Life Blood's Vengeance

Old History

Life Blood

Bound and gagged with a black opaque hood over my head seemed like an awful way to get off of work. However, what could I expect it is a Monday and the whole day had been a series of major issues with no easy solutions.

I forgot to introduce myself, how rude of me. Almost as rude as being hit upside the head without a single salutation or invitation to come willingly. Figures.

I am Anita Renquist, CEO and Founder of Life Blood Medical Industries and a 240 year old vampire turned respectable business woman and philanthropist who lives in sunny Atlanta Georgia.

To say I know something of manners and proper treatment is an understatement, especially given the etiquette I learned as a young sapling dancing on the colonial ballrooms of the Virginia surrounded by plantation society after my parents escaped with me from French Revolution.

Believe me when I say that the treatment I have received thus far from my unknown captures has been less than cordial and not befitting a former French Marquis daughter. After having a terrible day at the office where I was informed of a Ransomware attack on the medical equipment side of the business and being “advised” to hand over 10 million in Bitcoin.

Otherwise, they would release all my company’s information and destroy the informational integrity of every charity that I have ever given to. Little did I know that would be the least of the concerns on my plate today.

I was minding my own business walking through the parking decks 4th level to my lovely, customized, understated pride and joy BMW 8M Series Coupe. If it is one thing I love about the current era is their machines and engineering. IT is the only thing I allow myself to spend a significant amount on. I was looking forward to a nice quite drive to my town home, eating a quick meal and having a nice wine with bubble bath.

Instead, I was knocked on the head as I was about to open my car door, blacked out and now I am sitting for the last unknowable amount of time with a heavy bag over my head with a gag ball forcing the rough textured bag into my mouth. The bag feels like it is weighed with a heavy linked chain around my neck. Why not take them off? Well that would be quite difficult as my hands are chained tightly with silver to a chair and my legs are bound together with the chain leading under the chair to my hands.

Otherwise, you could say I was comfortable and well taken care of. Did I mention the French have a cunning and sarcastic brand of humor? Oh non je n’ai pas Cher dieu, I did not. Oh well, I guess you will learn our cunning ways of insult when these batards walk through the door to see the mistake they have made in entrapping me without cause.

Right on time, I strain to hear the surrounding echoes in this unknown room with a draft overhead. I hear keys jiggling through the area in front of me, seemingly muffled through a wall or door of some kind. Well at least it seems my appointment arrived even if he was horrendously late. Maybe he was getting me a gift basket or a freshly baked Danish. Too hopeful? Maybe.

A door creaks open on rusty hinges and the jiggle of the rattles as it is pulled out. Steps come forward softly ringing on the concrete floor. Almost as if they were cautious of the approach they were about to make. Wise as a chained and gagged woman was dangerous. I c**k my head and slowly roll my head and shoulder back and around. Hearing a deep chuckle I still. I know that laugh. I have heard it but it was a long time ago. Back when I was 100 years old or so.

You could have called it my rebellious stage when I first started Life Blood without my parents blessing as well as a number of other less than prudish activities I don’t necessarily regret. What happened in the Roaring 20’s stay’s in the Roaring 20’s for a reason. However, no one alive should remember me from that time so it can’t be him. I start to relax a bit and get ready to verbally flay this sexy baritone asshole alive.

“So my dear sweet tart you are awake a feisty again.” Oh, God he is alive. He must have changed to super natural. Hell, history has a way of being a b***h that will not stay dead.

He walks over and to behind me softly caressing my bare arms then moving slowly up and around my shoulders to grab the soft globes of my breasts in both hands covering them fully and massaging them as I stay shock still.

Attempting to not react at all I let my head fall back and shrug my shoulders in a move showing that I do not care, ideally. However, my breasts move against his hands, my n*****s rubbing unwittingly against his thumb jerking my senses into action as I moan. Dear God, caught in his spell yet again. Why couldn’t he die in World War II like everyone said he did.

He stops and moves his hands to the buckle behind my head. He coons softly, “I see that you have missed me dearly my sweet Anita. Let us speak again civilly like proper friends or I will have to do all the speaking.” He waits until I nod and I know he means as he says. He knows my tongue only too well as he has tangled with it on more than one occasion.

