Previous Masters

[Reikas Esterion]

[Due to an overabundance of muse and a general site slowdown, I'm going to start writing...basically a fic about Reikas' previous masters/mistresses, just for the hell of it. A touch of character development, if you will.]

The realization no longer hurt like a blow every morning Reikas awoke, but the demon still struggled every day he sat behind bars to pick himself back up from the floor his master's death had knocked him to. It was like a weight on his chest, a heavy weight of fear and longing. Fear for the future, longing for the past. What they'd had was beautiful, a perfect understanding, something rare and divine. And now he was alone again.

It might not have been so awful had it not been so sudden. That cold, impartial sea and its cruel storms...Reikas loved ships and sailing, but his master had not. And the tropical storm had loved neither of them.

It haunted his dreams. His master's frantic, terrified cries, the buffeting waves capsizing the ship, constantly dragging the two of them beneath the surface, that sickening feeling when his master's grip slipped from his own and was never again felt. Of course Reikas had survived, he had never been healthier and he knew the sea better than one might expect him to.

It was perverse, in a way. A healthy slave lives while his master dies. Sick, the way the world worked. Save the unimportant and disrupt the entire social order on a whim. How fragile people are...

He could have gotten a job. Free of his master, he was offered a job as a seaman, a harbor worker, basically a freelance pair of hands called on for heavy labor or sailing. But he couldn't. He couldn't be free now, he needed someone to look after him. It had been too long since he was on his own, he'd never survive. If anything, he needed someone to pull him out of this consuming depression...

"...Happiness demon...? You don't look very...happy."

She was a fiery redheaded Vampire with porcelain skin and cherry lipstick. Everything about her contrasted sharply, her vividly painted face with its eyeliner-ringed emerald eyes, her dark silk crimson dress with black lace, her long, black fingernails, and the ivory skin that acted as backdrop to it all. Reikas looked up at her and blinked. She was beautiful, but he was tired from endless nightmares.

She eyed him carefully. "You don't look particularly intelligent, either..." she remarked with the faintest of accents he immediately identified as from the north of Ireland. She was losing it, though, as he had his accent decades ago. "Tell me, what is a 'Happiness Demon'?" She tilted her head curiously, and her curly hair bounced lightly to her right shoulder. She looked to be about his apparent age, somewhere in her thirties perhaps. Older than the typical Vampire.

"There's a brief description on the sign," he said wearily.

Her eyes widened in surprised anger, and she moved closer to the cage bars with a sharp click of stiletto heels. "Perhaps I don't want to read a sign, demon," she spat, her lilt becoming thicker. "Perhaps I want to hear it from your tongue."

Reikas was no stranger to abuse, verbal or otherwise. As far as he was concerned, the bars separating them might have been a reinforced concrete wall. They offered the same protection. He drew a breath, and exhaled. He just couldn't muster the enthusiasm on his own. It had been a few days now he had been in this cage, and though he didn't physically show it yet, his strength was beginning to ebb.

"A happiness demon is a creature that feeds on the positive emotions of others," he began quietly, like a textbook. "We survive by sharing in the joy of our masters, we must please our owners to stay alive. We make perfect slaves because our very existence and strength and power depend on how good of a servant we are, how much we please our owners."

The Vampire listened with unconcealed interest, her eyes never leaving Reikas'. He found himself unable to look away from those emerald irises as well, and felt fairly certain that she was exerting some sort of influence over him. He felt a bit guilty that he couldn't offer her a better impression of himself. He was usually much more perky and attentive than this. He did come closer to the bars, though. She was definitely influencing him.

"Is that so?" she purred, quiet again. Her American accent took back over. She laid herself against the bars and curled one manicured hand around the scuffed steel. Reikas raised his hand to cover hers. Her eyes darted to it for a brief moment before returning to his, and in that span it felt like the cage had shifted, the world jolting out of alignment before snapping back into place. He didn't mind. He was too tired to bother fighting, and he probably wouldn't have resisted her, anyway.

She continued with a cherry red smile. "So you would please me if I bought you?"

"Whatever you asked, as if my life depended on it." Reikas' voice dropped in the proximity as he spoke, his world slowly becoming those gemstone eyes.

"Do you like to submit?" her breath was cold, like an early spring breeze.

"It is all I know," he lied quietly. Something sparked in her eyes, and he felt talons tiptoe their way up his chest like spiders' legs. Her nails. He did not move.

"You are a good slave..." she whispered quietly, her Irish accent thickening once more. It was disarming, almost as much as those eyes. "To what lengths will you go for me?"

"I can trust you to the edge of death and back," Reikas murmured. The green was shrinking. Her pupils were dilating slowly. He barely felt himself breathing. Her hand had worked its way up to his neck and the pad of one finger traced a prominent external jugular vein lightly. He could barely feel her touch. At some point their hands on the cell's bar had switched places so hers now covered his, trapping it there. He felt lightheaded, and so very, very tired.

"You trust me very much right now..." Their lips were mere inches apart. Her eyes were so big...they filled his vision, those black pupils wide enough to fall through. He stared at them in silence for a little while longer, and made not a sound when they dilated fully and drew him in, fading his world to black.

[Reikas Esterion]

A sharp finger snap echoed in the darkness, and Reikas awoke and looked around. He was standing. He felt rested, more rested than he had since the life-changing boat ride days before.

He was in an unfamiliar room. It was dimly lit by a simple chandelier a few feet in front of him. The snap had come from his left, and he found the same Irish Vampire standing at its source, appraising him quietly with another soft cherry smirk.

"No one's ever fallen so deeply before..." she remarked casually, folding slender arms under a chest quite a few women might be jealous of. She walked closer, her heels muffled against a thin rug. "I am told your name is Reikas?" she asked.

