The Tales of O’Neill – Act I

Well here we are again dear Avid Reader…

Seeing as this is my hundreth post I’m actually pulling something from the depths of the vaults. You may have read previously ‘Curiosity’ which was the initial short story I scribbled which managed to gain a serious life of it’s own and became a novel, of which funnily enough being called ‘Act I’ this is the first part. It has the chapter title of ‘Discovery’. I will undoubtedly publish more, maybe even the missing French Revolution chapter but that is in the future so I guess we will see what the response is.

My apologies for not being around recently, you know how RL can get in the way of the really important things so I hope you have enjoyed the various ninety-nine previous posts and hope that you will stay around for a few more…

Yours FtF


The small fast jet bounced and tilted in the rough air as it rose up from the city and disappeared into the gathering storm above the oily black turbulent waters of the ocean. The man sat alone in the plush cabin watched by the flight attendant.

She remembered him from a trip three years earlier, he and his wife had been charming and friendly; so charming and friendly that she had fantasised about renewing her membership in the mile-high club. Unusually it was the black wife that had gotten her ‘hot’; she had dabbled once before with another flight attendant but although it had been pleasant she had been wishing for a cock almost the entire time. She sensed that the decision was hers to make and the two of them were happy whatever way she decided. She had regretted almost immediately not seeing how far it might have gone and when the Captain had shared the sizable tip the couple had left for the crew; the thought crossed her mind about how big the tip would have been if she had given into her carnal desires.

Tonight he was a different person altogether, she didn’t expect him to remember her (however much she hoped) but to be treated like she barely existed. He had opened his laptop and hooked up a palm pilot to it bare seconds after the wheels had left the tarmac. The look from his eyes as he glanced up at her, daring her to tell him to turn off all electrical equipment was enough. She felt like she was five years old again waking from a nightmare and scared for her life; a moment of fear passed through her and she wondered if she would lose control of her bladder; she rapidly looked away and focused on the safety card sticking out of the holder in front of her. She had never been particularly religious but she felt her soul shiver within her and wondered if there was a God listening that might hear her prayer.

The man focused fully on the screen before him, hardly aware of the flight attendant let alone the dread he had produced in her, the rage within him making his fingers shake slightly as he stabbed the keys:- Act XII      Now            Who the FUCK are you?        The jet is bouncing beneath me as it rises out of a storm system rolling into New York; forgive me if this ‘Act’ isn’t as easy to read as the previous ones; and after all this time I am considering that perhaps I should let this story be known. I guess you could say I am on the run; obvious what I am running from but the question is what I am running too; or who?




 [File created – 23:15-13/01/77]

What can I say dear reader, you don’t exist. This document now recorded on the latest modern technology is, as they say for “My Eyes Only”; I am after all rather secretive by nature. The original journals now destroyed although I suppose they would have been extremely valuable considering their age and condition let alone the Provenance I could personally have given them. Though who would have believed me? I am really just talking to myself, even my beloved Iz doesn’t know my full story, maybe one day I’ll hand her this palm-pilot, a far more complicated piece of hardware in a fairly standard looking guise; I’ll open up the documents within, guide her away from the obviously heavily encrypted files, though there are some juicy secrets within that various business interests and even governments would give their right arms for.

Opening up the ‘Mail Pending’ folder I will guide her slender fingers to a small file (seemingly only 3Kb in size) labelled “Doctor Strongman” and there inside get her to highlight the word ‘curiosity’ and press the delete key. Of course by the wonders of programming this hidden file will appear and my soul will be revealed.


There’s no such thing as monsters.


We’re just a natural variant, a Darwinian predator. Okay, we do need blood to survive and if people really believed we existed, they would be queuing up to put a bit of ‘4×2’ through my chest.

