Tu Fui, Ego Eris

“What sane person could live in this world and not be crazy?"

- Ursula K Le Guin

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Chapter 5: In Pari Materia

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The morning beams of light, no matter how small, reflected on the glass shards as he swept them into the dustpan. He swore a little to himself, reminded once again of the maid's absence. This really was odd, normally the "woman" never left the estate...But the fact that he hadn't seen her anywhere about the place made him think it had finally happened. Yet she had no desire to leave the gates, to even have freedom...She was like a living automaton, a doll, with no other desire besides pleasing her masters. And he recalled fondly that she did that particularly well...

He smiled as he swept up the last visible pieces, not only thinking of that, but of his Fiona. It had worked perfectly...His plan, anyway. The little out-spurts towards her in the pump room were not just moments of lust, but of a sort of controlled arousal. A woman will sometimes not ovulate if put into too much stress, and he had hoped his level of comfort, his smell, had lulled her hormones back into it's cycle. He may not have been her biggest, most desirable fantasy, but he was still a man. A man that was at this point, virile, and swarming with hormones. When he came so close to her, she inhaled them...And her senses went wild. It was easy since he knew she was a virgin. He gathered this from his examination, and from the fact that she was a shy, sweet and laid-back girl. Her body was pristine, free of defilement and deflowering. She may reject him because of his resemblance to her father, but her body knew not of such taboos.

Looking upon the floor, he had hoped that he got every piece. With all the glass being shattered around this place he had walked into his share and had them stuck in his foot, and damn did that ever hurt like a bloody son of a cunt. His Fiona getting such pain in her tender, bare-foot feet was something he'd rather not think of. Yet he knew there was no real way to ever be sure...Unless he got down on his hands and knees and scrubbed it, and that wasn't happening now. He was lucky he didn't pass out and fall face-first into the glass shatters. Then he looked up at the window, shaking his head again as he tried to comprehend why this happened. This window was as old as the ages, but it was well-made and expensive, surely it should have lasted quite some time...

It wasn't really cold outside, but the occasional wind would come about and make him shiver. The whole reason why the fire was lit in the fireplace was to warm the air and the floor, but it had long since gone out from not being tended to. He would have to put something up until he could get it replaced. There was some sheets in the dresser next to the bed, he supposed that would have to do for now.

Walking over to the dresser, he then looked inside. In there were a whole weeks worth of clothing for their new resident. Skirts, blouses, panties, nightgowns...And one in particular that he hoped to see her in. A maternity dress. It wasn't very big, one meant for the first few months of her pregnancy, but he wanted her to be comfortable when the time came. It was loose-fitting and flowed a little past the knees, but was rather revealing in that the neckline dipped to show her cleavage. When she was in her later stages, he would get her a new one. Yet this one was rather nice, and he looked forward to seeing her in it. The light purple see-through fabric would make her look sexy while she simply walked about. Not that she didn't now, but she would need all the confidence she could get as she grew larger.

...With his child. He smiled at the thought.

He pushed them aside and gathered a sheet, walked toward the window, and threw it over the old, broken window frame the best he could. When he realized that it wouldn't quite stay up on it's own, he made his way to the hollow below the steps and gathered some duct tape. He came back and tapped it up, feeling rather like some trailer-trash hick as he did it but ceased to care. It formed a perfect seal all around, as the wind came in it bulged out but held, the strong tape and sheet keeping the chill at bay. Satisfied, he walked towards the dresser again, determined to get the girl's nightgown...One he picked out for just such an occasion.

As he shifted throughout the clothing, he felt it. An itch, a bad one. He reached up towards his face and couldn't help but scratch. For over an hour he tried to ignore it, but the pulsing, throbbing nerves in his skin told him differently. Scratch the itch it told him, and this time he listened. He never could put it off long. Digging his fingers into the biggest, longest scar he head, the one vertical to his nose that ran from his forehead downwards. It felt so good, it felt so relieving-

It came off. But it wasn't a piece of dead skin that was destined to fall off...It was his normal, every-day leathery hide that plagued his whole face and whole body. It was dry, it was cracked, it was tough and fragile at the same time. At the cracks, it became brittle, and came close to breaking off completely, and it often did. It would start with an itch over a period of days, then it would increase and crack, then cause him to rip it off through sheer irritation. The skin would split, revealing red blood and flesh beneath, and would eventually heal through much protection and maintenance on his part. Many he had as a child, born with them, and they had to be maintained and kept ever since then. A few others broke the skin and never healed, and still others threatened to appear all over his body every day, and used a daily regime to prevent and repair them.

This came as no shock to him, but it always pissed him off to have a chunk of his skin literally fall off. Like he didn't look bad enough as it was. It was superficial though, as long as he healed it would grow back...Albeit slowly. He hadn't had the chance to do his daily scar check in the bathroom for maintence and repair. It made him feel like a goddamn leper. Although Riccardo would have to admit he wasn't all that far away from being one.

He turned the small sliver of flesh over in his hand. It looked like a piece of dead skin, but he knew better, because it always looked dead even when just peeled from his face. Where it just came off it stung like bloody hell, he licked his hand and wiped it onto the open spot, and his spit eased and cooled some of it. He groaned in irritation...Soon this wouldn't be an issue any more. Everything he grew up doing to keep himself from falling apart would end. As he bedded Fiona he would acquire Azoth slowly and gradually, and he would fill his reserves to the fullest. Although supplementation would always be that...Supplementation, and not a cure, it would help him greatly. He hoped his skin would heal and he could stop this, though it was all hope, he had no evidence it would really happen. The fact of the matter was that one's skin and hair belayed health. It was the only thing the body could sacrifice to keep everything else important functioning properly.

Riccardo knew what this meant, if his skin was shit, and it was, then his body was, too. He just barely scrapped by with his Azoth just being enough to work. To work. Not to be healthy, not to be happy...Not to feel everything a normal man should.

With a heavy sigh, he used his free, clean hand to take her clothing under his arm, and made his way downstairs.

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Fiona stepped into the tub, her foot sliding just a little at the water that was still at the bottom. She was reminded of what Riccardo said, that the maid used to wash that fucker old man in the thing. It made her a bit leery of using it, but tried to remind herself it was only the bottom of her feet that were touching it...She had been barefoot this whole time, her feet were far filthier before she was even in the ceramic basin. Now she was trying to put the idea that she was the same surface that her captor had also washed his perverted and deformed body in out of her mind, too. Again, she tried to focus on how dirty her body was already by comparison.

She then shut the curtain behind her, the plastic rings clinking together at the top. It seemed odd to her that people who had so much money still had an older-then-dirt bathtub, she was so used to having a stall like at home, as their were no younger children. That thought crossed her mind, these people had to worry about bathing children, perhaps that was why...She never knew why her parents stopped at her, never wanting another daughter or a son. Always an only child, and now it was defiantly never going to happen, though she suspected it would have been the case, anyway. She never asked why, she didn't know why. Now she started to wonder if it was because they were shamed by her and what she was...Passing something tainted along that should have never existed to begin with.

This was not the first time she was in this tub, when she came into here before she had not been intending to hide. Then as she took a drink of water at the sink, she heard that large man running about outside. Quickly, she ran to the tub, threw back the curtain, and stood inside as she pulled it back and waited. The footsteps died down, and when she felt the coast was clear, she emerged. Hewie was with her at the time, but he stood outside and watched the door with his hackles up and a growl rising in his chest. Thinking of the dog made her heart lurch, so she stopped and tried not to. For a moment she just stood there, taking in the environment. Several soaps and shampoos resided up on a shelf on the right, behind her. She wasn't interested in them, like she planned she was going to only rinse herself off. But she did notice that, once again, they used the expensive stuff...And like the soap, they looked old and rarely used. This didn't surprise her considering these residents appeared to have barely any hair at all.

It looked as ancient as they came, rust forming on the shower head and the knobs looking like they were about ready to fall off. Somebody didn't appear to be doing their job in maintaining the thing. They were cracked white spokes, labeled H and C, and she reached forward carefully. She didn't want to touch any of this, it was quite off-putting...But the call of hot, soothing water was too good...And the threat of Riccardo knowing she wasn't clean loomed in her mind. He had wanted her to take a shower, commanded it. Although she could care less about what he wanted, not doing as told was a little too dangerous to toy with right now. The thought of him forcibly washing her down came to mind, and was enough to make her turn on the water.

There was a few seconds of hesitation, she could hear a grating noise in the pipes, and it was obvious the water was taking it's time rattling through and was having trouble. Then suddenly, it burst out and hit her face at a very high velocity. Like everything in the castle, it took her by surprise and was unsettling. It wasn't all that warm, and it made her step backwards as she reached forward and adjusted the temperature. It lowered, and the pressure lessoned as well. It was still pretty hard, and couldn't help but draw comparisons to the fact that this was what the castle residents would have had to have dealt with on a daily basis as well. The same water falling upon her fell on them, too, for all she knew they liked it like that. Her fragile naked body was not used to the punishment.

However, as she stood there for several moments, she came to like it. It felt oddly good, the pressure massaging her tired muscles and feeling as though it was seeping into her joints. Because of her state, she left it a bit warmer then it would normally be for her. Steam rose, clouding her vision as it billowed about around her. The water was loud, and if Riccardo had knocked or was going to, she knew she would never hear it. She couldn't help but feel like that woman in Psycho, and kept expecting somebody to rip open the curtain and either kill or rape her. He came to mind, quite possibly lulling her into a calm state so she wouldn't expect him coming, and because of this she kept an eye on the curtain and her ears open.

She couldn't help but turn around, and began to relish the warm, soothing water as it cascaded down her curvaceous form. Then, facing into it, she let it cover her face, and opened her mouth and let it run into her and help clean her from that old man and quench the insatiable dryness. Then she spit it out, both because it was too hot to drink and because...Because drinking water from a shower head in a filthy bathroom wasn't her idea of sanitary. She dipped her head and wet her hair, running her fingers through it to help the process. Turning, she wet her whole body...

It slicked towards her crotch, and she lifted her leg to better clean it. She didn't want to look, but she could just feel the fluids being whisked away and down the drain on the bottom. Already she felt better, like it had never happened, now she felt clean...As clean as she was going to get in this place. Even the water that flowed through these pipes seemed tainted by the castle's walls, by it's people, but it was warm...It was relaxing...It was the best she could do without touching the soap or boiling herself to death. Her arms wrapped around her body as she stood there, feeling it rain down harshly on her and could hear the intense pitter-patter on the floor. Despite the hot water, she shuddered...

Fiona stood like this for close to half an hour, her mind wondered as the extremely comforting water shed from her skin. With every passing second she considered if she should shut it off, then would stop. She certainly didn't care if she wasted the water, she knew he was loaded, and even if he wasn't, she hoped she cost him thousands of dollars and was as huge as a pain in the ass as she could get. Her thoughts instead pressed into everything else...Everything else...

Finally...She had time to think and not be terrified. The cube didn't count, it was too stressful...This was different, she actually was starting to feel clean and normal again. She remembered with fondness the day they were en route to, as her father promised, "somewhere special" where he had a "nice surprise" for them, as he claimed. Neither her or her mother knew where they were actually going, but trusted their father, as they always did. Dressed in what her mother interpreted to be an appropriate dress for meeting new people, which was something else he had promised, she slid into the back of the car hoping for the best. It was a beautiful day, the sun warm, and was glad because she knew fall was just beginning and soon the days would be cold and short. This was a different country with different people, but some how, it had all felt like home to her...Like she was going home, instead of leaving it.

A tear ran down her cheek, and she took a shaky breath. She told herself not to dwell on it, but she couldn't help herself. If not now, when could she mourn her mother and father? Thoughts filled her mind of them, of her previous life and how it would never be the same thanks to that sick fuck. She wished she could get angry at him, but she couldn't bring herself to want to deliberately attack him. It was like she had an odd connection to him, and realized it was because he was...family. Family didn't kill each other...family stuck together...family forgave each other...

