FurryFury
Addict of Sensation
- Joined
- Apr 3, 2005
- Posts
- 29,460
Portia had just been visited by a God. Oh not the sort one might imagine with a sweet sad smile and loving heart, who was surrounded by clouds and angels. No, that was not the sort of God she got visits from, nor would she have wanted such a visit as she might not survive it.
The God of Pain, Darkness and Fire had just visited her. She had survived. She always did. That was one of her strongest talents. Her favorite servant had not. It was silly to cry over such a thing, but she did. Portia cries her rose hued tears, feeling invaded and vulnerable.
These tears though were not conjured by her or by emotions at all. They were conjured by him because he wanted it. Why did he want it? She couldn't begin to understand the complexity and desires of such a creature as he is.
This is what she hates about crying, she remembers now. How once she starts all the tears, fears and emotions she has put in abeyance threaten, to overwhelm. How they all feed and multiply on each other and leave her drained, not just in spirit. If it were only that, things would be easier.
Perhaps he wanted to make her do what she so hated and feared. That would fit. This was her further sacrifice for him weather or not she agreed. The Gods don't care about consent, not usually anyway. They just want what they want and it is left up to others to do their will. He would not allow the tears to stop, on and on they kept flowing but since she was a vampire it wasn't salty water that she spilled now but blood tears.
Her very power is being drained now, and a scarlet mess is developing all about her. That was a big obstacle to doing what needed to be done the next eve, particularly if the Goddess of Envy and Greed did summon her forthwith. She could ill afford any weakness at all in such a presence. Now she is certain to be lessened in the morrow, perhaps, if she is lucky, the Goddess won’t call her and will wait, just one night could help. Try as she might to contain them the damn sobs and red flow won’t stop. She reaches out to touch one drop and tastes it.
She looks at it critically before putting her finger in her mouth and sucking it. So red and small, it is a lovely thing but it tastes even better. Funny that tears tastes so good, whether from anger or fright, or some mix of powerful emotions. She took another teardrop and stared at it mistily, sobbing still. Sure it may look pretty, like a tiny rose quartz liquefied now but by the time she finally finds rest and feels the dark life steal from her body again, it will be rust colored and ugly. The smell of carnage will surround her and cling to this walls by nightfall, as if something was slaughtered here. Perhaps something was, some part of her.
She thought what she should do. Call the servants to catch her tears so she could drink them all back in, save her strength in some small measure that way. That of course could be dangerous as well. Crying blood tears was likely to get you talked about, letting someone witness such a thing pure folly. Whereas slaughtering something in your chambers could be considered eccentric but no magic, not dark powers necessarily. So she sat there shivering on the cold floor, and as much as she could she scraped up her tears and took them back into her body, making plans in her mind, until exhausted, she fell again into the dark arms of oblivion.
She woke the next evening sore and drained. Her mind reaches back to the evening past and sleep events with a start. Her lord is evil, dark and hot. To touch him would mean certain death she knew. Why had he come, to warn her about the Goddess now and never before? Had he come to start using her to His ends? Oh yes and yet, like all evil things, he had to leave a hook in her and implicit threat, a flagrant show of disregard. As clear as he had made it, the ploy still did what he intended, strengthening her resolve. She would prevail at all costs. The survival instinct even in one long dead such as she was, continued to be strong.
Finally her God, the one who grants powers to those of the night, lets the tears stop. She is weak and drained but not as badly as she would have been had she not sat and drank her own blood tears.
The smell of the chamber starts to bother her when she takes a deep breath to coat her vocal cords and call a servant. Damn it! She thinks, the room reeks. On the floor and her body she now notices are crusty brown splotches. Had she spaced out, lost time when it was of such critical value to her now? She goes, holding her breath as she can do very well, to the basin and pours water in it, first cleaning herself up, angry at the wasted vitae. She’d lick it if she could but the angle is all wrong and it's dried, ashes in her mouth, useless to her now.
