The Afflicted

"Where do you think we'll settle?" asked Aimée.

"Father says there are three choices. There is a large community in New Orleans, which mother would love because of all the French. New York is the best because of its size - so easy to blend in and stay unnoticed. Father is most in favor of Boston because of the long winters."

"What does he know?" asked Aimée. "None of us except mother has ever seen snow."

"True, but it isn't the snow that he cares about. The further north, the longer the nights are in winter. You know how father hates it inside. Imagine, nearly fifteen hours outside on the shortest day in December!"

"That would be something," said Aimée.

"Allo? Allo?" They heard their mother's voice echoing down the hallway.

"In here, Mama," said Aimée.

Frederique looked into their cabin; a curious spark crossed her face as she saw them together, but passed quickly. She carried a tray with four glasses full of red liquid. Two were smaller, but two were at least four times the usual size.

"Time for your medicine." she said, serving up the two larger ones to her two children who had sat up to greet her.

"Why so much, mother?" asked Aimée. "Poor Veronica, she will waste away."

Veronica was the blood nurse for this journey. Blood was one of the needs of the Affliction, but not to the extent of all of the stories about vampires. A small vial a day was enough to curb the bloodlust which came with their condition. Every family usually had a blood nurse on staff, or shared one between families. Blood nurses were paid very well for their blood... and for their silence. Veronica was an ample German woman of middle years who had signed on to the voyage in order to join her sister's family in America.

"I think Veronica has plenty to spare. She'll be fine. I just want to be extra careful. The moon is full three days from now."

"Oh Mother, you worry so much. I feel nothing," said Aimée. "Do you, Claude?"

"No. Not at all."

"Better safe than sorry, darling," Frederique said, watching patiently as the two drank their helpings of blood.

"Good. Well, it is time for your parents to get some sleep."

"Good day, mother." said Aimée.

"Good day, mother. Sleep well," echoed Claude.

That greeting was one of the curious phrases of the Afflicted. The meanings were reversed. "Good Night," was something akin to "farewell for now, whereas "Good Day was often accompanied by "Sweet Dreams" or something of the sort, since The Afflicted slept while the sun was up.

Frederique left and they watched in silence until hearing the door to her cabin click shut. Aimée started snickering first, bringing Claude into laughter as well. He fell on his back, laughing, and Aimée climbed astride him.

"Sleep," she whispered, chuckling. "Is this how she sleeps?"

She lifted her hands to her hair and rolled her head seductively. She closed her eyes, snoring but still gyrating her hips.

"Or does father sleep like this?" Claude flipped her over and lay between her legs, moving back and forth comically.

He stopped moving, but lay on top of her, face cradled in his hands. "But tell me sister, how do you know so much about our parents and their habits?"

"I walked in on them once. I told you, didn't I?"

"No!"

"Yes, it was after a party. I didn't see that much, I ran away I was so shocked," said Aimée, smiling.

Lying atop her, for the first time he noticed her breasts. Not with his eyes, but with his body, and they felt amazing against his chest. Claude tried to conceal his shock at the stirrings. With frustration, he sensed his member rising again. He quickly rolled off of her and lay on the outside of the bed, facing away from her, hoping she hadn't felt him springing to life at their contact.

"I have an idea, Claude," said Aimée, wrapping around him from behind, making him once again aware of her breasts and supple body.

"Hmm?"

"Sleep here tonight, with me," she said. "Just like old times, no? Your cabin is the one next to theirs; in here they are much harder to hear."

It would be like old times. There had been countless nights they'd crawled into each other's beds as children, after a nightmare or merely for companionship. It would be just like old times, except for one thing; the very large and rigid thing between Claude's legs.

"Aimée, that is a very nice offer, but I've been sleeping so lightly. I'll be better by myself.

Saying that, Claude rose and walked to the door, keeping his back to her the entire time until he was able to slip around the edge of the door and peek back in with his erection concealed.

"Good day, Sister." he said.

"Good day, Brother. Sweet dreams."

Claude returned to his cabin, stripping off his clothes which were the only thing that made sleep bearable in the heat of below. He was distressed by the emotions rolling through him. She was his sister, his twin sister. This was Aimée, who had tortured him for years with her immature behavior and endless tantrums. This was Aimée, who was currently driving him crazy for very different reasons.

