Neither were the blondes.
Nor Carlos.
My gaze constantly returned to the glass, searching for some sign that we existed. Aside from the door opening and then closing the five of us remained unreflected and absent from the mirrors – as though we had ceased to exist.
‘You,’ Carlos said, snapping his fingers and pointing at one blonde. ‘Undress her. I want her tied down and ready to suffer the wrath of the supreme hunter.’ He banged a fist against his chest, just in case she didn’t know which of them was playing that particular role.
To give him his dues, Carlos had dressed to play the part of a member of the legion of vampire hunters. The hooded robe he had donned to replace his towelling bathrobe was authentic enough to bear the crest of the legion of vampire hunters. The stylised LVH logo sat neatly over his right breast. Reminiscent of a grim reaper, he gestured arrogantly at the blondes as they scurried around the room to do his bidding.
My jeans and T were snatched away.
I had thought I was getting used to being naked in front of others but the disconcerting atmosphere of the playroom caused me to rethink that opinion.
Carlos appraised me hungrily.
His harem seemed equally interested in my bare body.
As I was laid on the wooden bed, its rough-hewn surface driving splinters into my back and buttocks, I began to wonder if I should have tried finding help from someone else. Dean remained an option – what else were boyfriends for if they couldn’t help in times of crisis? And I felt sure, if I gave myself the chance to think rationally about the problem, the names of additional friends would likely come to mind.
‘The legion of wampire hunters have been in existence since the time of the first wampire,’ Carlos said solemnly.
In the background I could hear the strains of a Gregorian chant. The choral music came from hidden speakers and I thought the sound was eerie and disconcerting and added to the unsettling mood. The fact that Carlos pronounced vampire as wampire also helped make the experience more foreign and, somehow, deeply disturbing.
‘The first wampire hunters lived as nomadic monks. They went from town to town and country to country, seeking out their prey. They tracked them down. They cleansed them. And then they destroyed them. They were good and holy men: devout believers and morally correct. The legion did good Christian work.’ He sighed and added, ‘Even though I am a proud wampire, I appreciate that the mortal society needs to take precautions against our kind.’ He made the declaration sound like a magnanimous gesture.
The blondes chose that moment to secure my wrists and ankles. The steel cuffs they used were securely attached to each corner of the wooden bed. They were ice cold against my flesh and bit sharply. I got the impression the bondage had been designed for someone taller than myself. With the cuffs fastened tight I was stretched to the point where my muscles ached from the tension and exertion. The position left me with no ability to cover or protect myself.
My breasts were exposed and accessible.
My legs were spread wide apart.
The split of my sex was visible to everyone in the room and a fresh flush of embarrassment turned my cheeks crimson as I realised this last fact. It helped that Carlos seemed more interested in the sound of his own voice but, already aware of his lecherous appetites, I didn’t think it would be long before he turned his attention toward my vulnerable body.
‘But the legion was inevitably corrupted,’ Carlos continued. ‘Is it not said that “Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely”?’
The music grew louder. The sound of monks chanting Latin verse, in tones that were almost melodic, vibrated from the mirrored walls of the room. The blondes began to circle the bed. Their hands stretched out from beneath the hooded cowls as they stroked and caressed my flesh. Icy fingers combed my hair and touched arms and legs. As they grew more daring, they reached for my throat, touched my torso and then my thighs. The robes had remained closed while they secured me but the simple cord fastenings grew loose as they repeatedly circled the bed. I caught a glimpse of naked skin through the shadows of their sackcloth cloaks and an occasional swell of bare breasts. The sight made my chest rise and I was stung by a tightening sensation in my nipples.
‘Some say the corruption came about because the legion was composed of mortal men,’ Carlos went on. He continued to dispense his potted history in the pompous tones of a university professor. ‘Despite their aspirations to be spiritually pure, the legion of wampire hunters possessed the weaknesses and failings of all mortals.’