Though she had a feeling he didn't have the same belief system...

Then, she felt a chill again, and she began to have another image pop into her head. She jerked back on reflex, it hitting her like a ton of bricks, like those flashbacks of the crash...But this wasn't of the crash...It was a memory she never had before.

She saw her father...Except he was a young man, looking like somebody she had seen somewhere before, then realized it looked just like the painting of the man in the guest room. He stood in the large entranceway, it appeared to be where the stairs were that led from the front door in the castle. The main entrance. Near the bottom of the steps, he was there, looking up the stairs at her as he sort of smirked at her happily. His clothing was a simple overcoat and dress pants, looking rather like a teacher ready to leave for work. His hair was shaved even then, though Riccardo's still seemed longer to her. His eyes shone a bright greenish blue as he stared at her...Except she knew it wasn't her standing there. He spoke, his lips moved, but she couldn't understand a word he said. Then...

It was gone. She fell against the side of the tub, catching herself as she lay there against the wall, still just managing to stand up, gasped for air, the memory feeling like a whole experience, like she had traveled back in time. Somehow she could feel as though she was looking through someone else's eyes. It was shoddy and broken, like it wasn't meant to be there. It then seemed to almost drift away, like it would never return. Momentary, temporary. Part of her wanted it back, and part of her wished it would never return. Fiona wanted to know what her father said, wanted to know who's eyes she was looking out of, wanted to know why she felt a shot of...almost anger, as it left her. Yet it was disturbing, it hit too close to home. She began to almost cry again at the image of her father, alive, looking happy...

Perhaps it was the thought of her father that drummed this up, wherever it came from, but she made sure to dash it away. She closed her eyes tightly, and shook her head, clearing her mind and freeing her conscious again. Don't think about them right now, get yourself taken care of, so you can leave, so you can bring the police back here and have his murdering ass arrested for what he did to them, and to what he tried to do to you. Yet she still stood in the falling water, and now realized she was stalling.

Because she knew that the minute the water stopped, she would have to enter his world. Step into the castle again, dress into clothes he'd given her, and submit to his will. She was already at his mercy, having him serve her would only make it worse. Yet she kept reminding herself that she had no choice, and it was something that made her give up easily to it's simplicity. There was a certain allure at being comfortable, at no longer being hunted and chased throughout this place and now being protected, at being guarded against...safe. The dog had began this feeling, the man had finished it. Not to mention the fact that he could be out there right now, fooling her, having her step into his sight naked and wet. Somehow, she couldn't help but feel that this wasn't like him...He had been too careful up until now, why would he dash it all?

Yet she didn't try too hard to understand the man, he was mad, she knew it. He could have one thing planned and do another for all she understood. Her body vibrated suddenly, shaking violently with nervousness and fear at the concept of what he may try and do. She would escape sometime today, perhaps after she took that nap she needed so badly. Then once she awoke she would find a way. Not try. She would do it. Once she did, the whole world would know of this place, regardless of the consequences and chaos it would cause. If it caused the downfall of this hell on Earth, it would be worth it.

Cope. Survive. That was all she could do now, and she had to hold it together. Be strong...

Another tear fell from her face, and she reached forward and swiftly turned off the water. The steam rose up about her, warming her one final time as a small chill of air engulfed her supple body. She sighed heavily, shaking as it came out of her mouth. Now she was dripping wet, and it actually felt kind of good. It meant it was over...The first stage of her recovery...She had the strength to move on, she had to, if she wanted to ever see the outside of these walls. If it was up to her, the shower would have never ended.

Her fingers had pruned from the long rinse, and she smoothed them out by rubbing them against each other. She gathered herself, and strained her ears. Right then she tried to ignore her fear and the sound of water dripping, and just try to focus on any and all noises coming from outside the tub. Finally, she pulled the curtain aside just a little, and peeked out. There was nobody there, but just as promised, on the small chair that sat next to the partition by the tub was a nightgown. She shook at the thought...He was in here. She knew he came in and set it down as she washed, and was actually quite amazed he didn't try to get a look at her.

Stepping out, she shook her foot off of it's water as she raised each foot, and planted it on the floor. With her, she took the towel that was over the rung where she placed it earlier. Again, she realized that this was the same towel that must have been touched a million times by the castle-dwellers, but tried to take assurance in the fact that it had been clean and just taken from the cabinet. God she hoped it was true that the maid at least did that well, and that she used very, very hot water... Still, Fiona dried off quickly, a bit afraid he still might be around to gander at her naked body, her gaze shifting to and from the door to her own body to make sure she was dry.

The nightgown lay there, and with apprehension, she walked towards it. It sat folded, like an invitation. She expected it to be revealing, and it was in a way, but the color was a simple white, almost too simple, with a translucent quality like her skirt was. The bottom was frilly, covered in lace, with the top low-cut and obviously meant to display part of her cleavage. Like her previous clothing, it had no support for her double-D breasts, but luckily enough the clothing the maid laid out was tight enough to have them held up a little flat upon her chest...Not that she cared what she looked like, really, but no woman wants to have a set of pancakes for a rack. This one was loose, and so they sagged slightly. Now he wanted her to parade around this place like that...?

Once again, what choice did she have? She had hoped she could keep out of his vision for now, him seeing her in such a thin, un-supporting gown was enough for her to die from embarrassment. Right now she could stand to support them with one hand and try to hide them the best she could...She moved the gown, and found a nice pair of panties underneath them, they were thin and appeared a little too fancy for her tastes. It seemed to go with her gown in the sense that it was skimpy and lacy, a rose of embroidery in the center, all a pale off-white. There was a distinctive, fresh odor to it, like it had just come from the store and was brand new. She inhaled deeply to calm herself, and started to dress.

With quickness, she slipped the panties on, then put the blouse over her. There was no string to tie this time, it was too simple for that. It was meant just to sleep in, that was all, and she was glad because she didn't want to do anything else in this strange place with a pervert on her heels. She looked down and groaned inwardly as she realized her nipples were easily visible in the thing, and wished she could at least have an undershirt, but knew this was all she had to go on. At least it was clean and comfortable, not itchy, not tight, and flowing evenly around her hips. It reminded her heavily of the surgical gown, the color, the revealing and light nature, even to the point where it had no support. She felt a little better having some coverage, unlike before where it was practically a free show. It was still worlds better, despite it's imperfections. And, had she been wearing a bra or not in the presence of a freak, it would have actually been the nicest and most expensive thing she had ever wore. Now that she could feel the material, it was very obviously a fine silk. She straightened the sleeves, they flowed past her hands, dipping far below her wrists as they hung down. It reminded her heavily of something a princess would wear.

Or a Lady...

She looked towards the door, dare she? There was no doubt that it was locked, but she decided to find out, anyway. She walked towards it, then placed her hand on the knob.

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He stood back and watched the washing machine. Sighing with discontent, he scratched his short goatee and tried not to be impatient. Damn, he had to dry it too, even. There was just plain and simple no other way he was going to be able to stay in that outfit any longer, it smelled bad and was stained with blood. It was one of the few garments of clothing he actually wore, the others being the black shirt he wore underneath, his boxers, and his civilian ware he used to leave the castle and shop outside with. Those were a pair of blue jeans and a leather trench coat, not to forget his hat and gloves. If he remembered correctly, the maid had washed the non-leather clothing earlier and they were hanging up to dry somewhere. He didn't have a clothing drawer; he didn't need one. When this things got dirty, she washed it, he waited, he put it back on.

Now he knew he was sorta kinda screwed, because he knew Fiona would be finishing up with her shower. When she was in the middle of it, he knocked, but got no response. So he entered, careful to make sure he didn't round a corner and see her naked. But she was in the shower, steam rising from the top and sides as the water very noisily dripped upon her. He walked softly up to the chair next to the partition and set her clothing upon it, then backed out carefully as to avoid detection. Then he sought to get as much done as possible with the time he had, and beat a hasty run outside to the laundry room. He had to get out of this sweaty, bloody thing, and now.

Along the way, he was quite shocked to see the balcony collapsed. Another thing he had to deal with, super. He wondered how and God's name it happened, nobody had even been on that thing in ages for good reason. It was aging and Lord only knew how flimsy it was. Quite frankly, he never gave thought to Fiona trotting along on the ancient thing. Why would she? Perhaps Debilitas was to blame, instead. Him doing something so clumsy and stupid wouldn't be so surprising. Yet another case for him to never take a step inside the castle ever again. Riccardo would take the keys to the doors, and that monstrosity would never be allowed back in. The chances of his Fiona and soon-to-be-conceived child being harmed by him was too great.

For another moment he watched as the soap flew against the glass door to the washer, and he made a frustrated growl. This was taking too long! He looked down at his present attire, standing there in his ribbed black shirt and boxers, and knew this simply wouldn't do. So he quickly scanned the room, and found his jeans from his escapade the night before in a hamper. They had yet to be washed, that lazy bitch. Regardless, it would work for what he intended. He was going to escort her upstairs, get her something to eat and drink, and send her to bed.

His plans afterward were more complex, he needed to take a shower himself, eat, look for the maid, and somehow get some sort of rest. Ha, him get rest...That was just plain laughable.

He split, walking with irritation out of the room, outside, through the game room, up the steps, and on his way back to the bathroom at breakneck speed. As he got there, he came close to the door with caution, and listened. The shower had ceased, she had to be finished. Again, he knocked on the door. At the sound, he heard a startled gasp.

"...Yes?" She inquired at the other end of the door.

She knew who it was, but couldn't help but make sure. Who the hell knew who else could be in the place that she didn't know about, including that Debilitas? When she tried to open the door, she realized that it was indeed still locked. But she didn't have to wait long, the knock came several seconds afterwards, startling her.

"It's me." He responded, his deep English accent dripping over the words.

"Are you decent?"

There was a long silence, a pause, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to answer back, his hand came to rest on the door knob, despite the fact that he would have to unlock it before it would even open. He thought he heard her moving around in there, footsteps walking about the room. Then she surprised him.

"...Yes."

Sighing, his hand came back and re-inserted the key card, which it beeped and the light blinked in response. The locking mechanism was off, but the door didn't open. He approached it, and gently turned the knob, close to the door and leaning on it as it opened. She stood not too far away, barely able to see her in the rising steam of the room. He approached her, and just barely caught her arm as she came at him suddenly, rushing him with a broom in her hand.

It appeared to be the same broom that had been sitting in the corner of the bathroom down by the stalls for ages. The maid used it to sweep up. But now it appeared to have been broken, as to create a spear, and was aimed at his head. It looked pointy and would have been very painful had it been stuck into him, anywhere. His right hand came about her wrist, catching it, his left taking hold of the spear itself and pushing it away. She was still a young lady, and she still had virtually no strength against his 221 pound frame, most of which was sturdy bone and muscle.

Then he pulled it down, and out of her grasp. It snapped, being old and used a great deal, and it splintered even more as it fell to the floor. She gasped in both terror and surprise as she was pushed back, a look of betrayal and anger in his face. Then Fiona felt her body topple over, her butt coming to fall on the floor, a sudden pain in that region from the shock.

Why that little cock-tease...!

He never saw this coming. Never anticipated an attack. Riccardo knew he had saved the woman's life, and thought that she would at least appreciate this, if not love him for it. What had she been trying to do? Kill him? Now why would she want to do that...?

There was a feeling of disbelief, and of being virtually spit in the face. He had trusted her, and this was how she repaid him? If he had been in a less tired mood, less willing to deal with the woman and her ridiculous flights of denial and escapades, then he may have fucked her right then in there out of rage and impatience. Every time she refused him, every time she fought back, made him want to forget how nice and pleasant he was trying to be, how much of a gentleman he had been until now...The thought of taking her on the bathroom floor still came up...It still floated about in his mind...

And as she sat there on the floor, looking up at him with her plaintive eyes, he realized he had to do something...

"You miserable wench..." He spat, using the same tone and words as in the extractor room.