"Yes." He didn't move, but Reikas turned his head away to look around the room before she could put another spell on him with those glittering eyes. It was old-fashioned, the walls papered with a vertical floral design, the carpet old and worn and dark, painted portraits hanging in large gilded frames here and there. The furniture was sparse and consisted only of various upholstered chairs and ottomans and low tables. Very bachelor-esque, nothing was capable of holding more than a single person. The retro look was comforting to the old demon.

"And what may I call you, Mistress?" he asked quietly. He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned to look at her again, directly in the eye. He was unafraid of her hypnotic powers, and she seemed surprised by this.

"You're used to being a slave," she said, smiling. She was slightly shorter than him. Her chin could rest easily on his shoulder, and it nearly did as she brought her other hand up to lay on the first.

"I am," he said quietly but with great self-assurance.

"Mistress will do for now," she continued on the previous track, "or Mistress Varsha."

He nodded cordially.

"You're not afraid of me," she remarked leaning closer, and he felt his body relax.

"Assuming I was not stolen, I like to trust that my masters would not kill their newest investment."

"Is death all you fear? Come, let us sit down."

Reikas hardly had to move his own body. Mistress Varsha guided them both to a winged high-back chair and gestured for him to sit. He did, and she floated down into his lap. His arms encircled her waist of their own accord. Her quiet joy was invigorating even as her hypnosis threatened to drown him in sleep again.

"I fear many things Mistress," he said quietly. "The one I cannot face is death."

"The only one?"

"Yes."

She dropped her eyes to his chest, and the world rocked again as a dizzy spell overtook Reikas' mind. By the time it settled away she had worked her hand under his shirt and those spider leg nails sat poised against his stomach. He blinked a few times and held her carefully. She seemed to be waiting for something. When nothing happened for long enough, she looked up at him again, her free hand resting on his shoulder, and she traced her nails against his skin.

"You have quite a strong will, yet you are an obedient slave," she remarked, something careful in her tone. She was pleased, but it was mixed with something. Surprise, if her face was any indication. Pleasant surprise. A nice meal for a man who didn't feel his starvation until fed.

"My will is to serve," Reikas replied. He allowed himself to enjoy the touch and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. "It is not always an easy task."

"You're not lying...I've never met a slave like you." Her nails climbed higher and higher up his chest, and she shifted herself closer to him. He shifted his arms accordingly to support her. "You enjoy slavery."

"My masters enjoy me. I make them happy. They keep me strong and fed. Mutually beneficial."

"And that's all you need? To be fed?"

"It is all I can ask for."

"Take off your shirt."

That was quick. Reikas obliged, leaning forward and pulling his T-shirt over his head. He draped it behind him on the top of the armchair and began to hold his mistress again, but she caught his wrists and placed them on the arms of the chair. He left them there for her, and she traced his muscles lightly.

"Have you ever been a Vampire's feeder slave before?" she asked, one hand gently describing the muscles and tendons of his neck.

His heart sank. It was not his favorite job. "Yes," he replied quietly, his eyes studying her face. He needed to feed more often than a Vampire did, and if that was all he would be, this would not be a pleasant household for him. Finding alternative sources of supplemental nourishment was very often a thankless and jealousy-inducing job.

"Good," she replied. She shifted in his lap, and lowered her mouth to his throat. She was quick indeed to the point. He shifted as well and tilted his head backwards against the chair's back again. She ran her tongue along his skin, searching for a vein. It wasn't difficult to find on Reikas, he had double external jugulars that caught every Vampire's longing eye as they passed on the street. Of course he would be her feeder, how could she have resisted? How silly of him to hope otherwise. Not that he had hoped for anything. He hadn't had the time or the free will to do so yet.

He exhaled in sad disappointment as he felt his pulse against her teeth. Her excitement rose as she felt it too. The bite was sharp and painful, but he didn't show it. Instead, he shifted his arms to support her once again as she relaxed against him. Those veins bled a lot and he'd had a Vampire once slip off him in surprised bliss and make a dangerous mess of the open and nearly-fatal wound. That would never happen again. He sincerely had almost died.

She was neat about it, though. Didn't even smudge her lipstick. The bite scarred nicely over as soon as she'd finished, and she sighed with pleasure. He drank it in with chagrin, knowing it would never be enough to sustain him.

She slipped from him and beckoned him to stand.

"Come," she said curtly, acting a bit more as she had in the trading rings. "Take your shirt and I'll show you to your room."

He rose with a sinking dread. He did not like his new Mistress Varsha. He had trusted her and she was taking advantage of his single-minded trust. He did not like her and her pseudo-sensual ways one bit. He followed her through a hallway in silent sadness.

[Reikas Esterion]

His depression was crippling by morning. Mistress Varsha had dropped him in a large ward full of fellow slaves already divided into factions based on use, none of whom took kindly to strangers. Especially strangers suffering from a temporary mental illness. He gave his name and apparent status within this unfamiliar hierarchy and was shunned to a bed in the center of traffic, where he sat and watched the quibbling factions with barely a wisp of happiness in the entire room until dinner. He neither needed nor was invited to go, and so curled up on the stiff old bed facing the wall as the rest of the slaves filed out, and felt extremely unpleasant for a long time. When the slaves returned from dinner, he pretended to be asleep, and was mercifully left alone for the night.

Sleep did not come easily, as in the cages, but the dawn found him nearly paralyzed in his bed, unable to find a reason to leave it. He had been given no duties, no one to report to for them, and no way to know if he would be needed by his mistress. He felt miserably alone, and none of the slaves took pity on him. If anything, they sneered even more at his uselessness and made quiet remarks about demonic incompetence and how much of a waste of money he must have been. He couldn't help but agree. He had promised to fulfill his mistress' desires, and here he was instead cowering beneath a thin, worn blanket on a stiff old bed with stubborn springs that dug into every pressure point they could find. What a pathetic waste of good capital.

It was a little past noon when Mistress Varsha pushed her way into the slave ward and marched up to his bed, where he still lay.

