by RWK Clark
With a close eye, he continued to watch her as she increased the pressure on his penis in her bare hands. She began to lick slightly, and then began to desperately drink at his manhood, to no avail. He was beginning to tire of this cat and mouse game. Why had she not simply let him master her body, as well as her soul?
He gave a quick jerk of his wrist, and motioned her to leave. It was always good for him to catch this type of weakness right away so he could send her away with the other slaves. Not to mention the fact that her beauty will bring more to his family.
Cyril DeSai let the beautiful young Brazilian student and intern leave effortlessly to the door in full control.
She had certainly not been the one.
Chapter 15
New York City, Two Years Later
It took only two years for him to claim his throne, and the world had indeed become his. The only thing missing was a throne next to his, and a mate to sit in it. This was the only thing that would ever fully satisfy him.
He loved all the sex, and there were times he indulged himself to his heart’s content more than fifteen times a day. On the days when he was feeling the emptiness of his own solitude he had difficulty performing more than four or five times, but because it was a purely physical act for him, and because it was the only thing that truly distracted him, he fed his addiction to the female form as he pleased.
Mostly he would use his women slaves at his whim, and they would cooperate. But when the urge to be rough and cause pain came, he would indulge it fully. At times, especially if they were too new, they would become frightened. While most endured the torture he would bestow on them there were always those who whimpered. Using his mind control he could pre-screen them in a flash more quickly and efficiently, before they even came to him, some he would use to satisfy his blood-hunger to a certain point and send them away.
∞
It was a beautiful starlit evening two years to the day after Candy, Abby, Tim, and Pat had sat in Cyril DeSai’s office receiving their ‘welcome’ and instructions from the Master regarding what they were to do with their ‘lives’ from then on. Now the Master stood in his office tying a long narrow black necktie, without the use of a pesky mirror, of course. He was thinking about that morning in particular, the morning they walked into his life. That was the beginning of the end of mankind as the world knew it. He had been aware of that, even then. Beginning again in a city this size had been the best decision he had ever made. In the past he had chosen small towns due to their lack of knowledge and power, but this had been a smashing success.
Tonight, beneath the stars and spotlights, Cyril DeSai, winemaker from an unknown place, would take his place as ruler in the great American government. Democracy? What democracy?
He was going to be in charge fully. Everything he had ever wanted now belonged to him, and his slaves continued to assimilate themselves into each neighboring society, bringing the new ones to him, and spreading like disease. In another year the world, in its entirety, would belong to him.
He had chosen his ‘date’ for the festivities from the droves of new women who had come to him last week. He had his way with her the night of their first introduction, and he was looking forward to it once again. She had been thrilled with the pain he had inflicted on her, and when he got to know her a bit better afterward he understood why. She had fully enjoyed pain before her change. He would keep her around. Someone like that would always come in handy to him.
Her name was Miranda, and she wore her hair long-and straight, blonde with a layer of black underneath. She enjoyed circling her eyes in deep black, and she wore her makeup very light, almost white. Having this one on his arm on this all-important night would be perfect; her appearance complimented his well, although she wasn’t altogether his taste.
For the first time in his eternity he was growing bored of the search for his queen. The surety he had felt over the years that he would find her soon still nagged at him, but the ache inside of him drove him to push that to the back of his mind. Now he simply lived each day using anyone he could get his hands on. The new ones who came were only used; he stopped being eager in regard to learning their likes, dislikes, and personalities. He found each disappointment surprisingly painful, and he was exhausted with the ache.
He tightened the tie and straightened it before donning a long-tailed formal jacket. It may have been a bit out of the current style, but it suited him wonderfully. Funny, but he had taken notice that his minions had abandoned their traditional love of clothing fads, and they had begun dressing in a manner which was much more similar to his own taste. Mind-control and lust were beautiful things indeed.
Lastly, DeSai took a comb to his long black hair and combed all of it back, catching it in the ponytail he wore down his back. He used a bit of hair dressing to hold it in place before placing an elastic on it to tie it down. He looked… ravishing. He laughed aloud.
A light knock on his office door told him his helicopter would be waiting to transport him to Washington, D.C. and Miranda would be waiting on board for him. He loved how she stared at him constantly, as though her eyes could not soak him up fast enough. She was not the one, but she would definitely do for now.
Ten minutes later he was on the chopper, and they were on their way to the nation’s capital, where Cyril DeSai would take power over the country. From there, he would certainly have the entire planet. He could barely contain himself.
They climbed from the chopper to be greeted by screams and great cheers. While most of the hundreds in attendance, as well as the observers, were his own, there were literally thousands, both in person and watching television, who had yet to join the family. They must not be clued in as to the truth. It was always their learning which caused his detriment, each and every time. He had come way too far now. He would not let it happen again. He would be patient, very patient.
