Soul Reaver Fan Fiction ❯ Noblesse Oblige ❯ Noblesse Oblige ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Kain, who is sole property of Eidos, Crystal Dynamics, and Silicon Knights, or Nosgoth, and sincerely doubt that they would approve of the way he is depicted. All other characters are mine, however, for whatever it's worth

Noblesse Oblige

      "Lord Kain."

      "Kishar," I answered, not bothering to rise, as I recognized the voice at once. A redheaded young man entered the tavern; beardless, slight of frame, and well-dressed. Masculine enough to be male, if barely, and effeminate enough to confuse. He was squire to Lord Juran.

      "What brings you here?" I turned to give him my complete attention

      Kishar's face paled as he beheld the scene I had provided him; a tavern with dead peasants slaughtered like sheep. The reek of blood was all but overwhelming. He swallowed visibly. "Lord Kain, I have come looking for Lord Juran's eldest daughter.
      "And so you have found her," I answered, motioning toward the table next to me A beautiful dark haired young woman lay there, or rather what was left of her. Her nude body had been bound to the table legs, arms and legs splayed wide. Her head lolled backwards over the edge of the table, pale green eyes devoid of any expression, face slack. A vicious slash adorned her now waxen throat, the edges of the wound exposing the raw meat and mangled veins beneath the skin.

      Kishar looked away, anywhere in the room than at her -- or me. Doubtless he'd recognized the slick near-whiteness that dripped down her thighs and crusted on her belly; the rank, musky perfume of sex that mingled with the scent of blood. "My Lord, do you know what happened?"

      In that question, I perceived what an intelligent man he was. I knew that he had to know what happened. Yet he did not dare attack me, or even accuse me openly. He'd heard the stories, seen the Soul Reaver by my side, and knew death incarnate when he saw it.

      I sat back, my fingers laced together. "Of course. And I expect you want to hear about it."

      Kishar's attention kept being drawn back to the table, his eyes darting to the body, then quickly away. Almost as if he expected to see something different if he did that often enough. "Yes, Lord Kain," he answered slowly, choosing his words with care. "Lord Juran will - demand an accounting, of course."

      "Yes, very well, then." I motioned for him to sit.

      He obeyed without question. I smiled to myself. If nothing else, Lord Juran's servants were well-trained. "One thing only," I cautioned him.

      Kishar looked up. "Despite what you see or what you hear, things are not always what they seem," I told him.

      He seemed confused. I couldn't blame him for that. "Then how did all this come to be?"

      I laughed softly, canines fully exposed. Kishar saw that and flinched.

      "Noblesse oblige," I said.

      "What'll you have, stranger? Ale, or something with more bite?"

      I turned. A large, burly man stood behind the bar, beckoning me further in. Ironic that he should choose those words to welcome me, but I was disguised to seem human, and so he did not recognize me for what I was.

      "Ale...for now," I responded. There was nothing I could do to disguise the quality of my voice. For better or worse, I sounded precisely like what I was: a nobleman in search of common entertainment. The barkeep nodded and went to pour me a mug.

      I took the opportunity to acquaint myself of my surroundings. The building that housed the tavern was larger than I would expect for a town of this size. Wattle-and-daub construction, with exposed beams for roof supports, and windows with stretched hide coverings to allow some light in. A staircase led to an upper level where travelers could purchase lodging for the night. Rushes covered the floor, most of them completely dry. Behind the bar was a kitchen and the barkeep's living quarters. As usual, it was dark in here, and reeking. Even the smoke from the fireplace could not repress the thick odor of stale beer and unwashed bodies. A number of the local men were here, mainly habitues, whose lives centered around drink.

      "Your ale, sir."

      A female voice, and young. I turned from my study to look. A woman stood there, comely by all standards. She held a tankard of the local ale in her hands. By her demeanor she might have been the serving wench, but the clothing she wore suggested a tavern whore, instead. She wore a threadbare chemise whose drawstring had come undone, and a bodice cut low enough to allow her breasts to jut proudly forth. Her dusty skirt was slit to the waist on one side, exposing one leg. I deemed her far more attractive than the usual unsavory trollops I had encountered. No doubt time and attrition would remedy that.

      "Can I get you anything else, sir?" Her eyes sought mine as she spoke, her voice lowering to a throaty whisper. I watched the rise and fall of her bosom, noting with amusement that each breath threatened to dislodge the flimsy fabric and expose her ample charms to any who cared to look.

      "That depends," I said, my voice a lazy drawl. "What do you have to offer?"

 

      The woman smirked. "That depends," she responded in kind. "What do you seek?"

      Reaching forward, I hooked one fingertip into the top of her chemise, and tugged downward. As I suspected, the fabric fell away, leaving her breasts bare. "That will do, for a start."

