Miss America - a BDSM Vampire Tale

by Chrissie Bentley

  And, from that point on, all my expectations were shot to hell. Whirling like demons, the “schoolgirls” first grabbed, then debagged the man. One knelt and began rudely pulling on his dick, not so much erecting it as seeing how far she could stretch it. Another knelt beside her and, though her precise action was difficult to see, it was fairly obvious that she had bitten him, hard.

  Then, while he howled and sought to protect his genitals, all four girls were hurling him face first against the metal frame, to manacle and then loudly beat him. And, when I say loudly, I mean it. In the silence of the hall, you could hear the cane as it traveled through the air, then slashed against his flesh a split second before an animal howl pierced the heavens.

  I lost count of the number of times they hit him, first on his back; then, flipping him over, on his front. I liked to think that somehow he’d deserved it; that in real life, he really was a schoolmaster, one of those whose taste for the cane, and little girls’ asses, was a touch more pronounced than it ought to be. But it was just as likely that he simply got off on this, and that we were all doing him a massive service, watching and applauding as he was pounded.

  Finally he was released, to sink to the floor, insensate. Blood poured from countless wounds, his assailants were smeared bright red with it. But a bucket of cold water was thrown over him, shocking him awake, and then the girls fell on him again. Nails, teeth, hockey-sticks, brown-sandaled feet, any and every weapon at their disposal was hurled against him and, once they had finally finished, embracing one another with long hugs and kisses before finally skipping away, the old man still lay there, unmoving.

  Somebody shouted “Is there a doctor in the house?” When a voice answered “Yes,” another called out “Well, shouldn’t you be in the hospital instead?” There was a flurry of laughter, but nobody moved to help the old man. He simply lay there on the floor, a pitiful, skinny frame, striped bright red by the kiss of the cane, and redder still by his own blood. The attendants began

  circulating once again, conversation picked up. I couldn’t help thinking that my show had been better.

  In a world with no clocks, no calendars, no apparent means whatsoever of calibrating the passage of time, I wondered how anybody would know when midnight arrived. The evening seemed to drag on forever. It was pleasant enough, with plenty of food, but as I felt myself growing

  increasingly sleepy, I asked myself what kind of schedule my body had grown accustomed to, and whether midnight – assuming that was what we were awaiting – would ever come.

  I called an attendant over, and requested another coffee; drank it gratefully, then asked for another. I’d probably wind up peeing all night, and bouncing off the walls, but I’d already caught my head lolling dangerously close to the Australian’s shoulder and, while I doubted whether he’d actually notice but I didn’t want to take that liberty.

  Around me, more and more couples were taking advantage of the lull in food and entertainment to start their own little sideshows. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in a room with a couple of dozen people performing oral sex on their neighbors, but the sound of so many mouths sucking and slurping was interrupted only by the thumping of their heads against the underside of the tables that they knelt beneath.

  A hand clasped my knee, and reached up towards my pussy; hovered there for a moment, then retracted. “Sorry,” a woman’s voice floated up from between my legs. “I must have miscounted legs.” She moved on, pushing past me and for a moment I forgot about her. Then, just as I noticed how suddenly silent my sex-change friend had gone, he started up again. “I’m going to kill that quack. He told me it would work. Hard as a bone, he said. Well, bloody funny bone if you ask me.” The sound of muffled agreement came from somewhere around his lap. “Never mind, I’m sure it’s still under warranty.” And she was gone.

  The Australian turned to me, introduced himself as Jackie; swiftly changed that to Jack, then Joe, and smiled. “I was as pretty as you once,” he said. “And then one day I woke up and looked in the mirror, and I wasn’t. So, ‘no sweat,’ I told myself. I’ll go and have the op. Older guys can still get the girls, I thought… and I should know, I’ve been had by enough of them myself. So off I went, took the pills, put up with the poking, six months of pushing and pulling, and what do I get? A dick that’s as flabby as my tits used to be.”

