by Kitty Thomas
The gag comes out, and a wrist is in front of my mouth. I drink like the good girl I am, while I lie here still exposed, knowing I’m watched by a hundred glowing eyes.
When he pulls his wrist away, he doesn’t gag me again. I don’t say anything. I don’t scream or cry or beg or accuse. I just lie there, trying to absorb what’s just happened. Through much of it I felt somehow disconnected. I’m not sure what that means. Has he broken me beyond repair already? Is it the music that made me pliant when we started?
The earplugs come out and that music lulls me out of questioning, back to a place where I accept and obey without even a stray mutinous thought. I want to somehow crawl inside Christian’s soul and sleep there forever. The blindfold comes off, the shackles are undone. The vibrations cease. The only thing left vibrating is me. I’m shaking, and I didn’t realize it. I’m too spent to realize much right now.
Christian gathers me in his arms and carries me through the crowd. Someone is following behind us with my clothes. He takes me into a back office with a couch.
“Just put her clothes on that chair,” he says.
“Yes, Sir.” The vampire leaves the clothing and stares at me, hunger plain on his face. I wonder if he’s one of the vampires who touched or whipped or licked some part of me. I wonder if he held the dildo that was thrust inside me, or the anal toy. But I’ll never know, and I’m too embarrassed to ask Christian.
Christian sits on the couch and pulls me into his arms. He cradles me like a small child, rocking me, his fingers combing through my hair. He trails light kisses along my collarbone.
“How do you feel, pet?”
I believe he really cares. I cry again because I’m desperate for him to. Less than forty-eight hours has passed since he took me away from my life, and yet it seems as if that other life never existed, like it was nothing more than a hazy dream. I want to stay awake here with Christian. I want him to never let me go. Is it possible that only yesterday I tried to escape? Who was that stupid girl? Who is this stupid girl?
“I don’t know.” I’m not sure if I’m high or numb or something in between or different altogether. I’m scared by my lack of repulsion. Except for brief fear, I didn’t react as I feel I should have since I wasn’t given any choices. I’m afraid of myself, but I don’t know how to tell Christian that. I don’t know how to tell him that I am scarier than he will ever be. I don’t think he’d like that much.
He seems to accept the answer I give without a need to pry or demand more, for which I’m grateful. “You pleased me very much. You’re such a good girl, Juliette. I knew you would be. I knew you were worth waiting for.”
He holds me for a small eternity, and I know I’ll do anything, allow him to debase me in any way just to get to this private, intimate moment where I feel I’m the most important thing in his world.
He shifts me onto the leather couch and stands to retrieve my clothing. He hands them to me, and I dress. Then he takes my hand and leads me out of the club.
Outside, away from the thrumming music, I’m no less confused by my reactions. When he says we’ll return to the club many more times, I can’t deny the way my cunt clenches in excited anticipation or the way my pulse speeds. I feel I’m in an endless fall with nothing to hold onto but the air.
The ride home is silent. Just as the night before, we get home only a little while before the sunrise. When we reach my room, he looks at me for a long time with something like pride. I’m somewhat ashamed that I eat that up. He embraces me once more and whispers “Sleep well, my pet,” before locking me in and going down the hall to his room.
I fall into bed, exhausted, my hand slipping between my thighs as I replay the night’s events to yet another orgasm. I can’t believe how greedy I am to seek more after all I’ve already had. The release is somehow lackluster, less sharp and fulfilling. I can’t reach my highest pleasure alone. Only Christian can take me there.
***
Weeks pass and I stop questioning what happens at the club, the way they use and fuck me. The way I can’t see or hear or speak, only feel.
At the regular club, Christian said he wouldn’t share me, but obviously at this other club he does. I’m not sure what the difference is or what shifted in such a short time. I would still be upset if he shared me outside that club, but inside it, we’re swept away in a dream world where the rules are different and nothing that happens seems to count. I wonder if the music alters him as it alters me. Maybe we’re all drugged on an energy in the air that makes us prone to orgy. I wonder if it’s all an illusion and that’s why it feels as if none of it is of any consequence. Could it all be a mind fuck and nothing more? Can he get inside my head like that, and I just don’t know it?
If a shrink were watching all this, she’d might have many things to say about what’s normal or abnormal, but I can’t be bothered to care. Fuck the shrinks of the world and their safe little opinions cloaked in their sterile offices with yellow legal pads and pens. Fuck them.
A part of me feels above all that human shit. I’ve stopped identifying as a human. I don’t see myself as sub-human or as a vampire, but I’m different in ways that make old classifications and understandings of life seem trite and useless. Everything I knew about existence is wrong, and I have no new information to fill in the gaps. Only my captor can cushion that blow and insulate me from the pain of it.
Every night when Christian comes to me, our first joining of the night, hurts. It’s the one constant that has been with us since the beginning, the one comfort that I haven’t morphed into something so different I no longer exist.
He makes me bleed, fucks me, then licks the blood from my thighs. He always drinks from me and then feeds me his blood later in the night. He never feeds after he’s given me his blood. At least not from me. It’s a ritual you could set your clock to. After several weeks of this I work up the nerve to bring the subject up again. All this blood I’m consuming.