"...What are you doing??" she demanded. He looked up at her pathetically. She was wearing navy blue silk today. Beautiful as always. "The others tell me you haven't moved since last night. I thought getting you our of that cage would be enough to snap you out of whatever mood you're in. Get up."

Obediently Reikas pushed the sheet off and rose, bare chested and barefoot, and stood lackluster before his mistress. She glared up at him. He couldn't lift his eyes from the floor.

"If you expect me to take you back, I won't," she said sharply. "I don't return my purchases. Is that what you want? To not be a feeder slave?"

Reikas stayed silent. He wasn't sure if she was type who ranted at her slaves and expected perfect silence, or wanted an actual answer. A sharp backhand to the face clarified who she was very quickly, and Reikas hastened to pick himself back up from the floor amid her banshee-like screeches of obedience and the places of slaves, half of it in a thick Gaelic he didn't understand. She kicked him down again though and pressed a dangerous stiletto to his neck. He lay dead still, hardly daring to breathe as she screamed herself out and lowered her voice to a quiet, Irish hiss.

"We had this disagreement in the trading rings, demon." She leered down at him, her hair a nimbus of fire. "Do you want your tongue cut out? It would give you an excuse not to talk, if that's what you want. I can arrange that personally..."

"No," Reikas rasped with an exhausted fear. "I am sorry, Mistress." A shuddering cough choked in his throat and she moved her heel from his trachea to his heart, hardly a better option.

"Then answer all questions presented to you." Varsha straightened her back and looked down her nose at him. "Do you not wish to be a feeder slave?"

"It is not my first choice," he replied truthfully. His neck hurt but he dared not move his hand to rub it.

"Then what would you have me do with you?" A crowd of curious slaves was beginning to gather by now. Neither Reikas nor Varsha paid them any attention.

"Give me more," Reikas replied, anxious, miserable, and frightened. "Give--"

"More what?"

"More...Things! I don't..." Reikas squirmed uncomfortably and was rewarded with a more threatening pressure against his chest until he answered the question. He looked away. "Just...Do with me as you please, Mistress. I just don't know what I should be doing."

"So you lie in bed until half past lunch waiting for someone to give you an order??"

"I'm not usually like this," Reikas muttered in shame.

Varsha scrutinized him darkly, then took her shoe from his chest. He looked up at her and she motioned for him to stand. He pushed himself to his feet, noting the tiny horseshoe-shaped mark left by the cruel back edge of her heel. It would form a prominent and very ugly bruise quite soon.

"Then what are you like?"

Reikas looked around at the sea of faces that had gathered, then back to his rapidly angering mistress. "Attentive," he told her, struggling for words that came to him like canoes in a river of molasses. "Erm..." He sighed. He was not putting up a good front and he knew it.

Varsha was not pleased. "Come with me," she said quietly.

Barefoot, shirtless, and filled with a sickly sort of despair, Reikas followed his mistress from the slave quarters, honestly unable to understand what was wrong with him.

[Reikas Esterion]

"Alright, Happiness Demon, you gave me one impression of you in the cages, now you're home and suddenly you're a useless lump of flesh. You're not making me very happy."

They were in a dungeon. Strangely enough, the sense of foreboding was so much better than the struggle with Reikas' other emotions. Here, he knew what was coming, or what might be coming. And as far as he was concerned, he deserved it. He had deceived her unknowingly, and so deserved the full wrath of his mistress over her wasted wealth.

He sat on a high table with clear provisions for human restraint, looking somewhat like a child in a doctor's office. She sat in a very out-of-place Victorian-style chair, lounging comfortably. He gripped the edge of the table with apprehension, well aware that at any second she could order him to lie back. It kept his pulse up, which helped keep him more alert and focused.

"Being a feeder slave leaves little opportunity for pleasing you, mistress," he replied, looking at his knees. "From what I understand, all I am expected to do is to bare my throat at your whim."

Varsha narrowed her eyes. "Perhaps not the most pleasant job, I agree, but certainly an easy one. Would you rather perform backbreaking labor or solve complex problems to keep you busy? Is that it, do you need to be kept busy?" Her tone was almost accusatory.

"No." It was hard to tell if she was being facetious or genuine in her curiosity though, so he obliged her to be on the safe side. "I..." He looked up at her. "I do not wish to overstep boundaries. I don't know what's happened to me or why I didn't feel the need to leave my bed at breakfast, but--"

"--Did you not eat today?"

"I do not consume food," Reikas corrected. "I survive only on the positive emotions of others."

"So you didn't actually need to get out of bed."

"No."

"Hmph. Well that's better than what I thought. I thought you were starving yourself. That's what the others said."

Reikas exhaled shortly, and nodded, looking down again. "I was not," he reaffirmed. "I...seem to be suffering from a temporary depression, but I am not suicidal."

"Do you suffer from depression often?"

"No. It's very unusual, and I'm very sorry..."

Varsha seemed to soften at his earnest apology. "Well, what's wrong?" she asked him.

"I'm not sure," he replied truthfully. "I...I suffered a sudden loss of my last master, and I've been having nightmares about it. I was very close to him."

Whatever kindness she had had seemed to ebb slightly. "How long ago was this?" she asked.

"Four days." Varsha was openly shocked by this. "No! Five, I'm sorry." The days had blended together for the demon, but it didn't seem, to matter. The Vampire was still surprised.

"What happened?" she asked. "You were already on sale again?"

"Yes..." Reikas nodded. "He died in a tropical storm at sea. He'd brought me on a cruise, there was an unexpected storm...I lost him in the waves, a boat found me, we never found him."

"And this was..."

"Five days ago, early morning."

"Monday. And you were on sale by yesterday?"

"I was on sale by Tuesday evening."

"What?!"

"I'm sorry, mistress, I'll be better, I promi--"

"No! How did you...Were you recaptured?"

