9 p.m.
6 a.m. The morning air is splintered by the shrill of the alarm jerking her to consciousness. Sleepy fingers find the off switch and she silences the machine's cry. Pulling herself from the blankets, Elizabeth emerges from bed, the sheer nightgown draped over the curves of her body, clinging like a morning mist just above the grass on a soft meadow. Her young body stretches involuntarily, warming her muscles and escorting in awareness. Instantly, her body springs to life as thoughts of what the night brings flood out. She feels her chest heave and her breasts, full and round, tingle with excitement. As she allows her imagination to wander, her nipples grow hard and a slow heat starts to build between her legs. With a quick, sharp swallow, she forces herself to control; repressing her thoughts enough to allow the morning ritual to begin.
Entering the bathroom, she gathers her toothbrush from the ceramic, slotted holder next to the sink and applies the appropriate amount of toothpaste to the bristles. She places the brush under the faucet and wets the tip before parting her thick lips, allowing it access into her mouth. Expectations of the night again permeate her mind; the brush held firmly in her hand, sliding into and out of her mouth forces images of him into her and she feels the heat grow once more between her thighs. She spits. Foam bursts from her mouth and she gasps looking up at her face in the mirror. The residue around her lips and the wanting in her eyes, make it even more difficult to regain composure. A shaky hand rinses out the brush and drops the toothbrush back into its holder. Grasping the matching cup, she abruptly rinses her mouth and glances back to the mirror. The desperate desire flaring in her eyes causes her to drop to the floor. Breathing short, shallow, and staccato…she must focus. She must wait.
She reaches through the shower curtain and glides her lithe fingers over the long, slender handle and turns on the shower. There is an unconscious pause; something inside of her might recognize the shape of that handle. After adjusting the temperature, she slides her nightgown off of her curvy body when one hand glances over a still erect nipple. A shock shoots through her as if it were his cold hand on her and a soft moan emits from her parted lips. There is moisture to accompany the heat now and her bottom lip is held firmly between her teeth. Her eyelids press together as one of her hands begins to caress the breast she inadvertently brushed. She feels her flesh on her own flesh and another moan initiates deeply inside of her. Her hand is filled with the fullness of her breast and she squeezes slightly. The pressure against her skin seeps into her body and she tightens her grip, her breast's fullness filling her hand. She feels her manicured nails bite into her and the moisture between her thighs builds. Abruptly, like a whip cracking in her mind, she snaps back once more catching her panting in her throat. Bending her neck forward, her long hair spills around her and she battles for focus.
After a series of deep, slow breaths, she steps into the shower. The hot water greets her immediately and her skin instantly turns red from the nearly searing temperature. She finds her shampoo and cleanses her long hair. Her fingers caressing her scalp, strands of her thick hair between her fingers, hot foam sliding down her…she thinks to him again. Remembering him, Eric, the glint on his fangs, the darkened gleam within his eyes. Elizabeth sighs heavily. She thinks of his orders, she goes through the plans one at a time. Her mind envisions which items to bring with her, the time and place to meet him, how she must dress and behave. Finally, his command to wait for him. She is not allowed to orgasm until he allows. A flare erupts in her mind; it has been nearly two weeks since he spoke to her giving her the list. The craving for release has amplified as this day approached and now that the night has arrived, containment is much more difficult for her. She reminds herself; she must obey. She must. In a desperate attempt to distract herself, she moves to the conditioner and completes her morning hair routine.
