Chapter Text
Torture. It was just a word, once. But it was real, oh so real now. It was his whole world. One could lose his mind. End up undone, no more than a body without a soul.
On the contrary, Astarion wondered if he still had a body. He had been through so much. Every inch of his skin felt numb. Every sensation was somewhat linked to pain. A touch burnt, an embrace hurt, a look meant he would end up ravaged. He didn’t know if he preferred when “they” were strangers. When it was his master, Astarion somehow still had hope. What for? He didn’t know. Maybe there was a reason he had been chosen. Maybe his master had seen something in him, once, that had been worth saving.
Astarion tried to remember the living man he was at the time. The magistrate. But it was all blurred in blood and screams. And in hunger. That hunger, so powerful it ruined any attempt at a rational thought. He had become feral and desperate more than once, biting his own flesh to have the illusion of blood feeding. Hard psychic waves deceived him into believing it tasted like vomit. His mental coercion that time was so strong he had had to spit out his own blood. Once again Astarion swore he would have his revenge and slit Cazad- HIS MASTER’s throat one day. He could not fully control his thoughts – there were times when Astarion wasn’t even allowed to name “him” in the depths of his brain.
Laying in his bed, Astarion was staring at the ceiling. The walls around him radiated coldness. He felt tired. He knew the Szarr palace by heart now, and the spawns’ dormitory was one of the safest places. His master never went here, the room was not sufficiently luxurious to his taste, presumably. Whenever the master needed a spawn who had sought refuge here, he sent someone. A servant if you were lucky, Godey if you were not.
There was always blood everywhere, forbidden nectar and cruel hint of unspeakable violence. The air was thick with iron. Astarion considered himself lucky when he was forced to stay in the mansion for days: his nose got so full of the scent it became insensitive.
He considered praying to a god, maybe Mystra for once. Well, it was Monday. First letter M... Mystra. It was her time in the alphabet. As true volition or reverence had showed no good up to this point, Astarion had started praying at random . But today he decided against it. He did not want to feel more depressed than he already was.
He heard a knocking on the door. He rose up immediately, and stood straight up next to his bed. Looking around with weary eyes, he saw with despair that he was alone in the dorm this evening. Well, hopefully he wasn’t the one whoever had knocked was looking for.
The door slammed open and Godey appeared. The only source of light was coming from behind him. His unmistakable silhouette was not threatening per se, but the endless possibilities were terrifying. It made Astarion shiver.
“We need a spawn! Anyone here? Doggie doggie?”
Trying to hide would be useless at least, harmful at most. Astarion stepped into the light.
“-Yes. I’m here. Astarion.
-Aaah, Astarion. Pretty boy. The master will certainly be pleased I found you so quick. You are the one I was looking for!
-Can you tell me what the master wants?
-Stupid, stupid slave. The master does not explain, the master asks and you do his bidding. Come now.
-Yeah, of course. I wonder why I keep asking.”
Astarion sighed, and followed Godey in the corridor. He hated to have to walk barefoot on the fading carpets. He had grown to hate their rough touch. A shiver running down his spine made him remember he was feeling cold.
The master’s latest fantasy had been to have the spawns walk around wearing only their underwears .
He was headed to the master’s room. It was not his lord’s favorite torture place, so Astarion’s illusion of a heartbeat slowed down a little. The master hated to make a mess around his dear dusty bookshelves and scrolls.
When they entered the room, Cazador Szarr was standing next to a beaten human shape. It was an elf, with magnificent white hair, whose resemblance to Astarion was striking. Except this person was female, still alive and not a vampire spawn. A clear bite mark was visible on her neck. She was breathing heavily and might not be alive for long afterall. The vampire Lord bore no sign that he was the one who had been feeding on her, or beating her, but it could not be otherwise.
“-Godey. Leave us. Astarion, come closer, my child. Don’t look so frightened.”
Without a word, Godey left the room, closing the door behind him in a low creaking.
Astarion took a few steps closer very cautiously. He could not yet quite figure what was happening. He needed to read his master’s emotions to be able to act accordingly, but the light was dim. A couple chandeliers were lit low under the ceiling. His lord was of the poker-face type and bargaining with his mood was the worst idea. Astarion was resolved to keep quiet and act in the most neutral way possible.
“-Did I not just say you should come closer? You know how I hate repeating myself.”
There was already a hint of annoyance in his master’s voice. Astarion hurried closer, remembered he was supposed not to look afraid and put on his best fake smile. His master held the woman’s hand up, displaying her lifeless form before Astarion’s eyes.
“-Good. Now look at this beautiful creature. Isn’t she perfect?”