She stumbles over to the floor and works on that. Best to have as much cleaned up before the servants come in, as she can. She won’t be using this chamber or the one her Lord singed this night for a long time. Her poor man servant. Her favorite toy. Burned in her bed. Her eyes can't cry now. Not even in such sadness, anger or impotence in the face of God power. Yet the very God's chose to use her to their ends.
She was simply a club owner. Just a girl vampire named Portia Bema. She has long dark hair, pale skin, full lips and blue eyes that many find attractive and which have helped her gain those things she felt she needed and deserved. Now the bill was being called on her magical powers the ones that kept her "alive" at night, she wasn't sure she could afford the cost.
Her club, The Blue Enchantment is made of sand bricks, three stories high and has an underground labyrinth that is off limits to the patrons. In fact, few even know the underground part exists and that is just how Portia wants it to remain.
The club is well connected, there are male and female prostitutes, gambling, drugs and of course music with dancing. Portia's aapparent age is 23, few know her actual age is 50. She is a vamp in every sense of the word, sometimes also thief, she specializes in entertainments of all sorts and political "arrangements."
If things keep going this way, I’ll soon be out of underground chambers, she thinks ruefully. Oh but she wouldn’t be here much longer no, her Mistress will summon her all too soon according to what her Master just told her and off she’ll be on a new adventure for both of her leiges. She will have to juggle their wishes and agendas secretly and carefully, with those of their victims and her own.
It was a challenge she found appealing even though it also conjured fear. She smiled, curving her full red lips up. She is a survivor and manipulator; fear was deliciously invigorating at times, better than boredom indeed.
She left the chamber walking nude, her pale flesh and dark hair contrasting. Finding one of her favorites still slumbering she began to feed on him without so much as waking him up. His body twitching in what he would mostly like think was incredible dream sex.
She must get her stores back up as quickly as possible. When she was done, most of her male servants would be useless for a day or so but so be it. She could of course use the females too but those she would hold back on unless a need came.
Next she would bathe in the icy underground pool. She would fix her appearance with great care and be ready for her Mistress at all times. Her very existence depended on just the right appearance of moves at all times. Her clear blue eyes were excited and amused as she left one of her men and went to feast on another, slipping quietly still nude through her little domain.
The God of Pain, Darkness and Fire had just visited her. She had survived. She always did. That was one of her strongest talents. Her favorite servant had not. It was silly to cry over such a thing, but she did. Portia cries her rose hued tears, feeling invaded and vulnerable.
These tears though were not conjured by her or by emotions at all. They were conjured by him because he wanted it. Why did he want it? She couldn't begin to understand the complexity and desires of such a creature as he is.
This is what she hates about crying, she remembers now. How once she starts all the tears, fears and emotions she has put in abeyance threaten, to overwhelm. How they all feed and multiply on each other and leave her drained, not just in spirit. If it were only that, things would be easier.
Perhaps he wanted to make her do what she so hated and feared. That would fit. This was her further sacrifice for him weather or not she agreed. The Gods don't care about consent, not usually anyway. They just want what they want and it is left up to others to do their will. He would not allow the tears to stop, on and on they kept flowing but since she was a vampire it wasn't salty water that she spilled now but blood tears.
Her very power is being drained now, and a scarlet mess is developing all about her. That was a big obstacle to doing what needed to be done the next eve, particularly if the Goddess of Envy and Greed did summon her forthwith. She could ill afford any weakness at all in such a presence. Now she is certain to be lessened in the morrow, perhaps, if she is lucky, the Goddess won’t call her and will wait, just one night could help. Try as she might to contain them the damn sobs and red flow won’t stop. She reaches out to touch one drop and tastes it.
She looks at it critically before putting her finger in her mouth and sucking it. So red and small, it is a lovely thing but it tastes even better. Funny that tears tastes so good, whether from anger or fright, or some mix of powerful emotions. She took another teardrop and stared at it mistily, sobbing still. Sure it may look pretty, like a tiny rose quartz liquefied now but by the time she finally finds rest and feels the dark life steal from her body again, it will be rust colored and ugly. The smell of carnage will surround her and cling to this walls by nightfall, as if something was slaughtered here. Perhaps something was, some part of her.
