Occurs immediately following Episode 111.
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Bill fled from Sookie’s house and wandered down the river in an attempt to calm down. After all that had occurred, she had turned him away. Maybe his own kind were right; he had no business with mortals. He had risked everything for her and -- no. He will not indulge in self-pity. It is his fault she is in this position at all. She is only young and inexperienced, has little idea of the forces maneuvering around her sheltered Bon Temps notion of reality.
He had thought Sam was taking advantage of her - that is why he had attacked the shifter. It hadn’t been jealousy. Surely not. Only he is beginning to realize he acts a fool where Sookie is concerned.
He would never have lost his temper so easily, behaved like an angry beast, before being turned. He had seen them and the red rage had come into him of its own accord, and he no longer saw Sam or Sookie, only That Shifter and Mine. So much effort into pushing It away, holding It down, and now finally released. So good, so strong, so powerful. Then he had heard her. Her blood had reached him. Thank God - another secret - an old habit that has never died.
His father’s dogs had behaved so. After so many years, thoughts like this yet haunt him. They serve nothing, but keep him seeking the company of humans.
The cool, soft embrace of the night air, the woods, the rhythmic chirping of insects and frogs has settled him as he hoped it might. Wandering the “pastoral realm,” as Thoreau termed it, has always brought him stability, helped to bring all things into perspective. He has turned toward home when he decides to turn on his iPhone, chides himself for even considering for one second that Sookie might be trying to reach him, might have reconsidered. There is one message - from Pam. He returns the call immediately, as there is now no point in waiting.
“I didn’t expect you to call me so soon,” she says.
“I have the night free, after all.”
“Your succulent human has found someone else more to her liking? She didn’t wait long, did she.”
“Why did you call, Pam?”
“You owe me, Bill.”
“What do you mean?”
“I just spent two hours with your fledgling, and they were not pleasant.”
“I thought Eric--”
“Oh, he is with her now. But he could hardly clean her up and dress her properly, now, could he.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Eric has passed the first part of your favor to me and, since you now are free, I expect payment immediately. I am at 69 Wentworth Avenue, Apartment 303. Be here within the hour.”
“I -- very well.”
She opens the door clad in the black leather outfit she sometimes wears at Fangtasia, including the spike-heeled boots. “Follow me,” she says with the same rather bored-with-the-world tone she generally exhibits. She has already turned and begun walking across the room, brooking no question he will follow. Is it the heels that make her buttocks lift like that, or is she doing it to tease?
They enter another room and she kicks the door shut, making him blink. Are there really chains, manacles and leather whip on the far wall, a black satin-draped bed in the corner? This must be a joke. His eyes skid to where she stands, hips canted, a small smile on her lips.
“Eric will take the business half of the favor and I will take the personal half. You may enjoy this a little, but, believe me, I shall enjoy every second. Remove your shoes, socks and shirt.”
“You can’t be serious.” Bill had always admired Pam’s taste in clothing, and he thought her leather and chains get-up was a only a ruse for Fangtasia’s patrons.
“But I am.”
“If I don’t?”
“Then Eric will know you have neglected to fulfill the first part of what you owe.”
“Don’t do this.”
She strolls across the plush, deep maroon and indigo Chinese rug to face him, nearly eye-to-eye in her three-inch heels, and places four perfectly red-nailed fingers under his chin and lifts her eyes to his. “Will you beg? Get on your knees and say, please, Pam, do not do this to me.”
He looks back; his eyes narrow as seconds pass. “No.”
“Then do as I say, for this is a lesson in obedience, and who is better to teach it than I - the one who obeys with so much grace and pleasure. Your object is to do the same. You have always been a man of your word, Bill, and this is our favor - unspecified, you may recall. You may even find there can be pleasure in pain.”
“Very well.” He removes his jacket, folds it carefully and places it across the back of a nearby chair - a velvet-upholstered, antique French bergere, to be exact. Pam’s tastes have always been somewhat expensive and refined - he had thought. Bill tucks his chin and stares at her as he lifts the henley over his head and steps out of his loafers.
She saunters to the far wall and turns from the center of the two manacles, palms flat on either side. “Come.”
He cannot think of Sookie, of mortals or kindness, or he will be lost. To survive Pam he must find another part of himself; he has already lost a great deal of pride, now bind humor and cynicism close. How convenient, the rug ends four feet from the twelve inch square stone tiles of the floor, and the tiles continue up the wall. He strides barefoot to stand in front of her, stops mere inches from her face and stretches arms to grasp the leather straps. “Here?” His lips nearly brush hers as he speaks; their body energies crackle in anticipation.