Astarion pondered. What was he supposed to say? The body was losing color with each passing second and the woman began to resemble a stringless puppet. All Astarion wanted was to avoid fueling his master’s bad mood in any way.
Of course the elf was gorgeous. And Astarion knew he could do nothing to save her now. No word from his mouth would grant her freedom or a guarantee to be left alive. He could try to be witty though. It may lift his master’s mood, it worked sometimes... even if it had the exact opposite effect most of the time. But to hear any trace of joy in his master’s voice would be nice. It could be a hint he was not going to be threatened in this room right now.
“-She is very pretty. Not as gorgeous as I am I must say, but still a sight to be seen. My lord.
-Of course you had to contradict me! It is what you do, don’t you, Astarion? Undermine my authority, one little disrespect at a time. Every. Single. Day. You have it in you, ungrateful child.”
The words were harsh and could be an omen of bad treatments to come, but the tone was pleasant. It was as if they were having a mundane conversation. And yet, a pool of blood was forming on the floor under the woman’s body.
The surprisingly light tone emboldened Astarion. He immediately forgot he had sworn to be more self-preservative in his actions. He licked his lips, the smell of fresh blood heightening his everlasting hunger, and declared :
“-But am I wrong, master? Don’t you think I’m better than... her?”
He could not help but let disdain drip from his last word. He had instinctively struck a flirtatious pose. He felt just brave enough as to let a seductive silence linger. Too many years of luring innocent preys with your body had this effect on people.
The vampire Lord let the woman’s arm he had been holding fall disgracefully to the ground. He reached Astarion, the longs flaps of his kimono floating around him. He looked his spawn up and down with a frown. Disdainful.
He took Astarion's chin in his cold hand and said very slowly :
“-Do not play the whore with me, Astarion. Get on your knees and remember your place.”
His master let go of his jaw and slapped him hard. Astarion did not have time to obey, he felt his body slipping away from his grasp.
His master’s will was at play and he was reduced to a powerless spectator of his own life.
His legs trembled and his knees bent. The more he tried to fight it, the more cramps he felt spreading through his muscles. Giving in, he was thrown kneeling on the floor. Regaining control of his body in a heartbeat, he put his hands flat on the cold stones to keep his balance. He would otherwise have ended up laying face down. He clenched his fists, always fighting the helplessness in spite of himself. The grip was so hard it left nail indents inside his palms. The humiliation from the slapping did not linger, he was so accustomed to it. His naked knees were bruised with the many kneelings from before this day. He could feel abraded crusts splitting open. He was slipping on his own blood and the position was highly uncomfortable. Astarion did not dare to look up but he could feel the burning gaze of his lord lingering over his body. Gods, how his master loved to see him on his knees.
A newfound boldness was growing in his chest. He felt a sort of pride to be able to make his master show emotions so easily in his presence. His Lord, so focused on control and appearance of everlasting calmness. He was always so collected, never inclined to display feelings others than fury or wrath. But this, just now? It was something different.
Astarion knew deep down that his master had a way of acting weird, of not being himself in his presence. He had come to believe he was special to him. Special in a wicked, blood-thirsty, hating and cruel kind of way, but special nevertheless.
And maybe Astarion could use that weakness for his own sake.
He remembered vividly a previous session that took place in this very room, not so long ago. Well, it was certainly less than three days prior, as the master had already asked for the spawns to walk around almost naked. Cazador had been in a more playful mood then and Astarion's mouth had been full very shortly after entering the room.
Gods, why? Why would he remember this right now? The timing could not be worse. Astarion had been on his knees that time too, a little closer to the desk than where he currently stood. Hot wax from the chandelier adorned his shoulders, burning ever so gently his pale flesh. Candle-wax play was one his master’s favorite. Astarion had been wincing in pain, throat throbbing with the effort of keeping his master's full length in. The act had brought tears to his eyes, wet trails forming down his cheeks.
Oh no. The memory was not so pleasant, but Astarion's body remembered it too well. He could feel his mouth fill eagerly with saliva. He swallowed it, uneasy. He felt with horror blood rushing down, right towards his lower parts. He knew his master would be mad if he noticed. He just got in this humiliating position for being too seductive, gods damn it!
Luckily, the mental coercion was almost fully gone for the time being. Only a small flutter of will prevented Astarion from having ideas of getting up. He squirmed, trying to keep his facial expression composed as he awkwardly switched positions. He was trying to hide his very obvious erection between his thighs by squeezing his legs, shutting them tight.
"-Now, now. Stop fidgeting, child. You are only hurting yourself and I will allow it no more. Look at you, shedding blood on my floor, dirtying it with these disgraceful scraped knees of yours, when nobody asked for it."
Astarion froze. He knew this kind of speech -way too well. Whatever he did or said now, he was slowly getting trapped into being punished soon. For absolutely no reason other than his master's need to vent or indulge in sadism.
