Here’s the latest addition to a small collection of short stories I’m writing set in the universe of my upcoming novel! It’s a 4k-word adult BDSM story (explicit erotica excluded, so nothing pornographic). By continuing to read, you agree that you’re 18 or older. If you enjoy what you read, give a like, comment, and follow for future content and updates about my book! Subscribe to my newsletter to keep up with new developments here.
Update: this story was originally inspired by a wonderful man who has since passed away. I’ve been inspired by him and his love of this story to expand it into a novella, which I will update slowly. You can find more info on that here.
Carmen wasn’t an interesting vampire. She hadn’t seen the pyramids rise or kings fall, nor had she ever witnessed a non-violent exchange of political power. She had never seen hardship other than struggling to make rent, and she didn’t have the charisma or power of older or stronger vampires. The first interesting world event she witnessed had been Clinton’s impeachment in the 90s not long after being turned, and she wasn’t sure it even counted, though older vampires told her political sex scandals were the most entertaining scandals.
She preferred to purchase most of her blood from a human who knew about vampires and worked at a blood bank, able to fudge the numbers and sell to vampires who didn’t want the fuss of hunting humans, and she had never killed anyone. She had been turned out of guilt after a vampire who had done too much coke in the eighties rammed into her car on the highway after drinking from a drunk human. They had a cordial relationship, though she judged his lifestyle and never would have associated with someone like him if not for the necessity of learning to survive her new un-life. He preferred to drink from drunk or strung out humans to absorb their highs, while she had never even smoked marijuana once when she’d been alive, a fact she was proud to tell anyone who asked, thank you very much. She was a good girl, or at least she had been.
Vampirism didn’t disagree with Carmen, though it wasn’t anything spectacular. The sun felt mildly uncomfortable and was always too bright, so she worked a night shift mixing drinks at a dimly lit bar where her pallid complexion almost glowed, like the moon reflecting whatever light it could gather from the sun, earning her neverending jokes and jabs about needing a tan from patrons. Her maker had suggested the job as an easy way to pick out prey who wouldn’t remember kisses that hurt a little too much the next day, but it wasn’t her style. It felt weird to her, to be stronger than others. To overpower them, or to use sex appeal to disarm them before feeding on them. She was sexy – as a vampire, far more than she had been in life – but wielding sexuality as a weapon felt wrong. She wanted to enjoy her sexuality, and there was no enjoyment for Carmen in using sexuality as a tool to feed. It was as erotic as ordering drive through.
There was one thing that gave Carmen’s cold, dead heart a twinge of excitement, that made her feel genuine enjoyment. It happened every Monday, her night off, in a place she never would have had the confidence to frequent as a human. She would dress up in skimpy clothes that weren’t suited to public appearances, wear her brightest ‘ravish-me-red’ lipstick, and make her way to a sex dungeon where a Dom awaited.
Carmen knew his name, and he knew hers, though neither mattered much in the context of their play. She couldn’t recall that he had ever called her by her name, and she only called him Sir. She liked it best when he called her, “good girl,” preferably murmured in a low tone in her ear, though wench, slut, or whore were very fun too. She liked the punch the word whore had, the degradation in the way it made her feel, though more accurately identified as a slut. After all, she was in it for fun, not money.
He was older than she was, though of course the age difference was less than it appeared, given she had the perpetual face of a college student and was a decade or so older than she looked. He was attractive, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His hair in particular had been the main factor the day Carmen had reached out to him online. He kept it in glorious long dreads down to his waist in a look that made her imagine Caribbean pirates as they might be depicted on the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel. The contrast of his black hands running over her pale skin fascinated her the way the brush strokes of beautiful monochrome ink paintings might. The union was living art, and she loved watching his fingers expertly twirl rope around her body.
The unusual thing about their dynamic was that, while he knew what she was, he himself was completely human. As such, they had to take precautions. Sir had a special leather collar for her with a single silver charm stitched into the interior so it would press against Carmen’s skin. The initial pain was horrible, like a lit match against her throat, but when she accepted the pain, it served its purpose. Silver was the one material that robbed a vampire of their power, rendering them only as fast and strong as they had been in life, and unable to heal immediately from wounds.
Carmen loved being able to pull against restraints and find no give. She enjoyed testing them, trying to see if she could escape them when Sir turned his back, so he could tighten them, tease her, and punish her when he caught her. He seemed to enjoy it too, since the only way she ever had a chance of freeing herself was if he purposefully left the end of the rope in the right spot, or allowed the bonds to be just a little too loose, to make a game of her escape attempts.
