AN: Hey there! Sorry for the wait on this one and it's not as long as the previous chapter. However, I found this to be pretty tasty to write even if it was wrongggg in parts.. Hehehe. Remember, this is rated M and it will earn the rating, if it hasn't already. I will keep it a tasteful M however. If that's possible. heheh, Don't mind me, I'm in a giggly mood. Thanks again to those of you who reviewed! Keep 'em coming pleeaaase!
As the hot water enveloped Voldo's body he was reminded of the warm caress of fresh blood and he would have found the experience enjoyable if it hadn't been for the sickeningly sweet aroma that wafted to his nostrils in an unshakable vapor. Another factor in his displeasure was the man hovering over him, hands clenched obstinately against his arms, holding him tightly against the back of the tub and ensuring that escape was impossible. The bottom of the tiled tub was slippery enough that Voldo could not gain the necessary footing to push back against Vercci and weaken his grip.
His body was being fully uncooperative and oblivious to his panicked minds desires. Any movement that involved the use of his back caused the reopened wound to gape, allowing hot water and suds to rush into it, making it feel as though he were being scorched from the inside out. Searing pain fluttered across his chest with each breath, making overexertion a dangerous idea. His head swam, his jaw and groin ached deeply, his burns burned and his captor grinned.
His mind was exhausted. He'd not faced such deviances in his routine for the length of his remembered life and he was without the ability to cope with this new environment, this human or understand why he was here to begin with, if not to be killed. Because he could neither fight nor understand, Voldo began to retreat to a place he knew only slightly more thoroughly than this foreign room: His mind.
His breathing calmed, his panic induced tremors subsided, although those caused by pain continued their weary course throughout his body, and Voldo allowed his captor to 'clean' him, neither present or absent in the whole situation. He stared unseeingly at the gleaming marble opposite him.
Vercci took his new pets sudden lack of fear or hostility to mean that he'd given up trying to escape. He did not know that Voldo had already escaped, at least mentally. He would return when his body was fit enough to fight and obey.
While Voldo's breath slowed, Vercci's quickened. He grabbed the nearest bar of soap and towel and worked them into a furious lather. He leant in close, taking Voldo by the shoulder to steady himself as he set to work uncovering the cannibals bare back. Vercci was momentarily concerned that his touch hadn't elicited a shudder of disgust from the cannibal, thinking how depressing the beast would prove to be if he were already bent to his will. The thought was quickly shelved as he wiped away layers of filth, revealing the lean and wiry back musculature. Vercci ran his hand against the now clean and smooth surface, lingering over the divots and warm sinew of muscle and bony knobs of spine, excitement coursing through him.
He cleaned what was visible of the cannibal's back, arms and neck, taking one glance at the matted and greasy tangles of hair and deciding to save that chore for last. What had been revealed of the cannibal's body was as starkly white as the bar of soap in his desire-clenched hand. He breathed slowly out of his nose as he took his captive by the shoulders and spun him about, so that they were facing each other, although he kept a healthy distance away from the mouth. Vercci was vaguely disquieted that the cannibal did not jerk back in surprise. He could make out the gleam of the cannibal's eyes through the ropey tendrils of hair, but could not discern the location of his gaze. Again, he shrugged off the insubstantial feeling of unease as his mind returned to the task at hand.
He dipped a new cloth into the tub, lathering it prodigiously and began to scour the chest of the cannibal, glancing up periodically to make sure the deadly and still filthy mouth was not rushing towards him. When the upper torso and arms were cleansed, Vercci leaned back, eyes darting across the alabaster surface in wonder. The pectorals and abdominal muscles were crisscrossed with thin scarlet fissures, as though a marble statue had opened up and bled. He traced the burn marks delicately, watching the cannibal's face closely, but Voldo remained cached away in his mind and gave no reaction.
Vercci licked his lips subconsciously as he took the cannibal under the arms once more and maneuvered the man up to the edge of the tub so that the lower body could be reached and cleansed. The water had loosened much of the grime that had caked the cannibal as he'd soaked and although it was devoid of much of the greasy clumps that had plagued the upper body, it remained several shades darker.
Vercci could not help the flaring of desire within him as he began to wash the prominent hipbones, his heart rattling and mouth tightening as he fought with his hunger to own every bit of the man before him. Not yet he thought to himself. It was too early to do all that he wished to the cannibal without suffering repercussions in his captive's elusive mental state. Not yet.
Thankfully, for Vercci's scantly controlled desire and the cannibal's well being, no scrubbing was needed on the gentiles; most of the grime had detached during the cannibal's soak and all that was needed was a light dousing of soapy water. He allowed his hand to linger on the cannibal's manhood for longer than was necessary, grinning broadly. Vercci stole another quick glance at his captives face as he moved from the gentiles and saw that the same unfocused and emotionless expression registered on the filthy mask. Inwardly, Vercci wondered if the cannibal was even capable of arousal. Not yet, his mind bit out once more. Vercci moved obstinately to the legs, lathering them and rinsing, still amazed at the bloodless color of the skin.