 The facts of the case: well, I absolutely love garlic and holy water doesn’t burn me. Crucifixes and hallowed ground, St. Peter’s in Rome didn’t bother me; whatever, hey, I’m an atheist so I’m going to hell twice! So many myths spread by the church, we are not the undead; in fact we are so much more alive than the herd. Superhuman strength and can only be killed with the aforementioned, I wish. Now sunlight does present a problem – we don’t go up in flames, but our skin does burn very easily. Five hours on a beach in Bermuda and I would be toast, but more of a slow roast than the Hollywood pyrotechnics. And we also don’t turn to ash once we die! Either way an end I would sooner not experience firsthand. Why do you think we all look so good in black?

Oh, and sorry, no freaky transformations into bats or growing a Klingon forehead. Who the fuck comes up with those ideas? Though we are often portrayed as the epitome of cool and I can’t knock that!

On the plus side though, we are immortal if we don’t get hit by the likes of a train. Basically we do not age. We heal from most injuries, except major or massive trauma, fairly quickly – we can’t re-grow limbs or digits, but generally give me a day and I am as good as new. It unfortunately means there isn’t a lot of point getting a tattoo, I’ve always wanted one too (they look so cool on Wesley Snipes). We don’t suffer any illnesses and I only have to shave once a week (definite plus). We are stronger than the ‘average’ human, have a very high tolerance for pain, and very quick reactions, but against the likes of an accomplished martial artist or trained assassin I’d only give myself even odds. And we are all very wealthy; you wouldn’t believe the killing you make on long-term investments.

 About the one true myth is the bite: our saliva and blood carry enzymes that mutate homosapiens D.N.A. Very rarely one of you is immune, and it’s our bad luck that one of us bit that hack Stoker; but for him, we’d be as well known as the Tuatha Dé Danann. And if the donor – okay the victim – survives, normally they will transform, fucking painful I tell you. But we are a selfish bunch and, well, too many of us and we would become obvious, probably a good thing.

 Are we sterile? Yes, we are, even our reproductive cells do not age but then again to be honest we don’t make good parents, I did say we were selfish. Are we asexual, unable to enjoy the sensual? Let me put it this way, would anybody welcome immortality without sex? Well I for one wouldn’t, what is life without pleasure after all?

 So I guess the serial killing is a bad thing, though personally I only need to feed three or four times a year, something to do with us needing to consume your haemoglobin (look it up if you want all of the technical jargon though of course the files where you would find such information are quite secure and funnily enough are not labelled “Vampire D.N.A. code!”). Oh, and no pointy teeth, either. Ironically we need dentists just as much as the next person; I haven’t an original tooth left in my mouth.

I guess that just about explains what I am. But, who am I? Possibly the more complicated and a not so easily answered question? The following tales will go some way to explaining my nature, of course in the four and a half centuries of my life there are many more I could have recorded here, quite a bit of fucking as well as a couple of thousand murders, but compared to the likes of my kind, that’s small potatoes. I believe ‘Bloody William’ holds the record but, to be honest, he isn’t very choosy.

 I am not your average run-of-the-mill bloodsucker; most of my ‘kind’ see themselves as the rightful owners of the earth; humans being no more than their fodder. I believe that probably comes from their tendency to recruit within their own social strata; as you will see I happened purely by chance and I think that the culture shock of being brought into a society that had I lived a normal life I would never have known somehow innoculated me against the changing times I have lived through. I quite look forward to seeing what each new era will bring. So with each new age I have tended to embrace it and been able to adapt far better than my peers. Very few vampires have died by the hand of another; okay I have personally been involved with despatching two of them, maybe three though he hardly counts (he wasn’t a vampire for very long); but that is not the general rule. Most eventually begin to feel out of touch with the modern age, be it industrial or technological. Even the oldest vampire I ever met eventually succumbed to this peculiar ennui that afflicts us, I suppose after another three millennia I may end up the same way!

So here I am, rich beyond my knowing, with my fingers in pies all across the globe and a serial killer to boot. Altruistic and almost philanthropic in many of my business ventures, being as cut-throat in commerce as I am in my private life I find tends to come back and bite you in the ass eventually and as I am immortal that can be a problem. These days I am one of the worlds’ foremost specialists in computers, working for every major computer firm, purely on a consultancy basis and of course under a variety of pseudonyms; which has the added benefit of knowing backdoor codes into almost every computer on the planet that is linked to the internet. Very handy! I also have stakes in various medical and pharmaceutical concerns, one whose name you will know (part of which I took from an old friend) that I have used to research our own particular kind. Something, that the Brethren generally have no interest in as a rule.