They had played together casually for the better part of a year before Carmen made her request to be his submissive properly. The thought of him training her to please him gave her a thrill. They often had sessions including her suggestions and catering to her fantasies. While she had no doubt he enjoyed their games, she wanted to find pleasure in doing what he wanted her to do rather than pretending to fight him as she did most of the time. And so, plans were made for a more serious session. It would be the first of a series of three to explore and test her before moving forward, he said. She hoped she was ready for what he had in store for her.
Carmen was nervous as she entered the familiar dungeon room. He was smiling, and it put her at ease. Outside of sessions, he had an almost bubbly personality and was very friendly. Still, she couldn’t suppress the butterflies she felt as they sat and discussed what would happen to her. She bit her lips a little when he mentioned he wanted to test her limits. She knew he held back with her, and she wasn’t sure just how much she could take. Despite being undead, she didn’t think it increased her pain tolerance at all. If anything, she theorized she was more sensitive as a vampire. The fear made her want it more.
They verified the safe words: yellow for slow down, red to stop. The session would be one focused on impact play, using different instruments to beat her. Floggers, a riding crop, canes, paddles; in total, there were ten varieties of these toys spread out on a table for easy use.
“Once this goes on, you are only to say, ‘yes Sir’, ‘no Sir’, or ‘mercy Sir’,” he said as he wrapped a black rope around her wrists in front of her. She wondered if she would need to beg for mercy. She had before a few times, but mostly for longer sessions, when her body felt so used there was nothing left for her to do but lay there and whimper. It was less about pain in those instances and more about feeling drained. “Understood?”
“Okay,” she said meekly, glancing up from his expert hands to his lips. He’d never ordered her to call him an honorific before, not that she could recall. She’d voluntarily called him Sir in the heat of play, usually after pretending to resist and relenting when he broke her, or when she wanted to play the part of a broken plaything. She decided she liked this development, and where it put her mental state to start the experience.
“Excuse me, what was that?”
“Yes, Sir,” she amended. If her heart could race, it would have. She’d drank some microwaved blood before coming, so the warmth lingered a little in her body. No doubt there was a blush in her cheeks as a result of the blood, she could feel the heat. The ropes tightened, and her hands were lifted above her head to be bound to a bar she couldn’t reach hanging from the ceiling. Sir guided her to sit on a spanking bench upholstered with padded leather. It would help her steady herself, along with gripping the rope she was hanging from. In her current state, it was something she could snap easily with her inhumane strength, but she knew that was to be remedied soon.
He produced the final touch from a pocket, holding up her special collar. “Ready?” he asked with a smile. She took a deep breath.
He pressed the collar against her and she tensed, crying out as the silver sizzled. It was a small charm, no bigger than her pinky fingernail, but it burned like a brand upon contact. Sir fastened the collar in place securely so that it wouldn’t move against her, as Carmen focused on handling the pain.
She whimpered and took a few deep breaths. It never got easier, but it was necessary if she wanted the full experience, to be truly vulnerable and surrender to him. When she was ready, she nodded. Then quickly added, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Now, beginners get ten. You’re going to count for me. If you mess up, we start the count again. Clear?”
“Yes, Sir.” Ten… she glanced at the instruments he had ready for her and counted them out. With ten from each one, it added up to one hundred strikes. She trembled. It was comforting to know that she had a safe word.
He started with the lighter flogger, making her count her beating. It was a warm up, she could tell. She knew he was capable of hitting her much harder, and that knowledge made the pain he did decide to give her both reassuring and terrifying since she already felt so sensitive to it. Once she got to the last two counts, he landed them with more strength, causing her to cry out in earnest from the pain, gripping the rope holding her wrists tight.
What have I gotten myself into, Carmen thought. She wished she could cheat and take some sort of painkiller before the session so that she could take more from him, but anything other than human blood would come back up or not work as intended. Besides, cheating defeated the purpose.
After the worst of it, he was suddenly behind her, running his hand over her stinging flesh. She leaned in against him, melting into the soft murmurs reassuring her. The moments of contrast were something she loved almost more than the powerless sensation of submission. Carmen loved him helping her through the pain, and loved that he enjoyed causing her to suffer. His enjoyment gave her strength to endure more.
The next set of ten came from a padded riding crop. She preferred the flogger, but was familiar with the crop and did her best, whimpering and squirming in response. Again, the last two were the worst, the last strike being enough for her to jump partially off the bench with a loud yelp, needing him to soothe her pain once again.