First his mother; and now his sister. What was wrong with him?! He stared at the ceiling of his cabin, trying to envision other girls he had obsessed about: Tatiana, the daughter of the French consul; Amadi, the maid with the huge breasts. Yes, that helped a little. Amadi and Tatiana together, this tack was working to distract him from thoughts of the women in the rooms next to his, but it was also only serving to make him more aroused.

He grabbed a book from his shelf. Plato's Middle Dialogues, perfect. He flipped through and started reading Menexenus. He could be a good student, but not when he was sleepy. This was just the thing for him. Blah blah, Pericles. Blah blah blah, Peloponnesian war... and before long he found his eyes growing heavy. He let the book fall onto his chest, turned the wick down on his lantern, and gratefully fell toward sleep -- praying he would sleep through whatever might happen and then...

"Oh Cheri!" moaned his mother's voice through the wall. "How much I've needed you. Come to me."

The moans began. His mother was not known for being quiet. His father was generally more reserved, at least until the end. His mother would always start with hushed tones, but as the passion overtook her she would grow increasingly louder. As well as their voices, there were their actions and tonight his parents didn't seem too interested in the bed. Soon after they started, they were right up against his wall somewhere, and somehow, someone's head was pounding against it.

Claude turned his lantern back up and sat, helpless, as the enthusiastic pursuits continued. If it were night, he could go on deck but now they were stuck in just these three cabins. He seriously reconsidered his sister's offer, but he was rock hard and couldn't risk brushing up against her with the new surge of emotions he'd felt. There was something in his mother's voice that was almost like a siren call, he didn't know how anyone could listen to those low-pitched moans alternating with the higher register without getting aroused. No, he was stuck here.

He tried Plato again, no luck. He leafed through other books but couldn't read more than a sentence without losing his concentration. He decided to give his cabin a thorough examination. This was a Council ship, designed for the sole purpose of transporting the Afflicted around the world with its secure, dark cabins safe from the sun or inspection, once locked.

He looked about the cabin and wondered how many people had been transported here and to where they had gone. He knew of one for sure, someone named Ojos. Ojos Paredes. Whoever it was had carved their name into the ceiling. Claude's education so far had included the obvious Latin and Greek, as well as French, English, and Italian. He'd had a smattering of Swedish and Spanish. Drawing on his Spanish, he tried to figure out if this person's name had met anything. Ojos... Ojos... what did that mean? He tried to dig back to his tutoring sessions. Eyes. That was it, eyes. What a strange name. Why would someone name their child 'eyes'? Now paredes, that sounded familiar, but he couldn't remember anything directly. He searched through his mind for similar terms in other languages. Nothing in French... Italian, there was 'pareti', which meant walls.

Eyes. Walls.

Claude jumped up, intrigued and gladdened to have something to distract him.

Eyes, walls. This must mean that there were eyes in the walls. So either someone might be watching him, or he could see out.

He began his search, feeling around the walls and the ceiling. He didn't have much luck at first, and then settled back to take a more analytical approach. On the forward wall, against his parents' cabin, was a painting of a sea captain on the deck of a ship, another ship in the background. On the other wall, the one against Aimée's was smaller portrait of a woman in an opulent red dress with a jewel necklace.

Could it be that simple, Claude wondered? Could it be that juvenile? He crossed to the painting of the captain and touched the eyes. Yes! There was a seam there, a rectangle around each eye that was barely visible. He pushed on that part of the painting gently, but nothing happened. Examining the rest of the painting closely, he ran his fingers over the surface. There were no more rectangles, but when he reached the portholes depicted on the ship in the distance, they had circles around them. Pushing on one, he almost shouted in triumphal surprise as the rectangle over the portrait-captain's eyes flipped open. He examined the opening and saw the painting was actually canvas affixed to wood. Putting his eye up to it, he jerked back in fear as he saw the scene of sailors working on deck. He was half-certain his eyes would be burned by the bright sunlight.

