and chain. First thing after sunset, he visited me in the basement. I would crawl to him and service him with my mouth, giving him all of my body. He could not truly enjoy me without hurting me. I became everything he desired, a willing slave, a vicious killer, an exuberant lover. Michelle de Mornac ceased to exist. I was simply Michelle, property of Julian.

  I lived to serve and please him. I learned fast, mastering all the ways to make him happy. If he wanted something, anything, I did it, without asking, without complaint, painful or not.

  The soldiers were no match for us in ones and twos. Our hunting exploits reduced their numbers nightly. But they soon increased their patrol frequency and began moving in groups of four or more. After that first month hunting with Julian, it became rare to see a German alone at night on the streets.

  One night we encountered a group of five young soldiers. They had been drinking, their stoic discipline abandoned with the liquor. We were nothing to them. Less than human. In those first months of the occupation they had no respect for anyone not German. French women were all whores in their eyes, to be used and discarded.

  They grabbed me. “We take her!”

  One of them pulled my coat off. Julian had dressed me in brilliant sang-du-Christ red – Christ’s blood. The see-through red lace lingerie helped hide the blood.

  The men stared at me, hungry, leering, exchanging glances and nods. Usually we avoided the large patrols, too many people, too many guns. But they quickly decided they would take turns with me. Julian backed off, and the men dragged me over to the nearest alley and stripped me.

  Julian watched begrudgingly. I could sense his conflicting feelings of arousal and hate as the first soldier shoved me against the wall. I would have attacked then, killed the man in an instant, but Julian stopped me with a command spoken in my mind. The soldier
took what he wanted and then stepped back for the next one to have a turn. The second soldier took the time to put on a condom. I could see his concern in his aura. The rumors on the street were that French prostitutes and their venereal diseases had incapacitated more German soldiers than the French Army.

  As the second man had his fun with me, I sensed Julian’s growing blood thirst and hatred. His compulsive hold on me slipped as his desire to kill increased. He wanted to kill them all. He was very possessive of his slave, and didn’t want to share.

  With the release of Julian’s psychic hold, I struck. I dug my claws into the man’s shoulders and tore out his throat. I reveled in a feast of his blood. The soldiers backed away, shouting. One ran, the other three aimed their rifles at me. Julian made his move, slashing through one soldier with his wicked talons. He held the man like a human shield, draining him in the process. The two remaining soldiers trained their guns back and forth between us. Terrified and confused, they seemed too afraid to shoot.

  I finished with mine and tossed him aside to snatch another meal. I made short work of him. The last soldier screamed in German and opened fire on Julian and the soldier in his grasp, blasting them both.

  I took him down a second later. The force of my claws slashing through his neck almost removed his head. Julian cursed, distracting me from my kill. His anger and pain washed over me. I watched as a blood stain spread across his stomach. He’d been shot twice.

  He screamed. “Merde!” I felt his compulsion, his anger tethering me to his will. He wanted to leave immediately, but he could barely walk. “Help me!” His order was inviolable.

  I took his full body-weight on my shoulders, one arm draped over me. We made it home just before sunset. I helped him to his bed, closed the door on him, and raced to the basement to escape the sun. His room and the basement were the only parts of the house completely protected from daylight.

  A crushing blow to the ribs kicked me awake. “You did not wear the collar!” I had passed out on my bed, still in my clothes, sans collar. The sunrise had stolen my ability to function.