Her eyes open wider, as does her mouth. She takes his lower lip in her teeth for a bloody nip, then slips beneath one arm before he can react. “Don’t move,” she says as she places the leather around one wrist, then moves to secure the other while he turns his head to watch, the tip of his tongue licking his own blood. She comes close behind and wraps both arms around his waist and unbuckles his belt slowly and with care, leaning against him, the side of her head brushing the back of his neck.
“You enjoy this . . . sort of thing, don’t you,” he says, as she slides his pants lower, thumbs gliding along the skin, palms sliding over the bones on either side of his stomach.
“I do. Every time you made some inane comment I have imagined what I am about to do. Imagined your cries, your whimpers, your pleas for an end.”
She has left his trousers and boxers halfway down his rear and retightened the belt there. “This is the view I like,” she purrs. “The little V exposed and reminding of a woman’s decoletage - so tantalizing, so sweet, and soon it will hold a little river of blood.”
Pam does not know this is what he wants tonight, right now. Maybe what she does will drive the deeper hurt out. Hold on, he thinks, hold, yet cannot help but clutch his fists and gasp when the lash strikes and his fangs leap forward. I will not cry out; I will not whimper or beg. Another strike. I am vampire and can take anything but the sun - another - the stake - another - and fire - another. Her hate, her contempt, I cannot take - Sookie. Pain - again - is only - again - a passing thing. Again and again and again and his head rings with it and he bites his lip to remain silent and the blood runs. Yes, yes, give me more until I can no longer think. Pam will not tire like a human would.
Is this all? She likely wants something else or maybe he will lose consciousness and be good for nothing.
Blessed silence. His sweat-saturated body gleams pink in the low lamp light, and she laps at the crease between his buttocks. Of course, the blood. She continues by tracing the scalding, rambling tracks upon his back, and the agony begins to shift, most notably when her tongue continues up the side of his neck and explores the inner curve of his right ear, while one sliding hand wraps around his hip and reaches below his belt, fingers tickling the wavy hairs, brushing so very close, so intimately.
“You have surprised me, Bill. Perhaps you are not a bore, after all.” A low whisper dropped in the hole of his ear.
He is gratified that he can stand once the leathers are removed from his wrists. He can even turn and follow her across the room when she commands, accompanied by constant, yet slowly healing, burn. Although he slows - to pull his pants up. The nearly dried blood is a little annoying where her tongue did not reach. Fortunately, and guiltily, he had young, virgin blood the night before, and it yet sustains.
They are near the satin-draped bed when she turns. “Undo this thing - it’s quite uncomfortable.” Her waving hand has made clear what she means. There must be thirty tiny hooks and each one looks extremely tight. She nearly overflows the top of it. It is probably best to begin there. There is no way he can do this without the back of his fingers touching her skin. Pam has asked, no, told, him to do this. After all, there is only so much humiliation one man can take. Sookie doesn’t want him, but this one will. Careful, respectful, but not too respectful, letting his fingers glide so softly against her skin with the opening of each little hook. No touch at all with the next one - let her anticipate. Underneath her ample bosom now, ah yes, she can barely feel it - a caress of the nail . . . or not? Down on your knees; she’ll like that. Yes, she clutched just a little with the opening of that one. Don’t smile; she might see. A little faster down the front, slower with the last three. Push it open, softly brushing the flesh over her ribs -- and up off her arms. Kiss her exposed flesh, soft nibbles, caresses, tongue.
She is fondling his hair as he moves to her nipples. She grabs hard and pulls his head back, looking down at him. “Good boy,” she says. “I wondered what she saw in you.”
He knows to whom she is referring, and it is not Sookie. Sookie is human, therefore, not worthy of Pam’s thoughts.
She sits on the bed. “Now the boots, then lick my feet.”
He removes each one, unlacing them more quickly than the bustier. He lifts her left leg and runs one hand up the inside of her thigh, so close and light, moth down, circling, one finger teasing beneath, then back down, caressing. To clasp her heel and place the foot on his shoulder - bends his head to brush his hair and cheek across the top while he strokes and gently kneads her calf, the arch of her foot with his thumbs and places kisses there. Closing his eyes, he nuzzles her toes, head lowered, opens his eyes and peers from beneath his lashes into her eyes, carefully parts the first two toes and darts his tongue between, once, twice, slowly around the apex of the first toe. Her mouth opens, moves, her own tongue tip advances, retreats at her bottom lip, her stomach clutches the tiniest bit. She does not blink.
He takes her toe between his lips, moves slowly down the shaft, tonguing, licking, making her close her eyes and open her mouth wider, until she snaps her foot from his grasp, places it on his chest and sends him sliding two feet across the rug.
“Enough. Now the other one.” She lounges back on her elbows.
This is a game, he thinks as he sits up and reaches for her other foot. It means nothing, and he smiles, a little. Don’t think of her, don’t; she doesn’t want you, she is lost to you. None of this matters.