The blondes fell on me as one.
Ripe, feminine lips engulfed my mouth. Chilly fingers smoothed their way over my stomach, up to my breasts and down to my thighs. A smooth, slick tongue slid against the stiff tip of one nipple. A nose nuzzled gently against the swatch of curls that covered my sex. The stimulation was sudden and overwhelming. The inner muscles of my pussy tightened and I held myself rigid.
I could smell the musk of the three women. The scent of their excitement was strong and intoxicating. Greedily, I drew deep breaths so I could savour their combined fragrances.
Carlos continued to talk, raising his voice so it was heard above the babble of the Gregorian chant and the clatter of my mounting arousal. ‘Others claim that the legion’s ranks were infiltrated by coarser elements – those who merely wished to exploit helpless flesh, regardless of whether its nature was mortal or wampire.’ He chuckled softly to himself, and said, ‘There is a third theory. The third theory suggests a wampire found his way into the legion, and used his position there to enjoy perverse cruelties that would have outraged the council of wampire elders.’ His voice was made broad by the smile on his lips. ‘I only mention that last point to show that there are even ridiculous conspiracy theories within the histories of the undead.’
I had stopped listening.
Fingers and lips teased my erect nipples. Delicate sparkles of raw pleasure erupted from the tips of my breasts. The blondes continued to crudely excite me, perpetually shifting places and repeatedly finding new ways to make my arousal reach new heights. As soon as one mouth had finished kissing my lips, it was replaced by another. The hands at my breasts varied their caresses from the tender touches of lovers to a series of punishing pinches. Between my legs warm mouths and inquisitive fingers met the flesh. The bondage made it impossible for me to pull away or exert my will over the events in any way. All I could do was accept their dominion over me and endure the divine torment.
‘And none of what I have said explains how the legion now perform their despicable tasks,’ Carlos intoned solemnly. ‘Forget their hierarchy: they are a collective with no ruling authority. Each member of the cult calls the other brother and no man is ranked higher than any other. Forget their directive: their official goal is only to rid the world of wampires. The only concern you have to worry about is how they abuse their captives.’
He snapped his fingers.
The blondes swept away from me.
The contrast was stark enough to make me moan with despair. I had been cresting a wave of euphoria as they assaulted me. The pleasure rising in my body had been magnificent and promised to release a burst of glorious satisfaction. And then they had moved out of my reach and I was left teetering on a brink of hateful frustration.
‘Capture, containment and purification!’ Carlos declared.
He stepped to the end of the bed and smiled down at me. His robe had fallen open to reveal an erection that was long and hard and pulsing. After the arousal that had been awoken by the blondes I no longer cared what he wanted to do to me: as long as it satisfied the avaricious need in my loins.
‘In this demonstration you have already been captured. This bondage shows how the legion contains their prey. You will now suffer the purification to understand how they complete the first phase of their torment.’
Nervous breath whistled in and out of my mouth. The sound was almost as loud as the toneless chant of the background music.
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The blondes shrugged the robes from their shoulders and I gasped at the sight. Before they had donned their cowls, they had worn a uniform of white cotton bra, pants and socks. With their pale skin and blonde flesh they had looked wholesome and arousing – but with a distinctively vanilla flavour.
Now they wore black leather.
The transformation was incredible.
The heels on their thigh length boots made each of the women appear taller. The leather bras and panties sat snugly against their ultra-pale flesh. They wore their hair pulled back, tight and slick against each scalp. Each woman looked like the most severe dominatrix. But, although the change of appearance was inspiring, my attention was snared by the fact that each woman now sported a thick black cock.
I remember Carlos telling the blondes to wear erections, but I hadn’t thought his instructions were being followed so literally. Viewing the three women as they stroked the strap-on dildos secured over their loins, I began to realise how my torment was going to progress. A snake of unease slithered inside my belly and I fretted that the ordeal might prove to be more demanding than I had anticipated.