"I gave you life! I saved you, I almost died for you, and this is how you repay me!"

Her lower lip trembled, and she had to look away from his fierce, angry gaze that also looked...hurt.

She may not have even grazed him, but she knew...She had hurt him.

"You don't even appreciate the gift that was given to you by your own father, one that my own never even bestowed upon me. Now you show your spoiled rotten little hide to me as well?! You ungrateful, vile, troublesome girl...You...You bitch!"

A tear slipped from her eyes at his harsh words, and she began to cry. There was a small cry from her trembling jaw, her gaze averted and her arms shaking as they helped hold her body off the floor. She felt so exposed on the bathroom tile, but knew there was nothing that could be helped.

"I'm sorry...I-I won't do it again..." Her voice squeaked, and he just barely heard it.

"You're sorry?" Riccardo answered, leaning in, his tone sardonic.

"Where have I heard that before!? You're not sorry...You never were."

"Of course not!" She sobbed. "I hate you!"

Then came the second long silence that morning. He stood before the woman, now crying, as she wailed at the top of her lungs, his hands balling into fists and his anger and patience reaching their climax. Riccardo then took a step back, then another, and punched the wall. He didn't literally throw his fist into it, or else he would have shattered every bone in his hand, but what he had done hurt like hell. Then he growled, and Fiona looked up and almost gasped. It sounded almost exactly like the same growl Hewie used...He sounded like a dog protecting it's sinewy bone, it was deep, it was guttural...It was enraged.

"Please...Stop..."

Her voice returned. Her real voice, the one like a lyre. The one that calmed his storm that was his madness. It was a pleading to calm down.

He stood with his back to her, unable to make eye contact...He was just so damn pissed with the girl that he didn't want to even look at her. Then he realized that getting mad and screaming at one another would get them nowhere and lead only to bad blood between them both. He wouldn't have that...Fiona had almost killed him...Probably because he killed her parents. Fine. She wanted to play karma games...?

Riccardo turned, and looked at her again...Deep into her. A look of cold, calculating decision moved over her bare thighs as he came up with such a fitting retribution.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Fiona...You're causing me much grief."

She looked at him, right in the eyes, now noticing for the first time that he wore different clothes.

"What?" Her voice cracked in response.

"...I'm afraid you'll need to be punished."

Two thoughts filled Fiona's head at those words. One, that she would be killed or severely beaten...The other...

Fiona wasn't sure which one she would prefer.

Quickly, like the metal component of a mouse trap, he snapped forward and came at her. She didn't have time to react. He bent down, and took a firm, powerful, grip onto her wrists. The girl cried out in dismay as she felt herself forcefully lifted up. She imagined herself pummeled into a pulp, ripped apart like the large man had tried to do to her. Then she realized this was not what he had intended for her. He took her shoulders as she now stood before him, gave her a look of determination to match her look of fear, and spun her around. Her voice caught in her throat as her stomach bottomed out. He was going to...!

Until now, she never realized how close she was to the bathroom sink. Her hands were taken in his, and placed upon the sides of the sink, planting them firmly as he pushed against her with his hips and into the wooden part. She screamed, partly in fright and partly in dismay. She knew what was going to happen, she was standing with her hands on the sink and him against her, their hips aligned... surely, he was going to rape her. It was as obvious to anything in her mind.

Then she felt his hands on her back, and he pressed it down into the small of her back, making her lateral with the sink as she now laid on top of it. She could hear him panting behind her, and she gasped at his touch as it traveled to her rear.

"No!" She sobbed, trying to scurry away but he now had her firmly by the hips.

"Now, now..." He chastised, his voice very breathy and frightening to her ears.

"You need to accept your punishment, my dear..."

This didn't help, but she knew she was screwed. She wasn't getting away. Then she felt him grind his hips against her backside, and realized he was hard. She felt it. It almost seemed to throb next to it's intended target. She gasped, and involuntarily, spread her legs just a little to widen her opening. But he was still clothed, and at this point, she wondered why. He cried out a little above her in desire, a warbling tone that seemed more like a sigh, then leaned over her back as he pressed his stomach against it, his hands still on her hips, and his mouth next to her face.

"How adorable you are, Fiona!" He chastised in her ear.

"Just where do you intend to run?"

Her only response was a sob, and a shake of her head...She didn't know where she would have gone...She never thought it through. It was like a shot and the dark, and now she was going to pay for her recklessness.

Riccardo Belli reached down, his right hand sliding down to below her delicate nightgown, reaching the edge and going under. The lower trim was pushed up, causing the clothing to shift with his arm and roll upwards to lay on her lower back. She moaned, which surprised him, it was on the edge of a cry of shame, dismay, and a hint of surprise. His fingers felt even rougher now as they slid along the sensitivity that was her inside thighs, and he used his arm to lift up the whole thing. The bottom skirt portion was now totally up, and she was exposed, he stood back just a little to allow this. She felt the open air hit her now bare rear, and knew the man could see her creamy, white-skinned ass.

"Oh, no..." She shuddered, her whole body shaking, mostly with anticipation, all negative.

His left hand stayed where it was, at her hip, holding it and once again pressing his weight down on the trembling and unwilling girl before him. So far he was succeeding, creating a ruse that he was about to fuck her. There was no doubt in his mind what was going through her mind; pre-conceived notions of his intentions. This would be another little test, just how responsive was she to his touch? His right hand glided back down to the round orbs that were her buttocks, and took the right cheek in his grasp. He ran his leathery hand along the smooth, divine skin. Her breathing was now rapid, and it made him even harder, his panting increasing along with her like they were one living, breathing thing. Their chests even came to find the same rhythm as they inhaled and exhaled. Then he gave it a little pinch, she yelped, and released.

Then it moved down, and slid between the area below her buttocks, and between her legs. The tip of his middle finger graced her vulva, and her clit. He heard her cry out in both surprise and unbidden stimulation. Once again, in response, her legs twitched and spread, her feet moving on the floor as they spaced. She never even realized it was happening. There was now a lightheaded, tingly feeling in her brain, floating to the top...She just couldn't believe any of this was real...Didn't want to believe any of it was real.

He smiled, and moved his fingers back and forth across her pussy, the very tips gracing her clitoris but not stimulating it, not wanting to yet. It lowered, entering her outer rim of her opening, then back. He was both surprised and overjoyed to find her lubricated, wetness creeping out of her vulva and coating his fingers graciously. Then, he pulled away, satisfied. But that didn't mean he was finished yet. Her panting died down, a wavering cry replacing it.

Bringing it to his mouth, he licked it up, savoring the taste of her salty juices on his hand. God, he could taste her rich Azoth just flowing through it, and it gave him a rather lovely jolt to his systems. He shuddered and sighed again, and she heard it...And could only guess from not being able to see, was that he was taking off his pants. Because of this, she anticipated the worse as he rose his body a little off of her, and waited in terror for the feel of a phallus near her thighs.

Yet it never came. She got a rather nasty surprise, instead.

"This hurts me more then it does you..." He said in a mocking tone, and laughed just a little.

His hand came back, high in the air above them, and came down.

"SMACK!"

Riccardo's hand slapped her right ass check. It was hard, too. Just as hard as he hit that maid earlier in the night, and knew he would cause just as much damage. She screamed in surprise, her body lurching forward, breasts hitting the edge and her hands splaying on the sink. Her face could only be described as the same sort of expression one would acquire after having something dropped on their foot. A combination of shock and pain.

"Ahhhh!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, her legs closing on reflex as she crawled forward onto the sink like she could get away somehow. And his chest rose totally away from her, but kept his hips ground against her body as he pressed her between him and the sink. There was no escape as he dealt the "punishment".

It came again.

"SMACK!"

"Nahh!" Fiona cried, eyes closing, tears beginning to drip out from under the lids.

"What are you, Fiona?" He asked, tilting his head and licking his lips.

She didn't respond, and so he just shrugged in response. He knew it hurt; it hurt like hell. But this was the only sort of pain he felt comfortable putting onto the woman. Because it wasn't really so much pain as it was, for him anyway, unbridled pleasure. He loved this, both dealing and receiving, and had a feeling she did, too. Even if she didn't want to respond to it at first, or acknowledge it...It would make for a very fitting punishment, indeed.

"SMACK!" Came his hand again, even harder, his own hand stinging horribly.

"What are you, miss Fiona? Tell me!"

Still nothing, she bit her lip, tears flowing, body trembling as she cried. If he hadn't been holding her against the sink, she was sure she would have collapsed. It was loud in the room, nearly deafening to her ears as her skin was hit again and again, reminding her exactly of the maid being slapped. Except...Except this time he actually appeared to care whether he hurt her or not. Checking her and pausing after every one.

"SMACK!"

"Pleeease!" Fiona tried, but knew it was pointless.

"Tell me!"

Deep down, she searched for what the hell it was that he meant, that he wanted her to say. Her whole rear pulsated, throbbing with pain...Yet she was surprised to find her loins beginning to tingle as well. She gasped involuntarily at the sensation, and knew that it had to be red, be covered with welts by now. Every fiber of her being wanted it to stop, but she knew he wouldn't unless she said what he asked, that she admitted something. It hurt like hell...yet with every spank, she began to grow more and more aroused, and it began to sting less, and flush in more then just her ass, as she began to blush.

"SMACK, SMACK!" Two in rapid succession this time. He wanted her to talk.

"Tell me you've been a bad girl..."

Oh, how he wanted her to say it. That, amongst a few other things, but that would do for now. He wanted her to admit that what she had done was wrong, and that she deserved this little correction. It would make him feel so much better.

"I.." She tried, but tripped up in her words.

He shook his head, wasn't fast enough...

"SMACK!"

"Say it!"

"I've...I've-"

"SMACK!"

"-GAAAH!" Her body lurched forward at the smack. He wasn't giving her enough time!

Damn it, she didn't want to say it, but it was starting to sting again, and she was beginning to throb down there all around...Her ass, her crotch..."Just get it over with". Fiona told herself. "Just to make him stop, anybody would do the same..."

"I've-! I've been a very bad-!"

"SMACK!"

Her eyelids shot open, because this time, he smacked the other cheek.

"I can't hear you, miss, you had better speak up!"

"SMACK!"

"I've been a very bad girl!" She cried, her body almost now unfeeling, numb.

"Have you?" He ceased for a moment, his breath hitched, hand raised in waiting.

"Yes!" Her chest resting on the sink, her rear still raised up in front of him.

"And...Who do you belong to?"

There was a third pause, one not so long, as his hand came down to hover not too far from her buttocks, ready to continue if needed.

"...You..." She whispered.

"Hmm?" He prodded, he didn't quite hear her, her voice was too low.

"I belong to you!"

He smiled wider then ever before. As she heaved on the sink, her crying stopped, and she only breathed hard as she stood there. He took a look at the rear he had been slapping for the past five minutes, and saw that it was red, but otherwise okay. Carefully, he placed the clothing back over it, as it fell about her ass and slid back below her knees. His hand ran along the now clothed surface, and she cried out in relief. He leaned back over just as previously, and whispered in her ear.

"...Good girl."

She exhaled, a deep sigh, and almost began to cry again...

"Now, I trust there will be no more of these silly outbursts...These attempts... For your sake, I hope you learned your lesson."

Finally, the moment she was waiting for, he backed away. She lay there on the sink, and eventually, backed up herself. Her body felt like it was just put on hot coals, racked with welts and the feeling of fire about her every form. Tears felt hot on her face, and she blinked them away. She again looked at him standing there, a look of small content on his face. Her eyes purposely averted from anything below his waist...She didn't want to find out if he was still hard or not.

