Beggar

Chapter 1: "I claimed you."

The cyborgs screams lasted a while on the clocks behalf, and even when it cut out it took a while for Sayter to come out.

All the whores were gone, of course, and there were few men left in the bar. I wouldn't doubt he owned this building, which would explain why he had access to the basement. How much, exactly, did he get for each victim? It wasn't just execution his clients wanted, oh no, they wanted their enemies mutilated, humiliated, unrecognizable with the exception of the desperation stuck on their face. To take away the peace and warmth of death- what had the cyborg done, I wonder.

When Sayter emerged, to his credit, nobody looked over at him. Who would? No, everyone anxiously stared into the tables.

All but my happy-do ass.
He sucked in a breath and released, his eyes closed in satisfaction. I've seen that look before; my clients when they cum.

Everyone left in the pub kept their distance, it had to be three in the morning, with only men left having their shots and playing cards at the tables and napping were they sat. Some stayed out of curiosity, because thats how humans work, it's just impossible to look away from vile onslaught isn't it?

I leaned on the bar, Sayter walked over to a table and sat. He was a pale thing, having spent so many nights with so many victims down in the basement; they go out in isolation and it's the price he pays for his skin. But, and its a lot to say, he was attractive, his face was sharp with dark eyes attached, and even darker hair. A pretty man, even with fresh blood dripping below his neckline.

The barkeeper strutted over and placed a mug on his table. No comments, no slap on the back, just ran right back to the bar like a mut with its tail between its legs.

I chuckled a bit at that.

He didn't touch his drink, but he sat and watched in satisfaction as the cyborgs ex-masters staff came to clean out his body. Seeing the looks on them when they dragged out the remains out, I saw why he stayed to watch too.

Three- thirty. It was three-thirty in the morning when I strutted over to where Sayter sat. My dagger dug into my side and I'm sure the Gods made sure I felt every inch of it creeping up my waste. I took a seat across from him, and he looked up almost amused.

"You look like shit." I pulled his untouched mug over to me and took a sip.

His grin was horrifying as he focused those dark eyes on the doughty little thing in front of him, "I think you lost your mistress, little girl."

Mistress. As if I was a common whore.
Sayters fingers danced on the table, and flecks of blood hit the wood. I slouched, "Fuck, it has a sense of humor."

Sayter leaned forward, fixing his posture in feline grace. Just observing in silence, watching as if I was something he debated picking up in the markets. Finally, I said, "I wonder, actually, how many drinks it takes for someone like you to forget just how long its been since you've been laid." I took a short look at those flecked hands. "I worry, what is it you do with your female victims before you get to cutting them up?"

Eyes creeped up from below those lashes, and I stirred in my stool. "Oh, darling, if you were ever the one strapped to a table feeling warm blood fill the spaces on your skin, you'd see just how equally pleasing it is for me to kill slowly, creatively, then it is to fuck."

"You need a woman to change that," I didn't bother whispering, "I could make you beg, indefinitely."

"Likewise, darling," He clicked his tongue, all I could do is wink as I sipped from his mug again. I knew he didn't mean sex.

Sayter chuckled deeply, "Mm, you'd be fun to play with in the dark. I wonder if your mistress would let me lock you up for a night."

"Such a good boy," My eyes widened out of their lids. "Asking first before you go out to play." He just sat thinking when I innocently looked into the mug, admiring how I could see my fingers through the glass. In a quick movement, the mug was off the table, glass shattering in the stream of alcohol on the wood, and Sayters arms flexed to grab my neck. I fell back and hit my shoulder on a nearby table, and hit the ground. I jumped up in awe before being dragged by my neck to the basement.

I would of screamed, I would of begged, if I wasn't hissing at his touch. Sayter was strong for a silent, brooding thing. I almost tripped over the stairs, my feet falling like heavy rain, and when we made it down I could of gawked.

It could of been blood, or oil, or piss, but in the red lights who would tell. The wall was peppered in descending tools, all vile and thick and heavy and deadly. The table accompanied the face of it, and it too was decorated in straps and collars. Sayter was lost in the dark space of the basement where the red light didn't reach.

"You are so brave, aren't you?" A low voice from the darkness mocked, seeing as I was, indeed, panting. I whirled at the sound of a saw, or a beetle, or a drill. "How brave can you be, when you don't have the luxury of being in public?"

That demon creeped out from the dark.
"Are you scared?"

Sayter was close on my chest, and I grabbed that tarnished shirt and threw him against his own table. I got on my knees for him, "Horrified." I purred, and unzipped his pants.

He made a hoarse noise, and may I forever get the pleasure of knowing I'd thrown him off.
I pulled out his cock and sucked the end before sticking the rest down my throat. Sayter cocked his head but didn't stop me, so I went on. He tried to stay silent, but after thrusting a few times he released a breath and grabbed a fistful of my hair to take control of my head. He moved me forward and back, caressing his cock with my tongue until he finally came. I swallowed his release.

"There, see?" I purred. "I claimed you."

I said it to piss him off and, to my joy, it worked as I shot up to avoid his grip on my neck, I dance around the table to get away while he zipped up his pants. A glass bottle became a victim of our play, as he chucked it at my head with an attempt to knock me down. I avoided it out of luck, and ducked into the same darkness that shielded him.

"Darling, come out and tell me if my gloves smell like gloriella." Gloriella, the drug that knocks men off their feet. Under the poison you cant move for six hours, even blinking is an effort. A popular drug that sweeps the women or man of your dreams unconscious- if you can't do it legally.

Of course he would have such a poison.

There was a slam on the wall and soon bright lights ripped threw the room, I shielded my eyes and fell, soon vulnerability took over. He knew this hell of a room personally, I could be ruined and killed here. Sayter, though I figured, liked to play with his victims. I shot up and forced my eyes to adjust, and he was gone.

Something behind me breathed, so I broke into a sprint and ran for the door. Like running on ice I slid on the flood from under the table, never seeing if it was blood or whatnot. My body hit the wall in front of the stairs, and I scurried upward to reach the door. On top, I felt the surface of the cold copper door, no handle, no lock. How in hell did he get in and out? I banged porcelain palms on the copper surface, but strong hands threw me back and dragged my thrashing body down the stairs.

He cupped my neck and threw me into the wall.

"Oh, yes I love when you grab me like that darling." I taunted.

He breathed into my neck, "What am I going to do with you first.." he smothered me, his hand undoing my corset. I tried to break free but his grip refused.

He laughed lowly, "I know."