      Laughter erupted from the length of the tavern. The woman blushed down to her cleavage.

      Embarrassed, she drew back with a snarl, trying to cover herself. Her right hand flashed forward in an open-handed slap. I caught it in mid-stroke easily, gripping her slim wrist tightly enough so that she gasped and sought to pry my hand off, her modesty forgotten in her haste. No good. It was a simple matter to seize the other wrist, too. She tried to pull away. No good. I simply tightened my grip to the point that her face went pale, and she stopped struggling.

      "Now, then," I pursued. "What have I found here?" I drew a fingertip down her left breast, pausing to draw lazy circles around the now-erect nipple.

      Her face flushed scarlet, whether from rage or shame, I could not tell. "Please, sir," she begged. "Please --"

      "Please, indeed." My hand cupped the generously sized breast. I watched as she flinched, unable to meet my eyes. The eyes of the other men were upon us.

      I let my hand slide downward to the slit in her skirt and pushed it aside to reveal the dark brown thatch between her legs. Brushing it with my fingertips, I slipped two fingers past the folds to embed them deep within her. She gasped and tried, in vain, yet again to pull herself free from my grasp. I leisurely thrust my fingers into and out of her while pressing my thumb upward, flicking it lightly over the tip of her clitoris. She moaned then, her body suddenly rigid and trembling against me. My fingers were wet with her fluids, and the musk of her arousal wafted from her in heady waves.

      I smiled at her, withdrawing my hand. She could not meet my gaze still, even as her body leaned against mine. Disregarding common sense, I dropped my guise, and allowed them all to see what I truly was.

      "I'm sure it would take nothing to please a slut like you," I said, rubbing a finger dripping with her wetness down her cheek. "But I am far less interested in your pleasure tonight than I am in my own." I thrust my fingers into her mouth, curling them downward so that she couldn't pull away. "Clean them."

      She stared at me, eyes wide in shock. I flexed my fingers again, so that the nails began to cut into her tongue and cheeks. "Do as I tell you."

      Her tongue swirled around my fingers, removing her secretions. I smiled. The sight of her licking my fingers, like a dog taking a tidbit from its master's hand, fueled a demon's desire in me. I wanted to see how far I could take this.

      "Your clothing." I stared at her tawdry garb again. "You will not need it. Remove it at once."

      Once again, her face reddened. I released her wrists to allow her to obey my commands. A moment later, her palm struck my face in a ringing slap.

      The tavern was silent. "When Hell freezes solid!" Her words came out in a vicious hiss. She stared at me, defiant eyes filled with anger, as she stood before me.

      My eyebrows rose at this futile gesture of insolence. I laughed, and the sound of my laughter alone must have terrified her, for she backed away from me. Not that it helped. I returned the gesture, my hand striking her cheek with enough force to snap her head to one side. She cried out and fell to the floor.

      "So that's how it's to be," I said, as I rose to my feet and retrieved her from the floor. Her left cheek bore the imprint of my palm, and her eyes were half-lidded.

      Taking complete advantage of her helplessness, I drew a dagger from its boot sheath, and cut her clothing from her body.

      I now had an audience. Every man in that place drew closer, their attention riveted to her nude body. Even after seeing me for the monster I was, their eyes never left her. They did not care what I was. The lust these men exuded was palpable.

      It wasn't enough to expose her to their desire. No, I wanted to defile and humiliate her in front of the filthy wretches now present for the sin of defying me. Cutting a length of fabric from her skirt hem, I bound her wrists tightly together behind her. I placed her on her knees before me, and unfastened my breeches.

      Low, coarse laughter erupted around us. They knew what I intended.

      She regained her senses, her eyes darting over me, over my erection.

      "Open your mouth," I said.

      Her face contorted in anger. But she remained silent, shook her head instead. She now knew better than to speak out of turn.

      I seized a handful of hair. Jerking her head back so that her back arched to relieve the strain on her neck, I spoke down to her. "Open your mouth, or I will tie you down and let each man here have you in any way that pleases him."

      She gasped at my words, then parted her lips. I pulled her near, my hand still gripping her hair tightly. Her eyes closed as I thrust her head down onto my lap.

      "You know what to do," I said.

      Her body tensed as her mouth was suddenly filled, but that still wasn't enough for me. I thrust deeper, well into her throat, savoring the hot wetness, and the frantic look on her face. I stopped only when she had completely engulfed me. Despite her struggle, she had not gagged or choked once.

      Oh, she was no stranger to this.

      I withdrew from her mouth, and watched her gulp for air. "Again," I commanded, and this time, she hastened to obey. Her mouth descended on me yet again, tongue working the hard flesh. Deny it though she might, she was enjoying this, her head rising and falling as she thrust herself on me. I felt exquisite pressure grow, knowing that it would not last long if she kept this up. But I had other plans.