Fiona looked upon the dealer of both pain and pleasure. He wore now different clothing, a black sweater that looked ribbed and came up below his neck. And...a pair of jeans. They looked clean and almost new, a very dark and vibrant blue. The shirt was rather tight on him, for comfort reasons most likely, and because of this she could actually tell the man was in rather good shape. The only fat he appeared to have was a very, very slight bulge on his stomach. Even this was barely noticeable, and excusable considering his life style and age. His chest looked strong, as did his arms, and he had biceps. He was no muscle-builder, but he was built well all things considered. She hated to draw comparisons between him and her father, but...Well, daddy never looked like that. He let himself go, he wasn't fat, but he wasn't...Fit. He had a desk job, he never did a real day of hard work in his life.

It was amazing what a baggy, drab outfit can hide underneath it...Not that it mattered. Her eyes dropped from him, she wished she had been able to stab him when she had the chance.

"...I hate you..." She sobbed, wiping a tear from her face.

He looked at her long and hard, they were looking through her again. The steam was long gone, since replaced by the screaming of his woman as she endured his punishment. She stood there, chest heaving but shakily so, jerking, her breasts bouncing just a little with each one. Her face was plastered with tears, slowly drying. And now he was positive her rear absolutely ached. Well, that's what she got, her just deserts for doing what she did...She had to go and spoil such a lovely morning!

But he found out a lot, a good lot. He found that, even if she didn't want to admit it, she liked it. She may not be able to recognize it, as there was hate, not pleasure, in her eyes, but she did. He knew those sounds from making love to and pleasuring many a woman. It was the cry of unbidden desire, of wanting, she wanted to be fucked. God, she wanted to be fucked so bad. The way she spread those legs apart just a little, the way she slobbered all over his hands like that as he played with her, she would never admit it, and that was fine, but he knew...She would give in when the time came. It would take some convincing, it would take a sly will and a careful hand, but he could do it.

"Really?" He chastised, and smiled cruelly. She broke eye contact, but didn't look down.

Riccardo approached, and she just stood there, because she knew...There was nowhere to go. He was right. His right hand came to hold her tear-stained check, and she felt his skin on hers once again...And felt that it was wet. Then she remembered where that hand had been, and was suddenly appalled.

"...Then, m' Lady...Why do you blush so?"

She looked sincerely into his eyes, and on command, another tear fell. Her gaze was of utter disgust and hatred...Then softened, turning into fear and surrender, and looked away.

"Come." He told the girl, and let go of her face.

"...You must regain your strength. You must eat. You must rest..."

Suddenly, he was hit with a pang of pity as he pulled her towards himself, and looked down towards her rear. She appeared to be in a state of shame and denial, as well as stinging agony. He sighed, then let go. She turned and watched as he walked past her, to the cabinet with the lotions that she opened earlier. Turning away, all she could hear was him opening the cabinet and getting something out. She bit her tongue and closed her eyes again, absolutely riddled with embarrassment, as he again lifted her skirt and revealed her bum. Fiona jerked and jumped as she felt cold goo being rubbed into it, but it felt so good...Too good...That she let it feel good. She relaxed, sighed, and let him finish. His hand pulled away, and her bottom half of the blouse fell down to cover it.

"There..." He remarked, and walked back over.

"It helps relieve stinging and...promotes healing...It should help..."

Fiona couldn't help but notice he seemed to be stumbling on his words, and didn't realize just how tired he sounded and looked until now. But that didn't matter...She really shouldn't care. He had just fingered and slapped her, those were the only things she should be concerned about. Yet it didn't bother her as much as it would...Not the way it would be if it was the first time he touched her. It was like she was anticipating and expecting him to finally cross the line. When he finally did...It didn't have the same effect. She was just glad it was over, and didn't wish to dwell on it.

God, she was getting used to it. Used to him. It made her sick.

He placed it back where he found it, washed his hands in the sink, and took her hand again. It was gooey, not wet, this time. Still, that was one filthy hand...

Fiona tried not to dwell on it as he led her away, back up to the bedroom.

------

"I didn't...Hurt you, did I?"

She looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot and face wet.

"I know it stung, but...I didn't hurt you, right?"

For the life of her she didn't quite understand why he cared. Fiona knew he had calmed, and when he did, it was almost like he was a totally different person. Already she could tell that the man was a bipolar, being a craven sex demon ready to hurt and kill one minute and a caring gentleman the next. She couldn't say she wanted to see either, as they were both the same horrible man. Her arms closed around her body, obscuring the way her breasts hung on her chest so she would feel more comfortable sitting in front of him. His eyes were always on her, creeping over her like he was examining some fine piece of art.

Shaking her head lightly, she tried to be truthful. Yes, her ass really did hurt like hell, but she didn't consider it "hurting her". It was more about embarrassment, shame...And that he had done. She just wanted him away from her right now, and didn't want him trying to be a caretaker and checking her ass for welts. That gel did help, and she felt a rising chill numbing it, soothing away the pulsating heat his hand had made and making it bearable to sit on the bed.

"...Because I meant what I said, earlier. That nobody would ever hurt you again. I don't want to hurt you, Fiona. But you simply must understand...I cannot have you disobeying me. You see what I mean, don't you? You need to know it's not acceptable. Still, I won't ever...hurt you, only cause you a little discomfort."

Fiona sat upon the bed, her feet dangling over the edge. Her ass felt like a veritable pin cushion, still stinging just a little. The bed felt a lot softer and comfortable then when she remembered it. She was having trouble taking all of this in, that she was at this castle, her parents dead, that she was the daughter of a clone, of an alchemist...That they were killed by this man, a clone just like her father, and that he apparently wanted to fuck her, but hadn't done so yet. She almost wished he would get it over with, just so in the least the worry would be gone...And she had her life saved from her own grandfather, Riccardo the one who did it, had her life force nearly sucked out, was spanked into submission...

Fuck, she was tired...Her body was tired, her conscious was tired...She just wanted to drift off and never wake up.

Her whole body just ached. Not just from the spanking, but from everything. All the running, hiding, fighting, and whatever that old man had done to her had practically destroyed her stamina. Only a good, long nap could fix it. But she needed food, her stomach pleaded for it. She felt so sapped of resources, like her energy and nutrients were taken from her, leeched off like some vampire.

She still felt...Odd. There was a sort of icy core to her, and she couldn't quite come to grasp the weight of the situation. She felt the pain of her rear, but not intensely so. It was almost as though she was hollow inside. Now she was always cold, her body like a popsicle, never able to feel warm. When she touched her own skin, it felt like an icebox. To her, Riccardo felt like a hot oven, almost burning her. She wondered why this was, but tried not to dwell on it. Fiona only saw that he was deformed, not that he was "incomplete" or whatever that meant. Even Azoth and it's function still loomed as a strange and inconceivable thing in her conscious.

"...I know I've been rather...How should I say it...Forceful in my ways. I apologize, just as I have before, and I do so again. When you disobey me, bad things happen, my child...When you ran from me, I hunted you. When you tried to hurt me, I corrected you. Please let it me a lesson to you."

The girl before him just sat there, and jerked a nod. Her throat bobbed in a swallow. He felt a little guilty for what he had just done. When chasing her, it was a combination of a punishment and desire, not feeling bad about causing her fear and pain, because as far as he was concerned she deserved it for turning down his invitation. Yet now he regretted it, as he was so close to almost killing her in the process. He was known to change from one extreme to another, gentle like a lamb one minute and a roaring lion the next. Now he had just smacked the girl's ass until she admitted her mistake. Oh, how he enjoyed it...And she tasted very, very good. He had a raging hard-on but knew he couldn't relieve it. How he would love finally having the time with her in bed that he so desired.

When he touched her, he remembered just how cold she felt. Her Azoth was still very low. His body always reacted in the opposite way, being far too hot. Like her, he didn't quite understand this either. He could only fathom that lack of sufficient Azoth meant extremes in body temperature in one way or another. She was like an ice cube, he was like a furnace. Yet he always found himself feeling as though he was so cold, only when he actually brushed his own skin did he sense the heat. One of the reasons why he wore his uniform was this odd chill, it was quite warm and covered him from head to toe.

Still, he would have to wait for her to be somewhat warm to the touch again. Even looking at her tired and drained form conveyed to him that she was low, and in order to take any from her he would have to wait for her body to replenish. It really shouldn't take any more then a day at the most, and should be ready to receive his seed by tomorrow. She would need food and rest, and plenty of it. He could tell that she was intensely tired, her eyelids drooping and closing, like she was ready to fall asleep sitting up.

"Do you know what happened to the maid, by any chance? What happened here...?"

"I don't know..." She replied in monotone.

He could tell that she was lying. How could she not know? He almost felt like "punishing" her again for the offense, but realized it was pointless. She obviously just didn't trust him yet, or was too tired to think or care. Besides, it didn't matter right now. He had hoped he wouldn't have to fix her the meal, as he wasn't anywhere near as good at it as Daniella was. But what had to be done had to be done. He would have to do his very best.

"Fine..." He sighed, then walked off to the side, towards the door.

"I'm going to go fix you some breakfast, and I'll bring it up to you. What would you like?"

Fiona just shook her head a little, looking undecided.

"Just...Whatever..." Her tired voice uttered.

Well, this wasn't going to help.

"Tea? Kippers? Toast...? Help me out here, girl. Or else I'll be likely to make you something you'd rather not like."

The girl made a face when he said "kippers", and knew that particular food was out of the question.

"Bacon and eggs, I guess..." Her tone unwilling and undecided. He gathered she really didn't want to eat anything here.

Riccardo nodded, they had all the particular traditional British food options, and those were two of them. They ate a lot of meat around the castle, though he ate more of it then Lorenzo did. Bacon and eggs made up the majority of his breakfast, though he also had sausage, kippers, and just about anything that once moved at one point in it's life. Toast or black pudding made up the side dishes, the maid occasionally also fixing porridge or beans as well. Now that he thought about it he was really hungry...

"...And to drink?"

"Milk."

Again, he nodded. They had plenty of that, too. Another thing they used quite often. They had a whole lower shelf of the fridge dedicated to it. He didn't know if the Lady liked tea or not, she didn't seemed too enthused by it. He knew this was probably because Fiona was an American girl, born and raised, as that's where Ugo & Ayla ran off to when he left the castle...Or rather, ran off, and simply never came back. They learned of their citizenship not too long after they began worrying about him, thinking something horrible had become of him. She had applied for it, for him, got it, and apparently did all of this away from home and behind their backs...He got angry thinking of it again, so he left it be for now. Still, the girl spoke a fluent British accent because of her parents, and apparently also went off to some sort of charm school as well, to maintain it. Not to mention music classes, and they most likely contained many well-spoken individuals as well. He almost snorted in anger at the irony, he'd never received that sort of attention from his father...She had no idea just how well she had it.

"Anything else?" He probed, he only wanted to make one trip.

Fiona reached up, and realized that she had to say something. Her hair was soggy wet, it was soaking the top of her gown. She had tried her best to dry it with the towel, but it had little effect. The modern world had spoiled her, and it was rather uncomfortable to walk around with dripping wet hair, feeling the droplets of water roll down her backside. She rolled the hair around between her thumb and index finger.

"...A hair dyer?"

It took a moment for it to set in for Riccardo, his face looked like a combination of confusion and surprise.

"...A what?"

"A...a hairdryer? You know, you plug it in, turn it on, it blows warm air-"

"Oh...! Well, no. We don't have one. I apologize."

He watched the girl's face sort of fall in disappointment. Now he was rather upset that he was not able to meet a need of hers. He remembered when he was preparing himself for the girl's arrival, some weeks before she was due to be here. On his monthly supply trip to the grocery stores, he acquired a few items. A toothbrush, hair brush, a pregnancy test, and even a small box of tampons just in case she had her period or would acquire it soon after. Of course, he didn't know shit about what he was doing, and the sort of actual other things a woman would really need. A hair dryer had not been on his list.

"...Well, then nothing, I guess..." Came he reply, she looked a little pissed off.

Then he started to step back, ready to leave. He thought it best to warn the girl, just in case.

"Don't move. I'll try to be quick."