I know Christian says it won’t make me into a vampire, but I feel more and more like one every day. I don’t have the super strength or speed and I don’t think I’m evil, but all my senses are heightened and my night vision has improved. I also get tired when the sun comes up, but that could just be because he’s got me on a forced graveyard shift. I just want him to give me a few days without blood every now and then. I feel like I’m losing something of myself and it’s scaring me.
“Master?”
He looks up from my throat, his fangs still stained with my blood.
Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted during his dinner. It might not be the best way to get him to see reason, but I’m not going to get the nerve to bring this up again. I just know it. He’s been decent to me, all things considered, and I’m afraid of breaking that spell. But I can’t seem to let this issue go.
“Do you just give me your blood every night because of the virgin thing? Would I not heal back if you waited a day or two?”
“No. I have to give you blood within the same night. And I’ve already told you, I enjoy deflowering you every night.”
“But it hurts.” The things that happen in the club hurt, too. But it’s not the same, I’m so drugged on pleasure and acceptance there that it’s different.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I enjoy that, too. Perhaps even more than your exquisite taste. Be glad it is sating me for now. Soon things will escalate.”
I don’t have time to ask him what he means by that—isn’t what happens at the club enough? But I think I know. I’m sure I know. He’s a sadist.
He continues, “But I would feed you my blood nightly anyway, even if it wouldn’t make you a virgin again.”
I’m afraid to keep questioning him, but he can see it in my eyes anyway.
He sighs. “Juliette, some things are for your own good. I am not honorable, but I do take care of my property. I give you blood for more reasons than keeping you strong and pure.”
“What other reasons?”
“Have you not noticed you’
re more awake at night and naturally go to sleep during the day like me?”
“Yeah, but that’s just because you keep me up all night. Anyone would be tired.”
Christian shakes his head. “You are a creature of daylight. I’m a creature of darkness. Humans need the light and the day. They need the sun on their face and they need to be up with the sun and in bed at night. Otherwise, over time their health will suffer. Not every vampire gives his pet his blood every night. Some wait until the human is too weak for the vampire to drink from them. Some forget to feed their pets altogether and let them die. Some keep a harem and feed a little from each of them without returning the favor. My blood doesn’t make you a vampire, but it does make you nocturnal. It allows you optimal vitality while also allowing you to live in my world. In these matters I have far greater wisdom than you, and I expect you to defer to that wisdom in future. If you bring it up again, you will be punished.”
I stare at him hard, trying to figure out why it’s so important to him that I stay so healthy and overall comfortable. I want so deeply to believe he has feelings for me. I know he’s not human, but wasn’t he once? Isn’t there a kernel of anything from before left? Surely he must care a little with how well he takes care of me.
Yes, there is pain in our relationship, but I know it’s coming. I’m ready now for the sharp agony when he first takes me, and the sting of his bite. Both types of torment transform into pure pleasure each time. The bad part doesn’t last. And then there is the club, which I’ve put in a separate compartment.
It’s gotten to the point where I associate the feelings together even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s become Pavlovian.
And most of the time, he’s in control—especially earlier in the night and after he’s had a little of my blood. It’s only sometimes that I start to see the hint of his true darkness seeping around the edges. Basic and quick obedience has kept his anger at bay, but I know it’s lurking and waiting, preparing to wrap around me and suck me under.
“Juliette, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master. I won’t bring it up again.” And I won’t. I’ve beaten that horse to death already and it’s time for me to let it go and drink when he says drink. Questioning him isn’t good for my well-being. He’s right. He’s making me more comfortable, healthier. It’s another gift, and I know how he feels about ingratitude toward gifts. I don’t need that lesson repeated.
“Do you love me?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. My hand flies to my lips as if I can put the genie back in the bottle, but I know I can’t. It’s too late. The words are already out there, hanging between us like a thick, dark fog.
His eyes widen, and I inwardly groan. I’m so stupid. Such a child. He’s told me he’s not noble and good, that this isn’t some fairy-tale, and yet my mind still seeks to turn it into one. But he’s not laughing at me, and he hasn’t said anything cruel. Yet.
“Oh, Juliette.” He sounds sad when he says it.
What does that mean? I want to rewind back just a couple of minutes and not ask. Please, whatever higher power may be out there, let me have this one boon. Just a minor time travel. It’ll hardly be a blip. I can’t stand this awkwardness. I feel like such an immature child for asking. I wait for him to say something awful or to taunt me, but he doesn’t.
He’s silent for a long while then he says, “You are special to me. I hold you in higher regard than any other human, though that isn’t saying much. I don’t wish harm to come to you, but I know it will. The longer you’re with me, the higher the odds rise in that direction. I don’t think the capability to love is still with me, but I hold out hope I won’t destroy you. Even so, your pain still gives me pleasure, more than the pain of anyone else because you are you. I waited for you so long, got to know you well before I took you. I think it has made some difference. I’m just not sure if the difference is enough or if it puts you in more danger. Already I can feel the need to take you to the dungeon. There are so many things I fantasize about doing to you, things which will hurt. So, even if I did love you, it doesn’t make you safer with me. The only thing you’re safe from is everyone and everything else. I can protect you from literally anything but myself. Pray that I don’t love you, Juliette. I’m scared of what will happen to you if I do.”
