It was like Darcy walked barefoot on jagged shrapnel now, metaphorically, as he completed the mammoth task of draining the deceased fae's blood for collection without a single drop for himself, forbidden to swallow. The only thing that he had going for him was the fact that the fae's heart no longer beat within his chest. Every being in that room was to play their part.. And Tetradore could not manage the role he had known for most of his life. All Tetradore had to do was play his part and perhaps he could have avoided this cruel punishment tonight. It was almost like he wanted it. Like he craved for her cruel touch. What a thought. It amused her while Darcy committed to the trial that would determine his fate, how he performed relied so heavily on how well he pulled this off. Just how far would he go to please her? And he answers her unvoiced question as he tore himself apart from the inside out.
The scent of fresh vampiric blood drew her attention near immediately, the look of his mutilated skin drew her sharp ever-aware gaze to him as he presented her with all she asked for and more, the only thing that would have pleased her more was if he were to fall to his knees and bow his head. She observed him with apathy, even in his desperation to please her she did not voice her pleasure but kept it selfishly for herself, content to leave him hanging. How she could have asked for more, could have tested that impressive resolve further... She could have made him drop that blood from his own lips into her waiting mouth just to further torment the man's control. Oh she was certain he would fail it. Perhaps that was a trial for another night. She snatched his arm to examine the impressive damage that one determined bite could do, watched as he obediently obeyed her need for control as he allowed her full access to the toy with him as she pleased. He anticipated some strike as he flinched. It felt almost better to disappoint him. The idea of something often worse than the real thing. She turned his arm over and back again like she found him anew, something different all together. It was impossible to tell what played within her own devilish mind then as it rationalized that self mutilation. What did she see? Was it weakness? Or did she view it as strength? She allowed herself to muse over that very thing, the devilish woman had come to a verdict well before she intended to voice it. She could tell he anticipated some kind of hint to which she swayed. Wordlessly, the devilish goddess released him and turned to face her pet in his human form, leaving him to his careful silence.
Tetradore too, was being awfully quiet even with the silver that burned his flesh. He had gotten used to the pain it would seem or merely tolerated it. Her pet was so good at swallowing down that pain even though it threatened to consume him. Now how was he to suffer? This moment destined the moment he sealed his jaws sealed within the fae's head. How dare he. On her birthday. Perhaps he was just as doomed the moment he sullied her once pristine boots with mud, oh she still hadn't forgiven him for that. That internal vexation was quick to take hold, as she drew that fae blood to her lips, willing to paint her tongue with that still warm substance exquisite, as inspiration did not trail far behind. That taste. She still had that alpha blood as a distant aftertaste. After a moment of musing, she abandoned that glass for a moment to set her attention to the man who had practically sacrificed himself to her alter.
The room transformed from one of uncertainty to her very own devilish playground. Tetradore became the focus to that scorching ire, one she executed so methodically with sensual malice that could never be duplicated by any other. It was truly a delightful thing to see how that machine cranked, a modernized version of the rack. Darcy knew her tastes well. It came as no surprise, yet it was no less pleasing. It was far more efficient to its ancient counterparts. It fluidly cranked as she watched those complex gears and cogs shift ingeniously, in perfect balanced harmony, only pure seamless craftsmanship. Each mechanism served a purpose to add pressure in two uniquely different ways and yet it acted as if it pulled him at all angles. Even if only half the body tugged one way and the lower another. She was in every sense ripping Tetradore apart. She enjoyed watching the way those taunt muscles looked while he was forced into submission, flexing even more so from the pain and by the fact that he was so perfectly stretched out. The strained man unable to avoid those silver spikes that bit into his flesh, every movement brought him closer and closer to breaking.. inching toward that excruciating sound of dislocation she yearned for. She was soon rewarded with it followed with a rich scream that chased at its heel. He screamed beautifully. His face contorted into one of panting pain. His chest heaved in rapid succession as she literally tore him from the inside out. She could hardly hide her own satisfaction, clear enjoyment for her new toy. She considered continuing.. But every limb had already suffered a great deal and she hardly wanted him in pieces. How easy it would have been... Yet... while he looked so beautifully uncomposed, she had other plans. The rack was wonderful foreplay.
She lowered her assessing gaze to examine the way that pain had taken its toll on him. His head lolled to the side from that crippling exhaustion even though his heartbeat all but roared sending that exposed neck near jumping. Did he think that was all? She reinvigorated her own taste for blood with that fae blood, before choosing her next... utensil thoughtfully. Darcy all but left to stew in uncertainty and eagerness to watch her in all her wicked glory, a nearly private show just for him. Surely he must have enjoyed watching Tetradore suffer just as much as she enjoyed causing it.