The look he gave her said it all. It was steely, a gaze of intent and warning. He was done with her disobedience for the day, and his patience was already over, hanging by a thread. One more outburst, and he would take her by force out of frustration both of the sexual nature and out of sheer anger. His animal, craven nature could only stretch so far in his civilized form. She decided she wouldn't test him again...Her ass had enough for tonight.

She watched him walk away, his stride tired and dragging. His feet barely picked off the ground as he strode, opening the door and giving her another warning glance, then leaving. There was no lock as he closed it, because that particular door did not have one. Fiona shook all over, her gaze remaining on the floor, and took a deep shuddering breath.

Something told her escaping this time wouldn't be easy...

----

The homunculus searched through the cabinets, trying desperately to find what it was that he was preparing to make. He gave it up for now, and reached instead to the fridge. Pulling it open, he spied a cornucopia of foods. Meat hung on hooks made up the top level, it looked like a mini meat locker. It was deeper then it looked on the outside, though it was still pretty skinny. Only two people lived at the residence, with one maid he never considered a real person, and a failed creation on the outside. He didn't know where the maid went off to, but now the total was still the same, two people that really only ate. Because of this, the supply was more about lasting a long time rather then having the quantity necessary to maintain a large amount of people. Meat was purchased fresh from the farm in whole form, as it was easier and more convenient to cut it at home as they saw fit. Debilitas had a knack for it. After which it was stored in the fridge in the cut form, and prepared as the maid wanted.

When he entered the kitchen, he was a little appalled how things were just left to rot on the counter. A leg of mutton lay on the cutting board, raw, bloody, with the knife sitting next to it. It almost appeared as though the maid just up and left everything for no apparent reason and never came back. There was a pot filled with something on the stove, but he didn't want to mess with that right now. He didn't even bother with cleaning up the meat, he could deal with that later. His Lady was hungry, the woman that would soon come to carry his child, he had better not keep her waiting.

Technically, he was her servant. That didn't mean he had to act like it, however...

The fridge was rather old, as everything in the castle was, he remembered it being new when Lorenzo had it wheeled in when he was only fifteen. It smelled a little, not of food but of some sort of mechanical thing that had to do with the cooling unit. Because of this, it tended to work a little too well and the liquids were close to being frozen. The milk often had chunks of ice in it. If he knew how to fix it he would, but he was clueless. He always bitched that they could use a new one, but old man Lorenzo would have none of it. Well, that would have to be one of the new things on his list now that he was gone...

There used to be white plastic lining on the inside, but it had since yellowed. He tried to ignore the white cloud of refrigerated vapor that rose from the industrial freezer, pushing through it as he looked about. Eggs...Bacon...Where...He tended to snack on dry foods instead of the refrigerated ones, so he rarely ever raided the fridge, when he did it was usually for a glass of milk. He looked towards the inside door and found a few eggs, which he took, and finally opened up the top portion to find the bacon that had been hand-sliced from what was once a whole pig. But it was the best pig money could buy, from a regular, organic farm and not some mass-produced company. They required only the best.

He got the frying pan from the hook that hang suspended above the kitchen counter, it was spotless like all the dishes. Daniella always did such a wonderful job making sure everything was clean. It was such a long time since he made his own food...And for a moment he just stood there staring at the empty pan on the stove...Too afraid to even turn it on. How high should he set it...? Damn it...Where the hell was that maid!?

With an angry sigh, he tried to remember when he cooked last. It was around twenty years ago, before Lorenzo made that intentionally failed homunculus that did everything for them. Why do it when somebody else would do it for you, and gladly, at that? He was spoiled by it, and became lazy. Riccardo became used to a different type of food, different tastes, but he did it. Now he would have to revert back, even if it was until he could find her again. He remembered being rather good at it, they had to cook for themselves as they had no woman or servants to do it for them. But they did well enough, and could have continued to do so even without her.

Okay, butter...He needed butter. He ran over, hurrying back and forth trying to be fast yet efficient at the same time as he opened the fridge and retrieved both. Cutting the butter, he put it in the pan and turned on the burner. It took a few seconds to melt, but then he cracked two eggs and they started to sizzle. At that point he realized he never asked the girl what sort of eggs she liked! He hated the idea of bringing her scrambled if she liked sunny-side-up. He always loved the latter...So he decided to go with his gut that the two of them were more alike then she may like to think.

The bacon came next, and sizzled rather harshly on the pan. Then he turned it down, fearing it may burn. At this point he had a bit of a flashback, and remembered what he always used to spice it up. He reached into the spices that was below the counter of the island behind him, and got out some garlic powder, lightly sprinkling it. Damn, did it smell good. He salivated inside his mouth, he would have to take at least one to taste before he gave it to her. It was just too fucking good to pass up, and he was just too fucking hungry to even consider not doing it.

He was nervous about waiting...Even right now the woman could be half way across the estate if she ran and knew where she was going. Granted, there was no way out, but it would be rather troublesome on his part and would royally piss him off something awful. He prayed the girl learned her lesson or maybe even was so tired she fell asleep. Standing with his arms crossed, he watched as the meal sizzled away, and finally it seemed finished. He moved it off the burner, and sniffed the fumes from it. It smelled amazing to his starved body. He went over and gathered a clean, ornate plate from the wooden shelf on the other wall, and used a spatula to collect it and slide it onto the dish.

Taking a strip of the bacon, he hungrily made it disappear. Oh, it was good, indeed. He still had it! Though no chef, he was probably better then most men would be, as he had to make his own food for so long. He resisted the urge to take another, as there was now only five strips left along with the two eggs. It should fill her up. He took out an old tray that used to be used to serve Lorenzo, it lay in the cabinet below where the dishes now sat, cleaned off the dust, and sat the bowl upon it's ornate silver surface. Then he tried to gather a glass, and pulled out the milk from the fridge.

Apparently, they had never heard of plastic milk jugs. They still had theirs delivered by the milkman, it came in a glass jar with a top that snapped on. Every week he would tote the washed ones down the gate, where it would be collected and replaced with clean ones. He poured the fresh and very cold milk into a drinking glass, a tall clear one, not the ornate wine glasses that they usually used. Still, it was priceless crystal with intricate designs on the side. Yet he wasn't finished. He was going to make her something that would help her sleep long and comfortable, knock her out like a light. Riccardo would often make it for himself to get him at least a little bit of comfort and give him reasonably pleasurable dreams. In fact, hers should be nothing but heavenly once she got into a deep enough slumber.

This time he strode over to another cabinet, and got out some honey. Then returned to the spices and got the cinnamon. He poured the honey into the milk in a circular motion until he was sure it was enough, then stirred it with a long spoon. He placed it in the microwave, and at that point realized he was retarded. He knew the door opened, it closed...What the hell was it supposed to do!?

Riccardo stood for almost five minutes just staring at the microwave, expecting it to work.

"Huh..."

Well, he decided he wasn't going to get anywhere just staring at it. So, he came forward and just started pressing buttons. It was an older microwave, but it was still purchased around only twelve years ago. It was gray, and sat on the kitchen counter next to the stove. The digital read-out near the top was something fascinating to somebody like Riccardo, seeing it before but too old-fashioned to give it much credence. How the hell did it work? He felt like a damn cave man all of a sudden...

It read "00:43" right now, and the buttons beeped at his touch. It wasn't doing anything right now, and pushed some more, to which he finally found the worn "Start", and the light came on inside the oven, the plate inside revolving as it made a humming noise, success! The maid at times used it to heat up cold diners or cook a simple meal. He'd seen her use it a few times, but that was it. He also knew it was called a microwave and basically what it did, which was far better then Lorenzo who had no concept of the matter, or anything modern. Riccardo was surprised the old man had known how a phone worked for Christ's sake...

He had a feeling he left it in for too long. Quickly, he pushed "cancel" and it beeped a few times, then the light went off. It almost burned his hand as he pulled it out, but it cooled down soon enough. He placed it onto the tray, then stirred it once more. Then he sprinkled the cinnamon on top, and delighted in the smell. Usually his were cold, when he did want them warmed he would ask the maid to make one. He was always too damn afraid to touch the microwave, and only did so because of the girl. The finishing touch came as he pulled it from his pocket.

It was a small metal tin, he pulled it from the metal cabinets when he was in the examination room. It held small bead-like concoctions of a dark brown, almost black color. It was Nigred, and was more of a failure...like him...then an actual desired medicine. Yet he would always keep some in case he needed it, and he did indeed need it this time. It's purpose was to exhaust and reduce stamina. Sap her of her energy and make her sleep the day away. This way, her body could restore her Azoth and she would be feeling better, and healthy, by the end of the day. This would also eliminate any worry as he left her alone and went on his hunt for the maid.

Not to mention the sheer and simple fact that, as long as her Azoth was low, she would never be able to get the right amount of sleep. Which would probably also give her bad nightmares. This would make her so weak she would have no choice but to fall into a deep, tired sleep. He dared not try the same thing on himself, lest his Azoth practically dwindle away. She could regain it easily, he could not. Nor could he ever hope to.

Crumbling it up in his fingers, it went into the warm milk easily. He stirred it again, and there was no way to know it was even in there. Carefully, he brought the near-full drink to his lips and took only a sip. Divine. It was perfect for his Lady in waiting, but for her he had one small treat left over. He went back to the fridge and got out an old, but still good, can of Redi-whip. It sputtered a few times, but eventually came out and he made a circular motion over the milk. It made a nice little mound. She was going to just love it!

Finally, he placed it upon the tray. The whole preparation had taken half an hour, he hoped it wasn't too long. He shifted the tray into his hands and carried it away. Carefully, he opened the doors with his free hand, and made his way up the steps and to the door of the captured maiden.

Fiona jumped awake at the sound of the door opening. Although she never laid down, she had fallen partially asleep sitting up. She almost ran at the sight of Riccardo coming through the door, then quickly realized and remembered what had happened. The old man...him saving her life...Being punished for an outburst of rebellion...She settled herself back down, and cleared her throat. He had a look of relief on his face at the mere sight of her, then approached with a tray of food. Just looking at it made her mouth water.

Although she wasn't a fan of eating his food, she had to eat something. Her stomach growled almost on cue, sloshing about as her gastric juices begged for nourishment. She placed her right hand across her belly, eyes fluttering tiredly as she tried to keep awake in front of Riccardo, both to watch for advancements and to eat.

He flicked out two small metal bars that had lay at the bottom, enabling it to stand up on the bed, and he sat it a few feet from her. Then he lifted the milk to ensure it wouldn't spill, and sat it on the small table next to the bed. There were already some empty wine vessels sitting there, which were intended for guests when they came to stay here. It was such a long time since they hosted any, however, ever since Lorenzo started going down hill and wished to be left alone. It was collecting dust.

"Here," The man said.

"...Exactly what you asked for, m' Lady."

She nodded, feeling rather awkward.

"Thanks for the meal..."

Her voice was small and kept more inside then out. She realized it was the same words she used on the maid...But couldn't help it. She said it all the time to her mom after she cleaned her plate, usually with a smile. It came as a reflex for her.

"You're very welcome, dear." Fiona watched as he smiled just a little at her, but she just tried to look away.

Riccardo stood up, backing only a few feet away, and watched. She supposed he expected her just to dig in like a ravenous animal, but she found it hard to eat in front of him, just like with the maid. There was still the fear that he put something in the food, perhaps to make her more manageable or even knock her out. Like with that drug, she had trusted him then. She looked absent-minding-ly over at the food, bacon and sunny-side-up eggs, how 'd he know that's how she liked them? That was rather disconcerting...

"I thought you were hungry?" Came an irritating tone to his voice.

"If you won't eat it, I'm rather starved myself."

Fiona shook her head, trying to convey her feelings without being rude.

"I just find it a little hard to eat with you staring at me like that..."

There came a haughty laugh from the clone before her, and he again tilted his head at the girl.

"You wish for me to not stare at you? I won't leave, but I will go sit down if you'd like."