The other foot receives similar treatment, only he licks, massages, licks again - long, sensuous strokes of strong vampire tongue that end flicking between her toes.
“Mmmmm, ohhhh” Her other foot wanders between his thighs, presses, circles, strokes, toes curl. She gets the reaction she expects. Plus, his fangs leap forward.
“Careful,” she says, with fangs extended.
“Of course.”
Her eyes regain their previous hard glare. “Stand and turn.” She remains lounging back on the sheet, pale face between pale shoulders, elbows pressed into the black satin.
He does as commanded.
“Drop your trousers, everything, slowly.”
Ah, well. He unbuckles the belt with trembling hands -- because of memory -- his damn, near perfect memory full of too much detail. It is Lorena he remembers now.
Pam watches as the dark trousers slowly move down his pale buttocks, the still pink welts crossing the pearly skin of his back. His ass is like two soft pillows she could lie her head on, and there is yet a trace of dark blood peeking from between that she missed. It excites her. He is not as tall, as big, as Eric, yet his legs are strong and firm. Eric is never vulnerable, and the vulnerability of this one is intoxicating because it is combined with vampire strength that the humans with whom she has played never have. He has not been at all as expected. She should have known. She has always preferred geeky and withdrawn types, for they generally contain hidden depths, are the most eager and easily trained. Plus, knowing Lorena, she would not have kept this one as her lover for so long without teaching all she wanted from him.
“Now come. Remove what remains of my garments -- with your teeth.” A test in obedience and control - he must keep his fangs withdrawn. He must lie over her legs, his cheek along her thigh, first one then the other, back and forth. His lips, his tongue graze her flesh - aah, not necessary for the job. She tangles her fingers in his thick, silky, dark hair. Only he pulls away as he drags the leather down her calves and off her feet, drops it from between his teeth to the carpet and runs his hands up the top of her legs, fingers spread. He rotates inward, spreading her thighs, gazing into her face. A slow blink, blue eyes dark as he lowers his head - should she allow this liberty? Then there is no question she will. Such a mouth, such virtuosity, a magic tongue. She has been with no other of their kind, save Eric, and believed it was only he who could do such things to her. The ecstasy goes on forever - a tap, a stroke, a circle, a suck, indescribable things - until her hands clutch the sheets, her thighs squeeze his head as she arches off the bed with a cry.
Delightful. He now likely thinks he has the upper hand. Better disabuse him of that notion.
“Nice,” she says. “Now stand up.”
It takes him a second or two - likely a little off balance, whereas she is not. That is the way she would like to keep it. Men so easily lose themselves where sex is concerned, even Eric.
“Take yourself in hand.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He stands there as though he doesn’t understand what she means. Of course, he does. She folds her arms. He does as told, gazing at her with creased brows.
“Now stroke. I shall observe.”
His mouth opens. His fangs are half extended. He hasn’t moved, so she watches his face for a sign of whether he will obey. She has previously decided he may act the fool regarding humans, but he is not stupid. For one thing, Eric would never have a stupid vampire working for him. In spite of the outward animosity between the two and Eric’s obvious delight in tormenting him, there is something about Bill that has always intrigued Eric, and Pam would like to learn what it is.
There is nothing but a slight twitch on the edge of Bill’s mouth, possibly indicating the tiniest of smiles, and he begins, slowly, caressingly. He doesn’t look at what he is doing, but regards her, her face, in particular, as though she might expose what she is thinking, or will think, or a reaction. After all, this is what she wanted, and his organ is like something alive and under its own power as it rises and swells and is darker than the rest of him, more and more so as the blood, yes, the glorious blood converges there, and she knows her pupils are enlarging, even though she keeps the rest of herself as still as stone.
“Faster,” she says, and he obeys with such fine hands and long fingers. Only a little faster, and there it is on the tip, the little drop of pre-cum - he emits a low sigh. “Stop.” She bends forward, her tongue glides between extended fangs to taste that little drop, the other pure essence of vampire liquor. He doesn’t flinch, makes only a small guttural sound that sends hot chills down her body. He is ready now, and she wants him. Wants him quite desperately, only on her terms.
“Get on the bed and lie on your stomach.”
It is really too bad that Kindred sex is not more acceptable. The few times she and Eric played, only once did he accept such behavior from her, and then only laughingly. Human males generally can’t keep it up when she becomes too strong, too demanding. The small number who can are often unstable. Even among vampires, most males are way too prideful to accept her form of sexual frolic. Can she really be having this much fun? With Bill Compton?
Such smooth, pale flesh against black satin - and so beautifully disheveled.
His head is turned on the pillow, eyes liquid with need and watching her rummaging beneath the bed. She knows they are here - ah. She opens the silk-lined box and pulls out six one-inch balls strung on a long thin chain.