Astarion resolved to try something as a last resort. He bent over, forehead touching the ground. Then he said in a -hopefully- full of contrition voice :
"-I am truly sorry, Master. Please be merciful. I did not mean to spill my blood. I – I unfortunately got hurt by kneeling too much in inappropriate places...
-Oh no, my child, do not serve me pitiful excuses. There is no such thing as kneeling too much when being a spawn. Actually I wonder if I should not have you live on your knees at all times. It really suits the debauched child you are. No, the problem here is you not taking enough care of this great undying body I granted you. Next time, my child, I warn you. Don't dare coming to me bearing scars I did not give you."
Astarion was breathing fast, unsure of what to do. He stayed still, face down, his breath misting the cold stone. At least one side effect of his fright was that everything was starting to calm down between his legs. He closed his eyes. Hopefully he would get through this.
Gods, his Lord was speaking again.
"-You know, it is so unlike you to be this obedient. And... that silence ! You usually strike me more as the blathering wild-hound type. I should be pleased... but I am no fool. I am starting to think you are up to something. What are you trying to hide, Astarion? Speak."
Of course it would end up like this. What he had been trying so hard to avoid was happening. Astarion sighed in despair and was made to tell the ugly truth. The vampire Lord could not read thoughts, or he had always been very good at hiding this kind of power. But he liked to make his spawns speak out their minds from time to time. It was a real pleasure for him to ravage them afterwards, punishing them for having scrap remnants of free will. And by that he was plucking out the last bits of their sanity.
Astarion’s voice was clear and loud when he spoke :
"- I - I am... Aroused. And afraid. Master.
-Oh, is that so? Please, elaborate, my child. You are starting to sound really interesting.
-I don't want you to turn this woman over there into a spawn. She looks just like me and I'm afraid she'll replace me in your mind. I -I fear you will get bored and kill me if she lives. I want her to die. And -ah..."
It hurt bad. Astarion's brain was on fire. He was trying to not tell everything he had in mind, hiding some facts by blabbering about others. But it strained him.
The vampire Lord came closer and squatted gracefully in front of Astarion. He took his chin between thumb and index and raised it slowly, leveling their gaze. Forcefully sat back on his knees, Astarion shyly threw his arms between his spread thighs, in a last attempt to hide his still half-hard state. Tears from mental pain and anticipation of the punishment that was doomed to come started running down his face. Cazador collected a few drops with his thumb, spreading wetness all over Astarion’s face, and licked it away. He grimaced doing so. Their faces were but inches apart.
"-T.t.t... hush, hush. Don't waste your tears. Tell me about it, my child. Tell me everything. Just give in and admit how vile you are.
-That… That's not what you think! I swear. Please... It's because of the memory from last time... When we were here together... How you used me... I don't know why but my body longs for it! It’s like I’m reliving it... I just don't want to be hurt... Please... Let me pleasure you once again, master. I promise to be good...
-Is that it? Really? You sound so desperate, my child. Look at you, filthy creature. It is positively disgusting.”
Cazador loosened his grip on Astarion's jaw. He took a handful of his white curls and yanked his head back. Astarion gasped. His master harshly put three fingers in his mouth in a swift move.
“-Quiet, now.”
Now silenced by force, all Astarion could do was look up at his master with awe. He felt a desperate urge to suck on these fingers. His warm and welcoming mouth was more than ready. He gulped greedily, pushing the fingers further down his throat. He repressed his gag reflex, as he was used to. Despite a definite lack of space, he managed to move his tongue around, coating everything in saliva.
Fear grew in his eyes as he could not tell if he was doing this by survival instinct to please his master, because he wanted it, or because he was forced to.
Closing his eyes, he focused on controlling his throat’s spasms to try and keep fear at bay. His body was tense, resisting the painful intrusion while relishing it. His fangs wanted to bite, to draw blood, but he knew too well it was not an option.
Astarion could feel his master's nails scraping the fragile flesh at the back of his throat. And blood was rushing back down towards his cock shamefully quickly, even by his standards. He swallowed hard, a mix of spit and the indescribable taste of his master’s skin. His mouth felt so full. His jaw was aching, strained. He opened his eyes to get a glimpse of his master’s expression.
Cazador looked unimpressed. He was being absolutely casual about all this, or mastering the show of looking like it. He had put a knee down for balance. This position allowed the flaps of his luxurious kimono to part, revealing more skin than spawns were used to see. He was not even moving his hand, letting Astarion take good care of it.
The vampire Lord was like a mother cat letting his kitten play with its tail while scheming ways to teach it a lesson.