She nodded, slightly irritated at being laughed at. In response, he walked down the small set of steps to the lower level of the guest suite. He made a tired grumbling sigh, and literally "fell" into the seat. There was the sound of him shifting in the chair, then eventually he just sat there, staring into space in front of him. She couldn't see much in the dark room, but she could tell his eyelids were beginning to flutter and that he was just as tired as she was, if not more.

Finally, she felt relatively comfortable. Even in his presence, she could rest. This was a big step for her, though she didn't realize it. She reached over and took a strip of bacon, and raised it to her mouth. It did smell good, and it didn't look as badly burnt as her mother tended to make it. She looked back at Riccardo, who seemed to want to look at her but tried not to, and finally took a bite. It wasn't bad. Once again, not as greasy as the stuff she was used to at home. As she chewed, it got better and better. She even licked her fingers as she completed the last bite. This kicked the shit out of the stuff the crazy maid cooked up, that was sure.

Next came the eggs, she dug into them rather quickly as she realized how hungry she was. Now she could care less if he was looking at her or not. Hell, she didn't care about anything right then as she ate, her belly was getting full, and it felt so good. She took the fork and cut the eggs quickly, and marveled at the taste. It seemed to explode in her mouth from the spice and quality of the product itself. She finished, and lifted up the plate to lick it. Every greasy crumb and residue was gone.

On reflex, she reached for the milk as she licked her lips. She wanted to wash it down, and she was thirsty as hell. As her hands closed around the glass and she lifted it to her mouth, she was a bit surprised by the feel of whipped cream against her lips, and pulled back. The drink was brownish and didn't look like milk anymore, nor smell like it. She was repelled, and looked up at Riccardo to question it.

"What's this?"

He looked over at her, blinking a little to clear the sleepiness from his eyes.

"Warm, cinnamon-honey milk."

Fiona looked puzzled, then looked from it, to him again.

"...But I wanted milk."

Riccardo stifled another laugh, then grinned almost in annoyance at the girl.

"...This is better then milk! It will help you sleep. Try it, it's good!"

It didn't look good to Fiona. In fact, like the man looking at her right now, it looked positively abhorrent. But she decided "When in Rome, do as the Romans do..." and took a sip.

Holy shit. It felt like an orgasm in her mouth. She moaned involuntarily, and licked her lips. It's taste was like a vanilla version of hot chocolate. The cinnamon was a nice, mild kick, and the whipped cream just made it come together. Though the honey was barely noticeable, it was like syrup, and made her want to lick out the glass as she swallowed it down.

Smiling at her from afar, he turned away, more then satisfied at her reaction. She would sleep well today.

As she put the glass down, she realized just how full now was. Her stomach felt like a lead weight...And she felt even more ready to collapse then before. She dabbed her mouth with the small napkin that was laid on the tray, and on reflex started to fall backward. Her heart suddenly palpated in her chest, not from the food, but out of sudden fear...She was once again laying down on the bed...With Riccardo now up and walking towards her.

He now hovered above her, a look of satisfaction on his features as he reached over, and took away the tray. Gathering it, along with the glass, and setting it on the floor away from him. The concept that he was going to take her hung at the back of her mind, and made her heart beat like a jackhammer in her ears.

His hand reached down, her breath caught in her throat...

But it didn't reach for her, instead it reached past her. Then she watched as he started to tug at something. The covers. She realized that she was laying on top rather then underneath them, and he began to jerk it from under her. Then his other hand came about and held onto her shoulder to keep her in place. Finally, after much trouble, it was pulled out from underneath her to reveal the bed and freshly pressed silk sheets underneath.

Her body lay on the fitted-sheet, it separated her from the mattress. God only knew how old that thing was. He took both of his hands and grabbed her waist, then lifted her up slightly more on the bed, more towards the head board. She made a small, tired groan, her body just racked to death with every known emotion from shame to a sort of odd peace. Now he fluffed the pillow, placing it under her head, and rolling her over to her side. He took the covers, both the blanket and the sheets, and pulled it over her to her neck, effectively tucking her in and smoothing the covers.

Groaning again, she realized it felt very good...She was full, warm, and comfortable. A few minutes went by, and she closed her eyes. Then she heard footsteps, and was surprised to find out he had been standing there the whole time, waiting for her to fall asleep. She noticed them go over towards where she knew the fireplace was, and the sound of wood being piled on, and the fire being stuck and poked. Another few minutes went by, all time that Fiona knew she couldn't go to sleep because he was in the room...Then, finally, the sound of a door being opened...But not closed.

"Sleep well, love...I know I won't."

The door closed, the sound of the grandfather clock ticking resembled so oddly his heartbeat from before, so similar, it gently sent her to sleep.

----

He returned to the kitchen, and made a repeat performance of his earlier attempt at breakfast. It had made him too hungry not to try it again. More eggs, more bacon, and another milk-concoction. He sat, alone, in the dining room and ate. It disheartened him to think that he couldn't dine with his mistress, it was one of the advantages he was hoping for. He kept reminding himself that it would happen soon. The wheels were in motion. She would be his in bed as well as in possession. Until then, the knife and fork clanked upon the plate, echoing loudly in the empty dinner hall. He had never dined so alone before. Normally one other person, be it the old man sitting across from him, or the maid standing next to him silently, made up his company. Though he couldn't say he ever conversed as he ate, he at least didn't feel so alone.

Sighing in exhaustion, he finished his last egg. Even hated company was better then none at all at times, and despite the absolute disposition he had towards his creator and the maid, he missed them when they were gone. Lorenzo would never come back, and for a moment he felt his heart sort of bottom out, an emptiness there where it used to be. His father was dead. The man that raised him, cared for him...He would never see him again. Yes, he was a horrible man...But he was still his father. Nothing could change that.

Riccardo then reminded himself of the man his father was, and such thoughts of mourning and regret didn't last very long. In response, the rest of the bacon was practically devoured in almost anger. He licked his fingers, drank the milk, and collected the dishes from his solitary meal. The first one as the new Lord of Belli Castle. He passed all the still-lit candles on the table, which were now almost burnt down all the way, and blew them out in response. There was so many, he was out of breath at the end. His luck one would fall and catch the whole place on fire, killing them both. How ironic it would all be.

They almost broke as he slid them into the sink in the kitchen, they crashed together harshly. For now they would rest alongside Fiona's dirty dishes, until the maid could give them a good scrub. Damn, the whole kitchen could use it. He then washed his hands again, and realized they hurt like hell. The skin on them was braking open again, revealing the red flesh underneath. He couldn't wait to take a refreshing shower, then go back to maintaining his scars and skin. This whole ordeal had thrown him off his routine, and it was driving him mad. That reminded him, he was more then overdue for his supplements.

Stumbling his way to the alchemy lab, he noticed the golem had moved. Fiona crossed his mind, and he shook his head with a laugh. That clever girl...he probed through his formulas, and groaned in irritation at having to do this when he was this tired. He took an old, worn away beaker and lifted it up. The liquid was purple and had been prepared after he came home with Fiona the day before. It had to sit that long, refining in the chemistry set up, and to be mixed with yet another. He prepared the fresh component he needed, which included mixing and measuring several different natural remedies. Flaxseed, Omega and Linolic acids, Biotin, and countless others not even known by normal man. Then he combined them, to which it turned dark green, and chugged it down. He coughed, then grabbed the edge of the table, making a face of disgust. Some of it went onto his black shirt, but he kept most of it down, regardless. He had tried countless times to improve the taste...But in the end it came out tasting like a heated-up, greasy plant smoothie.

He left, going back to the kitchen and chugged some water from the faucet. It still stuck in his mouth, it always did. Then he made haste back to the laundry room, his legs like jelly, and took out his trademark hood. The gun lay on the washer, which he knew wasn't a good idea, but he wasn't the most responsible sort, and at times intentionally left things where he knew he probably shouldn't. He wrung it out, and placed it up on the line to dry. By the time he woke up, it should be ready to wear. The gun came with him this time, along with the few items he had in his pockets previously, like the set of keys and the mini-balls.

It was all set upon the sink, gun and all, as he stripped, and walked into the shower. The bandage was peeled off, and looked at his wound that was already clotting and on it's way to being mended. He shakily stood in the tub, tossed the bandage away, and turned on the water. It fell upon his body, and he sighed rather nicely as it hit his face. It always felt so good on his skin. It massaged the blood vessels under the almost dead epidermis, soothing, relaxing. The dead flakes washed away, and just like Fiona, he stayed in there longer then he should have.

The skin was worse at his face, but his scars didn't end there. They lined his whole body, even his...Well, even the very part that made him a man to begin with. But in that sense, he had an advantage. He smiled a little; it was the only advantage to his deformity, it made for a rougher organ, which had the same effect as a ribbed condom. It made the experience much more pleasurable, and was one of the reasons he wasn't a virgin, despite his looks, word got around. That is, when they did get away...Because of Lorenzo, it didn't happen often. It made his blood boil again just thinking about it. The other woman, the other victim, that hung in that tank was a woman he had the joy of satisfying, but that old fucker got hold of her and turned her into a tool for his greed. Although alive, she would never be the same again if revived. She would be brain dead at best, comatose, and would age prematurely. She was better off being sucked dry, though it stopped really bothering him years ago...It still stung when he thought about it a little too much.

Poor Cara, she didn't deserve that...He still remembered her shoulder-length black hair, her serene smile...It was just a one night-stand...But still...She was the only one that ever came back...

He sighed angrily, and scratched his shaved head. The Azoth he sapped from her, from lovemaking, was used up years ago, though he would always carry a piece of her with him. It was never enough to offset the extreme amounts of dog Azoth he had to intake. Sometimes he had dreams, even flashes, of the dog's lives. Once he became extremely aroused when he had the flashback of humping a bitch that was in heat. It was in the shower, just as now, and he had to finish off the erection he received from it, though he wasn't happy about expending the life-fluid for no good reason. That was a few years ago, but he loved how horny it made him. He was grabbing at the walls and panting like a dog that had just run a mile through the woods. Sometimes even looking at a female dog started to look appealing to him, but that was something he knew was way beyond even him, dashing such things from his mind and reserved only for fantasies. Since then, he stuck to extracting male dogs only. His luck he'd get a female dog's vision next, and he didn't need to be experiencing that first hand...Male dog's Azoth worked more efficiently for him, anyway. So it worked out in the end...

Speaking of visions...A shower, for some reason, whether it was because of the heat or the comfort involved, tended to bring them about more then normal. He was used to experiencing them, and this one wasn't new by any means. A memory of one of his past lives.

He saw a horse drawn carriage coming towards him on an old dirt road. It was the same road that led to the castle, lined with trees on each side. The split-rail fence did not exist yet. The horses were pure black, with long and flowing manes, and purple feathers adorning their leather harnesses. They trotted magnificently, four of them, all pulling a ornate carriage that was driven by a servant man in fine period clothing. As he saw him, he tipped his hat, and the man whom eyes he was looking through seemed to tip his back. He knew it had to be the 1500's, and he always knew who it was inside. It pulled up to the gates, the horses being told to stop, and they did, and not soon after the door to the carriage opened and a man stepped outside. It was himself. Well, an earlier version of him in a previous life, but still him. The first Aureolus Belli.

No middle name, no second title...It was him.

The resemblance would always surprise even himself, he wore his brown hair fine-cut and manicured. His clothing expensive, a fine black coat and trousers, his out-of-town ware that he only used in public. The black satin glimmered in the afternoon sun, the brass buttons shining and almost blinding to his eyes, pulling the jacket more upon his shoulders and fixing them appropriately. He thanked his driver, then nodded in courtesy, and telling him where to park it, gesturing to the stables that lay a bit father into the woods and down the road. Riccardo could tell he was younger then himself, only about ten years less, and smiled as he turned back to the man who's eyes he was gazing through.

"You've returned, m' Lord."

