Color/Character Key:
May. Martyr. Arthour. Charles. Renna.
The warehouse was a run down piece of work. But it had a roof that blocked out the sunlight that weakened her, and it had quite the backroom that more than happily allowed May to conceal hersef and her little prize away from the public eye. Her own torture house of horror. Her own little home, where she could feed from the succulent blood of a woman she longed to keep at her side forever more. Each taste, each lick of that blood - it drove her mad. It healed her wounds. It made her feel whole again if for but a moment. It wore off quickly. But that didn't stop her from abusing her power over her newly found Bloodslave. She sat upon a dusty crate, the room they occupied small, but with a high ceiling. More than likely a storeroom for dry goods, for the walls and ceiling were quite heavily insulated from the outside world. It acted as good sound proofing, as well. She watched the sleeping form of Martyr, who she had settled onto a bunch of white, dirty sheets she had found in the trash outside. Her lips part, and her tongue raked across her fangs. Itching to delve them into that neck.
In the musty air of the warehouse, Martyr breathed, upon the dingy sheets Martyr laid. Wide-eyes more empty than ever, stared at the seemingly bare ground. She didn't speak, barely blinked, and only sat near her new keeper....Thoughts of Max, and Val were in the back of her mind, a mere whisper to her by this time. Stringy mocha tresses covered a single one of those violet orbs, and her cheeks lacked that natural glow that once occupied that flawless complexion. She sighed softly, and shut her eyes in a long blink, before opening them again.
Sleep. Sleep she did. That mind of hers - it belonged to May, now. Her body - it belonged to her, now. Everything, every drop of blood and bead of sweat and every drool of saliva. It was hers. All hers. A sadistic grin passed over her lips, as she pushed to her feet, and moved to press her lips tenderly to the side of Martyr's neck. "You must be exhausted, my dear. But you recover quick from my feeds. I like that....Like an endless fountain of blood....Such....Delicious, blood....But why do we share pain....It is strange. I bite you....And I feel my own fangs, in my own neck" And I feel your bliss, within my form as if I was Kissed by a creature such as myself..." She licked her lips again, and pressed an index finger to the Martyr's chin, and tilted her head a little to the left, to inspect her dead eyes. "Who is your Mistress?"
Martyr's dead violets, dragged themselves to Henrietta's mismatched orbs. She'd been numbed down by the woman, and left to be a fraction of what she used to be. However, that didn't stop Martyr from delivering the slightest shudders in response to May's lips upon her neck. "You, my Queen.." Martyr responded—a tongue robbed of the stammer that had once occupied it, breaking her lyrics into pieces."It's....something my blood does..." Martyr mumbled, her voice a monotone shell of what it once was"
"Even the Manticore Virus cannot prevent that link....Interesting....Or does it' Perhaps I don't need Mother's blood no more. If I feed from you constantly, I ought to remain....Yes. Healed. I won't need her anymore." She settled cold metallic hands onto Martyr's cheeks. "Queen? Yes. Soon. I will be. With you by my side, I shall overthrow Mother, and destroy her. Take her power, and we'll..." She snorted. "I'm giving you too much credit." She drew back, and slapped a hand swiftly towards Martyr's cheek. "Beg for my Kiss, Slave!"
The warehouse was a run down piece of work. But it had a roof that blocked out the sunlight that weakened her, and it had quite the backroom that more than happily allowed May to conceal hersef and her little prize away from the public eye. Her own torture house of horror. Her own little home, where she could feed from the succulent blood of a woman she longed to keep at her side forever more. Each taste, each lick of that blood - it drove her mad. It healed her wounds. It made her feel whole again if for but a moment. It wore off quickly. But that didn't stop her from abusing her power over her newly found Bloodslave. She sat upon a dusty crate, the room they occupied small, but with a high ceiling. More than likely a storeroom for dry goods, for the walls and ceiling were quite heavily insulated from the outside world. It acted as good sound proofing, as well. She watched the sleeping form of Martyr, who she had settled onto a bunch of white, dirty sheets she had found in the trash outside. Her lips part, and her tongue raked across her fangs. Itching to delve them into that neck.
In the musty air of the warehouse, Martyr breathed, upon the dingy sheets Martyr laid. Wide-eyes more empty than ever, stared at the seemingly bare ground. She didn't speak, barely blinked, and only sat near her new keeper....Thoughts of Max, and Val were in the back of her mind, a mere whisper to her by this time. Stringy mocha tresses covered a single one of those violet orbs, and her cheeks lacked that natural glow that once occupied that flawless complexion. She sighed softly, and shut her eyes in a long blink, before opening them again.
Sleep. Sleep she did. That mind of hers - it belonged to May, now. Her body - it belonged to her, now. Everything, every drop of blood and bead of sweat and every drool of saliva. It was hers. All hers. A sadistic grin passed over her lips, as she pushed to her feet, and moved to press her lips tenderly to the side of Martyr's neck. "You must be exhausted, my dear. But you recover quick from my feeds. I like that....Like an endless fountain of blood....Such....Delicious, blood....But why do we share pain....It is strange. I bite you....And I feel my own fangs, in my own neck" And I feel your bliss, within my form as if I was Kissed by a creature such as myself..." She licked her lips again, and pressed an index finger to the Martyr's chin, and tilted her head a little to the left, to inspect her dead eyes. "Who is your Mistress?"
Martyr's dead violets, dragged themselves to Henrietta's mismatched orbs. She'd been numbed down by the woman, and left to be a fraction of what she used to be. However, that didn't stop Martyr from delivering the slightest shudders in response to May's lips upon her neck. "You, my Queen.." Martyr responded—a tongue robbed of the stammer that had once occupied it, breaking her lyrics into pieces."It's....something my blood does..." Martyr mumbled, her voice a monotone shell of what it once was"
"Even the Manticore Virus cannot prevent that link....Interesting....Or does it' Perhaps I don't need Mother's blood no more. If I feed from you constantly, I ought to remain....Yes. Healed. I won't need her anymore." She settled cold metallic hands onto Martyr's cheeks. "Queen? Yes. Soon. I will be. With you by my side, I shall overthrow Mother, and destroy her. Take her power, and we'll..." She snorted. "I'm giving you too much credit." She drew back, and slapped a hand swiftly towards Martyr's cheek. "Beg for my Kiss, Slave!"