‘It is not uncommon for the legion to have one wampire excite another,’ Carlos confided. ‘The way my harem have excited you is a ploy the legion often use to bring a captured wampire to a state of embarrassing desperation.’ He stepped to my side and stroked a finger against my cheek.
I wanted to flinch from his touch, reminding myself he was a vile and repulsive bastard who had demanded I suck his cock in exchange for help. Instead I turned to face his hand and took the finger between my lips. Sucking greedily on his flesh, tasting the salted flavour of his sweat, I stared up at him as my lips encircled the length of his finger.
‘Have you reached that level of degradation yet?’ he asked. ‘Are you now prepared to accept a torment that would have been unthinkable before you were fastened to this bed?’
His accent was too thick and I didn’t understand every word. His sentence structure bordered on incomprehensible. Because he delivered every statement with a suggestive intonation, I couldn’t be sure whether he was asking questions or simply making lewd remarks.
But I understood what he was now proposing.
Eagerly, I nodded.
Carlos grinned.
He tore the finger from my mouth and gestured to the blondes. ‘Begin the purification,’ he commanded. Lowering himself to his haunches, placing his mouth close to my ear, he whispered, ‘The full title for this stage is degradation and purification. It comes before the nameless torment, which immediately precedes the destruction of the wampire. I only mention this so you understand that my harem, because they are also wampires, will not be able to perform certain elements of the purification process.’
I had no idea what he was talking about.
And, although I wanted to know more about the ritual Mel would be enduring, I couldn’t break the mood of the moment by asking clumsy questions. It was sufficient to know that the blondes would be tormenting me: and I wanted to suffer that torment.
Carlos sniffed heavily. Again, I got the impression he was able to detect more than just the tang of my arousal and the scent of my nervous perspiration. His smile widened as he met my eyes and said, ‘You have already suffered the sting of holy water?’ It was not so much a question as a statement. ‘I can smell the way it broiled your flesh.’
I shivered from the memory.
He was referring to the ordeal I had met beneath Alan on the altar. But, while that had been an exciting experience – until its climax – my thoughts were occupied by the humiliation of my current situation. I snatched a ragged breath and fixed him with a cool glare. ‘The last few hours have provided a memorable introduction to vampirism,’ I allowed. ‘Does it matter that I’ve been burnt by holy water?’
He shrugged and stepped back. ‘It does not matter to me,’ he said calmly. ‘I just wanted you to know that my harem will now torment you as though you were enduring that process again.’
I glanced at the blondes and saw they now wielded whips. I didn’t know where they had found the weapons but I trembled at the idea of how they would use them. Unable to stop myself, I pulled at the cuffs circling my wrists. They were fixed firmly onto the wooden bed and there was no hope of dragging myself free.
The Gregorian chant turned to a roar that raged all around me.
The lights fluttered and grew dim.
Carlos slipped back into the shadows.
‘Degradation and purification,’ he muttered.
And then the first of the lashes descended. It bit bright across my abdomen, inspiring a hurt that was shocking. The pain was sharp and it brought with it the certain knowledge that greater agonies would follow and they would all be targeted far more accurately. I chugged breath and renewed my efforts to break free.
The crack of leather snapped through the air.
I screamed as another blazing weal erupted across my abdomen.
The blow was followed briskly by a second and then a third. The hateful giggle of the blondes suggested they were deriving great pleasure from my torture but that thought was only of secondary importance. I was busy trying to deal with the flares of searing pain they inflicted with every stripe of the whip.
I had a vague understanding of why Carlos had mentioned the holy water. The sensations of each whiplash were horribly similar to the suffering I had experienced on St Germain’s altar. The leather whips bit my breasts, thighs and stomach, scalding me and leaving a vicious wire of hurt with every cruel blow. The only difference between the pain of the holy water and the punishment of the whips seemed to be that this ordeal was slightly more exciting.