His voice would boom, sounding in his ears. It was his voice, talking oddly enough, to somebody who looked just like himself. The accent was thicker and even more rustic then his own. There was even a touch of an Italian tone to it, like he was taught that language to begin with, but was switched to this one more recently. He saw himself bow to him, like a servant, much like Daniella would do.

"Now, Bertoldo..." He would answer back, his voice warm, and walk forward. Then he would place a hand on his shoulder, to which he would stand back up in response.

"I have told you, there is no need for that. I am your father. Address me as such. "

"Yes, father." He would reply, and could feel his heart swell with satisfaction.

It would end there. Wavering out. Sometimes it went on for a little longer, a conversation he could never understand...He had no idea why this one in particular he had more then others. He questioned it to Lorenzo once, and was told he had it a few times, but no where near the frequency he did. Riccardo could only suppose that for each clone, there was one vision that spoke the most, appealed the most, and it was that in which they had the most chance of recalling.

Bertoldo. It was one of his previous incarnations, one of the carriers of his Azoth. It was the first clone, created by Aureolus himself. From what he knew of his legacy, the creator, the progenitor, Aureolus himself wanted to extend his life eternally by copying himself until he could gain what he called the "Great Truth". With every birth of a new child, his memories, his knowledge, his research, would live on. He dearly loved his cloned son, Bertoldo, and gave him everything in his will when he died at the age of seventy-five. At the time, such an age was rather ancient to pass on, he was revered as a master of medicine by extending it so long. It was claimed that even at that age he looked much younger, and could have gone on far longer if not for his almost sudden death. It's commonly excepted he "worked himself to death" and stress took it's toll. It didn't help Riccardo at all to think that he got so much done, accomplished a life's work of achievement at his own current age...It made him feel old and unsuccessful, the fear that he was going to die at any moment with nothing to leave behind.

So went the tradition from then on, creator raising creation, father and son, cloning one after another...Until Lorenzo. The blood thinned over the years, the genetic structure wearing down from continuous copying and fragmenting. It included madness, the family breaking up and turning against one another as their minds destroyed themselves. Then it came to him, and it finally snapped. The Azoth from the original Aureolus had stayed intact, even grew and became more powerful, to the point where it would dominate all others and give off an unusual aura. Yet despite this, he was incomplete. It was a fluke, a mistake, it shouldn't have happened. He was on the line between being too complete and whole to throw out, but not quite good enough.

The Azoth was so powerful from building up over a period of lives, when a Belli slept with a woman, he would "taint" her for life with his signature, adding to the intimacy. Even he had this ability, with this slight amount. However, only repeat times would do anything significant, which is why he tried to keep his experiences to one-night-stands. He didn't enjoy throwing his "gift" around when he had so little of it himself. Though he would receive more then he gave, because he was empty compared to the overflowing bucket that was a young woman. Yet it was like pouring oil into water, it would "pollute" the pure Azoth with his own, defiling it, though the more powerful and vibrant Azoth of the woman would always win out...Unless of course, continuous fucking made it happen often. Then it would build, and increase with intensity. He would fuck Fiona into a pure Belli, with time, and they would become one. She was once him, in the form of her father, now he would become her. Together.

So much to look forward to...His life had become rather exciting these past few days!


Turning off the shower, he, like Fiona, was too exhausted to soap or clean, he just wanted to refresh. He stepped out and dried off, then dressed back into the same clothing. Not bothering to shave, he did brush his teeth, apply his daily helping of lotions, and finally finished. On the way back upstairs, he passed the clock. Eight in the morning, and he had enough. He opened the door a check on her again. She lay sound asleep, and decided to walk in.

He came forward, then very carefully had a seat at the edge of her bed. The bed creaked only slightly at his weight. His hand reached over and gently graced her hair, pushing it from out of her eyes. Each breath was deep and comfortable, he could see an ease at her while she slumbered. Her eyes moved rapidly under her lids, her arms close to her chest and legs drawn up towards herself. Never in his life had he felt...lucky. So lucky...

In content, he sighed, and realized if he couldn't make love to her yet, he could have another taste to make him sleep well this fine morning. His hands brought back the covers, slowly, softly, and revealed her slimly clothed body in another one of the fine garments he had the tailor make for her. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her curvaceous, lovely form. She had no idea he was there, sitting there, looming over her. Her sleep was too deep, too relaxed. His right hand reached down and felt her right breast, squeezing it carefully, and running a thumb against where the nipple would be under the gown. The girl made no reaction to his touch, just as he expected. But his main objective wasn't her mammary gland, as lovely as it was, but to taste her. So, his hand traveled over her stomach, downward, and slipped close to her panties.

His fingers slid under the elastic and then gently inside her. The small amount of hair that the girl had down there brushed against his fingers, and he felt her muscles embrace his middle, and index fingers as he pushed them in. She was very warm inside, despite being a bit chilly otherwise, and very wet. The nails on his fingers were short and a bit soft, and knew wouldn't discomfort her inside. He didn't plan to go very deep into her, that might awake or cause her some discomfort to her virgin canal. Slipping in a few inches, he pressed his palm against her clit, her labia folds, rubbing his very rough hand against it. He wanted to play with her only softly, sensually, not to ruin the night he finally gave her pleasure.

Then came a small little coo, a moan, from her throat. Her legs then arched, bending at the knees, and spread to him rather slightly, yet wanting, plaintively. He leaned over her, looking into her face as he smiled at her reaction. Still, her face expressed discomfort, disdain. The same look she gave when he first examined her. She was enjoying it...But she didn't want to enjoy it. He worked himself a little faster, hand delving deeper as it rubbed, he cupped the hand so it formed a "C" and went into a steady pumping motion, and she cried out again, and her muscles clamped down on his hand like a trap, wanting to work him farther inside. Had he wanted to fuck her now, it wouldn't be a problem, her body more then wanted him. Her wet fluids covered his hand, and finally, he felt satisfied and thought best not to push his luck. He pulled away, and lifted her sweet-smelling juices to his mouth. It was even more powerful then last time, and he moaned himself in wanton desire.

Again he pulled the covers over her body, careful to make sure her legs closed as he did so. He wanted to kiss her goodnight, but knew such an action might make her stir. Instead he took his leave, his body feeling like he was walking on air, and knew that if a mere taste of her did that, fucking her would be like a living dream. A walk in the very clouds of Heaven.

With a closing glance, he walked to the door, opened it, and passed through. It was closed carefully once again. Sleep for him was a rarity, an event when he got it, and when he did, it certainly wasn't for as long as he needed. It wasn't that he was not tired, rather, he tended to have a hard time falling into sleep in the first place. When he did, he had horrible nightmares, some memories of his lives from the past. He could never get comfortable, feeling alone, and even terrified. When he was young, he remembered being able to sleep somewhat. But ever since he reached maturity, he got less and less. Instead, he kept himself busy, taking formulas to restore stamina, and tried to put it out of his mind. When he would fall asleep, it was usually as he was sitting in a chair, or would crash out on one of the many sofas in the castle. One of the reasons why the only beds that remained in the castle were for guests only, nobody used one. Lorenzo, hr just fell asleep in his chair. So desperately Riccardo had wanted to sleep in a bed...He longed for it.

He could if he wished, but he could never fall asleep in a bed. Tossing and turning, sweating, and he would have to get up, and go try a couch to sleep on. A few hours made up his daily regime of rest. It was never enough. He envied the girl's wonderful sleep pattern, and wanted her to experience it normally by feeding her a meal that would help it. No matter what sort of drug, supplement, food, it never helped his own problem. His Azoth was impure and insufficient, and sleep only helped it grow just a little. It was like a chain hooked up to a tow truck, which in turn would be hooked to another truck. They could pull and strain, squeal, sputter against one another, but they could never get anywhere. If one stopped, it pulled it, and it snapped back. As he produced too much Azoth, it would stop, he would be exhausted like a truck that was done straining, and he would have to wake up. Even sleep could not release him...Save him.

But he still had to do it, lest he be worse off. He walked downstairs, through the dining room and kitchen, and into the hallway by the bathroom. One of the reasons why he placed chairs in such odd positions that they were was to help provide a spot to sleep when he needed it. He never knew when he might start feeling exhausted and his body would crave relief. Because he got so little of it, he took advantage whenever possible. There was one near the trap entrance, down by the steps. He walked down, and slumped into the chair at the end of the hall in the alcove, near where he first sighted Fiona being chased by his failed clone. His head fell against the back board, and he tried not to think, tried to clear his head...The grandfather clock opposite the wall helped simulate a mother's heart beat, something he never heard in his life, but somehow recognized. His head lay to the side as his body slumped back, his arms falling to his sides, breathing slowed, and he worried no more.

Dreams of love filled his mind, just as they had when awake.

----

The American white shepherd lay sleeping, his leg twitched as he dreamed, whining loudly.

Riccardo, the hooded man, no longer appeared with the hood up. He stood there in the corner, then approached the girl that was his alpha. For some reason she was just standing there looking about, like she couldn't see him...What was she doing!? He'll find us! He'll get us! He barked at the man, and he swung his hand towards him, and he ducked in response to avoid the blow, cowering away to appear submissive and non-threatening. The man with strange skin, the man that smelled hollow like the maid, came closer, he could only watch in fear as he came towards the girl slowly, speaking smoothly. Hewie watched as Riccardo reached up, and gently touched the woman's face, she gasped and her hand went to his, covering it, but making no attempt to push it away. His hand came away, hers remained. She looked fearfully towards him as he leaned in even closer.

"You are mine, I own you!"

He startled awake, ears flicking up to full alert as his body rolled, planting all legs on the floor, but belly still touching the ground. Looking towards the doorway, the source of the noise, he watched and waited. He was thirsty, but luckily enough his hunger was satiated. The jerky in the bags were picked and licked clean, even licking the salt and spices out of the corner of each bag as he tore them apart in boredom. Right now he had to really, really go "potty". Being housetrained, he knew that it was wrong to go in an enclosed space like this one, as it displeased the master and was his eating and sleeping quarters. Only in open spaces could he go. He didn't know if he could hold it much longer, though. If he did, he knew it would upset his alpha, and he had the feeling that this alpha wasn't going to be very understanding. The hooded man terrified him. He longed for his previous one back, the nice girl...Fiona.

Speak of the devil, there he was. He came strolling into the room, and he smelled different. Just a little, and noticed the vinegar smell was gone. The dog had no understanding of how smells could just disappear, if anything they built up. But his slightly simpler brain didn't care much about it, but instead focused more on the fact that the man was grabbing the rope and muzzle again, taking a set of keys from his pocket.

The dog jumped at the gate, tongue lolling out and a big smile on his face. Time for a walk!

Hewie was reminded of his previous owner, a married couple that lived in the small town not too far from the castle. Yet he didn't particularly miss them. Although not abusive, they were neglectful. He was left outside most of the time in their large fenced yard, even when they left to go to work, a dog house made of plywood and a mud flap as a doggie door at the entrance his only sanctuary. At times he would lay there in the house, his paws outstretched before him as his gaze wondered from the gate to the front, looking for any sign of their return. When they did, and they decided to let him in, he would be more then excited, but was taught long ago never to jump, and therefore kept all four feet on the floor no matter his enthusiasm.

They would always seem so happy to see him, too. Making a big fuss and giving him little treats and chews. When they allowed him in the house, it was like God himself had smiled upon him. There he could be with his alphas always, reveal in their company, be fed, watered. Then when the night came, he would be sent out again. He would look at them pleadingly, but would only be pushed out rather rudely, sent into the yard that contained one tree and a shed. Sometimes he would bark at a passerby, to which he was yelled at, but never really understood what this meant. When he ignored this, he would be leashed, and dragged to the shed, where they would tie him up with a rusty chain that connected to his leather collar, muzzled, and yelled at some more. None of this made any sense. He didn't comprehend with his smaller mind what the owner wanted him to do, and why he was doing this. Wasn't he supposed to let his pack know when an intruder was spotted?

