The body they lay before him is limp, head swinging, eyes closed. He doesn't fail to notice the gray tint creeping into the lips. He smiles, kneeling to crawl over to his present.
They've dressed her in a simple halter top and panties and he resists the urge to reach under the shirt to fondle her generous breasts.
"You have my thanks." He murmurs, touching both sides of her throat to feel for a pulse. He is never sure if they'll bring the treats with their hearts still beating or not.
A faint tapping meets his exploratory fingers. It is quick and impossibly soft, as if her heart was whispering to him. He licks his own lips before placing them delicately upon hers. They do not kiss him back, nor does the breath she should be exhaling tickle his mouth. He leans away, fixing his eyes on her chest. And he waits. But her belly does not move, her ribs do not expand to accommodate the life-giving oxygen she needs.
Feeling generous, he seals his lips back onto hers and breathes fully from his own lungs into hers. The rise of her breasts brings her nipples brushing against his ribs. He shares his air with her a few times more, planting one hand firmly over the left side of her ribs to feel the slogging beat of her heart. He is sure she was dying. It makes him hard.
Pulling away, he adjusts his hand over the middle of her chest and pushs down lazily. Her chest caves under his pressure and he can feel how he has trapped her already struggling heart between his hand and her spine. He holds the pressure for a second, two, before releasing. He feel how her heart skips, stops for a moment, then speeds up once it is given back its space.
He compresses her chest again, a little quicker now, a little harder now. He tries to match his pace to his own pulse, wanting to bring his prize to life. He breathes for her again, a series of short, shallow bursts to hyperventilate her. This makes him smile as he feels how her heartbeat speeds up in response, faster but oh so much softer. He almost has to dig his fingers into the spaces between her ribs just to feel the faltering pulse.
He peels back an eyelid, curious about his guest. They are rolled back, but he can see some of the color peeking around the massive black of her pupil. 'She's drugged', he muses. Suddenly, her chest spasms under his hand. He raises an eyebrow, amused. Her sternum bows inward as if an invisible hand pushed down on it. Her ribs flare and her full lips part ever so slightly. He thinks to himself that she is finally breathing on her own, but the way she gasps is odd. He turns to those watching, his advisors, his chamberlain, and some key military officers. They stand nearby, some flushed from arousal, others unamused.
"What is happening to her?" He asks.
It is a general that answers, a tall, well built man with silver at his temples.
"Agonal gasps." He replies. The lord smiles again, ponders the noise his prey is making, and gestures to the general. At the beckoning, the larger man steps forward and kneels, unable to keep his eyes from darting to the woman's form as she dies right before them.
The lord crawls again, this time to bring his face into the crook of his general's neck, nuzzling the rapid pulse there. He kisses the man before him, fingers drifting down the front of his torso down to his groin, where he can feel the hardening peak there. Feeling himself growing ever more aroused, he sits himself back on his pile of pillows and waves his hand dismissively at the girl.
"I beg your pardon, my lord?" The general asks, uncertain.
"I want to watch you resuscitate her, General. Consider it your gift to me."
"As you wish." With that, he sets to work.
He settles himself beside the girl, making sure to face his lord, and he lifts her soft chin, pinches her freckled nose, and gives her a full breath, silver eyes flicking to watch her chest rise. Satisfied, he checks her pulse at the throat and at the junction of her thigh and pelvis. He waits, steely gaze on her mouth as she gasps again. When he finds nothing, he begins his task in earnest. He sets the heel of one hand into her breastbone and is about to place the other atop it, when he realizes how much bigger than her he is. Training in the back of his mind goes off, as well as warnings, and he decides against the action. Instead, the general begins pumping her chest with the one hand and uses the other to keep her chin raised, hoping to keep her airway open.
The compressions he delivers are heavy, demanding. He crushes her chest beneath him, moving the blood through her heart and to her brain. The lovely lips, now gaining a blue tint, release little wheezes as he forces what little air is in her lungs to escape. He breathes for her again, tasting the bitter drug on her tongue. He knows why they are drugged, knows it's better for her to be unaware of what's happening.
Oh, but she is aware. They didn't know this, but the poor girl can feel everything being done to her. She can feel and hear everything. She wants to respond to the lazy kisses. She wants to moan, cry, scream, at the pressure on her chest, cutting off her heart's ability to fill properly.
She is painfully aware of the man driving himself onto her, his hand a hammer pounding her sternum, his mouth a hot searing brand that clears her head if for only a moment with his breath. He is pumping her heart for her, doing its job. She can feel the organ quivering in her chest in the space between the push and release of his compressions. 'Breathe!' She urges herself and, as if he heard her, the man is bent over her again, exhaling into her his smoke tinged air. It fills her up, hot and bright and she tried to gulp at it, to draw more of him into her starving body. But her chest falls uselessly when he pulls away. She hears him speaking to her, close to her face.
"You have to take a breath, girl." He whispers.
"Breathe for me." His air is in her again and she tried to obey him but there is lead in her lungs.
The lord watches his general pound away at his treasure's body, tightly muscled arm locked and stacked under his shoulder. There's sweat beading on his brow and he can see his lips move as he counts under his breath. The lord slinks forward to press one finger under her ribs, avoiding the forceful movement of the officer. He relishes the way her bones bend. He glances at the general as he gives another breath to the girl and he uses the opportunity to place his own palm over her heart. Her chest lifts as she is breathed into and as her chest falls, the lord feels the first hesitant tap of her returning heartbeat.
It is so weak he almost thinks he imagined it. But he waits and touches his other hand to her wrist. Sure enough. Taptap...tap. He grins and stops the general as he moves for more compressions. He takes the man's much larger hand and places it on the gift's breast, instead, making him knead at it as she takes shuddering breath.
"You did so well, General. I like watching you work so hard. You deserve a reward." The lord kisses the general. The older man returns the gesture tentatively but the lord sees that his hand is still resting on the girl's shallowly moving chest.
"Take her if you want her."
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