The third set of ten was from another flogger, this one more intense than the first. She shouted and squirmed under the lashes, almost missing the count around six, her words strained. When it came to the last impact, she screamed, her body arching in response. But that wasn’t all.
“Mm, now I know you’re turned on,” he murmured in her ear as she stared up at the ceiling, his hand at the back of her head, holding her by her hair. Her fangs had elongated in her mouth, coupled with a red flush in her irises as they changed color, proof of her lust. His warm lips brushed against her exposed neck, making her shudder. “You suffer so beautifully.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she whispered, feeling his hot breath flutter against her skin before he pulled away.
Next he brought out a padded paddle. She took a deep breath to steady herself. The paddle left her feeling a deeper pain than the other instruments that primarily assaulted her on a surface level, and she’d had some trouble in the past. It wasn’t even the worst looking paddle in his arsenal for the night. She had to handle this one well, or things would go poorly for her.
It was difficult, and she found herself gasping the numbers, screaming in pain, yanking on the ropes instinctively, but she coped well considering her former difficulty with the paddle. At least, she thought she had until the violent fourth strike made her see stars and she slipped from her perch on the bench, hanging from her wrists and resisting the urge to sob.
Sir was by her side, his hand over her burning flesh as he coached her, letting her take a break as the pain subsided. When Carmen was able to calm down, she repositioned herself, allowing him to guide her back in place to give him a target.
“We need to start that over, don’t we?”
She groaned in defeat, and considered protesting. She hadn’t missed a count or gotten a number wrong, so did it really qualify for starting over? But as she opened her mouth to protest, she closed it again. Only yes, no, or mercy. Sir.
“Now, what count were we at?”
Hope sparked in a fleeting moment. “Four?”
“No,” he said, sadistic enjoyment in his tone. “We were at one.” The strike came down hard, and she began the count again with a shout. This time she was able to cope, though she still cried from the pain. It wasn’t so terrible that she needed a safe word, not yet. She told herself she’d experienced worse and this was tolerable.
After the paddle came a dragon tail whip, made of leather wrapped around itself in an elongated, thin, flexible cone. She expected more pain from this fifth set and wondered if perhaps he was purposefully going lighter considering her difficulty with the paddle. It wasn’t a breather exactly, and the sharp strikes still made her yelp, but compared to the paddle it was easier. When it was done, she took comfort in knowing she was halfway through.
“This one… this one is going to hurt,” he told her, holding a flat plastic looking paddle in his hand. The harsher paddle. “There’s no shame in screaming.”
As if she hadn’t been liberally screaming already. His warning made what little warmth lingered from her former meal drain from her in fear. She bit her lip, tasting her own blood as she nodded. “Yes, Sir.” He stood next to her, one arm holding her securely, and she leaned into his body to try to absorb some of the warmth and comfort before he continued. If he took the time to warn her… then it was most certainly going to hurt.
It struck and she cried, her body buckling. He was right. Very right.
“Count,” he reminded her and she desperately pleaded a soft ‘one’. There were nine more. Each made her twist and cry in her bondage, and each time she reacted he held her tight. It functioned to keep her in place, to support her, and to comfort her all at once. It was much worse than the first paddle, but she didn’t want to start over. Not with one so harsh. She had to take each of the strikes, had to get through it to get to the next level. Had to prove herself a good submissive, one that he could torment at his pleasure. She wanted to be tormented, to lose herself to the ecstasy of helplessness.
And she did, awash in mental relief when it was finished and she was permitted a respite. Sir was saying something, but she was too lost in the pain and gratitude that the paddling was over to comprehend. He smelled so lovely as he pressed against her. Was it some soap or men’s cologne? She wasn’t sure, but she adored the scent. It was nice when humans made an effort to smell good, though she could smell the underlying unique scent of his pheromones and lust under the artificial additions and found that just as intoxicating. Carmen thought she heard a question, and simply responded, “Yes, Sir,” which seemed to please him. She had no idea what he said, and hoped she hadn’t agreed to anything she would regret.
The seventh toy he used was better than the intense paddle. It was a bundle of sticks bound together. Sharp, but not as harsh. Still, the sting against her now tender flesh was nothing to scoff at.
The eighth implement was made of a short length of fire hose. By the last two hits that were always the worst, she was beginning to wonder if she could handle the rest of the session. Her abused bottom only felt more and more sensitive after each set. But if she begged for mercy, he might stop. She didn’t want him to stop.