His alphas were very confusing, seeming harsh one minute and ignoring him the next. He was never quite sure what they wanted, and didn't do the sort of things his last ones did. Now, his first alphas...

Those, he remembered well. Maybe a little two well. He was with them only during the first year of his life, but it was enough to give him a lifetime of learning, to teach him things he still knew well today. They were the ones that raised him. Like the others, this was also a couple, but of older age. Had he been human, he would know that they were from Germany, their accents very thick, their voices deep and commanding. He understood them well. They lived on a large plot of land, next to a forest, though he rarely got the chance to ever explore it. They kept him fenced most of the time. Even then the outdoors was his home, but at least then they had a kennel for him.

He could distinctively recall his mother, though her lessons shined through more then her personal self. There was no concept of a father to a dog, only a male alpha. That was the human male. Still, there was no father. He never saw him, never knew him. There were brothers and sisters, but they seemed to disappear one after another. A person, sometimes one, two, or more, would come. They would smile, and a big fuss would be made.

"This one, good show dog." His thickly-accented owner would say as he pointed to one of his sisters.

"Good back, nice, straight. Nice coat! She'll show good for you."

Like that, he watched his sister taken away. The alpha would pick her up, give her to the new owners, and walk away. They didn't care how friendly he was, how driven he was, how smart. They wanted a dog that looked good and was calm, a dog that would prance around in a ring and look pretty, and get breeding rights. His potential was in the mind, in his heart, but that didn't matter to them. What mattered is what they saw with their eyes, and they set their judgment upon him. He knew that particular sister was the dominant one, they would have their hands full. If they had interacted with him and not been so blind to the ribbon of the show instead of the voice of reason, they would have chose him instead.

Hewie didn't know about shows or what would have happened to his sister when she left, but he did know he was the last of the litter, and his owners were very upset about something. They were broke, bankrupt. The dogs they sold as show animals were not of that material, too wily, they were working dogs, and needed a different owner then what they received. They had to refund money that was paid to him with promises of showmanship, he lost a lot of it, too much of it.

" The father was show dog!" He remembered his owner said one day, yelling at his wife, the window open so he could easily hear it on the wind.

"...Why didn't they show well!?"

"...Because we know nothing about show! ...We would have known otherwise." His wife responded rather calmly, she was always better with English then he was.

"...We should have tested them. That's why we kept Hewie, he's our schutzhund prospect."

There was a silence, then a deep sigh.

"There's less money in that..."

Money. They argued about it often, even before this. Hewie wished he knew what it was.

"We'll breed the mother again when we get back on our feet. Work Hewie, get him started. We will sell him when he gets trained enough, that will bring the money back. "

He was only five months old when he heard this discussion, but he knew what "work" was. Work he loved, he lived for it every day. There were commands, like sit, stay, down, even shake. Heel, like staying next to his owner when asked to, to come, came soon after. He was taught to be near his owner and never run off, looking up towards him as he was walked around cones, to look his alpha in the face when asked to. Then he was taught something new. The male alpha would take him to a large field with a long leash, and tell him to sit and stay. Then he would wave his hand forward, and command "search", or "go" in his own language.

"Zoeken, Hewie!" He would often command, it was a German term. It meant for him to find the article.

His nose stuck to the ground, tail up, he would search the area. Sometimes it was something fun like a ball, or serious like a set of keys. When found within a certain time limit, he would sit down and bark, and paw at the object.

"Good boy! Laat los, Hewie!"

Then he would take it into his mouth, and bring it back to his master's outstretched hand, and praised enthusiastically. He loved this game! He wondered what it was called...?

Soon after, he was introduced to jumping over hurdles, scaling ramps, holding weights in his mouth as he retrieved them from one location to another, and combinations of them all. His favorite came in the form of bite work. They always gave him a fun little canvas toy to play tug with, then one day they introduced it to him with it on their arm. He had a hard time learning to bite his own alpha at first, but when they encouraged it by praising and antagonizing him, it was obvious this was what they wanted. They used a whip to anger him further, get him riled up as it was cracked in the air next to him, but never used on him directly. It sounded like a gunshot, and he came to understand that even with it's loud, booming nature, he had to learn to ignore it and continue.

"Pass auf, Hewie! Pass auf!"

Guard, Hewie! Guard! The female alpha would command. It meant this human was not to be trusted, and to bite him if asked.

His male alpha stood farther away, his right arm looked very large, covered with the brown canvas that was a bite sleeve. He then rushed towards them, and he knew what this was. Hewie strained at the edge of his leash, barking furiously as he was commanded to attack this man if he came closer. He halted, standing there, angering him further by playing this game! The whip cracked next to the man's side as he stayed out of leash range. Finally, he came closer, and his mouth hit the sleeve with his teeth, sinking into the canvas in a strangely satisfying way. They sunk right in, cushioning it. The man tried to shake him off, and he thrashed violently in response, holding on as he was commanded.

"Good boy, good boy!" Came his masters in response, both alphas, and he tapped the top of his muzzle with a small stick to get him to bite deeper, he responded, being praised again.

Again, he shook, but he stayed on. He was good at this! Finally, he was ordered off, and he listened. Hewie was praised again and again, their voices wonderful to his ears, swelling with pride. He would be a champion, they were sure of it. Schutzhund was his love, though he had no idea what it was and what purpose it served. He just knew that he loved it, it was fun, it was tiring, it made him feel good, and his masters loved him for it. It pleased them, and so it pleased him as well. He wanted to do everything for them, he would do everything for them. Hewie would kill for them if asked.

Fond memories made up these owners. They were fond of him, though he was sure most of it was because it was for his ability to get the money that they sought. After they worked him, he was locked in the kennel and vastly ignored. They gave him real meat as food, ground hamburger and real beef bones, vegetables to chew on, and raw eggs. He never got that sort of food ever again, he missed it even today. The jerky was reminiscent of that, and it was always devoured eagerly.

One day, the visitations came again. A man was led into the yard where they did their work, and he was brought out on a leather leash. He remembered thinking why this man was there, and growled in his throat. There was something about him that didn't sit right, besides being an intruder.

"This is the Hewie I spoke of, with the wonderful work ability. Great bite! Want to see?"

The man's eyes were huge, and he could just sense that he was pissed. He sighed, and scratched his forehead in irritation.

"...He's white." Came his gruff, heavily cockney voice.

His owner nodded, seeming like it was no big deal. Of course he was white...So?

"...Yes. White dog. White shepherd."

The other man, whom was dressed in a blue uniform with a strange, shiny object on his chest, shook his head.

"Sir, the Salisbury Police Department is not interested in a white Shepherd. We made ourselves perfectly clear over the phone that only German Shepherd Dogs bred from German bloodlines, trained for schutzhund, and with proper bite could be considered. Your dog meets none of these requirements."

The alpha looked puzzled by this, and shook his head right on back in denial.

"He have good bite! I told you this! He's ready for competition-"

"Mr. Alsace, by being a white shepherd, he is automatically disqualified as a member of our team. They cannot perform as a German Shepherd can...I've been training dogs for years, sir, and I've seen it. They are worthless. Inferior."

Enraged, his master almost laughed in denial, gripping the leash tightly. In response, he watched the officer more closely.

"Not true! I've bred for years! We come from Germany, we take mother with us, she came from old lines of the first German Sh-"

"We're done here, sir. White shepherds are nothing but inbred, skittish, freakish mutations, and you'd be wise to have that one destroyed. Please don't try to waste anyone else's time by trying to sell that thing, would you?"

As they watched the K-9 patrolman leave, Hewie realized what it felt like to be discriminated, hated for no reason but for what he looked like, and what others assumed about him. He remembered being pointed at, being yelled at by the man as he talked, and felt like an unwanted piece of dirt. Of filth. Hewie sensed his owner become even more angry, gripping the leash tighter and pulling him back to the kennel. His alpha then stood outside the fence-gate, and sighed, looking at him as he roamed the small space, walking over to his bone and flopping down to chew on it in frustration. What was going on? What had he done to be treated so harshly by the visitor? Grrrrrr... He felt like he wanted to bite him in the ass!

Nothing ever returned to the way they were since that, he wasn't even worked anymore. They ignored him, like he didn't even exist. Several more people came, with similar results. He became used to it. The same sort of words would be uttered, calling him "useless" and that he should be "destroyed" or "put to sleep". He wished he knew what they meant. Apparently, his owner was false-advertising a GSD on sale for protection, when they arrived, they were given an AWS instead. Nobody wanted a AWS that was "apparently dangerous" as they called it, so they tried appealing to the working audience instead. Ironically, they wanted nothing to do with his breed. No matter what, he was the outcast.

Once a mother and daughter came by, he really liked the little girl, licking her hand as she came by the cage. Wagging his tail enthusiastically, he paced the gate and whined, he wanted to play with the child so badly! He wasn't sure why, he felt obligated to do so. Something about him drew him to children, wanted to serve them, guard them, ensure their safety...It was like he was destined to do so. As they talked, the woman began to pull her child away from the cage.

"..trained to bite?" The mother repeated, a little horrified.

The alpha went on to explain that it did not make the dog more dangerous, only more trained, that he would be even safer because he knew when to bite, and when not to, and would protect her home and both her and her daughter with his life. She shook her head, pulling her daughter farther away, muttering something about "...I always wanted a toy poodle, anyway..." as she stormed away. They only wanted a pet, but he was so much more. He was a guardian, a protector. They just wanted a dumb lap dog that was more of a house decoration then the ideal companion.

After this, things really changed. The alpha he cared for so deeply practically forgot he existed, coming in to feed him, throwing the food down in his stainless steel dish, slamming the gate, and taking off. What Hewie didn't know was that the owner was now selling Hewie as a family pet, advertising him as "Good guard dog" for a family. Then they came, and for once, money was passed between the young couple with rings on their fingers, and the gate opened. He was cold to them as they took him away. Given one last farewell hug, and a pat, the leash was handed over to the new owners.

"...His name is Hewie." Was the last set of words he heard from the masters that raised him as they walked away, he saw his mother again as he left, jumping at the kennel, her barks echoing into the night as he was lifted up, and loaded into a crate in the back of their truck, and sped off into darkness.

They bought him as a guard dog, that was it. Not even as a guardian and a pet, as all dogs should be, but strictly the first. Apparently, they had everything of value stolen from their house prior to his purchase, and didn't want it to happen again. Because of this, he was kept outside because they believed this would prevent anyone from jumping the fence to begin with. In response, he became very territorial of the land he had, and barked periodically at anyone even across the street, which got them in trouble with the neighbors and authorities quite a bit. He was walked weekly, nowhere near enough, was taken to a vet only when ill, the groomer saw him once a year...That was the extent of what their care entailed. It never really involved love. Hewie wasn't sure he knew what love was.

Now...Well, now things were different. Very different. How his life had taken a turn.

He stood back on the floor as the latest alpha in his life unlocked the door, keys jingling against the gate. Now he was used to being passed around between owners like currency, so it was almost as though he never expected to see Fiona again...He never saw the other ones again, either.

Riccardo stood, eyes transfixed on the dog, waiting for him, what he was going to do. Hewie then surprised him by merely sitting, panting, ready to leave. He was still unsure about the man, whether he was going to hurt or help him, if he was cruel or kind. In the end, he would just play the omega dog and try to look innocent, be the underling. Mostly out of desperation, and partly because of a desire to be someone's once again. He was tired of roaming the castle grounds, looking for food, for shelter, running from those freaks of nature. The hooded man smelled a little too strangely familiar for his tastes, a little too much like a dog, yet too little like a human, to be comforting. It was confusing, even worse because in general people were always confusing to him. Those people were all frightening, they were all unique, and they all wanted something from the girl that he didn't really understand. Hewie could see it in their eyes, it was clear as day, desire. For one thing, one reason, or another. He wished he could comprehend the ways of greedy men, of humanity, the ways of life, and why it was always so unfair to him.

What he didn't know was that in that strange way, he fit right in.