Astarion had learned to stay lucid at all costs in order to survive around the palace. And despite being quite busy and defiled, he could clearly see that his master was pondering something, lost in thought.
Astarion tried to convince himself it was not necessarily bad news. First, seeing his master literally kneel before him was quite unfamiliar. Well he was not exactly kneeling, but… you know. Astarion could count on his fingers the times he had seen his master lowering his stance to fit the position of a humiliated spawn. It was a detail but as the saying goes, devils are in the details. And his master was indulging him, building up his arousal again. Not in the way he had asked but he could live with that. Secondly, Astarion was definitely going to wake his master up from his trance and regain the main focus. What was the point of being abused or humiliated if it was not even enjoyed by the perpetrator? He had to get a reaction, whatever it might be. He could not afford to lose his master’s interest, especially given the conditions. He would potentially have competition, and sooner than anticipated.
Astarion resolved to outdo himself. He started adding sound effects to the performance. He whined while inhaling. The hiccups of pleasure he made when working his tongue were almost too realistic to be fake. The sounds of his muffled, moaning voice was enough to heighten his own lust. He hoped it would have the same effect on his master. It was hard to know what was enticing to him, but he could try… Saliva started dripping, leaving wet trails all the way to his chin.
Astarion did not even realize he had adjusted his position. His lips had chased his master’s hand, to try and get his fingers as deep as possible. And his body had naturally followed. He was leaning forward on his outstretched arms, standing on his knees. The posture was familiar to him, it was quite the easiest way to be taken doggy-style. He knew that too well. Driven by long habits of trying to get something out of every abuse, his body acted on its own. Yearning for friction, Astarion lowered his pelvis and spread his legs to rub against the ground. Still, he could not help but hear a little voice in a corner of his head screaming he should be hating all this.
Well, it was a huge success. Goal achieved. His master’s gaze was now burning his own. No more hard thinking. Astarion was suddenly feeling very small under that heavy stare. He knew it was bad because his master said nothing. He did not see Astarion as worthy of his words any longer. They had entered one of the atrocious infinite moments where spawns became beasts to be tamed, possessions causing too much trouble. When toys rebelled, they ended up broken or worse, tossed away. Astarion knew he had it coming but couldn’t help but wonder what had triggered it this time. Was it because he’d had the audacity to start enjoying himself? Well, maybe it was useless to try to look for a meaning behind all this...
The vampire Lord thrust his fingers harder and harder, back and forth, with the obvious will to inflict damage. To tear flesh and hurt bad. Astarion started to feel the urge to cough, he was lacking air. He felt that his jaw was about to give out and focused on keeping his mouth open wide. Cowering as much as he dared, he endured. There was nothing he could do. Praying for it to end soon was as useless as praying for freedom. With his other hand, Cazador yanked Astarion’s head back to get better access to the depths of his throat. As the pain was becoming too intense, Astarion could not repress hollowing cries.
At last, Cazador took Astarion’s tongue between his fingers and sliced deep cuts into it with his nails. Then he pulled out and smeared the bloody saliva across Astarion’s face where it mixed with the tears flowing there. Blood started dripping from the corners of his mouth.
In a sudden and unexpected motion, Cazador rose Astarion to his feet and forced him across the room, holding him by the neck. Despite his somewhat frail appearance, the vampire lord was gifted with the unholy strength inherent to creatures of his kind. He pinned his spawn against the wall. His forearm crushing Astarion’s windpipe was his way to keep him in place. There, still looking him in the eye with disgust painted all over his face, he ripped Astarion’s underwear apart. He took his cock in a firm, cool hand. With a few expert hard strokes he made Astarion come fast. The pale elf moaned in a pained voice as he came in short shots of pearly liquid. The release was quick and animal, nothing near pleasurable. It felt like a punishment. Cazador licked Astarion’s chin, where blood trickles were still running down from his wounded mouth. It ended almost in a kiss, as his lips licked Astarion’s in a fleeting moment.
“-Fear not, my child, for your wicked blood is delicious. I have use for you still.”
Astarion was left panting hard, heart and breath rates coming slowly back to normal. Losing all strength in his legs, he crumbled to the floor.
He felt jolts in his chest of something resembling victory? He could still feel the lingering touch of his master’s lips over his. The taste of his own blood on the tongue had never felt so sweet.
Cazador went back to the elf woman. Without manners, he made her gulp down a big health potion and sat her down. She was slowly recovering. And becoming a vampire spawn. Already under the Szarr's control, she was watching Astarion with empty eyes.
Green, Astarion thought absentmindedly. Her eyes had been green before turning to this bright shade of red. He had seen it quite well despite his fogged vision. Had his own eyes been green, before all this? He wondered. He could not remember, no matter how hard he tried.