Reikas looked up uncertainly. He wasn't sure what Varsha was so suddenly interested in. For a Vampire that had left him to fend for himself, she suddenly took a surprisingly personal interest in him. He felt awful that he had unwittingly sold her damaged goods, but there was something else. She was surprised with the fact that the goods had even been on sale to begin with. But what else could be done with them?

"I brought myself back," he told her.

There was a sort of confused silence. Varsha looked at him. He looked uncertainly at her, and shifted back on the table, pulling his legs up and folding them.

"You...why?" she finally managed.

"I was technically set free. His will was that I not be passed on to family."

"So you willingly submitted yourself to slavery?"

"I will be a better slave, Mistress," he promised. "I will find things to do, I won't...lie around. I'm sorry."

Varsha studied him, and he could nearly see an idea form in her mind. He couldn't tell exactly what she was thinking, but judging from her expression...he would not like it. It went from compassionate to curious, then through suspicious to settle back on hard-edged. She rose. Her suspicion settled uneasily in his mind. His apology hung in the air between them. What was she suspicious of?

"Why don't we make sure of that, hm?" she asked darkly. Whatever it was, she had no intention of telling, it seemed. "Stand up. Over to that wall."

She pointed to a wall from which hung various bolted steel manacles. He turned to look, blinked, and turned back to her with a flash of concern that rapidly dissolved into acceptance. On a rudimentary level it made sense, and it was an order to follow. He liked following orders. It took his mind from other, less pleasant things.

He felt a mounting excitement from her behind him as he walked. She was a sadist.She looked forward to punishing him. Oddly enough...he felt relieved. It took the edge from the mounting anxiety in his chest, and it also took something else from there as well. By the time he turned back to face her, the ugly little heel imprint was gone.

She noticed immediately. It had been the only flaw on an otherwise uniform chest. "The bruise is gone. Can you heal yourself at will?"

"No mistress. But sources of excitement can speed my healing process."

Her green eyes narrowed with a dark curiosity. She didn't say anything, but he could practically see the cogs working as she walked past him to select the proper chains.

Reikas paused by the wall, and a strange feeling came over him. It wasn't dread and it wasn't worry, but it wasn't excitement either. It was almost a calm, an out-of-place tranquility. He'd spent days with repressed emotions...

Quietly, he realized what it was. Relief. Varsha looked at him sharply, her slender brow drawn together in confusion. He met her gaze steadily.

"You can sense my emotions," he guessed.

"I've never met a slave relieved to receive punishment," she confirmed.

"I'm a strange guy."

She quirked an eyebrow, and he actually managed a smile. She watched him curiously, then ordered him to face the wall.

[Reikas Esterion]

The dull thump of the cat o'nine tails against solid flesh was for a while the only sound that echoed in the cavernous space. When it was joined by Reikas' grunts of pain, Varsha paused, and the demon turned his head, listening.

"You're enjoying this," she accused sharply. She snapped the whip sharply across his shoulders. One tail caught him across the cheek and he turned away reflexively with a hiss of pain, the chains rattling as he automatically tried to touch and defend the new wound. His wrists were fastened at about hip height in front of him, close to the wall. His back alone was the target of the punishment.

"I don't enjoy pain Mistress," he corrected through loosely gritted teeth. He turned the other cheek to her to talk. "But I can feel that you enjoy this."

"You are also empathetic?"

He shook his head, wincing as it stretched raw skin at the base of his neck. "I can feel positive emotions that I can feed on, but nothing else."

"And you can chose to feed on emotions you sense?"

"I always feed on emotions I sense."

"You're feeding now?"

"You're not quite as happy now as you were striking me, but...yes, there's still a bit of euphoria."

A sharp, unexpected snap of the whip against his lower back this time and Reikas gasped in pain, tensing again reflexively and painfully. That one hurt a lot. Skin had broken. He had to be bleeding now if he wasn't before. He pressed his hot forehead to the cold, rough stone, his face twisted with pain.

"Stop," she ordered quietly. "Do not feed on my emotions without my consent."

"Mistress, it's automatic, I can't stop it from happening," he told the dungeon wall. He turned his face to lay his undamaged cheek against the stone next. The cooling surface was soothing.

"So you automatically suck emotions from...me?" she demanded. He heard the click of heels as she stepped closer. She drew the handle of the whip slowly straight down his back about an inch to right of his spine. He arched as the leather further agitated already angry welts. Her voice was right next to his ear. "I don't feel anything..."

"You wouldn't," he grunted as she dug the leather into the cross of several red lines in the middle of his back. He pressed his chest to the wall to try to escape the pain. The cold stone offered a little reprieve, but not much. "I don't steal it. It's shared."

"What?" A merciful release of pain as she backed off. Reikas breathed against the stone.

"It's shared," he panted quietly, doing his best to remain calm and focused. "I'm not a parasite or a Vampire, I don't take it from you. Emotions are released from the person, and I feed on that released emotion, after it's already given away. Harmless cohabitation. Symbiosis. I make you happy, you keep me fed."

"Really..." A cold hand slid up Reikas' shoulder and squeezed gently. The demon took deep breaths and nodded, wincing in pain. "I think I'm starting to understand..."

She pulled back suddenly on his shoulder and he stumbled backward, stressing his tender back. His hands stayed where they were though, and jerked his shoulders forward. Every welt was a hot wire against his skin, but it was lessening; he could once again feel Varsha's pleasure at his pain and it was beginning to heal him.

She procured a key and freed his hands. He rubbed sore wrists, and looked down at her. She dropped the cat o'nine tails behind her and slipped the key back in some unknown pocket.