And still I need to slake my thirst for blood. I do tend to take from those who deserve it (the FBI’s most wanted is my favourite place to shop and no-one is going to complain too much about those going missing) but it is hardly an unbreakable rule. Who have I killed? Rich and poor, good and bad, black and white, man and woman, yes; old and not so old, yes, though I have never killed a child and I hope it’s a boundary I will never cross. See I do have some morals!


So, is that who or what I am? Does that answer the question? Probably not!

The following are the stories that have mattered, one way or another, most to me…

So those are the facts of the case and as for my story, well, it begins a while ago…


Act I



The battle was over. It was more a series of skirmishes, long and drawn out over a number of days. We had managed to send Bagenall home with his tail between his legs, the garrison in Monaghan only slightly re-enforced due the losses the Marshal suffered. We, the victorious headed home through that wet May in 1595. I had been lucky, in one of the final fights I had been knocked down by an English soldier. He had slashed me twice across my left shoulder before my cousin Eoin had killed him, cracking the man’s’ head with his pike.

I travelled the few miles home, weak with the loss of blood, helped by my cousin. At last I was in sight of Lorg an Diabhal, the smoke rising gently from the chimney in the still spring air. I bade my cousin farewell and walked across the last field using my pike for support. I stopped at the small wooden gate that led onto the small patch of land we rented from the absentee landlord. I lifted a small stone from the floor and hefted it three times in the air before placing on top of the gate post. I hobbled around the back of our small cottage, a smile wide across my face as I stepped in through the kitchen door.

I stood completely still as I surveyed the broken crockery and furniture in the room. On the battlefield I had experienced no fear at all, here and now in the very centre of my world I was frozen in stark terror at what I had allowed to happen through my absence.  I am not sure how long I stood there before I heard the scream. I knew it was Caitlin, though I had never heard such a sound issue from her lips in the seven years of our marriage, even when giving birth two years before. My paralysis was broken and I moved as quickly as I could through the debris of our home and out into the yard. I vaguely noticed our hound lying beside the well, its head at an un-natural angle, the tongue limp from its jaws.

That unholy sound of my wife, screaming in fear for her immortal soul, galvanised me towards the barn. I felt my shoulder wound tear as I barged into the barn, the sun broke through the clouds spilling its rays all across the hay strewn floor from behind me. The straw stained a bright vivid red around the two people within. My darling Caitlin, limp and pale in the arms of a large man wearing the Red Coat of an English army captain. I rushed forwards and was still two yards away when the man, his face lathered in my wife’s’ blood spun to face me. His turn had seemed almost instantaneous and then he roared as he was propelled backwards. Without even thinking about it I had lowered the pike as I had charged and impaled the monster through the stomach. My momentum had lifted him the few feet till his back hit the wooden wall off the barn. The pike carried forward with a crunch and then a thud as the tip buried itself in the boards.

The man thrashed violently, trying to grab me, as I twisted the head of the pike around in his guts. The blood poured and sprayed from the wound in his middle and still this ‘demon’, for what else could he be, howled and reached for me. I rammed the weapon forward as hard as I could and only then when the monster was almost falling into two halves did he seem to weaken. Finally he collapsed, falling to the side, the blade of the pike tearing out through his side and his corpse fell in a heap. I stared at the large smear of blood on the wall, the sun once more passed behind some clouds, and the red darkened to a poisonous black in the shadows.

I turned my head, still clutching the shaft of my pike, to see the blackness seemingly spread all around me. Caitlin lying at the foot of the few remaining sheaths of hay, that smooth white neck that I had kissed and caressed torn open savagely. The dark tunnel of her throat exposed to the dusty air, her dress and leine ripped apart exposing lily white breasts. I stared at her chest hoping to watch it rise again. Finally my strength gave out and I collapsed to the floor clutching the blood soaked straw in my hands, the tears ran down my cheeks landing on my knuckles. I was barely aware as I watched the blood and tears on my skin slowly run down between my fingers before I could look up into the cold staring eyes of mo ghrá (my love). The moment my eyes locked on hers realisation shocked my breaking heart.

