Keeping a secret

*** This is my first story I have ever written so I hope you all enjoy it. I am continuing to work on it and there will be more chapters to come. Please rate the story as I would love to know what you all think.***

“So Mr. Davis, how hard do you think it is to keep a secret?” I asked, pen poised as if ready to start a race. “Keep a secret?” he repeated in an amused voice. “Oh not hard at all, really. Scientists keep secrets all the time, companies too. Just that they always break them, don’t they?” Leaning forward, he winked and me and whispered conspiratorially, “You people are great in ‘helping’ them do that” My team laughed, nervously. How right he is.
I remember Nell once told me, “So long as you are exposed to public, the word ‘secret’ loses its meaning.” How true it was. The tabloids are infamous for making every secret known to everybody, and I am one of them, sometimes even creating some news of my own.
Me and team wheedled, tricked, bribed, made guesses, hinted…anything to make sure the victim told us all the secrets he possesses, knowingly or unknowingly. They always fall for it. Who said no one fell for the old tricks anymore? Classics still work the best. Sometimes we went over the line, a little.

We weren’t over the line, I suppose. Well, not too far over. We were, after all, the best in the country. Many things are liberalized for us. Sure, lawsuits here and there, but they are just mild entertainment. After all, what can you do to an immortal? Life imprisonment? Does that thing even apply for immortals?

Yeah, you heard me. My crew and I are immortals. We can’t die. We, who crave death like a little kid after sweets, cannot die. Forever. I, for one, have been walking this Earth since the First One, a slave. Designed for his whims, forced to do anything he wishes, for we were the First, and they was nowhere else to go.

I am what you mortals will call a vampwolf by birth. Yes, vampwolf. I am, however, not a filthy halfbreed. Do not associate me with them. I am one of the First, revered by many. Some of you call me Satan. Pathetic.

“Well,” Mr. Davis said briskly, leaning on his gradually reclining office chair. “What do you want from me today? How my wife gave birth? Whether it is the hair or the ear that came out first?” Nell gave a short bark of laughter, and the mood immediately became more relaxed. Eyes wide and innocent, she exclaimed “Monsieur, how can you think that of us! We, who is known to be extremely truthful and clean with our words!” Right. Truthful and clean. “We aren’t sly like those old fogies, we are one of the most honest in town!” Got to admit, Nell is good with words, even if no one will believe her. She is great with words, albeit sarcastic ones.

Eyebrows lifted in an exaggerated manner, Mr. Davis said doubtfully, “Really?” “Yeah!” all of us exclaimed, acting as innocent as possible, which is, in fact, just like the real thing. Everyone believed us at this point. Except for Mr. Davis that is. He is in fact the First. My master. The one who created me. Though he doesn’t know, he is immune to all the immortals’ charms, which is why he could see through all our ploys.

Did I introduce my crew to you yet? You all know Nell, of course. She is Actor. She has a natural ability to act, and eyesight of clothes and makeup for the look. She usually uses her ability to tempt Man to the dark side. Shrieking in laughter as they approach, the confused victim will be pushed over the edge into hell, never to come back. One cannot blame her, however, as it is her nature.

It is hard to think of Actor without thinking of Dark. Although strikingly similar in appearance, they are renowned arch enemies. One does not put Dark and The Actor in the same room without great reasons. Dark’s alias is Die. Cliché isn’t it. He is, actually, a dealer in magic, if it isn’t obvious. Shape shifting and illusions, mostly. Drives people over the edge it does.

Remember those little kids who are scared of clowns? They are very reasonable to be. The last member of our crew is The Clown, a.k.a. Darrell. No, I do not mean clowns with those white faces. Those are just pathetic imitations of the already overly proud Clown. He is the only one who has no dealings with Dark in shape shifting. His appearance is of an extremely kindly uncle, with the exception that his already large nose sometimes turns very red. He deals in tempting the children to Sin, spiraling them straight to us. Sometimes he if he finds them cute, he will just tease them, saving them from Sin, but leaving them nightmares for life.

We do, of course, have those pathetic excuses for living things with us. Oblivious of course. Humans. They only see what they want to see. Mr. Davis, no, Master is different. He is all-knowing. Supreme. He is the very specimen of perfection. Master’s name is Sin, but no one is to ever call him that. Except for me, when he lies groaning on top of me, and I moan helplessly, hair worn purposely long just for him. Even the very thought makes me hard.

Master is the First, the one who created this very world you live in. He created me, and created The Actor, Dark, The Clown…and God. It was a mistake. I told him after he lay lazily beside me on my bed sated, stroking my hair. His face turned black immediately, and he whipped me, leaving me trembling with desire, begging for his touch. He, however, did not satisfy me.

He chained me to my bed, and did not let me satisfy myself. Because he made me, and made sure I will stay hard until satisfied by him, I lay there, trembling, unable to move, with my cock on overdrive. I waited for him for a hundred years. I was going crazy, and has cried countless times. I had forgotten how it is to not be tortured by pleasurable pain in the lower regions. When he came back, in his naked glory at the door of the room, I came, screaming as I never did after the first time he took me.

I had offended him. I had did something that he had drilled me to never do: come when he did not allow me to. Even though I stay like a horny teenager all my immortal life, I was never to come without his permission. And I loved it. It turned me on. This time, he pierced my nipples, and played with feathers. I was soon to full arousal, about to come, and helplessly begging him, but he stayed silent and continued his torture.

Suddenly he flipped me over, and mounted my dry, I screamed, and I begged desperately for release, precum already dripping. My thighs trembled, and my shoulders and arms were tense. I moaned deeply as he licked my neck, my breath in short and rasp. He whispered his permission, his voice soft and sad. I groaned and screamed his name, tears appearing out of tightly squeezed eyes and came, spilling onto the bed which I had lain for a hundred years.

It was, however, the last time I saw Master. That day, he handed me his empire, his baby, and told me that God has rebelled against him. He was too ambitious, he admitted. He wanted someone who will openly defy him, but it was too much, and God had rebelled. Our people are now getting forced into Wall, for God has insolently created flimsy and ugly copies of Master’s people. Us. He was going to handle this himself, for He was the First, and he is going to reconsolidate his power by personally bringing him down.

Already, several of our people had turned around and betrayed us, becoming the revered angels of God. Pathetic. Just a pair of wings and they are so happy. They will not be allowed back when Master punishes God. I’ll make sure of it. Master...he is so great. He sacrificed himself, reformed himself as a human, killing his memory on the way. I caught it as it fell, and hold his memory in my heart everyday, waiting for the day when I can give it back to him. He reformed as Mr. Davis, and I stalked him everyday.

Suddenly he stared at me with those piercing green eyes I so loved, as if he knew what I was thinking about. I grinned as best as I could and gave an exaggerated cowboy wave, and left the room, trying to hide the tent that has appeared in my pants when he looked at me. Thankfully, he lifted the ‘gift’ of horniness slightly before he left. I could relieve myself...but only if the object of fantasy was him.

When is it time?

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