The second to last, he told her, was a flogger that would break his other submissive. Taking the time to warn her gave her fear again. The last time he’d warned her, it had been completely warranted. Of course the last two sets would be the most painful. But she was so close, so close to proving to herself that she could take what he had planned for her. She wished she could have the confidence to say she could take it, no problem, but that was foolish. Sir knew what he was talking about and, as he’d mentioned when they started, she was a beginner. She felt acutely aware of that fact as she strained to get a better look at what was coming. Carmen could see the weight in the strands of the flogger, made of something heavier than the leather of the previous sets. From the scent, she suspected rubber. They hung menacingly in his grip, swaying slightly with his movements.
Sir struck and her body nearly crumpled from the impact, her eyes wide as a shout tore from her throat. It felt like a wicked combination of a paddle, flogger, and his hand all in one, heavy and dominating. He moved around her, striking from different angles. Somewhere in the middle, he stood in front of her.
“After this, I am going to take you to that bed and I am going to ravage this body,” he informed her, his voice low and almost hypnotic to her in the state she was in. “I’m going to use this body like it belongs to me.” Yes… that was what she wanted. Carmen wanted to endure the beatings to please him, then be used as roughly as he could in the bed. She heard him speaking again, but it was hard to focus on what the words were, so she focused on her own words, determined to get the count right. This was another set like the red paddle that she did not want to start over. By the end, she was shaking, and close to saying yellow to complete the set prematurely. She wouldn’t have been able to take more than ten, that was certain. Her cold hands felt numb in the ropes. Sir noticed, and untied them. The bindings had cut into her skin and left a deep impression, possibly a bruise – something that would heal easily when she was freed from her silver. While the marks lasted, they were a badge of pride.
She was given a small break, in a way. Instead of striking her, he decided on a new torment: clamps attached by chains cruelly pinched to her chest. She shuddered and mewled in response.
“Ah, yes,” he breathed. “These will be very fun. You’ll see soon enough.”
They were there for the last set. Strikes one through ten of the tenth toy. He stood next to her, and one hand slid under her, holding the middle of the chain to pin her to the bench. It was much more punishing than the rope around her wrists had been, much more certain to elicit responses. The tenth toy was a plastic rod held in his other hand. When it stung her, the pain was sharp and worse than she expected. Her body was so sensitive from everything that had been done to it that even a lighter impact toy than what he used would have left her sobbing. Carmen wasn’t sure she could take it. The rod wasn’t as horrible as the red paddle or the previous flogger, but it was a close third, if only because of how weak the previous beatings had left her. But it was the last set. She wouldn’t forgive herself for coming so far only to fail at the last one.
“One,” she gasped, beginning her count. The second strike made her jump, and the clamps pulled harshly against her, drawing out additional cries of pain. Oh. He had her under his thumb in a very literal sense. She looked down between her breasts, at the imprisoning metal and his powerful fingers, breathing heavily despite not needing to breathe at all. “Two.”
With each subsequent strike, she struggled and squirmed and cried. By the time she reached the final two most horrid strikes she was near tears, but was so close to the sweetness of knowing she had taken them all that she couldn’t refuse them, couldn’t bring herself to do more than wiggle against the clamps and the unforgiving rod.
Finally, she sobbed a last, “Ten,” and sat limp in his arms on the bench, letting him manipulate her to face up, to meet his lips. She welcomed the kiss, then screamed against him when he tugged on the clamps, ripping them from her pink flesh. First the one, and she braced and gave a muffled shout against closed lips for the second. Did he enjoy feeling her scream as much as she enjoyed the intimacy of screaming for him in such a close way? The kiss turned more needful, his lips soft pressed to hers, his tongue tasting hers and flicking against her fangs in a way that teased her just right. She knew better than to bite him, and that was part of the fun. To be a vampire, to have that ability to bite, and to surrender it completely and give him every shred of power so she was nothing more than a powerless plaything.
He said something to her, some words of approval that didn’t register in her brain. All Carmen knew was that he had her lifted up into his arms, and the bed was next. The bed was the best part, the part that if he went hard on her could hurt just as much as any of the punishing toys, but in a much better way. Bed with him meant not knowing where pain ended and pleasure began and vica versa. Aside from the thrill of power exchange, that was what she truly wanted.
Carmen had made it to pleasure. The night had been very good for her indeed, and she both feared and looked forward to discovering what the next session would be like.
Do you think you could take one hundred strikes? Would you prefer to give them? Leave a comment!
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