I staggered up and fell through the doors of the barn. I ran screaming through the yard, stumbling falling and weeping as I headed for our cottage. Bursting the heavy door hard against the frame I was hardly aware of my battle wound tearing open again. I screamed and screamed again only to be answered by the hollow echo of the empty rooms. I tore the home we had built for the last seven years apart. No piece of furniture survived the onslaught, chairs were smashed, the bed overturned, the wash stand thrown through the window. When I knew the house to be empty I turned to the small out buildings scattering the fowl and livestock. I searched all of the farm and surrounding fields before turning to face the barn one again.

Without a sound I entered the building, standing just inside the threshold. My eyes slowly roamed over every inch of the floor and walls as the hope in my soul ebbed away. No sound came to my ears save for the distant lowing of the cattle in the fields below. Even the wind shied from daring to whisper as I did.


No answer came from my son. I stumbled forward and collapsed into the arms of my dead wife. I pulled her up and prayed to the almighty god to answer me, when no answer came I turned to the gods of old that the Shanachie told us all off in the days of our childhood sitting in the shade of the hedgerow. Still no answer came as I sat in the darkening barn rocking the cold corpse of my wife.

I gently rocked the body of my beloved all through the night till the sun rose behind the barn, narrow slivers of red morning light piercing the gloom. As the first ray swung across my eye a seething fire coursed through my veins. I felt as if I was thrown as every muscle in my body spasmed and sent screams of agony burning through my mind. For all of the intensity I never blacked out as I thrashed and screamed on the bloody hay strewn floor. When eventually the torture subsided and I forced my eyes open the barn was bright with the light from the midday sun beginning to creep through the open doors.

I stumbled to my feet to survey the remnants of my life surrounding me. I walked over to the monster’s body and dragged it from the barn, the torso parting from the hips as I did. Both parts I threw into the open drain behind the Byre, I paused to watch them sink into the putrid waste from the cows. I returned to the barn and dressed mo ghrá as best as I could. I lay her down on a fresh bed of hay and folded her arms across her lap. I ignored the custom of placing her palms together in prayer as God had so forsaken us. I stared upon her pale beauty a final time before gathering the tinder box from the shelf.

Within the hour I had walked away from the land I had tilled for so long; I stood atop of the hill behind my homestead and watched the column of smoke rising high and straight in the still air of the day. I turned to the cairn beside me and placed two more rocks upon it before turning away.


I don’t know for how long I wandered, it may have been just days or weeks, but I walked away from the county I had known for so long. The dismal spring had turned to a dismal summer; I shied away from villages and towns and fed on the small animals that strayed across my path. Still a hunger gnawed within me, I assumed it was grief until the day I happened upon a red coated soldier.

It seemed to be over in an instant as I crouched over his cooling body drinking the very life from the wound I had torn in his throat. My body pulsed with an incredible energy before I realised that I was the image of the monster that had killed my wife. I screamed from the very depths of my soul. No answer came upon the damp summer wind.

That evening I approached a village for the first time since my return from the fields of battle. I entered the small chapel and sought out the priest within. I relayed my story finishing with the killing of the English soldier that afternoon. Within seconds the priest’s caring demeanour changed to one of fear and hatred. He pushed me backwards yelling at me to leave his house of God; he overturned the font spraying me with its Holy water in a bid to force me from the Church. As I stumbled away into the darkening light of evening I heard him curse me and call me ‘Satan’s’ hound’.

“You are the Fachan and you will ne’er see the kingdom of heaven. You will burn forever in the fires of hell…”

His voice was still echoing across the valley as I returned to the woods and the darkness beneath.