His desire flared up once more as he turned the cannibal about to clean his backside. Again, not much of the lower body required the close contact the upper had demanded and Vercci was thankful for it at the moment, if he were to remain in control of himself. Once this was done, Vercci slid the cannibal back into the tub, looking with resigned annoyance at the matted strands of hair.
He grabbed a shallow pitcher lying near the now soiled mass of towels and began to wet the tangles, reluctantly working the mess with his fingers. Lavish amounts of soap and several rinsing were required and after a solid fifteen minutes Vercci was satisfied with the cannibals hair. He ran his fingers through the smooth limp tresses, remarking at the color, the likes of which he had never seen on a human scalp. It was the opaque color of rotted straw, a deadened blond/gray and it stood out brilliantly against the darkness of the filth-ridden face.
Vercci had saved the face for last, in part because he was reluctant to keep his hands near the beast's mouth no matter how calm the cannibal seemed to be. He spun the man about again and brushed the lank hair away from the forehead and out of the eyes. Vercci gasped.
The eyes. He brought a quivering hand to his lips as he leant in close to the cannibal, staring at the orbs in outright amazement. In the length of the night and early morning he had not been able to clearly study the cannibal's face. Darkness or the curtain of hair had made glimpsing anything other than the glint of the shining surface impossible.
There was no color in the iris; it had the murky gloss of a dead mans cataract, except that the round black pinprick of pupil remained vivid and un-clouded. The only thing keeping the iris from blending completely with the sclera was its needle thin outline of smoky gray. The stark black pupil seemed to float in a sea of pearlescent white. The effect was startling, unnerving and so profoundly wrong that Vercci allowed a moan of longing to escape his throat. He doubted that eyes like these had ever been seen by any generation on this earth. This creature was truly unique, a treasure greater than any in his vaults. Had Vercci been a believer of God, he would have thought himself blessed to own the man before him and would have thanked the Lord he regarded with disdain on bent knees right then and there.
In his awestruck observation he had drifted so close to the cannibal that their faces were mere centimeters away, as though the white eyes were pulling him in with their dead stare. As the tip of Vercci's nose brushed the cannibals foul skin, the eyes snapped to him. Voldo moved back slowly, drawn out of his reverie as reluctantly as poison from a vein as he was forced to register the man so unacceptably close. Voldo hissed low in his throat but the sound faltered, turned into a wince as he hunched forward to ease the pain in his ribs.
Now that the eyes had removed their stare from him, Vercci felt himself come out of his daze as though a trancelike connection had been broken. He shook his head slightly, brow furrowed, realizing that he must have spent several minutes gazing into the black, empty pupils and also worried that he'd let himself become so captivated. That was not his role; things never owned him, never captivated him. He regarded the cannibal with renewed caution, although lust still pounded fiercely within him. Vercci smirked in amusement. While his hand on the captive's manhood had not drawn any reaction, the closeness of their faces had sent the beast into a fearful and instant retreat, albeit a flawed one. The implications of that alone were enough to make Vercci want to toy with the man, but the cannibal's reaction to his surroundings was now so bizarre as to keep the perverted thoughts from making the leap to perverted physical actions.
The cannibal had backed into the center of the tub, away from Vercci but also away from any exit. Wounded, frustrated, tired and terrified the cannibal was no longer capable of making audible sounds, whether this was from the pain in his ribs or from pure, vocal inhibiting fury, Vercci could not tell. The cannibal opened his mouth in a silent howl, dirty lips stretched and teeth bared, closed it in a grimace and loosed a mute cry, that, had it had volume, would have pierced Vercci's ears. As the silent tirade continued the cannibal began to swing his head from side to side, much like an agitated horse, although on a human it appeared more akin to an epileptic fit, or the crazed rocking of a mad man in a cruel asylum.
Vercci found the spectacle beautiful although the underused emotion of concern began to flare up in him again, stealing some of the potency of his lust away in the process. Vercci's only concern in the event of the cannibal going completely insane, if he was not already, was that he might not be able to train the man properly, or elicit the amount of control he desired. More for his longing than for any actual care of the beast, he began to wind along the round, tiled edge of the tub, hoping he might catch hold of the leash around the swinging neck, pull the man back and force him to calm down. He was keenly aware that the cannibal would damage himself if he continued his strange fit.
