For the rest of the night and all through the next day he filled the whores' entrances with his flesh and seed, as many times as he desired, in as many ways as he desired. The girl had proved somewhat willing, at least in a professional way, at first, but she had become less welcoming of his attentions as the hours wore on. Not that he cared one whit, she was a whore first and foremost, her flesh bought and paid for, and secondly, he was wamphyri, and thus superior to her in the natural order of creatures. His wants and needs were to be considered before hers in all cases, and should he desire to sup from her of the blood that is the life? Well then he would and give no further thought of it than a passing command to his metamorphic flesh to feed from the whore.
But he restrained from this, instead merely expanding and lengthening to fill the girls" orifices to their maximum extent, despite her initial hoarse denials and pleas not to. Eventually he wore the whore out, but that did not stop him from continuing to mile her holes for his pleasure, until as evening approached, he finally felt somewhat satiat withdrew from the unconscious girl, his seed like foam on all her openings as she sprawled lewdly, legs and arms akimbo, atop Baelish's bed.
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He summoned the whoremonger with his mind, the man coming quickly as was required. He asked for a bath to be drawn for him and for food to be prepared, then he would talk with his new thrall and see what was what.
After soaking for a while, he got up out of the bath, the whore house having a section devoted to bathing, and he returned to Baelish's quarters, now his quarters. The unconscious whore was gone, and the sheets had been changed, and a repast was laid out for him at a table.
Outside night had fallen fully and he could hear the business of the brothel dully through the walls, if he wanted to, he could have bent his hearing to listen in, but he no need or want to.
Baelish was present but he ignored the whoremonger and sat down to eat, selecting what looked like small roasted game birds to start with. It was a common misconception that those of the wamphyri did not eat of common fare, and while that was not true, neither was it completely false either.
As a wamphyri he did not need to eat ordinary food and drink, he could survive quite happily on blood alone, with sometimes the flesh of his meals as an added treat. But were he to solely subsist on this sanguineous diet his features would very soon cease to be human looking at all, the true nature of what he was would come to the fore in his flesh. His face would twist to permanently wear the terrible visage of the wamphyri, his flesh would take on a grey, leaden, slug like hue, and there would be no way he could pass through the mass of humanity. unnoticed and unremarked upon, well except for his great height maybe.
If he wanted to retain something of the features of a man, he needed to feed that of him which remained human, which though not fully human in truth, could at least still mimic the contours, shapes, and coloring of a man. And thus, he ate food that was barely appetizing to
him, and for which he had little desire, so as to strengthen his disguise, so that he may walk among his prey easier, and so that they would not flee in terror from him, nor come after him with fire, the stake and the sword to put him down for good.
And when he wore the skin of a man, he was much less vulnerable to the hated rays of the sun, he could even stand to be out under its baleful glare, properly clothed and protected of course. In his wamphyric state he would be reduced to a puddle of boiling, rotting pus within and few minuets by direct sunlight.
And so, he ate for the sake of his disguise and his continued ability to exist among men, and women, for he was ever prey to vanity, and he often wore the visage of a handsome man, the more easily to charm the ladies. And charm them he did, down the centuries he had dined well from the foolishness of females that dropped their guard when confronted by a tall, handsome stranger. And not just dined either, no for bloodlust was only one of the many lusts that the wamphyri were prey to, and which they always strove to indulge to the fullest.
Of course, the corollary to indulging in the endless lusts of the wamphyri was that to become too prominent, to draw too much attention to oneself and to run the risk of being discovered as a vampire and hunted to destruction, for men did not take too kindly to his kind he had come to know to his cost.
But here, where there appeared to be no legends of creatures such as him, and where magic suffused the very air it seemed, and where his powers had blossomed? Well now, was that not another thing altogether?
Eating and drinking until he decided he had enough, he gestured for the plates to be removed, Baelish calling for a servant to remove everything, except for a carafe of wine and a goblet for him to drink from.
Once they were alone, he simply said "speak Baelish, tell me of the things I want to know, and of the things that I might want to know."
And so, the whoremonger told him, every now and then he would interrupt and ask a question or instruct Baelish to clarify a point he had raised. For several hours he questioned Baelish and his mind coldly calculated his plans, long ago first hatched in faraway Volantis, and he knew that the power he desired, that he lusted after, was closer here in this strange land than ever before.
And he knew that all he needed was the will to take what he wanted, and that the wamphyri had never, ever lacked for will.