She favoured that whip... it had many uses. How both men knew its capabilities and how expertly she wielded it with perfect precision... Risque could turn off a lightswitch from across the room with it without even scratching it just as easily as she could instantly sever a man's breath with a flick of her wrist with equal ease. Darcy careful to not bring any attention to himself and yet somehow she was aware of his eagerness, as if drawn to her brand of violence. Like he couldn't help himself. His choice to remain quiet as she mused over how many lashes Tetradore received was wise. For that number could have just as easily been used against him. She found most voices in the throes of violence irritating, especially while she felt inspired. While Risque allowed that silver whip to rest on his flesh she was immediately rewarded with a choked cry as that silver burned into him. Risque watched as it singed obediently with a level of care she took to burning an extremely intricate cursive R with extra curls at the end. It was a masterpiece...
He was the perfect canvas for her creation, immobile and taut. She heard the occasional sound of droplets of his blood fall from his back, gravity aiding those sharpened jagged silver spikes that pierced his back. Hmm... but even despite that R.. her canvas needed something more. She was ever the artist in that moment before she uncoiled the whip, lashing at his flesh, listening to the whistling song as it sliced through the air and collided into his hardened physique, again and again. How close those lashes got to his groin. To Tetradore it probably felt like an eternity and for Risque, a few moments. The marks appeared like they bloomed there, sharp short lines perfectly placed around the outside of her R careful not to ruin her own handy work. Thin, dainty lines of blood trickled from those deep lacerations. It streamed smoothly along his side in an almost delectable way that threatened to distract her her concentration. Torture was like ballet... in many ways, it required a finesse that was often ruined without patience, knowing the precise moment to apply that pressure and where. The body was full of tiny intricate and even fleeting trigger points, sensitive buttons to cause immeasurable pain and.... Extreme pleasure. How sometimes the two could merge into a harmonious ecstasy that she all but craved. That elusive release that could shatter worlds as she pushed those very limits..
Risque ended up in some dream-like reverie her voice echoed it too, a mellifluous sound that so deceptively hid those sadistic barbs as she complimented her plaything on bleeding well. After painting his body with her own brand of artwork. It was a pity he would heal although it was unlikely to be quick after all he endured that night. She wished she could preserve him like this. His emerald eyes met her own, even now he seemed defiant. Did he want more? But she finished her painting. Oh well she could arrange for something else... she was sure.... But how much could that body take? His vile tongue spat such ugly things. She could hardly help that upturn of her sinful lips instead of that expected snarl. 'Go to hell'... he was funny. It was clear to her that he wanted... this, to provoke her. It almost seemed to excite her rather than enrage her. Even though she had never been compared to a cow before.
She rose her hand like she might strike him and instead she pressed a harsh taloned finger along the side of his face. "Do you wish to tell me that again?" It was not a question, it was ominous like a dagger to an artery, pressed so firmly it was about to bleed. Her powers that controlled felines rammed into him with a fervent burst. She continued that eye contact. . Did he not see the hell within their depths? Did he not know that the place he desired for her to go... was here was already within that very room? Her tongue slipped out from her parted lips in consideration.... The same hand that trailed along his face drew down languorously but firmly along his chiselled chest. Oh, she liked this... How stretched out her was only made them protrude in a harsher way than when she strung him amongst her silver chained wall. Hmm... She pressed down.. Harder as if to help gravity, to have those silver prongs dig more painfully into him.
"Tell me how much you like this...admit it." She demanded sweetly, her powers sliced through him as though she held his very being within her palm. She commanded those words from him. But that palm pressed even more... a finger so easily found a mouth of that wound, her thumb seemed to examine it. She leaned into him now... not because she needed to.. But she wanted to see if she could get one more cry. How smug she was, knowing he was unable to deny her this with her insistent powers..
How aware of the looming Darcy she was... how certain of the darkness that lurked within his eyes.. That torment of bloodlust and jealousy was a heady cocktail for the devilish queen who knew how to provoke them so easily from her cowboy who knew better than to complain.
She was a strikingly unpredictable force... ever vacillating in her plans, Darcy nothing but at the whims of her. Ah but he had not been forgotten. For part of that show, as much as it had been for her somehow... was also for him. She could still smell his blood fresh upon the air that joined the others. She waited for her puppet to succumb to her requests... to say exactly what she intended for him before releasing some that pressure in her feline affinity and her pressing hand. After all, didn't Darcy wish to know... his own fate?