Picking up the body wash and sponge, she drips a small amount of soap onto the waiting luffa. Starting at her neck, she moves in slow circles and deliberate strokes. The soapy froth pours down her chest, sides, and curvy ass. The heat of the water combined with the texture of the bubbles excites her (or is that just her thoughts again?) and she slides the soapy sponge over the details of her form. Breasts, arms, stomach, sides…every curve and line explored and cleaned for him. She rinses. Her hands reach for the handle again and she lowers the temperature to accommodate the delicate places she now addresses. She sits into the tub, water streaming down from the showerhead over her needy, naked body. Applying foam from the can of shaving cream into one hand, she spreads down one of her shapely legs. Her fingers lift the razor from its resting-place and begin to glide it over her strong legs. Satisfied with the smoothness of the first, she proceeds to the other, repeating the process. She takes a long, deep breath and allows fingertips to inspect between her legs. He does not approve of hair here. It is hot, her pussy, swollen and wet….aching, throbbing. A finger parts her. She instantly feels her wetness and she moans loudly. Without thinking, she finds her clitoris and taps it lightly. A sharp gasp bursts from between her full lips and her back arches, head thrown back. Her clit is pulsating, fluids from between her lips inviting, she moves the finger into her. Slowly entering herself, she feels the length, shape, and texture sliding into her. She pushes deeper and feels that spot ignite within her. Eric's cold and powerful hands enter her mind forcefully. This is his finger exploring her, penetrating again and again, exploiting her spot deep inside, claiming what is his. Stop! She must stop! He will know…he will see the instant he looks into her eyes. Wait! She must wait…
She forces herself to obey, ripping her finger from her soaked pussy. A mix of growl and scream rips through the bathroom as one hand clutched the side of the tub. The walls and mirror reverberates the howl shuddering at the terror of her torture. Pressing her eyelids tightly together, grinding her teeth like a feral animal, she stands and turns the handle again to stop the flow of water. She opens the shower curtain and snatches the towel form the holder and in an almost violent fury, purges the water from her shaking body. Moving to the sink basin, she wipes one hand in an arc down the surface of the mirror creating a hazed, opaque smear. She places her palms flat on the granite counter. A deep sigh escapes her as she pauses to peer at her reflection. Still trembling slightly, she stares into her own eyes viewing the desperate want boiling inside of her. She shakes her head, tousling her hair and attempts to right herself once again. She has only been awake for half an hour and has been in battle with herself every minute this far. Soon, she reminds herself. Very soon. Tonight. Mere hours. Another sigh emits before she applies her deodorant and chooses her wardrobe for the day. Pulling open her dresser drawer, she chooses a matching set of black lace bra and panties. Pulling the panties on, then draping the bra around her breasts she comments to herself how good she looks. This is a special day, after all, so she might as well feel sexy all day. Looking through her armoire, she finds a dark chiffon blouse and chooses a black A-line skirt to coordinate. The heels she chooses are also black with short heels…saving the stilettos for him. Collecting her keys and purse she drags herself from her apartment and out into the day ahead.
8 a.m. After leaving her abode, mixing through the people of her neighborhood, she makes her way to the bus stop. The transit is right on time today for a change, she notes, glancing at her phone. She is not quite to the point of counting down hours yet, though she has noticed an increased quantity in frequency of which she checks her cell. Boarding the bus and depositing the prescribed amount, she finds a seat and takes her place. She sits upright, perfect posture, knees and ankles held together. It suddenly dawns on her that she is practicing for tonight, for him. For Eric. She knows how he demands proper posture and form. He commands the attitude and emotion within her. She feels the demure status swell inside of her; she feels her need to serve creep up. The drive to obey and please swirls through her mind and body and her head lowers, eyes on the floor. Reality strikes back as the bus skips over a large bump and she snaps back. Her hands slide down the length her skirt. She glances down and the meager two-inch heels she is wearing and longs to dress properly for him tonight.
The vehicle slows painfully, halting at its scheduled stops, depositing some and collecting others. She keeps her eyes looking through the window most of the time, trying to keep her mind in the frame she needs to get through the workday. Plans form in her mind as she pictures herself at her desk, keyboard beneath her fingertips. She can see her cubicle adorned with pictures of family and friends and cute little trinkets next to coffee mugs with sayings that are mildly clever at best. After meeting him and experiencing his force, she had decided to leave the effects in her workspace. Any change, she decided, might lead others to detect a difference within her. No one needed to know. No one would understand. How could they fathom what she gives to him? How could they understand what he takes from her? It would be her secret and she must maintain the façade. No one need know.
Within thirty minutes, she arrives at her stop. She makes her way to the door and exits the bus. She is now in full public. Hundreds scurry and slither to their places, frantic to not be late or to make deadlines. They all look so fragile to her. She is craving his power and strength. He always seems to know just how to handle her. The proper amount of force, the correct quantity of caring, the perfect look and tone of voice. She needs to feel him again. She sighs once more as she feels the wetness pervade from between her thighs again. A giggle bubbles up as she wonders why she even wore panties at all.
As she strides across the concrete of the city, she feels the force of her heels striking the hard surface transfer up through her legs. She can feel the impact throughout her body vibrating her sensitive clitoris. Biting the inside of her bottom lip, she realizes she is not going to make it through this day adhering to the order that she is not allowed to orgasm. If simply walking is about to make her cum…whatever is she going to do?