      "Stand," I said, and pulled her off my lap. She gasped again, but still did not speak. Instead she rose to her feet, her head bowed, lips still parted.

      I seized her hips. Shoving her thighs apart, I guided her onto my waiting phallus. She was so ready, I penetrated her completely on the first stroke. I wrapped my arms around her, cupping both her breasts in my hands. My thumbs and forefingers kneaded her flushed, hard nipples. She moaned again, and began to rock on my lap. Her eyes were half-lidded now, with a faraway expression in them that told me her climax was not far off.

      "Remember," I breathed into her ear. "Not your pleasure, but my own." I dug a talon into her nipple, cutting it. She cried out in pain. I pushed her off me long enough to turn her around. Her face was ashen, with tears flowing freely down both cheeks. Whether it was pain, humiliation, or frustration did not matter to me. I enjoyed them all.

      I looked around the room. The other men were riveted to their seats with pure lust. Most stroked themselves through their pants. A few had undone their flies, and were openly masturbating.

      I took her buttocks in both hands and pulled her onto my lap, this time facing me. My fingers sought her anus, anointing it with the warm wetness that flowed so readily from her wide-open vagina. She understood then what I meant to do, and struggled wildly, pushing herself away from me. Again, no use. I raised her hips up, and brought her body down, this time thrusting myself deep into her ass. She screamed, her sphincter clamping shut around me. I laughed as I kept pulling her down onto me, until I had impaled her to the hilt. The moist silken tightness of her body as it sheathed me, combined with her pain, was intoxicating.

      The cut on her breast still bled freely. I wrapped my lips around the wound, tongue playing with both her nipple and the raw edges of the cut itself, as I lapped up the blood. An evil notion seized me. With a simple motion of my arm, I swept the tankard of ale and the candle off the table next to me. I would have other uses for it.

      I first cut the bonds on her wrists. I then rose, her legs wrapped around my waist, and I still buried deeply within her. She half-slipped from my arms back onto the table. As I expected, the table wasn't long enough. Her head did not hit the table, but fell backwards off the edge instead, hanging in space. Perfect.

      Taking her thighs in both hands, I positioned her with care, draping her legs over my shoulders. I then gripped her hips again and pistoned into her, hard and fast. She sobbed openly now, and the sound of her misery brought my hunger to a white-fever pitch. The unbearably sweet tension demanded release. I surrendered to it.

      I threw back my head and shouted as orgasm hit, and for the next few seconds, my mind and body fused together into a single pulsing instance that seemed infinite.
      At last it was done. Pushing myself away, I withdrew from her. Still panting, I reached down to take a handful of fabric, the remains of her skirt, to wipe myself clean and refasten my breeches. She lay across the table, her body limp. I tore more strips of cloth from the ruined skirt, and tied her legs, then her arms to the table legs, spreading her wide open. I heard her moan, and laughed in her face. A pretty sight she made, and so easily had.

      I stepped away, and let the men in the room view my handiwork. "Help yourself," I said, and gestured toward her.

      The men needed no further coaxing. She screamed again, as her fellow townsmen fell upon her like starving wolves. It was the barkeep who now rode her like a mare, his breeches around his knees. Another man had his hands on both sides of her head, erect penis driving into her open mouth, using her even as I had done. The others shouted crude encouragements, each waiting his turn upon her. Lacing my fingers behind my head, I leaned back, making myself comfortable. Now it was my turn to watch.

      "And that is what happened."

      "Lord Kain, how could you have allowed this?" Kishar looked at me. "How can I tell Lord Juran that his daughter was raped by peasants and murdered in a filthy tavern?"

      "Kishar," I snapped, interrupting him. "Did I not tell you that nothing is what it seems? There was no rape here."

      But how can you say that," protested Kishar. "Did you not yourself tell me how you forced yourself upon her, mistaking her to be a tavern whore? And did not these men also use her cruelly for their pleasure?"

      "Do not take me for a fool, Kishar," I said. "Certainly I knew who she was, as did she me. In case you did not realize it, Ana is a distant relative of mine."

      "But why --"

      "Squire, your shock amazes me. I know that you have spent your entire life within the bounds of the Juran estate. You cannot say that you don't know Juran's personality or tastes. I can think of none of his vassals, either family or servants, that were not utterly compliant and obedient to his will." I found that one of the peasants yet lived. Slitting his throat with my boot knife, I filled the discarded tankard, this time to my satisfaction, and continued.

      "In addition, Juran trained his children to minister to every need, every perverse urge that he could imagine. Ana here," I said, gesturning to the corpse beside me, "was his lover almost from the moment she could walk. As were all her brothers and sisters." I stared at him until he could no longer endure my gaze. "As I'm sure you know."