Yet, even though it was day, it seemed darker. He realized that the makers of this viewing system must have used smoked glass... so this was surely an invention of an Afflicted. He watched the sailors a little longer and then pushed the next porthole in line. The view switched and looked on the galley. It was an odd sensation to be looking at the daylight world. He watched in fascination as the cook and his assistant prepared breakfast. All of his life, his only view of the world had been in the evening. He had never seen regular workaday life. He watched, spellbound, trying to decipher the words they were saying to each other. The next button led to the crew quarters. Some of the men were still waking up.

"Good morning Pete," Claude said, entertaining himself by guessing the words the sailors might be saying.

"Good morning Jimmy. How did you sleep? -- Not so good, Joules was snoring again. -- Oh that's too bad."

Palo's voice filtered through the wall and annoyed him somewhat, Palo was SO loud when he reached climax. His pleasured cries rose louder and louder, and as always tapered off very quickly into silence.

Claude was immensely enjoying his new distraction... distraction being the key word. He switched to another port, grateful that his father had climaxed and he would be able to concentrate on his viewing.

Next were the captain's quarters. The captain was poring over charts with his navigator, munching on a breakfast that had just arrived. Tiring of this, Claude found a view that he was sure would be one of his favorites. At first, it didn't seem like much. All he could see was the gray fabric of a sailor's shirt. Then the sailor moved out of the way and he realized this view was coming from the crow's nest. Somehow, the painting's brilliant designer had even found a way to run a line up through the main mast. Claude gasped at the beauty of the ocean when seen by day. Even though it was obscured by the smoked glass, it was still amazing in its detail. It was so unlike the views he'd seen, even on moonlit nights. He gazed here the longest of any so far, loving the infinite view of the waves.

Pulling himself away from the crow's nest view, he decided to get an accurate list of where each button led to. He tore out a piece of tracing paper from his notebook, and laid it over the top of the ship and roughly traced the outline of the ship and the portholes. Then he started quickly pushing them one-by-one, noting each.

1 -- Main Deck. 2 -- Galley, 3 -- Sleeping quarters, 4 -- Crow's Nest, 5 -- Stern, 6 -- Mother naked, 7 -- Livestock, 8...

6 -- Mother naked.

He went back to 6. He peered more closely at his parent's cabin which took some adjusting as it was more dimly lit with only lantern-light.

There was his mother, sitting on the edge of the larger bed in her cabin, naked, and brushing her hair. His father was in a post-sex coma, but not Frederique.

"Mon Dieu, she's beautiful," muttered Claude to himself. His mother was not modest and often walked around the house in her silks. Claude had even caught occasional glimpses of her dressing, but had either turned away or she had covered herself. He was riveted. Forget the jokes about older women and their sagging breasts, he knew his mother to be nearly six hundred years old. In all those years, two children and gravity had done nothing to affect the shape of the marvelous objects he was viewing surreptitiously. They were full, yes, and gravity played with them in wonderful ways as she moved, but they were no sagging dugs of an ancient crone. Claude had always thought Frederique was one of the most beautiful women in the world. But tonight, as with Aimée, he found his mind and body responding differently. Never before had he felt an inkling of desire toward his mother, but now he felt an animal attraction toward her and watched her with a new found hunger.

Unbidden, his hand found its way to his cock, which was ramrod stiff.

Forget she's your mother, he thought to himself. Think of her as a woman, a perfect woman, nothing more.

He tried his best to convince himself there was nothing different from this and times he had fantasized over the nude portraits in their house, or the occasions he had masturbated watching through the windows of the local whorehouse when he was in his early teens.

There were differences though. First, none of his other fantasy-subjects had looked anything like this. Second, this was his mother. Third, and worst of all was this destitute feeling in his soul which was calling...shouting for him to do something to fill it. Something sexual seemed what was most needed.

He pumped his cock harder and harder, watching his mother's amazing body through the viewer. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was putting on a show just for him. She stood and walked closer to where his viewer led to. He saw her peering right at him, and nearly panicked before he realized his view must come from behind the mirror in her room. She sat in front of the mirror and brushed her hair some more, this closer view was even more stimulating to Claude as he had an even better view of the details of her exquisite figure. The perfection went far beyond her breasts, which were faultless. It was everything. Her sultry green eyes and the way they glowed in her face. Her chin which led to her slender neck... Her skin was inevitably pale, given her lack of sunlight, but it was not stark white.

