Free A Tailor's Son (Valadfar) by Damien Tiller

the wealth he offered. They
touched him frantically, doing their best to please him. The pleasure
was great but his mind never left the real reason they were there. As he
grew close to climax, the faces of all the girls he had killed flashed
across his mind but they did not halt his violent thrusts and hard
grasps, his nails and teeth drawing blood. His orgasm came quickly, but
not quick enough for the girls he soiled. Once it had passed, Paul rolled
off the top of the young girl that had become his favourite. She was still
panting below him as she wiped blood from the teeth marks on her
bosom. His own breath was short but he had to move fast before they
grew too eager to leave. The second girl, who had not come off quite as
badly, was already getting dressed. Paul knew he would have to get her
first. He reached for the tongs on the side table and pulled open the
water filled jar. He reached down inside it and pulled out the large black
mass that shook itself out of a coil. The size of the leech still amazed
him, its full length around a foot long. The dressed prostitute turned to
look at Paul and went to scream as she saw him come at her with tongs
outstretched. It was too late as Paul grabbed her around the mouth. He
may have been old but he was not yet completely feeble. He pushed the
leech against her neck and it attached itself instantly. Her struggling
stopped quickly as the pain paralysed her. The priest went back to the
table and delved into the jar again clutching another leech in his tongs.
As he turned, he noticed that the girl on the floor had moved quicker
than he had expected. She had run for the door in tears leaving her
friend behind. Being nude, as shameful as it was, was not the be all and
end all for the prostitute. After a life of servicing men, she had grown
used to her bareness. Paul took a step towards the door with his anger
rising in him but it was cold down there and he could not give chase.
His arthritis-ridden knee ached and he knew it would lock if he tried.
As he looked down he could see the assault on the first woman had left
her lying, eyes closed, on the floor. The leech’s toxin was already
sedating its prey. Paul reached for the table once more and let a
scattering of dry leaves fall onto the girl’s body. It would stop her dying,
he hoped. He looked back at the now open doorway into the main
church. Paul thought about following the girl but decided that it did not
matter that one girl had escaped, his experiments were too important
and the guard would not believe her anyway. It did mean he would
have to work quickly to remove the bodies however. Such an
inconvenience to his work but that was the benefit of doing his
experiments from the chapel as it allowed for plenty of graves to use.
    The images of the bodies in his dream made Paul struggle in
bed, battling with the quilt. He wondered in a brief moment of clear
mindedness when he had lost himself to this shadow, but at that
moment his dream flickered onwards. Hours of real time passed in
moments. It was during morning confession while Paul was alone in
the booth that they had come to him. The slut that had escaped had
been one of that Drow mob’s whores.
    “ Morning Vicar.” A Drow’s accent rasped through the carved
wooden grill in Pauls dream. Paul went to flee the confession room
realising his mistake instantly, but a strong arm was holding the door
firm from outside. It was much stronger than his was. “ Please sit down
Vicar. My friend seems to be blocking the door and will be until they’ve had a little
chat.” The same voice said. Defeated, Paul reluctantly sat down. The
shutter slid open and Paul could see the shadow of a man sitting in the
next room through the grill. The stranger continued to speak, his Drow
accent prominent. “ A little birdie tells us that you got a little over excited with
some of our girls last night. Muriel is still stuck at the Queens and O'Brien is not all
too happy that she cannot go to