"Chip up," she said with a cruel smirk. Reikas tilted his chin backwards and she took him in her arms and sank her fangs into his neck. He tried not to write this disgust. He disliked feeding Vampires more than he would ever admit, especially while in such pain and already bleeding. She took her sweet time, though, and he was just about to force himself to relax when she dug her nails into his back. The pain flared up like an electric shock, sucking the strength right out of him. He choked out something high-pitched but was rewarded almost immediately with a powerful feeling of excitement and satisfaction from Varsha. She didn't just like giving pain. She liked the reaction. In fact, her satisfaction was strong enough to once again begin healing the cuts and welts. She shifted her grip cruelly and he squirmed in pain and it excited her only more. The pain faded as his skin rebuilt itself, and he felt a mix of relief and dread. He was not ready for this relationship. He was still recovering from his last master, he couldn't sacrifice himself to another yet.

When she finished she made no effort to be clean, nearly ripping her teeth from his skin. But it didn't matter, she herself watched as the wound closed scarlessly, and she lapped up the excess blood once it had healed. She looked up at him, removing her hands from his back and sucking each fingertip individually to take his blood from it. He stood before her, struggling to not look as morose as he felt. She either ignored it or just didn't care.

"Turn," she commanded. He displayed to her a blood streaked but otherwise unmarred back. "Face me." He managed a hollow smirk but nothing more. Even his face was smooth and unbroken.

"So that's how you work...?" she asked quietly, reaching up to his cheek and wiping the teardrop of blood from his skin with her fingertip. She pressed it to her lips as she studied him.

"Exactly," he told he with an almost bowing nod, leaving his eyes downward. "I share in the darkest passions of my masters and their euphoria feeds and restores me."

"And you do this willingly?"

"Your joy is my joy, Mistress."

"You don't seem to joyful."

"I will be." His responses were mechanical now. They were not lies though, despite his lack of passion. He just couldn't muster up the false excitement for her. As far as he knew, she'd be able to see through it anyway.

"You make a lot of promises for a man struggling with recurring depression."

"Give me time, Mistress, and I will be ready."

"Another promise. Very well then." She studied his face carefully, and started to walk around him. He didn't move. "You have until tomorrow, Reikas. From the looks of it you don't need much more recovery, am I correct?" She reached out and wiped a spot of blood from his back carelessly.

"You are, Mistress. I will need no recovery," he said, gathering himself up and straightening his posture. Orders and deadlines were things he functioned best with. He could work with a day. It was plenty of time to prepare. "A day is enough to prepare."

She finished her circle in silence, then stood before him again, eyeing him. "And you would willingly prefer this to feeding me?"

"I would willingly do it in conjunction with feeding you." He was actually starting to feel much better, right here in the middle of the conversation. One day to recover, to pay his respects and bid a final farewell to his beloved previous owner, and to prepare for a life of battery and strength. Having a set path and a short-term goal seemed exactly what he needed.

He could tell she didn't quite believe him though. The doubt was clear on her face. It strengthened his resolve to show her that he meant everything he liked to promise his masters.

"Hmmm...Very well. Come, I will show you where you may clean yourself up." She turned and began to exit the dungeon room. He followed silently. She continued to speak. "I am giving you a single chance to prove yourself, slave. You have asked for a shift of duties. I will not be kind to you because you are new, and if you disappoint me...You will suffer, apart from whatever I decide to do with you tomorrow. Do you understand?"

"Very clearly mistress. May I ask you questions tomorrow to clarify what best satisfies you?"

She looked over her shoulder at him, tucking a mass of orange curls behind one ear. "Such as...?"

"Would you prefer silence or screams?"

She was taken aback by the question. "...I will think about it," she told him.

He nodded, and came up beside her so she didn't have to keep looking up at him. "I will have other questions to ask as well."

"Ask them tomorrow," she told him. He nodded and fell silent.

[Reikas Esterion]

The water was cold but Reikas had dealt with worse in the past. At least it was clean. Varsha did him the courtesy of toweling the blood from his back this time, but showed him around the room and how he was expected to clean himself up should things go as planned. He could tell that she wasn't taking this explanation with much seriousness, but he paid close attention regardless. She explained to him that he would be responsible for care and cleanliness of the room should things work out, and for bringing towels he dirtied to the laundry as well as restocking the room with clean towels.

He took note of the general state of upkeep of the room, which was little more than a cement bathroom without the toilet, and concluded that the room was used and cleaned rather frequently. Varsha punished her slaves often, it seemed. There were two high showers and two lower faucets and two hoses, all mounted opposite one another against the walls, no divisors, with a central drain that the floor sloped down to from every corner. Two shelves held folded towels of varying sizes, and in one corner was a stainless steel circular tub that could be filled to converse water or clean a single body part as needed. There was a cabinet opposite the towel shelves she showed him that was armed to the teeth with antiseptics, gauze, ace bandages, and anything else that would ease the trip from basement dungeon to first floor medical ward or to the hospital if absolutely necessary. Beside that was a cracked mirror with a short, bare stainless steel shelf beneath, presumably to temporarily hold excess medical supplies as they were used.

She charged him to carry the bloodied towel back upstairs and showed him where to bring it to be laundered. He deeply appreciated this proper orientation and dropped the towel off in the appropriate basket. With the conclusion of this duty, she left him at the door to the laundry room with a few simple instructions.

"You are now free to explore the house as you wish. This was what I expected you to do this morning like a sensible, curious man. I would like you to familiarize yourself with areas of the mansion, find out from other slaves how you are expected to act, and generally get your bearings. I will send for you when I am ready for our little test tomorrow evening, and you will report to the dungeon room and wait for me if I am not there. Do you understand?"

Reikas replied in the affirmative, and was left to his own devices.

[Reikas Esterion]

Most of the doors to the mansion were open and inviting. The place was huge, but lit entirely with electricity. There were no windows anywhere, no matter how far he attempted to travel in a straight line to find the edge of the building. It gave the house the illusion of enormity and timelessness, with few clocks anywhere as well. It took Reikas a long time to figure things out. Outside of the slave ward people weren't nearly as unpleasant while about their duties. Asking directions was still fairly fruitless, but not because people were unhelpful. In fact, fellow slaves and servants were rather courteous to him. He was simply unable to follow correctly any directions that took him through more than four rooms, and nearly every set of instructions did. He did manage to locate the kitchen, and as useless as the room was to him, he used it as a sort of home base, and began to relate everything to it. From there, he worked his way back to the slave quarters and around to other important places such as the quickest route between bed and dungeons, something he had a feeling he'd be very smart to memorize.