Every step she took toward him was felinesque, discarding her whip to where her glass lingered. She was nothing short of predatory... like her lover was no more than her next victim. Yet, she is unresolved of what she wants from him. Her desire was a palpable thing and yet how that desire easily traversed from pleasure to pain in a singular heartbeat. How her pale hypnotic eyes glitter with her unreadable capricious nature. He had harmed himself in order to eliminate the risk of her displeasure. He would give more, she knew it. He would throw his body on the coals just so she could walk upon him unscathed. Should he not receive an award for such a thing? Could it overshadow his past transgression that she claimed to forgive him for? Risque's gaze honed onto that spot where Tetradore had bitten him all those months ago. She had marked it plenty times over... almost in obsessive possession. Yet her mind was forever reminded of that invisible stain. Perhaps there was something.... In which she could remedy it. How she had not thought of it before.... Yet.... it was almost like she wished to wait... to find some sign.. to ensure his worthiness.
Her fingertips deceptive in nature reach toward his neck,to that very spot. How she could see it still, burned within him. Not visibly of course, he had long since healed from her punishing fangs along with Tetradore's acidic bite. Perhaps it was merely her excellent memory that reminded her so vividly. Perhaps it was the imbalance it left in its wake.. Her words were seemingly delicate like a lullaby just as that touch he seemed to yearn for. She waited for the recognition within him of what she offered him. She dangled a rare carrot before him that he seemed so very eager for. How easy it was for her to toy with him to.. yet...It would seem her insolent pet hardly... had enough. While her new... torture device was devine. She had something else within her grasp. Her lover was cruel, his bite to match, the power behind those jaws was a magnificent thing to behold and she missed the way he had bit himself.
What an offer.... revenge and blood from her prized pet. How he was certain to make Tetradore feel it... Yet... how possessive Risque was over what was hers. She rarely ever allowed anyone to put their hands on her pet without harsh ramifications. Tonight, Tetradore had well since earned to be tossed to her faithful being that had followed her reverently well before Tetradore was even a babe. His body language was nothing short of eager and yet.... He knew he was still at the end of her invisible chain. That smile that tugged upon his lips echoed his pleasure. Risque's lips remained unmoved.
If Tetradore hadn't insulted her, maybe she would have made him bite a limb. That ugly curse for her to 'fuck off' drew her lip up in displeasure. Her eyes grew cold and yet somewhere within that pale hell was secret delight. "Unless the words are, 'Risque is perfect..' Then you will not speak, mon chat." If he were to open his mouth, her command interlaced with those powers would see to him saying nothing else.
'Where can I bite him?' Darcy asked wisely, Risque's gaze returned to her undead cowboy then. Hmm. Was it not obvious what she intended?
"The same place where he bit you." Perhaps there was poetry in it.
Darcy was surely ready to go in for the kill so to speak... How she intended to watch this. That sight would surely be a pleasing one. She moved forward,brushing past Darcy.. "You know the spot.. Just don't kill him." How could he forget that one spot that Risque did not fail to allow him to forget time and time again.
Just before... Darcy had positioned himself ready for that vengeful bite.. She felt a rebellious sensation through her own ability to control her unruly feline. A prickle of power subtle but still there snaked within the air.. Darcy's teeth were just about to plunge into that very skin when Risque both felt and saw that magical dermal armour harden his body. Again?? He seeked to enrage her again?! Could he not do anything right? Tetradore... would suffer well beyond tonight for this. She raised her hand... with that fae blood in a glass within her hand. "Arret!" She commanded to Darcy sharply. A French word he was sure to know. She slipped forward to stand next to him, the aroma of that fae blood sure to excite him further. She shooed Darcy away for a few mere steps, allowed her free hand to skim the man's arm. It was as she expected.
"It is as I expected, Tetradore has a death wish." She chided, wagging a raised finger of her free hand. How dare he... go against her yet again. Darcy was not fool enough to bite him anyway, was he? To go against her command when she told him to stop.
"Lower your armour. Now" That command laced with power funnelled into him to obey, curious if he would try to talk back... only to utter how perfect she was. That should do it.
"You made your bed Tetradore... now you'll bleed in it." She said as she gestured blase toward the helpless were upon the rack. He had earned every last cruel fang of her lover lodged within his discourteous throat while she sipped what was left of her fairy... content to salvage what was left of that very night. "Carry on." She gestured, taking a step back, content to watch that very show. She was certain the imagery would be far from disappointing.