      "She came to me with this entire scenario in mind. Her fantasy was to be raped and beaten, to be degraded and publically humiliated." I shrugged. "For reasons unknown to me, the object of her fantasy was me. So we made a deal. I would fulfill her desires and she would feed me. It seemed reasonable."

      "More than that, though, it was a matter of noblesse oblige."

      Kishar was plainly confused and skeptical. "Noblesse oblige? This? Come now, Lord Kain."

      "Come now, Kishar," I said, mocking him. "Those who would be noble must behave nobly. Do you really think I need to barter for blood? When potential victims are everywhere I care to look? As bizarre as this may seem to you, the only thing that mattered tonight was fulfilling her desire. As a kinsman and a nobleman, I honored her request."

      I gestured around us. "The men you see here were indeed all rapists." My lips curled in disdain. "And they got what they deserved. I took especial pleasure in tearing the life from their worthless bodies."

      "But why?" Kishar was visibly upset. "Why was it necessary to leave her this way, bound and butchered like an animal?"

      "Because that was what she wanted from me," I answered. "I would have untied her, and allowed her to dress before I fed from her. She would not hear of it." I smiled at the memory. "So I took her exactly the way she wanted to be taken; naked and bound, helpless, dripping with sweat and semen. The more vicious I became, the more she loved it. By the time I tore the life from her throat, she was in rapture."

     "What do you have in mind for her now, Lord Kain?" Kishar could no longer contain himself. His eyes now roamed freely over her dead body. In that instant, I realized my error. It was not shock or horror that I saw earlier on his face. It was lust of a most perverse nature.

      "I have a place for her among my people," I continued, watching his face betray his eagerness. "Vampirism would suit her very well. And I have need of someone like her, whose loyalty to me would be complete and unquestioning."

      Morning was approaching fast. "Kishar, do not trouble yourself to return to Juran." I emptied the tankard before it became cold and unpalatable, then threw it away. "By this time tomorrow, he will be dead, and your service to him at an end."

      Kishar bowed deeply. "Yes, Lord."

      A notion occurred to me. "You were once Juran's page, were you not?" I knew then that Kishin was one of those men who needed to serve somebody, no matter who. And that he was much more familiar with pleasures of bondage and of the whip than he would willingly admit.

      Kishar bowed his head again, face flushed. He knew what I meant. "I was, Lord Kain. Lord Juran trained me, too."

      Yes, we understood each other very well.

      "I require your service tonight, Kishar." My lips thinned, curved upward into a most unpleasant smile. Perhaps he could be useful to me. "But time is short. I want you to make her ready to travel." My eyes sought Kishar's. "I believe you know what to do."

      Kishar glanced at me and nodded. "Will you grant me permission to attend to her in my fashion?

      "I expect you to do no less," I answered. By doing so, I ordered him to perform the task he so badly wanted to do.

      Kishar approached the body as gently as if the woman yet lived, like a lover might. He knelt beside her, pressing his lips to her inner thigh, kissing the cold flesh. His tongue flicked out, lapping up the semen that had trickled down her leg. He followed the flow up her thigh, then did the same thing with the other leg. Parting her labiae with his fingertips, he pressed his mouth to her vagina, drawing out as much fluid as he possibly could, swallowing it greedily. I watched him as his mouth moved upward, over her stomach, to her breasts, then to her neck and face. Slowly, almost devoutly, he removed every trace of semen from her body.

      He stood, a wild expression in his eyes, took a knife and cut the ties that bound her body to the table. Then, inexplicably, he turned the body over.

      Impatience must have shown on my face, for he turned to me, both anxious and apologetic.

      "Wait, Lord," he pleaded. "There is but one thing more I would do."

      I relented, motioning him on. "But be quick about it."

      He bent over her again. His fingers deftly parted her buttocks, exposing her anus, still half dilated and dripping with semen. He placed his entire mouth over it, and I could only guess that his tongue was thrust inside her as deeply as he possibly could. Then I understood. It was not just semen he wished to taste. It was my semen that he desired.

      I laughed, and made a note to compliment Juran on the stellar quality of his servants. After I gutted him like a fish, of course.

      "Ana will be ravenous when she rises, and will want to feed." I watched his face, knowing what he wanted from me.

      "But who will minister to those needs?" As soon as those words left Kishar's mouth, I knew that Juran had not sent him to find his daughter. He had come on his own. His concern for her in his voice and manner was evident enough. How touching.

      "Why, you, of course," I drawled, as I slowly unfastened my breeches. I heard his sharply indrawn breath, and knew that I held his complete attention. Useful, indeed. I bade Kishar to kneel before me. Inwardly I sighed. Noblesse oblige. "After you minister to mine. Now, come here."

      Kishar knelt before me, and bent forward, eager to obey.