I cough as the gag and cloth are removed the hood being pulled back and up as the chained portion hit the floor. Slightly blinded for a moment due to having the dark hood on for so long I blink quickly. Knowing I have to keep my wits about me with this man.

I blink and see the rich green painted walls with classic ornate dark wood furniture. The heavily scrolled white trim reminds me of my own home. Instead of the concrete I thought the floor had been is in reality a warm cream tile floor looking like marble from some of the best quarries in the world. “Oh Michell so nice to hear from you again. However, your manners need a brush up dear. This is not how I remember our courtship all those years ago.”

He walks from behind me cruising his hand from my nape to one finger pushing up my chin to silence me politely and almost sensuously. He is as handsome as I remember with astute brown eyes, dark black hair with a stocky build no taller than six feet, but what he lacked in height more than made up for in athletic build even 100 years later.

“Tell me my dear, can I get you some tea and pastries my dear. Some strawberries and melon might be nice reintroduction after my sordid manners.” Well at least the manners are back in portion, it might give me a chance to free myself. I nod and he releases his finger to sit across from me on the plush yellowish gold chaise across from me, in between us one of the fine examples of classic dark wood tables circa 1880’s.

“Thank you dear Michell, that would be lovely to have brunch with you then I really must go. I have a pressing matter to attend to on behalf of Life Blood and I simply cannot dally.” He starts to lift his eyebrow and cross his legs, smirking as he pulls a phone from his pocket.

“Pardon me I must order our brunch. I have been an awful host and must make amends by dining with you and discussing why I have made this appointment with you.” He rises as I go to speak again and he steps over to me quickly, surprising me as he holds a red leather strap with a large 3 inch wide black ball caught in the center a large buckle on each end. So this is the item that had forced my silence and my tongue to behave. I swallow hard and lower my head to my chin bowing to his will.

He dials an unknown number on his phone as he sits back down across from me fingering the gag in the other hand looking at me with eyes that tell me he is thinking of more than ordering a meal, but the conversation approaching. “Yes Martine, may I have a selection of melon balls, strawberries, cucumber sandwiches, ham and pimento cheese and some hot tea brough to the Green Salon in 15 minutes please for our guest. Please advise security for any potential incidents at the location.” I close my eyes in defeat, I am not getting out of here unarmed if has security. Let alone not knowing why this man is not dead. He should be dead, I should know my father killed him himself and then died from the injuries sustained. I will have to rely on my saber like tongue to get me out of this one yet again. If it is not gagged again. Then I will kill him if I am not dead myself.

He hangs up the phone and brings his fist to his chin, his arm resting on the padded arm assessing me as a child would. “You seem to be in a predicament my dear. I seem to know some information that you wanted to keep hidden. Unfortunately for you this is my forte as you well know.” I sit there listening and a c**k my head to the side questioningly and roll my eyes petulantly.

Can he ever get over himself? Somethings never change and that includes his and my own shared sense of attitude and ego. “Now dear heart do not be that way. I have worked diligently to find someone who was skilled enough to evade your mother’s team of security who protect you as well. The least you can do is listen meet with me politely after 100 long years.”

Okay fine, I guess I should listen to his sordid tale and gloating about how he ruined my father and “plans” to ruin me and the world.

“Pardon me Mr. Michell Wolff formerly known as General Karl Wolff of the SS Chief of Personal Staff to Heinrich Himmler, personal friend to Hitler…” Slap!

A stinging a punishing blow that whipped my head to the side. Well that hurt quite a bit, especially from a supposed dead man. I guess he does not like to be connected to those men anymore despite the fact that he is probably one of a few free Nazi Generals alive from 1943 and still looking like a young man. He should gloat about this to the Israeli government I am sure they will find it very interesting, even pay him a personal visit.

Stepping behind me once more he takes the gag he had been fingering, forcing my lower jaw down to take the 3 inch ball gag and buckling it tightly. What I could not help myself, I am French my mouth speaks cunning words for me. He leans behind me and whispers in German translated, “My flower, can you ever told your tongue, now you will not eat and I will talk.” Well hell, damn and f**k!