I spent the rest of that damp and dismal summer shunning all human contact. My grief, my rage sated only when encountering English patrols. I would spend the next couple of days wracked with guilt at the monstrosity I had become and slightly in awe at my newfound strength and speed. Though those memories are tarnished with time I must have dispatched over a dozen of the King’s men. The priest’s words echoing around the country that the ‘Fachan’ was abroad once again. As autumn began its rapid approach I noticed that the soldiers would patrol in far greater numbers deterring even my mad hunger. I eventually found myself nearing the walled city of Dublin and the sprawling shanty towns surrounding it. The city had been under a virtual siege these past few years with the various risings. The shanties had become festering sores encircling it. Only the brutal laws of nature governed the main drags outside the walls.

I had found a dark alley where I settled down for a few hours sleep amidst the detritus of my fellow countrymen. I awoke instantly from my slumber as I heard a foot step into the poorly lit alley. It was quickly followed by two more pairs of feet. The three men spoke in whispers though I could hear every word as they plotted to grab a ’bogman’ of the street and give him “a piece of their minds”. I craned my head to look around the barrel I was lying behind when I dislodged a discarded wheel spar. I froze as the wood fell into a puddle on the path. The three men turned as one and began to slowly walk nearer to where I lay.

“I don’t think we’ll have to search far to give a ‘culchie’ a hiding I think boys!” said the man in the lead in a gentrified Irish accent.

I got to my feet and moved into view grunting a response. I realised I hadn’t spoken a word in months and my throat felt alien as I failed to speak clearly.

“Damn! Michael but this… thing can’t even talk… we’d be doing it a favour” the man on the right said as he picked up a lump of wood from the floor. The man on the left hung back slightly a look of disgust on his face. I back stepped twice and the men followed me deeper into the alley. Michael, obviously the leader of this little group of ‘brave’ men advanced drawing a blade from within his clothes. I didn’t even look down at it, just looked deep into his eyes through the dirty tangle of my hair.

I saw his pupils shrink and grabbed the hand holding the knife before it was halfway to my stomach. The bones in his fingers snapped as I crushed them against the handle of the blade, he whimpered weakly as he looked down at the remains of his hand within my fist as his blood dripped to the ground. Tears ran quickly down his cheeks to drop to the muddy floor. I reached up with my left hand and grabbed the length of wood as the fellow on the right swung it towards my head; I tore it from his grasp and swung it back to hit him across the neck. He simply dropped to the floor, his eyes already staring blankly as his head landed in a muddy puddle. The third man hesitated and then turned and ran to fall a bare three steps away as the length of wood split his skull as easily as an egg.

Michael turned his face up to me to stare at my eyes through my bedraggled mass of hair. He didn’t even try to move as I tore his throat open with my teeth and sucked the blood from his neck.

When I had taken my fill I let his lifeless body fall. I only then became aware of the figure standing silhouetted at the end of the alley. It was obviously a woman from the outline of the dress, the bushel accentuating the curves of her hips; I couldn’t see her eyes but knew they were fixed on mine. I told her to leave if she feared for her immortal soul but realised that only a vague gravelly grunt issued from my lips. She merely tilted her head slightly and slowly walked towards me. The taste of blood in my mouth made me want to feast upon her. The rage and hunger was building rapidly within me as she got nearer. She was four steps from me when I leapt to suddenly find myself spinning through the air to land hard against a wall.

“What manner of beastie are you?” I heard from behind me in an accent I couldn’t place.

“Fachan!” I growled and jumped to my feet.

She was standing exactly where I had last seen her as if she was waiting patiently to enter a theatre. “Oh I think not. You are something else altogether different.”

I ran at her arms outstretched, barely registering the image of her pale hand slamming against my face as I was thrown backwards to land on my arse. This time I stayed down and looked up at her. She stood absolutely still, her delicate hands clutching a small bag in front of her.

My voice was slowly becoming my own again as I fingered the remnants of my nose. “If not Fachan then what are I?”

“Uneducated for one!” she replied, “You really have no idea of who you are, of the potential you possess, do you?”

“I know my name and my family!” I replied indignantly if not a little childishly.