The blondes slowly circled the bed. They moved with a stately choreography as though they were anxious not to get their whips tangled. They continued to strike down at me, shocking me and exciting me with every brutal, biting lash. I wasn’t sure how much time Carlos had allowed for them to practise this routine but I didn’t think there was one shot hurled that didn’t find its target.
‘This is what a wampire endures during the degradation and purification,’ Carlos laughed. ‘The pain. The torment. The helpless agony. This part of the process can go on for hours and hours and hours.’
I moaned.
If it had only been pain, it would have still been unbearable. But because I was also aroused, and unable to satisfy myself, the agony reached a new level of intolerable. I had been taken to a need for orgasm. My body ached with the frustration of a swollen climax. And every sharp explosion of anguish pushed me closer to a blistering release.
But the cruelty of the whips stopped that moment from happening.
And as the giggling blondes continued to circle I realised I would be left to simply writhe against my bondage and groan as they held me on the brink.
‘How long could you stand this level of purification, Tessa?’ Carlos taunted. He stood on the facing wall. He had a clear view of my exposed body, spread legs and gaping sex. Yet his voice came to me as though he had whispered the words into the cup of my ear. ‘Could you bear this agony if it was the heat of holy water? Or the slicing agony of the crucifix?’
I gasped but had no way of properly responding.
He snapped his fingers.
The blondes stopped and stepped back.
The Gregorian chant ended so swiftly it left thick silence in its wake.
And then the lights went out. Fear took over from where the pain had been. The overwhelming blackness was so sudden and total it left no chance to see anything.
‘This is the nameless torment,’ Carlos announced.
I heard a flurry of movement but couldn’t see anything in the darkness. A body slid on top of mine and the pressure of a large length pushed at my pussy lips. After the sensory overload of the previous few minutes, the darkness and silence left me blind and deaf. I couldn’t tell if the figure above was male or female. Because the blondes wore strap-on erections I didn’t know if one of them now threate
ned me with penetration, or if Carlos was on the verge of plundering my sex with his enormous tool.
Not that I cared. They had excited me to the point of desperation and I was prepared to submit to anything if it promised the satisfaction I craved.
‘Do you want to suffer the nameless torment?’ Carlos whispered.
I still couldn’t tell if he was on the other side of the room, or if it was his body poised over mine with the erection nuzzling my pussy lips.
Sweat soaked my skin. The memory of every agony I had just endured remained fresh enough to burn brightly. I parted my lips, trying to gasp a response to his question, but I was momentarily silenced as a tongue slipped into my mouth.
The kiss was deep and inquisitive.
I understood it was a symbolic precursor of the other penetrations I would endure and that thought was explosive enough to make me buck my hips up to meet the vampire that rested on top of me.
My need for satisfaction had become a desperate craving.
‘Do you want to suffer the nameless torment?’
‘Don’t tease me,’ I hissed. ‘Just do it.’ Impatience made me spit the words. The erection at my sex bruised the labia but it refused to push inside. The creature resting above me held the shaft at the perfect place to be tantalising. The bondage prevented me from pushing myself onto the length. ‘Just do it,’ I demanded.
The erection thrust between my legs.
Since Mel and I had started drinking vodka the previous night, I realised there had been something my body needed. My introduction to lesbianism had been a revelation. Mel’s vampiric kiss, and then the ordeal in the church, had taught me there were pleasures to be had from extremes of pain and torture. Even the morning I had spent with Carlos and his subordinates had shown me that I didn’t know everything there was to know about depraved sex and masochistic satisfaction. But throughout all those experiences I had needed a cock between my legs.
The sensation was sublime.
I was too caught up in the moment to know if I was being plundered by the rubber shaft of a strap-on erection, or Carlos’s thick and fleshy horn. With no illumination, and my senses set solely on the length that filled my hole, I couldn’t work out if the figure above me was male or female. I only knew I was being ridden vigorously and passionately.
Once Bitten Page 9