Making her way to the elevator, Elizabeth takes the short flight of floors to the office, works her way through the cubicles, and sits down at her computer. She powers it up and using the company provided software, clocks in with ten minutes to spare. Glancing around her area, she chuckles to herself at the adornments she thought of earlier; everything is in its proper place. After taking a deep breath, she picks up the first file folder and begins her work. Page after page, file after file, they soon all seem to blur together. Her mind constantly wanders to him, to tonight. Too often she must force her mind back to the droll processing. The time on her computer, the smartphone sitting next to the keyboard, even the clock hanging on the office wall all seem to mock her incessantly, merely ticking and ticking away small seconds at a time. It is a constant struggle for her not to allow her mind to wander to him. Her heart races from time to time and the heat builds and again she must exact control over herself.
12 p.m. It is time for lunch though she does not feel a hunger for food. Nonetheless, she pulls herself from her chair back to the elevator and back down the floors of whatever they are. Back to the streets filled with whoever they are, she crosses to café what's its name she frequents where they serve whatever it is. Everything is bland and blank. She needs him. She needs him to take her. She needs him to possess her. She needs Eric to feed.
It is a simple sandwich she orders accompanied by a cup of hot tea. She all but ignores the sandwich while nursing the tea. It has a wonderful flavor she thinks between thoughts of his hands, eyes, and voice. Fangs. Slow and thoughtful sips…she drifts to and from the images of tonight. Intentionally, she averts her eyes from her phone attempting to allow time to pass unnoticed.
The tea eventually consumed and half of the sandwich ingested, she crosses the street back to her building depositing her waste on her way out. The elevator, like a Spartan, awaits her again. She makes the jaunt again back to the floor where her office resides. Rounding the corner, she finds her desk again and sits into her chair. She exhales another sigh, so common today, when her eyes slam open. Sitting on the desk is a box, approximately eighteen inches in length, twelve inches wide and merely two inches in depth. Wrapped in plain, red paper, no ribbon or bow is attached to it, just a small note rests atop the package.
She extends an eager hand to the note. Opening the blank envelope, she withdraws the lone piece of paper contained within. She opens it. She reads…
"My Darling Elizabeth,
I am confident that you have obeyed me fully…saving yourself for me tonight. I realize the difficulty in the task I set before you so I offer you this. You may release; I give you permission to cum; but it must be here and it must be now. Use this gift that have I sent to help you. I crave tonight.
Your Loving Master, Eric"
She can taste her heart pounding in her throat when it clicks in her mind. There in no address, She had to sign nothing. No delivery boy was present, How did this get here? Who brought it? It is day so I could not have been Eric himself. Curiosity seizes her and she rips the paper from the container. She pries the lid open to find a man's black, long sleeved shirt within. Immediately, she detects the aroma of his cologne and a feeling of him. Shaky hands pull the shirt up and then she smells it. Him. Not his cologne but his scent. He had been wearing it just before he packed it and gave it to her. Racing, her mind clicks into sharp focus. He would allow her to cum. But it had to be here. It had to be now. Her mind scrambles and she concocts as hasty plan but it is all she can derive in her madness. She clutches the shirt to her and hurries to the restroom. Finding the stalls empty, she occupies one close to the back and locks the door behind her. She presses the garment to her face and inhales deeply pulling his fragrance into her. Her nipples get hard instantly and she feels herself get wet for him. She drapes his shirt around her neck so that she might take him in constantly and slides one hand under her blouse. The lace of her bra meets her fingers and she slides one under the frill to her erect nipple. She traces the outline and sighs slightly when she remembers where she is…she must be quiet. Silent. Her hands ease under her black skirt and again she is greeted by lace. She smiles, appreciating her choices. The panties fall to her ankles and she steps one foot out. Sitting down, she spreads her legs, her knees making a slight thump against the walls of the stall. She wastes no time. Her index finger quickly finds her swollen clit and she slides her fingertip around in small circles. The sensation tears though her body like a wildfire. Her teeth grasp the inside of her bottom lip to remind her. Silent. Her legs shake as her finger massages her clit around and around…top to bottom. The moisture from her pussy begins to slide out and her other hand moves to feel it. She is so wet for him and she loves it. She presses harder on her clit, speeding up, losing herself in the sensations. The index finger on her other hand penetrated her wanting pussy and her juices flow onto her hand. The heat and wetness envelops her finger and fills her palm. She adds her ring finger inside of her and she fucks herself for him. Only for him. The thoughts emerge.