He watched her reach down and pick up a glass bottle full of pinkish fluid.

"Oh no mother," he muttered softly. "Don't do this to me."

Frederique loved her perfumes and she loved her oils. Their father often teased her about the expenses, and she teased back that he would give up buying her clothes before he would give up what she did to keep her skin soft for him.

That was just what she was doing now. Even though there was a wall between them, he could almost smell the aroma coming from the bottle when she opened it. It was her regular oil, a pure olive-oil base with a mixture of rose and orange essences mixed in.

He felt himself nearly erupt as she poured a dollop into her palm and spilled it down her neck. He slowed his stroking, wanting to extend this torturous pleasure as long as possible, feeding the needs of his body as well as he could.

He gasped as she began to rub the oil sensuously over her breasts and then spread it further, down her arms, on her neck, across her stomach. All of it was exciting him more and more.

Her hands returned to her breasts, and she began to circle her nipples slowly.

My god, thought Claude. Could she be?

She was. He watched her eyes close with pleasure as she circled her nipples with her slick finger then pinch each one in turn. Truly aroused, she kept one hand on her breast, massaging it, and then rubbed her neck with the other, tipping her head back in joy. The opening of the oil bottle was large, and she dipped two fingers into it.

Oh please, say you will.

She did. Claude stroked his full length slowly... keeping himself just on the edge as he watched her drop her oily hand to below her waist. He only wished he could see there, but the view didn't extend that far down.

Still, it was her face that was the most exciting thing to watch as she continued pleasuring herself. Claude nearly went again, but stopped, grasping the base of his shaft desperately. He was able to stop it, barely. A few drops of cum dripped out and dripped downward. He waited, hovering there on the edge as he watched Frederique's own passion increase. Once settled enough, he felt his shaft, grateful for the drops that had escaped... which he now used as lubricant. Frederique's joy was increasing, he watched her breathing quicken and her slow swaying increase in speed. He stroked faster but sadly noticed the cum-lotion dissipating, making him return to straight strokes. He knew he was approaching the point of no return and smiled as he saw his mother doing the same. Her body jerked with the first moment of climax, and he viewed that as his sign to release as well. The pleasure was immense as he and his mother (her unknowingly) came together. The first spray from his cock was immense. The next was almost as large and he sensed the hunger within him being fed. He kept stroking, and with each smaller spurt a disturbing malaise grew. He felt his body subside into a deep sadness. It was as though his body was angry at not having been satisfied in the appropriate way. Claude watched his mother's joy subside and envied her. The content grin on her face glowed as she breathed a happy sigh of conclusion. He pulled away from the view hole, cock in hand. Spent... but not satisfied.

"Shit!" Claude whispered and looked down at the damage he had wrought. Cum was dripping down the wall, but even worse, he had drizzled his cum all over his diagram of the painting, ruining it.

He wadded it up angrily, tossing it into the corner and then grabbing a cloth to clean up the rest.

There was almost a sense of anger inside him. It was like his body was punishing him for not delivering what it needed.

It's not my fault, thought Claude, irrationally trying to communicate with his body. Be quiet, let me sleep.

Of course it wouldn't. He tossed and turned for a while and then pulled out another sheet of paper and took more time, making an accurate diagram of the painting and discovering two more locations.

He went to bed and touched his cock... which was growing erect once more.

"What do you want?" he whispered, staring down at the object in question. "What more can I do?"

He knew what he could do, and almost clinically he stroked himself once more. It was not all that pleasurable, thought it did feed a small part of his longing. His greatest hope was this orgasm might let him get to sleep in the aftermath. His masturbation this time was no pleasure endeavor, though he did get some joy from the images of Frederique's stunning body which fueled his one-minded stroking. Sooner than he thought, he felt the fluid stirring deep within him and gasped with the usual bittersweet joy as the white goo shot forth onto his stomach. He fell asleep like that, cum spilled across his stomach and pooled in his belly button, hand on his cock.