Miranda was lovely this night. She wore a silk jersey dress with a belt which knotted to the side. On her somewhat large feet she wore spiked black satin heels, and her make-up was perfect. Every man who saw her followed her with his eyes, both slaves and the living alike. This did not bother Cyril in the slightest. He would have her this night, just as he would any night he desired. They could have her on the other nights. She meant nothing to him. She was only… meat.
The ceremony which recognized the winemaker also served to ‘swear him in’. This entertained him. What was he swearing to, exactly? Ah, yes. He was swearing to run the show for all time. He could hardly wait for all the hubbub to die down, for the cameras to stop their flashing and the interviewers to disappear, but they would be following him for the duration of the night. They need to get their fill of him and put him in their pages and on the TV screens. Patience, President DeSai, your time has not yet come in full.
Now the celebration began, an overwhelming party with thousands of his slaves in attendance, while others roamed the earth to continue the ‘good work’. He and Miranda took their seats, his being the seat of honor. It was official now: Cyril DeSai had finally come to a level of power he had only dreamed about.
As he sat and the festivities went on around him he smiled to himself and thought about when all of this had truly begun. Oh, the struggles he had been through to get to this point. The times he had thought his number was up, but he had made it for hundreds of years now.
1642 France
He let himself remember… France,
“Cyril, one of the men is outside. He says they need you in the vineyard. Problems with some of our grapes.” Cecile, his dear wife, smiled as she stood in the doorway of their home, her long blonde hair flowing out behind her as the wind played with it.
He could not help but smile back; even now he could hear the sound of the children playing outside behind her, and all was perfect in his world. He loved to have his midday meal at home every day. He loved to see the sunlight in his wife’s hair. In all of his thirty-six years he had never seen another as beautiful as his Cecile.
<
br /> “Do you know what the problem may be?” he asked.
She simply shook her head, the smile still on her glowing face. “No, my darling. It is Marquis, and he simply said that something looks to have gone wrong with an entire row.
The DeSais owned a vast vineyard, and they made the very best wines in all of France. Cyril took great pride in what he produced, and this fact drove him to seek perfection, in all he did. The characteristic had brought him great success, and he was well-loved by the French people. He loved them all in return.
His father had taught him: whatever you do, do it with all your might and heart. Do nothing only part of the way. Cyril had lived by this all his life, and it had paid off in all aspects; not only was he a professional success, he also had the most beautiful wife and children in the region. He had peace in his soul, and his conscience was clear.
He made his way to the vineyard, still smiling as he pondered. Now his mind turned to the problem in the vineyard. Trouble with an entire row? What is Marquis talking about? He had the healthiest crop he had ever had; he was sure the issue was no more than a misunderstanding on the part of his manager; a simple mistake.
He strode to the area with purpose, and found Marquis at the main gate. He was leaning against a side support pole and drinking from a cup.
“Mr. DeSai, I hope your meal satisfied,” said the manager. “Did your wife tell you I have taken notice of a problem with one of the rows further up-field?”
He nodded and gripped the man’s shoulder in greeting. “Indeed. Yes, my meal was delicious, thank you. Let’s walk; you can tell me about it on the way.”
The two men headed into the vineyard with Marquis leading the way. As they strolled, with purpose, Marquis chatted about his own wife Marian, and related to Cyril how their newborn son was doing. After they had walked for about fifteen minutes the manager turned left and abruptly stopped.
“He we are, sir,” he said. “As you can see, the grapes in this entire row have been trampled, but only here, nowhere else.” They began to stroll up the row, and DeSai observed the extent of the damage.
Not only had they been trampled, with hundreds upon hundreds of bunches lying on the ground smashed, but the vines themselves had been broken and torn, literally demolished in many areas.
They reached the end and turned back around and stopped. Cyril stood in silence thinking hard on the confusing dilemma. “What could have done this? It had to have happened during the night, but none of the dogs barked at any time.”
“That’s strange sir, but since you say it, I have not seen the dogs today at all since I arrived.” Now DeSai looked at his employee, and he realized that he had not seen any of the dogs either.
After giving things another look and walking the length of the row once more DeSai spoke. “I want you to take three men and go look for the dogs, then. I will walk to the manor and see about the ones who stay at the house to alert me. How did I not take notice of these things?”
“I will do it right away sir,” replied Marquis, and he began walking towards the vineyard entrance.
DeSai turned back to the row and studied the damage once again. What could have possibly done such harm? It would have taken a single man all night, and he would still not have successfully been able to destroy so many vines. DeSai was at a loss.
Finally, he too strode to the front of the vineyard. He was now sharply aware that he heard no dogs. Their barking was typically ongoing all the time, and the ones who patrolled the vineyard would alert those nearer to the house of any danger. Something was wrong.
By the time he reached the main gate he was told that Marquis had left according to his directive with three other workers, so he made his way to the main house. He was sure he would find all of the dogs playing to the rear of the manor, or perhaps one had gotten ahold of a wild animal and they were all feasting. There was an explanation for their absence, he was sure.