She thought what she should do. Call the servants to catch her tears so she could drink them all back in, save her strength in some small measure that way. That of course could be dangerous as well. Crying blood tears was likely to get you talked about, letting someone witness such a thing pure folly. Whereas slaughtering something in your chambers could be considered eccentric but no magic, not dark powers necessarily. So she sat there shivering on the cold floor, and as much as she could she scraped up her tears and took them back into her body, making plans in her mind, until exhausted, she fell again into the dark arms of oblivion.
She woke the next evening sore and drained. Her mind reaches back to the evening past and sleep events with a start. Her lord is evil, dark and hot. To touch him would mean certain death she knew. Why had he come, to warn her about the Goddess now and never before? Had he come to start using her to His ends? Oh yes and yet, like all evil things, he had to leave a hook in her and implicit threat, a flagrant show of disregard. As clear as he had made it, the ploy still did what he intended, strengthening her resolve. She would prevail at all costs. The survival instinct even in one long dead such as she was, continued to be strong.
Finally her God, the one who grants powers to those of the night, lets the tears stop. She is weak and drained but not as badly as she would have been had she not sat and drank her own blood tears.
The smell of the chamber starts to bother her when she takes a deep breath to coat her vocal cords and call a servant. Damn it! She thinks, the room reeks. On the floor and her body she now notices are crusty brown splotches. Had she spaced out, lost time when it was of such critical value to her now? She goes, holding her breath as she can do very well, to the basin and pours water in it, first cleaning herself up, angry at the wasted vitae. She’d lick it if she could but the angle is all wrong and it's dried, ashes in her mouth, useless to her now.
She stumbles over to the floor and works on that. Best to have as much cleaned up before the servants come in, as she can. She won’t be using this chamber or the one her Lord singed this night for a long time. Her poor man servant. Her favorite toy. Burned in her bed. Her eyes can't cry now. Not even in such sadness, anger or impotence in the face of God power. Yet the very God's chose to use her to their ends.
She was simply a club owner. Just a girl vampire named Portia Bema. She has long dark hair, pale skin, full lips and blue eyes that many find attractive and which have helped her gain those things she felt she needed and deserved. Now the bill was being called on her magical powers the ones that kept her "alive" at night, she wasn't sure she could afford the cost.
Her club, The Blue Enchantment is made of sand bricks, three stories high and has an underground labyrinth that is off limits to the patrons. In fact, few even know the underground part exists and that is just how Portia wants it to remain.
The club is well connected, there are male and female prostitutes, gambling, drugs and of course music with dancing. Portia's aapparent age is 23, few know her actual age is 50. She is a vamp in every sense of the word, sometimes also thief, she specializes in entertainments of all sorts and political "arrangements."
If things keep going this way, I’ll soon be out of underground chambers, she thinks ruefully. Oh but she wouldn’t be here much longer no, her Mistress will summon her all too soon according to what her Master just told her and off she’ll be on a new adventure for both of her leiges. She will have to juggle their wishes and agendas secretly and carefully, with those of their victims and her own.
It was a challenge she found appealing even though it also conjured fear. She smiled, curving her full red lips up. She is a survivor and manipulator; fear was deliciously invigorating at times, better than boredom indeed.
She left the chamber walking nude, her pale flesh and dark hair contrasting. Finding one of her favorites still slumbering she began to feed on him without so much as waking him up. His body twitching in what he would mostly like think was incredible dream sex.
She must get her stores back up as quickly as possible. When she was done, most of her male servants would be useless for a day or so but so be it. She could of course use the females too but those she would hold back on unless a need came.
Next she would bathe in the icy underground pool. She would fix her appearance with great care and be ready for her Mistress at all times. Her very existence depended on just the right appearance of moves at all times. Her clear blue eyes were excited and amused as she left one of her men and went to feast on another, slipping quietly still nude through her little domain.