“Oh you haven’t been that person for some while I believe. Fachan would indeed be a closer name, for I have heard tell that it stalks the highways and by-ways of Ireland these last few months. With a taste for the English Yeomanry too, though the powers that be attribute a lot of their losses to dishonourable Irish rebels laying in ambush and a lot of the atrocities revenged upon the peasantry at your door.”

I was at a loss for a reply and just stared back at her dumbly.

“Do you really want to know who you are?”

She dropped a small piece of paper between my feet, and then stepped past me. She paused beside the corpse nearest the end of the alley and pulled the wood from his skull with a sucking sound. She ran her finger over the blood stained end and turned towards me. She drew her blood stained finger across her lips and slowly licked them dry.

“You and I, Fachan, are one and the same. And please when you come to my residence, be a dear and use the back entrance.” With that she turned away and walked back into the Main Drag.

I looked down at the note and could see an address. Though I was unable to read I knew I would find it. I turned to look at the city wall behind me knowing that I would never be able to enter by the gate.


The back door to Number 21, St John’s Lane was bolted from within. I had compared the note to the street signs and knew enough of numbers to work out which house it was though it had taken me over an hour to find it after crossing the wall. I looked up the sheer wall of the townhouse and could see a window on the second storey open with a faint light coming from within. My curiosity had driven me here and now I could swear I could almost smell the Lady’s scent from above. Having seen, or rather not, how quick she had moved and her admission of our commonality my confidence had grown. I looked upwards undaunted and began to scale the wall finding holds almost everywhere I reached to lift myself by my fingertips. In under a minute I reached the open window.

I climbed into the room and stepped through the drapes. The Lady sat at a mirrored table, the eyes of her reflection locking onto mine as she combed her hair. She was sat on a padded stool in her underwear. My eyes betrayed me as I devoured the image before me. A boned corset tightly fastened about her held her back straight while a sheer petticoat covered her legs. In the mirror I could see her breasts pushed up above the corset, her nipples a dark red, hard and proud on the white flesh. My eyes lingered for a moment till I lowered my head in shame for lusting after this stranger. I saw I was standing on a large sheet already stained and dirtied by my few steps into this luxurious room.

She laughed lightly, “Why do you bow your head when what you view is obviously on offer after I gave you an invitation to come here?”

“It is a sin and not my place to look upon another’s woman.”I muttered my reply.

“Ah. You were once governed by papist decree. But surely, you have now been cast out from the bosom of the church. Given the name of a mythical monster and damned to the fiery pit.”

I held my silence as I lifted my eyes slightly to stare through my muddied locks at the heretic before me.

She swivelled on the stool and stood up before me, proud and tall. “How long have you felt the hunger?” she asked. I tilted my head unsure of what she meant. “How long have you been slaking your thirst in the blood of men?”

I hesitated before replying “…since the spring.”

She smiled “It’s a wonder you survived this long not knowing what you are! The weather in this country is abysmal and so you are fortunate not to have burned in the day. Do you know how you came to be like this?”

I was about to tell of killing the monster that had butchered my family when some instinct stopped me. “…I awoke after a battle, left for dead… in amongst the bodies of my fallen brethren.” I stood straight remembering the last true moments of honour I had felt on the battlefields of my home county.

“I wonder?” she replied. “Do you remember falling to a tall blond English captain?”

“Truth be told I can’t say. Me and my brother stood side by side in the bloody battle… and we fell… only I rose the next morning. There were so many bodies around me, both kilted and uniformed…”

She looked momentarily sad, “Perhaps Edward has now fallen; it was bound to happen. He could never control his hunger, especially in the throes of the many battles he sought out, though you are perhaps the only one who has ever survived against his desire… did you strike him down?” She looked at me intensely waiting for my response.

“As I said I can’t be sure. It could be possible for I did kill my share,” I stood straight backed and stared directly into her bright blue eyes dragging my hair away from my brow, “And I didn’t think it too many for the red coated heathen!”

She held my gaze and then replied “Good for you. A taste for death is what you will require if you wish to survive. And the hunger always provides the desire for survival… as well as for blood.”