Is he somehow watching her?
Can he DO that?
It almost doesn't matter. This IS him…his fingers…his hands fucking her with the power she has felt from none other than he. She pictures his fangs snapping into place…
A loud moan from deep within her shoots out and she quickly bites down on the inside of her bottom lip again. This bite is more forceful than the first and she tastes a hint of her own blood spread through her mouth. The heat of her wetness and the tightness of her pussy around her fingers set her on fire. Her clit is throbbing and so insanely sensitive; she feels a madness begin to consume her. She pulls her fingers out of her and grabs the shirt. She thrusts in onto her face while two more fingers join the first rubbing violently over her clit. The orgasm is building. Pressure and passion consuming her; she is getting close. One leg snaps up to the wall beside the door. Her heel hammering against the steel, she almost rasps her excited clit. Her head falls back against the wall and she clamps the shirt over her mouth as it hits. She cums. Hard. The fire escaping her soul, her body vibrates everywhere. Her legs shake. Her body convulses. She muffles the scream into the shirt, drooling slightly. She lets her hand fall away from her pussy toward the floor. For long moments, longer than she is aware of, she sits panting. When her mind comes around, she realizes she should be at her desk and reality claws its way in.
She pulls some tissue from the dispenser and tries to wipe her from her hands. Standing on wobbling legs, she steps back into her panties and pulls the lace up to where it belongs and tries to right herself. Her legs are weak; she is still panting a bit. She can feel the thunder from inside of her chest. Tucking the shirt beneath her blouse, she exits the stall, walks to the sink and fully washes her hands, dries them and silently, demurely walks back to her desk. There is a brief notice of more files and more folders. The rest of the workday is a blur.
5 p.m. After visiting the same program she used to clock in to clock out, she quickly gathers her things and hurries once more to the elevator. This time, the trip down seems to take hours. The doors edge opens and she strides from the personnel carrier out to the street. She has had this planned and the taxi she had prearranged is actually waiting for her. She smiles to herself. She climbs into the back seat and gives the driver the address. The driver nods and pulls away from the mob awaiting their bus to arrive. With a precision gained from pouring through city countless times, the driver reaches her apartment with little effort. She hands him the fare plus an appropriate tip and pulls herself from the yellow vehicle and makes her way upstairs.
Entering her apartment, she drops her purse and keys by the front door, stripping as she bolts toward her bedroom. Once there, she again opens her armoire to begin gathering the ensemble she will adorn for him. First, she dons a long and sleek evening gown, back-less with a single strap around her neck. Next, she places a pair of polished, four-inch black stilettos on the floor next to her bed.. They are close-toed and surprising comfortable to her. Then she moves on to her dresser for the selection of undergarments. Her black corset is withdrawn; so difficult to get into yet she loves it when he gets her out of it. Next is the underwear…slight and frail in quantity. She finds her black g-string with a small amount of lace in the front. Finally, the stockings are collected. They are also black, of course, as black is his favorite. They are sheer and transparent in a smoky fashion with a thick seam running up the back of the leg.
She heads back to the shower and cleanses the day from her. She shaves again for him, washes her hair, then steps back out and dries off. Reentering her bedroom, she applies lotion to her body and smoothes it in, It is time to get dressed. The undergarments glide on until she gets to the corset. She has practiced putting this on for him but she is still impressed with how easily she got it on this time. Then, she eases into her tall heels so that when she drapes her long gown over her, it will not touch the floor. A pair of silver, dangling earrings and a matching silver necklace makes the outfit complete.
Turning to face a full-length mirror standing in the corner, she inspects herself. Detail by detail, everything seems to be in proper order. There is but one last order of business before she can leave to go to him. He had given her instructions, instructions not to cum until he allowed. Instructions had been given to her on what to wear. Instructions had been given on when to meet and where. Also, there were instructions on what to bring with her. Last night, she lovingly obeyed and packed a small suitcase with that which he wanted. That case now waits at the foot of her bed. She looks at it with longing anticipation, anxiousness, and almost a feeling of fear. Nonetheless, she picks it up and leaves her home.
As she reaches the street below, she finds the taxi she had preordered again waiting for her and she is ecstatic she does not have to wait. The driver turns to her and she hands him a slip of paper with the address on it. He turns, starts the meter and pulls away into the night.