  I gave him my best smile of sympathy. “Maybe you just need to get used to it. Besides, guys have the same problem all the time, even the ones that were born with the things.”

  “Would you like a go?” he asked. I thought for a moment. Actually, yes I would, and the only thing holding me back was the very thing I’d spent all this afternoon analyzing – my inability to actually tell myself the truth. I nodded. “But let’s not rush things.” I turned my head to kiss him on the lips, as my hand slipped into his lap. His last visitor hadn’t locked up behind her; his cock was still hanging forlornly out of his trousers, and one feel told me that

  something really had gone awry down there. He’d compared it to a pair of flabby tits, and that’s exactly what it felt like – not that I’ve actually had much experience with such things, but you don’t need too much imagination to guess.

  There was no substance to it, none of the heaviness that you associate with even the limpest dick. It was as if they’d simply sewn on some skin, stuffed a handful of kapok inside to keep its shape, and then sent him on his way.

  I kept kissing him, while my fingers probed lower, to clutch his balls. Well, at least they felt right. I began massaging them gently, rolling the two globes between my fingers and palm, and heard an appreciative moan rise behind our kisses. I wondered if I could bring him off that way. It can be done, but I wasn’t sure whether you needed an erection as well?

  One way to find out. Slipping off my chair beneath the table, I maneuvered myself around his parted legs, and took up position between them. I raised that fallacy of a phallus, draped it over one of his thighs, then began working my tongue and lips across his bare ball bag.

  His hips began moving to my motion, tight, irregular, jerking thrusts, but I think I knew I wasn’t getting anywhere, long before he would ever have admitted it. As it was, I was finally relieved from my task by a loud clapping sound, and Magdalene’s voice chiming out above the slurping, “And if I might have your attention please?”

  Jackie-Jack-Joe tapped me on the head. “Better sit up,” he said. “Her Majesty requests.” I buttoned him up, then wormed my way back into my seat, just before Magdalene’s imperious eyes swept across my section of the bleacher. They paused as they met mine, and she inclined her head slightly. I did the same.

  “As most of you know,” Magdalene began, “this is our last gathering of one year, and our first of another. In fact, I see from the light coming in through our windows that that the New Year is already well upon us.”

  Well, no wonder I feel exhausted! I thought. “Before you all head off to your rooms, however, to resume whatever fancies may have taken you this evening, might I remind you that same sex couples only will be permitted to spend the night in one

  another’s beds and that all other

  partnerships remain strictly prohibited. Therefore, if you have not already made arrangements for your night’s entertainment, may I suggest that you do so now.”

  Beside me, Jackie-Jack-Joe sighed loudly. “Bloody typical. A month ago and I could have had you all to myself.” He stood and walked down the steps to leave. I remained seated. The Magician, I saw, had paired off with a good-looking young Hispanic guy. The Doctor was with an obvious drag queen. And Magdalene had her arm around Penny and was already leaving the room.

  I wondered what they would find to talk about? CHAPTER TWELVE

  From where I first spotted her, halfway down the corridor, she looked as though she was waiting for a bus on Main Street, Anytown, USA. Cut off jeans frayed a few inches above her thighs, a striped T-shirt that accentuated the swell of her bosom; chestnut hair that curled in the last
gasp of an old perm. One leg was bent at the knee and curled up behind her, as she leaned back against the wall by my door.

  She smiled as she saw me approach. “Ah, it’s the Dildo Girl! I was hoping no-one else would have grabbed you.”

  The Dildo Girl? I’ve been called a few more complimentary things than that in my time, but the girl’s accent gave her away as a fellow New Yorker. Maybe she wanted to be a Miss America as well.

  “Hi. Actually, it’s Chrissie. I’m only Dildo Girl when I’m on duty.”

  “I’m Suzy. With a ‘y.’ How ya doing?” “Fine.” I opened the door; we slipped in and immediately I heard a key turn in the lock. One day I’d catch a glimpse of whoever kept doing that, although I hadn’t yet.