I held her gaze and after a moment she carried on, “You do seem apt to be one of the ‘damned’, let us see what I have to work with before we proceed with your education in immortality.”

She saw the quizzical look in my eyes, “Strip! Remove those rags… you still think you are a good little catholic? You are so much more now!” She reached to her hip unfastening the tie on her petticoat, letting it fall to the floor. She was nude beneath it, even her pubic hair removed, her lips exposed for me to see. “You will have no shame, you will be proud of the new body you have. I will show you how to hone it and take pleasure from it. First you have to wash away your past life, for tonight you are born anew,” she smiled slyly, “a baptism if you will!”

She stepped to the wall and pulled an ornate rope hanging beside an oil painting. My attention drawn to it, I saw a good likeness of her standing naked against a blue sky. Her hair was incredibly long and red blowing in the wind, one hand covering her right breast, the other clasping the end of her tresses across her lap. She saw me looking at the portrait, “Sandro was so talented and he did adore me so much but he had no idea what I was.”

I nodded dumbly with no clue who Sandro was and fully aware that this barely dressed woman before me knew that I didn’t. The door to room opened and in walked a woman and a man. They were both dressed plainly and I took them for servants, they looked to the Lady and with the slightest of nods they crossed the room to stand beside me. I was bemused for a moment before I felt their hands at my clothes untying the cords across my shoulders. I raised my fist to strike the manservant, but as fast as I was I found my wrist gripped in the Lady’s hand. Her hand held me vice-like as much as I strained against her.

“Time for you to decide, you can climb back out that window and back to the cess pool I found you in. You can spend an eternity grovelling with the dregs of the slums. Or you can listen and learn. There are so many pleasures and wonders out there that you haven’t seen or dreamt off. You are lucky to have a gift that will let you have it all and the time to enjoy it properly.”

I looked into her eyes and I knew that she wouldn’t let me leave if I wanted too, I would be dead on the floor with my throat ripped out before I could shake my head in answer. I lowered my arm and nodded. She stepped back and watched as the servants removed my filthy clothing dropping it to the floor. Soon I was naked but for the scapula hanging round my neck, she stepped forward and grabbed it, looking into my eyes she tore it away and cast it into the fire. The servants gathered up my rags and left the room.

She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering for a moment on my manhood, then took my hand and led me to a door to the right. When she opened the door I saw a room the likes of which I had never seen before. The opulence of her bedroom was amazing to me, but this room was stark and white, the walls and floor tiled with smooth squares. Against one wall a wash stand and a strange seat, against the other a large tub full of hot water; a small neat fireplace to the left and a large pan of simmering water above it. I would later find out that it was called a bathroom and was used for the sole purpose of cleaning oneself and for the baser needs of daily life.

She led me to the bath and gestured me to stand in it, the water was hot and soothing on my feet and calves, she then lifted a small container and poured the water over my head. She continued to drench me and then lifted a small bottle of a thick glutinous liquid and poured it over my hair. A strong smell of apple blossom wafted into my nostrils. She placed her hands into my mop of hair and urged me to kneel in the bath and began to massage the sweet smelling liquid into my scalp. My senses were reeling with the wondrous odours and sensations, I wondered to myself were these the pleasures she had spoken off.

She rinsed my head and body twice more before anointing me with other substances and began to clean her way down my face, neck, shoulders and chest with a soft cloth. I felt my nipples tingle as she paid particular attention to them, bending forward once to nip the right one between her teeth. I groaned and felt my manhood stiffen somewhat beneath the murky water. Once she had cleaned down to the level of the bathwater she reached over to the wall to pull another of the hanging ropes that was there and then pulled a chain that had been hanging down into the water. I heard a strange ‘gurgling’ sound from beneath and bubbles rose up through the dirty water. I was completely bemused as the water in the tub got lower and lower.