8 p.m. The taxi comes to rest in front of a large manor staunchly guarded by the classic rod iron gates. They swing open as the car approaches affording unhindered access. The cab works it's way up a long, paved drive and at the front doors, she again pays and tips the driver and exits the taxi. Holding her case with both hands in front of her, she stares at the huge mansion.
Does he live here?
Elizabeth's mind wanders through a dozen questions before she finds herself and approaches the tall, glass front doors. At the doors, she finds the doorbell and with a deep, slow inhale, she forces herself to push it. She hears a long, deep tolling of chimes and through the glass watches a figure approach the entrance. One door slowly opens inward and an older gentleman in butler attire greets her. She walks through the portal and pauses just inside. The gentleman calmly welcomes her and instructs her which room is hers. She is perplexed as he then reaches to the coat rack next to the door, collects a woolen trench coat and derby before stepping out of the door, closing it behind him. She watches through the glass as he walks away from the doors disappearing into the dark. She looks around the entryway and sees a winding set of stairs opposite the doorway, splitting at the top and leading left and right. Finishing the sweep of the room, she marvels at the giant grandfather clock against one wall. Standing at least twenty feet tall, with chimes at least three inches in diameter hanging inside; the clock's pendulum sways back and forth; it's hands seeming to keep perfect time. 8:12 p.m. She smiles and shakes to herself.
Having been instructed as to which room is "hers", Elizabeth strides up the stairway, dark and oak with a think crimson runner, takes the hallway to the left and after passing two sets of doors on each side, she finds herself standing before two large Victorian doors. Her slender hand reaches to one of the handles and with a slow twist, swings the door open. Beyond, lies a large, eloquently adorned chamber. The predominant feature, a king sized canopy bed, rests directly across from the double oak doors. A thick, down comforter is drawn meticulously over the tall mattresses. To one side, a small side table rests supporting one glass and a silver pitcher while against the wall to the right of the doors, a long table and chair await. A dark, thin sheet shrouds the top of the longer table and its contents from her view. Her instructions were quite specific and she knew better than dare go against Eric's wishes.
Elizabeth, trembling slightly, finds her composure and strides to the foot of the bed, stilettos clicking over the floor. When she reaches the foot of the bed, she does exactly as she was commanded. Bending elegantly at the knees, she places her small purse lightly on the floor and slides under the bed and follows with the suitcase. She stands. Rotating to face the door she entered, her delicate fingers reach behind her to feel the soft blanket draped solemnly over the plush bed. She rocks her trembling hips onto the bed and with a gentle push of her toes, she sits down demurely. The instructions, she remembered, were detailed so she folds her petite hands into her lap. Black, spiked heels flash over the floor and her ankles meet, knees snug together forming the perfect line.
With a deep and elongated breath, Elizabeth clears her mind. Lowering her eyes to the floor, she focuses on the real reason she is here. She is here to serve him. She knows that though Eric is powerful and old, and she only being human, he inexplicably cannot glamour her. These thoughts are her own. She is here to serve him. She remains, motionless and serene. Placid. There was no clue for her as to what the details of the evening entailed but it didn't matter. She was here to serve him. She thought of nothing specific. She did not think about his hands on her body. She did not think about how long he would wait this time to feed from her. She did not let her curiosity drag under the thin sheet obscuring the long table to her left. She thought of nothing specific. She was here to serve him. She waits.
Time passes on its way and she remains motionless on the edge of the bed, eyes open and cast to the floor, as she should. The air in the room has grown chill with the night and she realizes the sun has been set for some time now. The stray thought had no longer slipped from her self-conditioned mind when the chimes from the clock downstairs ring loudly. Elizabeth silently and invisibly sighs and she involuntarily counts the strikes. She tracks them, one through nine. She has made it. The day has passed. The clap of dress shoes on the solid floor heralds Eric's approach. She notes he takes his time in long, confident strides. The footsteps come to a slow stop in front of the double doors and one handle begins to twist. The door swings open. She can feel his cold eyes devour her, inspecting her. She dare not move. Her head unmoving and slightly bowed, she keeps her eyes fixed between her ankles. Her ankles, which she presses together along with her knees, still form a perfect, shapely line to the floor. Her mind quickly, cleverly remarks at how the thin spikes of her stilettos could be made to resemble fangs. She can feel his gaze upon her flesh.