His wife came into view, and as he neared he spoke to her. “Cecile, where are the dogs?”
A look of confusion crossed her face. “The dogs? Why, they are likely out in the field, darling. You just came from there, didn’t you see them?”
“They are not there. What about our manor dogs?”
Now she looked concerned. “I have not seen one…” Her voice drifted off as she tried to remember.
The men cared for the dogs by feeding and herding them as needed. Not one of his men had said a word to him about any missing animals. He felt more confused than ever.
“I have sent Marquis and a few other men to find them. They have likely run off, but an entire row in the vineyard has been completely destroyed, with no logical explanation,” he said. “Had the dogs done the damage it would have been more than a single row.” He was speaking more to himself now than to Cecile.
She replied, “I will search around the manor, dear. You tend to your duties.”
DeSai nodded curtly and headed back to the vineyard. He chose a couple of good men, and the three of them made their way to the damaged row to begin to clean things up. He pushed the concern for the row itself out of his mind. He was a prosperous vintner, and a single row would not break him.
He was concerned about his dogs.
He and his men worked steadily for three hours cleaning up the mess that had been made in the vineyard before Marquis and the other men returned. “Mr. DeSai!”
Cyril turned his attention to the sound of his name, and he saw his manager approaching from about ten rows down. He began to walk towards him, eager to hear what he and the others had found, if anything.
“Give me the news, Marquis!” he hollered as he walked. “Did you find those worthless beasts?” He was smiling, but his smile quickly faded as he took notice of the somber look on the manager’s face. When he reached him Marquis finally spoke.
“Sir, the dogs are on the other side of your property line to the north,” he said.
Now DeSai felt confused once again. “Did you bring them back? I will have to punish them to the fullest…”
“No, sir. We did not bring them back.” Marquis seemed to be struggling to communicate his thoughts.
Now he was getting frustrated with his manager. “Why did you not gather them and bring them back? We need them here now, as you know full well. I shan’t have this damage done a second night.”
“Sir, the dogs have all been killed.”
DeSai stared at the man incredulously. “Killed?”
“We found them directly on the other side of the property line. They have all been ripped limb from limb; they are barely recognizable. They were in a pile, one atop the others. It makes no sense…” The man’s voice trailed off, and he looked utterly frightened.
Now DeSai was getting angry, and he seemed to be in a bit of shock. “Marquis, I have a total of twenty dogs which I use to guard the vineyard and the manor, and to alert me as to strange goings-on. What are you talking about?” Surely the man was either mistaken or outright lying.
“Mr. DeSai, sir, I just don’t know.”
The anger showed on his face now. “Take me,” he growled, and the manager turned on his heel, DeSai with him, and they made their way to the wagon which would take them to the place where the dogs supposedly were found.
As they rode DeSai considered the situation. If they found dead animals, surely it was some other species. Torn limb from limb? Surely his dogs would have put up a havoc of noise at such an assault! Something was wrong.
They arrived on the property’s north border and alit from the wagon. Marquis led him along the fence line, and they came to a place where a long branch had been placed in the ground to mark the spot. Marquis himself had placed it there. He stopped in his tracks, turned to his master, and then backed away from the fence warily; he said nothing.
Cyril tore his gaze from his manager’s face and stepped up to the fence. He looked over and sucked in his breath sharply. Then he doubled over and lost all that was in his stomach onto the ground.
T
here, on the other side of the fence, were the bloodied bodies of dogs. They were so badly mutilated they could not be counted. Blood and tissue were puddled and piled here and there, and they were barely recognizable.
But they were his dogs indeed.
He stopped his vomiting and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. When he stood Marquis was next to him with a metal cup of water from the wagon. He took it gratefully and rinsed his mouth, spitting the water back on the ground. He was afraid to drink any; he would not be able to hold it down, he knew.
“What in heck has happened here, Marquis?” He looked at his manager, but his face was blank. Only his eyes showed his emotions; they were filled with tears.
Never in his years had he seen such a gruesome and unexplainable thing. His stomach sank and goosebumps broke out all over him. Something was very wrong here.
After a moment he turned to Marquis. “Gather some gear. Tonight you and I will patrol the vineyard while it is dark. We will see if the culprit returns, and if he, or it, does, they will pay for this with their very life.”
“Yes, sir,” Marquis replied, and the men returned to the wagon and made their way back to the vineyard, discussing the situation with great disgust and anger the entire way.
∞
“Are you okay, Master?” It was Miranda speaking to him. DeSai came out of his reverie and looked at her.
He replied, “Indeed. I am simply enjoying the occasion and the happiness it is bringing. I cannot wait for the entire world to join in our cheer.”
“The day will come,” she said. She patted him on the leg, running her sharp nails down the length of his thigh, then she turned her attention to a lady friend who was seated next to her. DeSai could have cared less; his mind was a prisoner to the past right then.