Once he'd understood with relative certainty the spacial relationship between bed, kitchen, dining room, main library, and dungeon, he retired for the evening. He didn't dare touch any higher floors tonight, for there were things he needed to do before tomorrow and he believed he would have more time later to fully immerse himself in this multi-dimensional city-state he now called home. Perhaps he would attempt to make a map at some point, but for now, he had much thinking to do and resolve to gather.

He sat on his bed-island in the center of the slave ward, and almost immediately decided that here was not a place he would be spending much time. People seemed to look down on him in general in here, for whatever reason. It was the site where he'd made a first impression of being a useless sleeping lump, and a second impression of angering Mistress Varsha.

He ignored the others walking about in general, and was in turn, for the most part, ignored back. It would do for now to sit here and think until he decided to sleep. He looked around. Some slaves were asleep, others were getting ready to sleep, and still others were just waking up. There seemed no rhythm to things in this mansion. People just...picked a time to be awake and do their duties. It made sense; living with a Vampire meant either shift all of your slaves' sleeping patterns to match yours, or give them duties and trust them to perform these tasks on their own time. It had been a long while since Reikas had been slave to a Vampire. It would come back to him slowly, though. Or quickly, if he knew what was good for him.

He turned his thoughts to his previous owner, and lowered his gaze to the tousled sheet beneath him. The man would be missed dearly. He had been missed dearly. His muddy green eyes, the way they lit up when Reikas was there to greet him each evening like an eager pet...Riev was his name. Jacob Riev. Jake to everyone else, Mr. Riev to Reikas. The bond they'd shared was strong, and very personal. Reikas had been bought as a servant, but had become something like an assistant, or rather a replacement for a wife. Mr. Riev had been a lonely man at heart, something he hid from the world but something Reikas had picked up on thanks to his partial empathy. It had not been difficult to make Riev happy. There were many things he had wanted that Reikas could provide, but companionship had been first and foremost. A wealthy and clever but kind businessman, he'd bought a string of servants to try to fill the void left behind by wife after wife leaving him. Reikas was the last of many, and had successfully reversed his growing cynicism.

Reikas exhaled, and folded his legs beneath him on the bed. He'd never forget that momentous night, the first night he'd stayed up to play sounding board with Mr. Riev until sunrise, trying to help figure out a convoluted business plan with a proposed partner. Riev had discovered Reikas' hidden businessman that night. Late eighteenth and early nineteenth century business politics weren't terribly different from those of the mid-twentieth, and Reikas had proven himself to be as shrewd as ever. His cruel approach had given Riev a perspective he'd never considered before, and a blend of old hard-nosed and new conciliatory terms proved a nearly perfect solution.

And their relationship had been perfect, too. Reikas could sense Riev's loneliness, and how much the human looked forward to his company, even if they were doing something simple like reading in nearby armchairs. They shared a passion for business, and once Reikas had revealed his human history, they spent long hours together discussing the differences of the past and present. They talked of things Riev's generation had long forgotten, and things Reikas' generation had never imagined possible. Corporate chains and colonies, franchises and trading posts, conference calls from the home office and merchant treaties hashed out offshore on rickety wooden warships. It was a fascinating history lesson for Riev, and for Reikas, a window into the present he hadn't had since he lost his fortune.

In fact, Riev was the only one who'd taken more than a cursory interest in Reikas' human life. And he was the only one to whom Reikas had divulged not only his human name, but the name of his demonic sire. There was nothing they hadn't shared with one another by the time of the fatal cruise.

He cursed himself for that cruise. It had been his idea, maybe that was what hit him so hard. Riev had seemed fascinated with trade ships of the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, so Reikas had suggested that they go aboard a ship and sail with it. A small cruise line in the gulf of Mexico, it wasn't difficult to get on board on short notice with Riev's influence. Riev had never been on a ship before, and he admitted the night before the storm that he didn't like it. The sea was choppy anyway, heralding the bad weather...Reikas hadn't blamed him.

He closed his eyes and sighed, running his fingertips through his hair. The storm had been so sudden, his death...so surreal. Everything had happened so quickly. The survivors came in, the news was spread, family was close by and disgustingly eager to get their hands at that fortune. His business passed to his brother, his slaves and possessions passed to his living family...and Reikas had been set free. It was a specific provision in a will Riev had made perhaps a year before the accident. As for the demon Reikas Esterion, I release him from slavery and bequeath to him his freedom. I leave to him a sum of four thousand dollars with which to build a life and establish a new identity. Everyone had been shocked, none more so than the grieving former slave.

He still had the four thousand. He doubted he'd ever use it, but it was locked away in a safe deposit box with a brand-new fingerprint ID lock somewhere in south Texas. Riev had been clever, he'd been so clever...He'd paid a higher price for not only state-of-the-art, but so Reikas didn't have to carry around a key that could be so easily stolen from him. Riev had known about his past. Reikas had told him about the demons that had taken everything from him, the owners he'd been abused by, the cruel men and women he had met who would rob him blind as soon as look at him, and Riev also knew Reikas himself. He knew how much Reikas enjoyed his servitude, and how unlikely it was that he might establish himself even with new found freedom. And so it would stay there, that four thousand dollars, in a safe deposit box, until Reikas was good and ready for it. All just a fingerprint away, and Reikas' hands would never change.