  “I love these big occasions,” Suzy chattered on. “You never know what’s going to happen. Last time, we were all handed one of your dildoes as we left.” She grinned broadly. “Wow. I almost told my Master to take a hike.”

  I liked the way they had become “my” dildoes, especially as I was apparently the only person who never got one. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so fast to leave the room.

  “What did Magdalene mean when she said that all other partnerships remain

  forbidden? Aren’t we allowed men in our rooms?”

  Suzy looked at me curiously. “You’re not allowed anyone in your room at night. Didn’t you know that? Not even our Masters. That’s why tonight’s such a big deal… I mean, my God, company that doesn’t run off the moment it’s cum.”

  I was warming to this girl fast. “How long have you been here?” I asked. “How long is a donkey’s dick? I dunno. Weeks, months… tonight was at least my fifth event, though, if you don’t count the live shows every evening… you work it out.”

  “I can’t, this was only my second one. And the first was only last week.” Her eyes widened. “That was your first? You certainly pick things up quickly. I nearly died my first time out there and I already knew what to expect.”

  “What did they have you do?” “I told you, I nearly died. They paired me with this guy who was into auto

  asphyxiation… plastic bags, apples, ropes. Turned out he’d never actually done it with a real person before, only shop-window mannequins. If my Master hadn’t run over and pulled me down; well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “What’s your Master like?” “He’s…” she turned and gave me another of those huge smiles. “Oh I know why you’re asking. They stuck you with old Pencil Dick didn’t they? Which is the only thing you are going to be stuck with. Penny told me. Take my advice, can his sorry ass the first chance you get. There’s plenty of guys round here who’d love a crack at you.”

  “They’ve told you that?” “Come on, they don’t need to. You’re hot and you’re certainly game for anything. One of the other girls told me her Master has even painted the stars and stripes on his dildo in your honor, and has her stick him the same way you stuck Chloe.”

  “Is she okay?” I ventured.

  “Why do you ask?” “Well, she didn’t seem too happy…” “Oh, that’s just the way she is. She’s had more dicks up her ass than you’ve had hot dinners. And that whole thing with the ropes, not tying them properly? That’s practically her trademark. Right little Harry Houdini, that one.”

  “Well, she certainly had me fooled.” “Of course she did. Works every time. And the crowd loves it. As you saw. Tell me something, though. That speech you gave Magdalene. Did you write that yourself ?”

  “Well…” – I wasn’t sure what she meant. “I mean, did you come up with the idea on your own? I’ve seen a lot of performances here, but that was one of the few that really caught me by surprise.”

  “Me too! I had no idea I was going to say those things, even when I was saying them.” That wasn’t strictly true, but it was close enough.

  “Fuck.” She sounded impressed. “And the German guy. That wasn’t set up either? I mean, the whole thing about the dead hooker and stuff ? It was just too perfect.” “I’d never seen him before. I just picked him out and the rest just happened.”

  Suzy shook her head. “Too much. And you wonder why every guy in the place wants to get it on with you? You’ve got it made, sister.”

  My head was reeling. “Look, Suzy, you’ll have to slow down. You mean everything here is staged, that everyone is simply here for everyone else’s amusement?”

  “Uh, yeah. Duh. What did you think?” “I don’t know. My first weeks here were so beastly, and someone had mentioned the white slave trade, and I just thought….”

  “Someone’s been reading too many old books. Yes it’s the white slave trade, I suppose, but it’s not like we’re beaten half to death and then sold onto wealthy Arabs in the marketplace to do their bidding forever more. No, it’s more like… people come to their attention – how did you get here?”

  I told her and she nodded, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “Okay, so he’s your sponsor. He’s the one who pays for your bed and board, if you like, and the cost of your education. Then, once you’ve graduated… some people stay here, some move on to another community, all kind of things. That’s the fun of it. You never know.”

  “But it’s seems so wrong, on so many levels,” I replied. “What happens if we don’t want to stay here? Or be sold on?”