Vercci, reached out, ringed fingers splayed wide, caught the now sopping rope and pulled the cannibal towards him. The head swung around to face him so violently that Vercci was amazed that none of the cannibal's vertebra cracked in protest. The eyes were wide, livid and so empty looking that Vercci was both in awe and repelled. He pulled the rope harder, and the cannibal weakly resisted. As the man seemed to realize he could not yet fight, the anger in the glossy eyes became replaced with fear, something that caused Vercci to lick his thin lips, and, just as quickly as he'd come to consciousness, Voldo had retreated back inside his mind, numb and cowering in his inner nest.
Vercci was slightly startled at how quickly the cannibal had again given up resisting. This would either making bending him to his will entirely too easy or a challenge the likes of which he'd never faced. Not whishing to get his fingers ripped off, Vercci waved them experimentally in front of the dead eyes. The cannibal gave no reaction and no gnashing teeth removed his digits and expensive jewelry. Satisfied that the beast would cause him no harm, but now careful to keep his face away from the cannibal's own, Vercci grabbed another cloth. Half cradling the head in the crook of his arm, Vercci began to scrub clean the skin of the cannibals face.
He had not been able to discern much of the beast's facial structure, as the face was easily the filthiest part of the body, almost nauseatingly so. Layers of dried blood and bits of flesh had hardened around the mouth, cracked and flaking as though it were a scab trying to heal. The rest of the face was speckled and streaked with blood and the general accumulated grime and grease that went along with never bathing. Vercci was careful to keep the soapy cloth away from the cannibal's eyes, in part to keep form marring the pale surface with irritated redness and also to keep the cannibal safely docile within his mind.
As he scrubbed the jaw and cheekbones, Vercci became aware that the man possessed an angular and well-defined face. He slopped prodigious amounts of water and soap about the mouth, and saw that the lips, while not full were symmetrical and possessed a very faint rusty color perhaps stained from blood. The nose was cleaned next, which proved to be straight and slightly large, a perfect compliment to the angles of the deep cheekbones. The brow was not heavy, nor was it sloping. Staring hard into the clean, colorless face of his captive, Vercci knew that if any other human had possessed a visage like this, they would have been deemed attractive. To Vercci, this man was more than attractive. He was the ideal. When seen in his wiry, angular and stark white entirety, Vercci looked upon the cannibal as a marble sculpture the likes of which Michelangelo himself could never have hoped to create, a trophy, a work of art of such perverse beauty that Vercci could do nothing but stare and flex his fingers lustily.
Every bit of control he possessed was called upon to keep himself from giving into the carnal desire coursing through him. He wanted the man before him, wanted him so fiercely that his temples throbbed and his skin reddened. Knowing that if he were to touch the cannibal, if only to remove him from the bath, he would disintegrate completely and end up in some position he might regret if the cannibal were to come to his senses, Vercci called for his servants in a strained voice.
The two men who had been lingering in the foyer entered, careful to keep their eyes averted lest they glance at the tub and it's occupant. They found Vercci standing so still it looked as though he had gone ridged, but his stance was the result of keeping his composure, which strained him greatly. He managed to bite out instructions, his voice taught and clipped.
"Take him from the bath, dry him and put him in the cell nearest to my bed chambers."
Each of them regarded him incredulously before turning away and walking up the short stairway to the tub. Seeing the stark white body of the cannibal caused them to halt in surprise. Seeing the white, inhuman eyes staring blankly was enough to make each of them want to turn and flee. But knowing that Vercci was in a peculiar mood, they reluctantly took hold of the cannibal's arms, dragging him out of the tub. As they went about drying the man, disgust showing plainly on their features, they heard Vercci utter "Do not go near his face," which was a rather useless thing to say as neither of them would have dared to do such a thing.
In under a minute the cannibal was dry and the two men took him again under the arms, and transported the long, wiry body to Vercci's bedchamber
.
The farthest row of bookshelves, directly opposite Vercci's rich bed on its dais, concealed a short hallway comprised of cold stone. In the dark, claustrophobia inducing space were six small holding cells built directly into the stone, each completed with a thick wooden door and within that a thin rectangular window barred with iron. These cells were dear to Vercci's heart and he put his most treasured captives here, so that he may hear their wails and curses as he slept. He never slept so soundly as when one of them began to break. The knowledge that he slept in sheets of satin, while others could be shut up in a dark, closet sized cell when he wished it made him feel both secure and incredibly powerful. He wanted the cannibal close to him, not yet in his bed, but certainly not in the dank dungeons in the lowest level.
He walked ahead of the servants and their load, to the familiar sliding panel of books and pushed down on a thick unused copy of The Holy Bible, grinning at the irony as he always did when the holy book triggered the panel to slide back into the wall and reveal hell.
Currently, no unfortunate souls resided in these cells. The last man to have been in one of these dark recesses had been Cephas. The servants holding the cannibals arms had broken out in a sweat, terrified that they may be whisked away and forced to go mad in the isolated darkness at their master's whim. Neither of them realized that they were not nearly important enough to garner a spot so close to Vercci's heart. They were more likely to be killed and fed to his newest captive. Vercci spoke suddenly, breaking the tomblike silence of the corridor as he unlocked the cell nearest to the bedchamber. It opened with the heavy moan of old wood, dust accumulating on the rim of the door breaking free and falling lightly to the ground.