More people were trickling into the slave ward by now than were leaving. It must have been somewhere around evening, although Reikas hadn't checked a clock in a long time. Varsha would send for him, so he'd better get some sleep. He realized as he lay back that he hadn't noticed whether or not it bothered people that he hadn't worn a shirt all day. He'd have to ask his mistress about that, because if he could, he'd like to never wear a shirt or shoes. If he never left the mansion, he saw no reason to worry about public decency. And it would save money on dressing him and save a bit of space in the laundry room.

He laid back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, folding his arms over his stomach and drawing one knee up. People passing his bed looked down at him with varying expressions, but he ignored them. He'd have to do something about this bed. It and all the other center beds had been empty for a reason, and he didn't like being in the center of traffic flow. But he pushed it aside for now. He had paid his respects to the memory of Mr. Riev, now it was time to prepare for the future.

This would be a tricky adjustment. He'd lived such a harmonious life with Riev, feeling neither weak nor superhuman. Riev's affection had been a steady flow, and he had not been a man of wild passions. Reikas had never gone hungry in the entire span of years, but he had never been overcharged with strength like with Varsha in the dungeons. He was lucky he remembered what it felt like. He'd been driving a straight road for so long, but life had traded that car for a roller coaster and he had hours to prove to its operator that he could handle the ride.

He listed the pros in his head. She was a woman. Riev had been a straight cis male, and as close as their relationship was, it had never turned romantic. It could definitely be counted as a pro that Reikas would be set upon by a beautiful woman. Perhaps he could win her affections in the process if she was capable of being impressed by his tenacity and endurance.

What else. She knew what she liked. Or rather, she was unafraid of her own emotions and did not try to keep them inside. She had already provided him enough nourishment to restore what he had lost in the trading rings. He would keep this tip-top shape for tomorrow and start out teeming with power and flirting with that overcharge for her.

And beyond that, just existing in that state was wonderful. He'd had too much on his mind to properly appreciate it before, and it had not lasted long enough to remind him on its own how desirable it was. But if he did this right, he'd spend who knew how long in a state of superhuman bliss barely even feeling whatever Varsha threw at him. Definitely a pro.

He turned onto his side and slipped under the sheets as the room's lights dimmed. He could do this. His owner was Mistress Varsha now, and he would not languish in this eternal mansion as a starving blood donor disdained by all. He would thrive. He was the adaptable happiness demon molded to serve and survive under any circumstances. He would show his mistress exactly how he worked and how best he could serve her, and he would walk proud once again.

He closed his eyes and tried to sleep amid the bustle. He was ready. And he would be ready tomorrow morning. He would not relinquish Jacob Riev's gift of freedom in vain. He would not insult the memory of the man he'd cared so deeply for. He was Reikas Esterion, and he would stay strong.

[Reikas Esterion]

An anxious mind meant that Reikas didn't get much sleep for around the sixth night in a row, but this time it hardly mattered. He was ready. He was ready and he'd been ready for hours and when a slave came in looking for a "Mr. Reikas," he sprang out of that bed in a matter of seconds and made his way to the dungeons. No shirt, no shoes, and no clue what time it was, he shook off the tendrils of sleep and he stretched his arms and back on the way. One might think he was walking to a spa trip with the bounce in his step, but his face held no joy. Just a set determination. Nothing but him and the soft slap of his feet on the stone steps, the stone hallway, the stone dungeon floor.

She was already there, wearing a short, seductive little black dress of that same silk she seemed so fond of and stiletto-heeled black boots. Reikas almost wondered how short she really was without shoes, since she barely came up to his nose in them.

"My, I can taste the excitement," she remarked, studying him carefully. "I don't need to ask if you're ready."

He bowed his head toward her and repressed a smile. Now was not the time to be happy. "Good morning, Mistress," he greeted quietly.

"Evening, actually," she corrected with a ruby smirk. "Come. And tell me, do you prefer whips, blades, or clubs?"

"Whips." Varsha had indicated the table, so Reikas made his way over to it and hopped up. Nice and easy then, just lie there and take it. He could do this.

The adrenaline began to kick it as Varsha moved around behind him and took his shoulders in her thin, cold fingers. She guided him back and into place, and he could feel his heart begin to pound. She smirked. He knew she could feel it, too.

"Whips...good choice. Second choice?"

"Blades." Reikas stared at the ceiling, trying unsuccessfully to calm his body. It knew what was coming.

"Are you a fan of drawing blood, or do you just think it will excite me?" Varsha's tone was high and playful. Her boots clicked against the stone as she made her way to his ankles. He lifted his head to look down at the chains. There was a set of manacles by his waist, good. Arms over his head just seemed...undignified. He relaxed back down and felt around for them, slipping his wrists in.

"I'm not a fan of broken bones or internal trauma," he said, drawing deep breaths. "And I suppose yes, it's a plus if it will excite you." His excited strength was rapidly draining out of him.

She chuckled through her nose as she pushed up the cuffs of his jeans and clamped his ankles to the table. He reflexively tried to pull one out and his pulse skyrocketed of its own accord. It had been too long since he'd suffered recreational torture. He was quite scared despite his preparations.

"Nervous?" she asked, moving up the right side of the table. "Your choices were good; blood will excite me, if that's what you want...Oh look at you, you already know the drill." She snapped shut the manacle at his right wrist and pinched the skin. He pulled it out with a nervous twitch, his exhales trembling. Varsha was on edge herself, and the accidental pain thrilled her. He drank it in but it wasn't enough to calm him. He pressed his left wrist against the table to avoid another accident just as she reached over and snapped that one closed.

"I've never had a slave so obedient. Half of the fun is in the struggle to bind them, but a willing volunteer..." She trailed off and drew her fingertips along his skin at the edge of his jeans. "I will buy you proper clothes tonight if this works as planned. I'll spare you your dignity and won't ask you to strip completely for me but these jeans are far too...protective." She trailed a nail up his arm next and it tingled as she walked around behind his head. "Now struggle for me. I want to make sure you can't break loose."