“I had this specially made,” she says. “They are usually silver, gold if you were the emperor or a wealthy Mandarin.” She crawls next to him and lays the chain out on the satin; they shine in the subdued light of the room. “Mine are lead covered with platinum. The Chinese invented them long, long ago - they are very clever, the Chinese. Have you seen such a thing before?”
“Never.”
“Good, then prepare to be educated. She places a hand on the back of his thigh. “Spread.”
Instead, he turns to face her.
Pam’s eyes narrow. “You have done so well - are you going to fail now? You took the lash, and for such a little thing you refuse?”
“You ask too much.”
“I am not asking; I am commanding. How can you be so provincial, Bill? Even after Lorena - and you were in Malcolm’s nest. Didn’t he ever--”
“Absolutely not.”
“How disappointing you must have been to poor Malcolm.
“Because of some outdated morality you have been missing out on so much pleasure - and for so many years. Are you afraid God will punish you?”
“Of course not, do not be absurd.”
“Ha! I am absurd. What is it then?”
“With men, it is a power thing.”
She blinks; her face softens. In fact, she suddenly appears younger and lovelier than he has ever seen her. She leans forward, “Bill, not always,” and kisses him, lightly, on the lips. The tips of her breasts brush against his chest hairs, his skin; her scent is heady - intoxicating. As she pulls back he finds himself following, rising off the pillow, sitting. They are close, facing one another, her left hand spread on his thigh. “Am I a man?” Both their chests are rising and lowering, not breathing, only taking in one another’s scent. “Trust me in this, and you will have immense pleasure.” She places a hand on his chest and slowly, but surely, pushes him back down.
“Relax,” she says, it will be easier.” Little dark, silky hairs show the way, they form a tiny little nest there. How charming.
“Stop.” His fangs have leaped forward again.
“Oh come now, that’s only three, and I licked each one to make them slippery.”
“Please.”
“Now you say it. Silly. You aren’t relaxing. If you were, you would be asking me to please continue. You think you know so much with your skillful tongue. You know nothing. You will take one more and hold. If you don’t we will start over.” How lovely, since we don’t eat, we are totally clean where humans are not.
He is truly so sweet, totally exposed to her like this. If Eric only knew, if he had ever just let her, but he never had, never. She loves Bill right now, could gobble him up. “Good, lovely boy.” She licks, nibbles, bites and strokes his wonderful smooth flesh, leaving red patterns, marks of temporary ownership, behind. She reaches low between his dear bottom, only further this time, caressing the little tender apples, stroking his shaft and, with that, he cannot hold still. The control is all hers; she can do with him what she wants. This beautiful, strong, male vampire will do anything for her, anything, soon he will beg if she asks, he will moan, he may even whimper. Because she will be the source of all greatest pleasure. She can tell when something happens -- deep inside -- and it is far from pain. She has had his blood, after all. A breathy sound escapes him and she laughs low, reaches forward and strokes his back, his neck.
“Turn,” she whispers into his ear.
She knows it is there - little burn and -- such glorious -- pressure. She lowers herself slowly onto him because he is ready again; he certainly is. His eyes are deep lapis, mouth well open, blades sharp. He grasps her thighs. She has the end of the chain in her hand and begins to rock. She bends low over him, grinds her hips around and around and shows him her fangs.
“You see,” she murmurs into his mouth. “You have your own sweet spot of ecstasy hidden deep within.” She moves away and licks his left nipple, then a tiny bite - the fiery, sharp pain, the ever-consuming pleasure. He grasps her close and gifts her the same, only takes more time doing it. She sits up; he stretches, head hard into the pillow, chin high, arching on his heels, lifting her high, a long growl. She opens her mouth wide, fangs flashing the low light, arching, pushing down, exclaiming joyously, riding him, a wild thing. Continuing, slow - animalistic rumbles, hisses, moans - then faster to the building and furious conclusion when she sucks deep at his throat, pulls the chain and he roars.
They lie side-by-side, turning paler on the black satin.
“So much for Zeitgeist,” says Pam.
“Mmm.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
“She doesn’t want me.”
“Poor you. You have put yourself in the position where a human can turn you away.”
“Enough.”
“Have you read Anne Rice?”
“No.”
“You should. You would find a kindred soul in Louis, always bemoaning your lost humanity. Even in Lestat, in his doomed love for humans, but I doubt he would ever cease drinking from them. Louis is a fool, just as you are.”
“I have tried to accept what I am. I cannot.”
“What a tragic figure you are. No wonder you never smile.”
He sits up. “Are we finished?”
“Yes, for now.”
He gathers his clothes and, without a backward glance, walks out the door to be home before the sun rises.
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