"Lay him down in here, then you," he motioned to the man nearest him, "bring some blankets off a guest bed." Vercci's eyes were alight, feverish with longing and fearful happiness. "And you, go to the kitchens and have a plate of raw meat prepared. Also, bring a large bowl of water." Compared to how most of his captives lived in these cells, Vercci was setting the cannibal up like a king.
As the servants left to fulfill their tasks, Vercci crossed over to an elaborate, claw footed, wardrobe to the right of his bed. In one of the lower drawers he removed a stretch of thin, but strong black thread, shoved aside instruments of cruel make and crueler intention, and found a needle suitable for the cannibal. In a smaller box within the wardrobe, Vercci snatched up a small round container of thick translucent salve.
He walked back into the corridor and knelt in the doorway of the first cell, where the cannibal lay sprawled and bare, still locked within his mind even as his body was about to become a prisoner in Vercci's asylum.
Vercci regarded the naked form with maddening appetite, allowing himself to drink in every detail of the alabaster flesh, made eerily luminescent from the indirect candlelight. Swallowing deeply, he flipped the cannibal over so that the chest was on the cold stone floor. He knelt over the back, spreading a thick layer of salve over and inside of the now angrily inflamed dagger wound. He threaded his needle with the antenna-like string and began to stitch the cannibal up once more, this time making the stitches closer and tighter. He doubted the wound would reopen even if the cannibal were to beat himself senseless against the walls, as others had done in years past.
As soon as this task was finished, he heard the echoing footsteps of a servant returning. The man hurried into the bedchamber and visibly paled several shades as he spied Vercci bent over the cannibal's unclad backside. Vercci turned to him with a wicked grin, knowing exactly what the man had assumed he'd been doing and making no attempt to correct the thought. "You may set those down and leave," he said, humor in his voice although it went unheard by the servant who set the pile of quilts down before the doorway, turned and walked quickly from the room. Vercci heard his footsteps quicken into a run as the man entered the foyer. Let him think what he wants to think, Vercci thought, delightedly.
Vercci stood, mostly to keep himself from doing what the servant had assumed he'd already been doing and also to return the salve and needle to their respective drawers. By the time this was done, the other servant had entered, a tray of raw, bloody meat in one hand and a bowl of water cradled in the crook of his arm. Vercci removed these items from him gingerly and then dismissed the man. He entered the small corridor once more, tossed the blankets over the cannibals pale form and set the tray of raw meat before him, lowering the bowl of water nearby. He stole one last glance at his captive before closing the heavy door and locking it with a metallic clink. He then exited the corridor, pushed The Holy Bible down and let the bookshelf slide back into its proper place.
Vercci realized, as the bookshelf thudded thickly into its groove, that he was tired. He'd been so fantastically excited from the nights and early mornings events that he'd not spared a second to realize that he, like the cannibal, was bordering on exhaustion. He crossed over to his bed, sat on it for several twitchy moments and then stood and began pacing the length and breadth of his chambers, possessed by some manic energy and left over adrenaline that refused to dissipate. He could not get the image of the now clean cannibal from his head and as he paced, he was seized with the desire to unlock the cell door and have his way with the beast. Something, perhaps the knowledge that the cannibal's appetite may have been awoken due to the plate of raw mean sitting near to him, held him back each time this craving took hold.
He was left feeling frustrated, lust filled and tired all at once. He crossed back over to his bed and pulled on one of the many cords near his desk. This would rattle a bell in the kitchen and hopefully send a servant up to inquire about his dietary needs. He was hungry, though his appetite was not for food. After a few minutes he heard footsteps in the foyer, and a servant woman stood apprehensively in the tall doorway, awaiting an order that she could relay to the cook. Vercci stood and began to walk towards her. She stiffened, already wary. Usually her master would simply bark out an order…never would he confront her directly. She was not important enough for that.
He took her roughly by the arm, and immediately she knew what he desired and fought to flee. He dragged her forcefully towards his bed, nearly wrenching her arm out of its socket as she screamed in her native tongue and was heard by no one but her master and the mad man behind the bookshelf. She flailed against him, but Vercci's excitement only doubled as he felt her fear roll off of her in waves. She kicked viciously as he tossed her onto the satin sheets and bent over her, fumbling with his pants. Just because he lacked ropes, did not mean he lacked the ability to restrain. He held the nameless servant still as he began to ravage her. Vercci did not see her tear streaked face, nor did he hear her muffled cries. Instead, in his mind, he saw the wide white eyes of the cannibal and felt his wiry body beneath him.