She ushered me to stand and I looked down at my body, the top half cleaner than I had ever known it, the bottom still darker with dirt than I could believe. She idly ran a long nailed finger from beneath my balls up along my hardness; I twitched visibly as the nail reached the tip. The door opened and the two servants entered, the man carrying a large pan of steaming water, the woman a considerably smaller one. Without instruction the female servant knelt beside the bath and cleaned the white surface, rinsing away the remains down the small hole I now saw. The Lady ran her fingers through the tied back hair of the servant as she worked. Not a word was spoken by any of us, but the female servant occasionally let out a very quiet moan and would roll her head slightly under the ministrations of her mistress.

When the tub was clean the Lady grabbed the servant by her hair and turned her mouth towards my cock. I stared down not comprehending what she wanted of her. Then she opened her mouth and engulfed my hardness, I groaned loudly and rested one hand against the wall, the other on the shoulder of the Lady. The sensations were truly unknown to me and totally incredible. I was lost in a whirlwind of sensations, the Lady held the servant’s head against me. I watched as the servant’s cheeks hollowed as she sucked hard on me, I threw my head back groaning as she moved her head up and down my shaft. My cock sprang free for a moment and then it was swallowed once again, sucked upon even more powerfully than before. Within seconds I was shooting my seed down into the hot mouth sucking on my cock. When finally the sensations began to subside and the pressure on my softening manhood became gentler I looked down to see the manservant removing his mouth from me.

I stood frozen in shock as the servant calmly picked up the fresh water and poured it into the tub and then fetched the pan from the fireplace and added it as well. The two servants then calmly left the room. The lady continued to clean my lower half, ignoring my fugue, working down over my arse and the backs of my legs. She then began to wash down the front of my thighs to my feet before slowly moving back up the inside of my legs. I stared down at her dumbfounded in complete turmoil of the sensations I had just felt and the image I had seen. As she got higher her nails began to scratch the sensitive skin inside my thighs, her mouth getting closer to my flaccid cock. I felt myself responding to her touch but nervously kept glancing at the door.

She looked up at me, “They won’t be coming back unless I call them.”

I looked down, her eyes fixed on mine; she flicked her tongue across the tip of my hardening cock. Her right hand gripped me tightly as her other slipped between my legs cupping my balls; a finger slid up between my cheeks and rubbed against my rear hole. I gasped as she slipped her tongue beneath my foreskin, her lips closed around the head and sucked hard upon me. Within moments I was fully erect again against her talented lips and tongue.

She removed her mouth from me but still held my cock and balls firmly. She stood up; eyes still glued to mine and pushed me back against the tiled wall stepping into the tub as she did. Releasing my balls and placing her hand on the window ledge behind me she lifted her foot up onto the edge of the tub. Her hand wrapped around the base of my cock as she lifted her other foot onto the tub’s edge; her legs straddling me and her hand rubbing the tip of my cock against her wet hairless slit. My hands moved to her hips, a smile played across her lips as she slowly slid her pussy down onto my erection. Her hand released me and went to the ledge across my left shoulder.

Her tongue slipped from her mouth and slowly licked my lips; I grasped her hips firmly and pulled her onto me, bucking my hips hard into her. She groaned deeply as she met my thrust, I paused for a moment before pulling out and slamming back in. My feet hard against the side of the bath, I fucked her with an animal ferocity I had only glimpsed in myself when gorging myself on blood. I hammered into her as she met my thrusts, the water splashing out of the tub onto the tiled floor. Her head thrown back, I felt her hot lit ripple around me as she slammed against me.

We fucked hard and fast till I felt her clamp down upon me and my balls tighten, a moment later I shot my seed deep inside her. She screamed, rocking forward her mouth found my neck and bit deeply into my flesh. I felt her hand on the back of my head pulling it into her shoulder and I bit deep into her skin drinking down her blood. When our orgasms had subsided she leant back, still impaled upon me and looked into my eyes.

“My name is Madame Cattaneo; in private you may call me Simone.”

Breathing heavily I replied, “Sèan Ό’Neill”

I felt her ripple around me, “Well, apart from your name, I think you will do admirably. So Sèan are you willing to learn,” she pulsed around me once more, “and willing to enjoy the pleasures I will show you?”

I looked directly into her blue eyes and licking my blood stained lips nodded.

~ by ftfagos on June 22, 2012.

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