My breath has gone still and I have to concentrate to get it going again. A single tear slips down my cheek, and I don’t notice it until it drifts into the corner of my mouth and I taste the salt.
He pulls me closer and strokes my hair. “Don’t cry, pet. I’m only being honest with you. You asked.”
Can he be honest? Is he capable of honesty? If he’s lying, would he even know or is he too well-practiced in the art?
A part of me is elated he might feel something real for me, that I’m not just a toy he amuses himself with, but there was a warning in his tone. It makes me wonder if I should try to be less appealing and less acquiescent, anything to minimize the affection he seems to have developed. Obsession masquerading as love. If he loved me, he couldn’t, wouldn’t harm me.
“I don’t think it’s love,” I finally say.
“I know you don’t. And I didn’t say it was, either. But remember, just because I want to hurt you more doesn’t mean you know my mind more than I do. You don’t. Our natures are different. How would you know what love looks like on a vampire when all you’ve got is a human measuring stick?”
I don’t respond to that because it feels like we’re getting into dangerous territory, skirting around the truth of his nature and how it repulses me on a soul-deep level. His temper might erupt. I’ve managed to keep it at bay since that first day when I thought I would die next to the white phone. I still don’t know if that phone is just for show or if it has a real dial tone that leads out into the real world, or if there is a real world anymore.
“Don’t worry,” he says, “I want you alive more than I’ve ever wanted the same with regard to any other pet. No matter how much pain I cause you, I’m highly motivated to keep you breathing. That might work in your favor if I manage the self-control.”
***
Another week passes. Routine has set in. I’ve gotten comfortable. That is my first mistake. We go nightly to the club and occasionally to his other properties in the district. I’m no more fond of Nadine, but at least I don’t feel like she’ll eat me when Christian isn’t looking. His other friends haven’t been back, and other vampires in general seem to give me a wide birth. They know who I am and who I’m with. It makes them think twice. Except at the other club, where I still don’t know who touches me.
I would be lying if I said I didn’t get a charge out of that, that all these powerful vampires surrounding me at all hours of the night will never lay a finger on me or disrupt a hair on my head without permission because Christian would unleash his fury.
Tonight, things feel different. I’ve gotten used to sensory deprivation here as part of the routine. Taking the hypnotic music away from me, taking everything away from me and forcing me to just surrender and feel has deepened my connection to Christian in ways I can’t properly express. It has increased my reliance on him more than I thought possible and heightened every feeling of devotion I have toward him.
I no longer question my loyalty or my willingness to please him. The club is pure sensation. No thinking or rationalizing. No fighting or fear. When the fear starts, Christian puts a hand on me to steady me, that same feeling from that night so long ago in my kitchen, only the grown-up version.
I’m surprised when he doesn’t strap me to the bench he normally straps me to. Instead he leads me to a different kind of bench with stirrups. He doesn’t want me on my stomach, he wants me on my back with my legs spread wide. The blindfold hasn’t come out yet, but the erotic pull of the music makes me compliant.
Christian straps me down and then walks around me a few times, stroking his chin, deep in thought. He points to someone in the gathered crowd, a pretty blonde girl. I think she’s human for a
moment, but as she moves closer, her eyes flash. It’s clear by this point he doesn’t intend to use the gag, blindfold, or earplugs.
As the music continues to pound relentlessly on, I feel myself growing wetter. The blonde vampire is kneeling between my legs now, licking my clit. All I can do is writhe and go along with it. I’m not really into girls, but the music insists I’m into everything, so I accept the pleasure she delivers without complaint or struggle.
After my second orgasm she turns to Christian and says, “Please, Sir, may I drink?”
He nods and a second later her fangs are in my femoral artery. I grip the arm rests and cry out at the pain, but it fades into the drugged feeling. In another set of circumstances, I know I’d feel betrayed, that this is something only Christian and I should share together, but all I can do is watch him. The satisfied look on his face erases even my hypothetical sense of betrayal.
“That’s enough,” he says.
The blonde gets up and retreats back into the crowd. Christian is beside me now, his bleeding wrist at my mouth. “Drink, pet.”
When I’ve had my fill, he pulls his wrist away. He turns and takes a glass dildo off a cart and shoves it inside me. Tears spring to my eyes at the intrusion. Losing my virginity each night never hurts less. If anything, it hurts more because I’m anticipating it, and I’m tense. Even with the music, I can’t let go for that one moment to ease it.
He snaps a finger and someone rushes up with a high-backed chair, which he places between my spread legs.
“Change the music to disc three,” he says as he sits.
The music stops for a second and I feel extreme shame being exposed like this in front of so many. Christian strokes my thigh. “It’s all right, pet. We just need stronger music so we don’t hurt you.”