The psychological torment began. Reikas could have pretended he was lying on the table willingly if he didn't move but obediently he tried to pull his knees and arms up. There was a little give on the chains at his ankles but nothing from the irons fastened to the table that held his wrists. Slight panic rose in his throat and he swallowed hard top push it back down. What was he doing here? He lifted his shoulders and for a brief moment honestly tried to tear himself from the table, swallowing hard. No luck. He was trapped, strapped into that roller coaster with no way to get out.

Varsha laughed, and icy hands pushed his shoulders back to the table. He let her do so only through a great force of will. He had to stay in control. He had to. He couldn't lose himself, not this early on. He had to impress her!

"I thought you'd have some second thoughts. Not so high and mighty now, are we? I'd consider letting you go, but you've got me looking forward to this, Reikas. No turning back."

He exhaled sharply and closed his eyes briefly. He knew.

She disappeared beneath the table, and he lifted his shoulders to turn and looked apprehensively. He could move his upper body a lot, almost sit up vertically. He had a bad feeling about where she was going and the amount of freedom his upper body had.

"Lie back," she commanded as she began to straighten up. He didn't get to see what she was holding as he obeyed, but he heard the clinking of heavy chains. A large, open steel ring with two sets of chain on either end passed over his head. He forced himself to breathe deeply as Varsha settled it around his neck and locked it closed. It was heavy, but he could still lift it...

He looked up just as she crouched down again, and the chains slithered across the table to either end. She was locking them beneath the table somewhere. When she rose back into view he tried to sit up. He couldn't raise it anymore. He closed his eyes and his heart pounded in his ears. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. Oh God, what was he doing.

Heels clicked around to Reikas' left, and he felt her talons at his chest. His shoulders twisted away of their own accord and his wrist strained at its cuff. He couldn't stop her. He heard her laugh, and felt her nails climb up to the hollow just above his sternum. His shoulders fell back to the table and he forced himself to accept his position and open up to her. It was game time now. Time to trust his mistress.

"Bless you, you poor thing..." she was saying with a smirk. "You're doing well. Most of my slaves are screaming for mercy by now, but you're an old pro...A rusty one, though. Let's see how well you've mastered yourself..." She lowered two fingertips to his skin and pressed down on the base of his throat. His eyes opened and he his whole body tensed. She was leering down at him. The action was hardly life-threatening, but it was extremely uncomfortable and the threat to his windpipe triggered his basic survival instincts. A perfect way to make him painfully aware of exactly how helpless he now was. He made a quiet noise of uncomfortable fear and tucked his chin instinctively.

"Mistress!" His throat vibrated against her fingertips, and she let up on the pressure curiously. Her excitement disappeared and that more than anything concerned Reikas.

"Oh come now, you're not begging for mercy already," she said with an edge of disappointment.

He shook his head, rattling the chains. He could feel the ghost of her fingertips still at his throat, though her hand had moved away. "I meant to ask you questions," he reminded her.

"Oh, yes, about noise." She sounded bored. "I think I'd like to test your claims about making me happy and being a good slave. I don't want to hear a sound from you. Understood? I don't like all that ridiculous bellowing."

"Understood." He tried to shake the memory of pressure at his throat, but it was one of those places the body didn't let you forget about easily. "Would you like me to lie still, as well?"

"As opposed to struggling? Normally I like my victims to fight, but tonight, again, I want to see how good you claim to be. Don't move. I want to think I'm beating a cadaver, just for tonight."

Reikas nodded with a short exhale. Directions were good. Silence and stillness, it gave him something to focus on, something to prepare.

"Anything else?" she asked impatiently.

"No, I'll figure anything else out on my own. Thank you." He didn't want her to think he was biding for time.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me..."

She turned and walked away, and he he turned his head to watch her. Alright. You can do this, Reikas he willed to himself. Just focus on what she wants, pay attention to what makes her happy. He had done this before, after all. A long, long time ago perhaps, but he was no stranger to tables like this.

Varsha busied herself with selecting toys to play with from a far wall of weaponry. He watched her collect several and lay them on a small steel table and wheel it behind her back to him. Surgical tools were among the equipment. Everything was either a blade or a whip, though. No broken bones today. Good.

"Ready?" she asked rhetorically. "Just remember..." She selected the cat o'nine tails and laid it against Reikas' chest, smirking with lips as red as his own soon-to-be-spilled blood. The cold leather teased his skin and he tensed his muscles beneath it.

"...You asked for this."

She raised the flail across her body and over her shoulder, then slammed it hard across Reikas chest without another word.

[Reikas Esterion]

There was much Reikas had forgotten about torture. For instance, exactly how it felt to be covered in ones own sticky blood, or how revolting the smell was. His jeans were ruined completely by now. She'd split them down the front from the knee to lay open his legs and not only was the blood soaking into the band at his waist, but she was striking him hard enough to spatter it all the way down to his bare shins.

She was sick though. That much he learned. She was sick but she was unafraid of her own mental instabilities. In fact, she reveled in them. She talked to him, goading him, praising him, freely expressing herself in her own whims, learning quickly how he responded to her excitement. The wilder she grew, the more absorbent her toy became, the faster he repaired himself for more. She carved him up like a Halloween pumpkin with her knives, and painted his body pink and crimson with bold strokes of her whips.

Reikas had also forgotten how sick his own body was, and how his demonic longevity also functioned as a curse. He was built for people like Varsha, to sacrifice himself for her enjoyment, and to come back for more.

It started out as pure hell. She beat him mercilessly and he struggled not to move or make a sound as his body screamed with pain. Varsha's initial curiosity turned to surprise at his obedience and then to enjoyment in his pain. She began to feed him with this excitement and fuel his demonic overdrive, tripping a horrible positive-feedback loop. His wounds began to heal before Varsha's eyes which delighted her even more and spurred her to torture him even worse, and her increased delight raised the bar his own body was setting by healing faster.

((Not finished))