  “What’s not to want? Look, you wouldn’t be here if you were some blushing virgin prude, without any hope of ever getting laid – although it’d probably do you good if you were. The people they pick, they’re all… well, let’s say ‘sexually active.’ They know how to have a good time, even if they’re not always able to admit it. So you come here, and they teach you how. To admit it.”

  “Kind of Finishing School for studs and nymphos,” I suggested. “Exactly. I love that. Can I use it?” She thanked me without waiting for an answer, and carried on. “Did you ever run into… I don’t know his real name, but he was this horrible little man, just used to sit crosslegged on the floor and talk about your uterus?”

  The Weasel! “He used to come in every day.” I told her what I nicknamed him; she laughed, but insisted that her name, Rumpelstiltskin, was a lot more appropriate. “Anyway, he went right after Christmas. Apparently another commune needed someone of his particular skills… or vocabulary, I’m not sure which… so he packed up his cushions and off we went.”

  “And did he have any say in the matter?” “Why should he? Once you’re inside a community, you can’t tell one from the other anyway. The only reason I know I’ve been moved at least once was because I went down to the Main Hall for an event one day and realized I didn’t recognize a soul there. Still haven’t worked out how they moved me without me knowing. But so what?”

  “So who organizes everything? Who’s in charge?” “Well, there’s Magdalene… you know who she is, don’t you?” Clearly, Suzy was finding me just a little bit stupider than she

  expected. “There’s Harrison, but I don’t think he actually does much; I think he’s just along for the butt-plugs. There’s

  Dumbledore…”

  “Oh my God, that’s exactly what I call him” I broke in excitedly. “Well, not exactly. I call him the Magician.”

  “Same difference. To be honest, I don’t know what any of their real names are, just the things that we call them. But you can’t miss them. Anyone who actually tells everyone else what to do, and not just when you’re having sex. Abassin… you know, the one with the mask. Pencil Dick, of course. That really fat guy with the ears that you sometimes see in the corridors… he looks like one of those old Space Hoppers. Oh, I don’t know, there’s about fifteen of them.”

  She was clearly tiring of talk; it wasn’t, after all, what she’d had in mind when she decided to hook up with the world-famous Dildo Girl. But I still had more questions.

  “So, those fifteen, they’re then Masters to everybody else here?”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Chrissie. Are you really this dumb, or is this how you get yourself of
f ?” She paused, flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s late, I’m tired. I wasn’t expecting to have to think too much tonight. No, the staff are just the staff. Most of them are someone’s Master, like Pencil Dick is yours…and Abassin, I think he was Penny’s for a while.”

  Ooh, poor Penny. “But most of the Masters are just like us, students, whatever you want to call us. Just like most of the mistresses. I mean, that’s what I love about this place. None of the stupid rules you have outside. Like, I have my Master and, theoretically, I’m meant to drop everything for him. But of course I don’t, because where would be the fun in that? And, you know, I have my slave, and the same thing. I’d hate it if he was always there when I called, because I’d never get him to do half the things he does otherwise.”

  “You have your own slave, as well as a Master?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. You’ve got Penny and Pencil Dick, haven’t you?” “I suppose so, but I never really thought of Penny as my slave.”

  “Who brings you all your meals? Who sits and talks with you when you want someone around? What do you think she is, if not your slave? Although you might want to do something other than talk with her, sometimes. You don’t want her looking for her fun somewhere else, do you?”

  Her voice took on a somewhat pointed tone, as if to remind me that someone else wanted more than talk. I leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, felt her hands hard on my breasts. “At last,” she gasped as she broke for air. “I didn’t think you were ever going to shut up.”

  She pushed me back on the bed, began tugging the straps of my dress down around my arms, then licked a tight line around the cups of my bra. I started tugging up her Tshirt, allowing her breasts to cascade onto my belly. Her nipples were enormous; as she continued teasing my tits, stretching the fabric away from my flesh so that her tongue could get in between, I squeezed my hands between our bodies and began toying with them.