The sound of the chair from the long table can be heard sliding across the waxed floor. She hears him sit. Excitement floods her as she realizes she had never heard or felt anything like this before tasting of his blood. Her heart races and Eric sharply clears his throat. Sheepishly, she pulls it back, slowing and calming her heart rate. Elizabeth can imagine his smile as he speaks:
"That's better, my Darling," and she fights the urge to speak. She knows it's not permitted yet. She has no permissions yet. Instead, she focuses on her duty. There is no sound made from him, no heartbeat, no breathing, nothing. Still she waits. She knows he is still inspecting her with supernatural eyes and she pictures his wry grin flash as he approves. Once more, in a low and commanding tone, Eric speaks:
"Strip for me now, Elizabeth, " slides from his lips and she obeys. Her slender fingers reach behind her neck and she makes short work of the thin strap holding the veil garment around her. Standing slowly, the sheer black gown falls to rest at her feet exposing the black panties, stockings, and corset. She allows herself a hope that she just heard her Master clear his throat but does not permit a smile. Lifting one foot, she carefully steps out of the dress formed ring and the follows with the other in an equally slow and careful motion. She bends at the knees now retrieving her gown. As she stands, she folds it at the half and places it lightly on the bed behind her. She turns back to face him wondering what the look on his face is. The hope that this is pleasing him swells from deep within her and she swallows it. Bending at the waste again with full ladylike grace, her hands move the top of her left thigh and she unfastens the clasp atop the taut stocking. Her practiced hands slide to the sides of her leg and slow fingers from each hand, she rolls the stocking down in one elongated, seductive, deliberate motion. She rocks back onto the edge of the bed and blithely removes the stiletto allowing her to remove the rolled stocking from the tips of her pointed foot. She slips the heel back to rest on her foot. Her Lord enjoys the spikes. Quickly, she brings the outstretched leg back down and repeats the process on the other side. She didn't want Master to think she was trying to sit back down.
Bringing her hands to the middle of her chest, she glides them over the outside of her breasts and to the back of the corset. As she begins the process of undoing the ties, she hears him command "No. Panties first," he says in his rolling, mildly sarcastic tone and she meekly complies. Her fingers immediately move to the thin string and she pulls them down her legs, blending the bend between her knees and her waist to accommodate a brief flash of her succulent ass and eager pussy. She rights herself instantly, smiling on the inside. She begins her work, again, at removing the corset. Her hands struggle with the small strap and she wonders if perhaps she is more nervous than she originally thought. She struggles but cannot seem to get the bow she had fixed earlier to release and now she worries. Shyly, she twists her head to look at Eric and sheepishly raises her eyes to plea with him before she thrusts them back to the floor and her head back to her front. She hears a soft chuckle, feels a quick rush of air and knows he is behind her now.
Elizabeth suspects Master has extended his claws as she feels the strap fall to nothing and the corset crumple in front of her, folding and peeling away from her electrified body. Her bare breasts tremble. His claws reach her front and slide down the side of a breast. She deeply bites her lips to prevent the gasp from escaping her mouth. The nails removed, there is the feeling of collapsing air and she hears her Master ease back into his chair.
"Turn…face me, my Little One," Eric orders and she pivots as gracefully as she possibly can, turning to face him. She is naked here. Only the patent leather of her stilettos obfuscates some flesh from his dark eyes. Her hands holding her arms behind her, eyes fixed upon the floor, she awaits his next command. Eric makes her wait. The chilled air dances over her skin and her nipples harden. The crisp sensation stimulates her and she imagines his penetrating eyes on her and she feels herself get instantly wet. The heat between her legs begins to build. He makes her wait longer. She knows this is pleasing him. The thought of her Master getting hard for her escalates the arousal in her and her pussy swells and throbs, A small drip makes its way from her lips and down the inside of her thigh. He growls a low growl and says:
"Raise your head, my Darling. Look into me."
Elizabeth obeys and raises her head and leads her human eyes to his. Eric's eyes bore into her and she can feel the familiar sting of him, she CAN feel his power. He indeed doe shave influence over her. Has he been playing with her all of this time? Her head swoons slightly when she senses the "switch" flip and his power washes down through her but her mind is clear. This always perplexed her Master and she knows that is one reason he chooses her. He stands and in long, slow strides walks to her. Reaching to her face, he slides his hands down her cheeks barely making contact. The sides of her soft neck weaken as he traces her outline to her chest. Cold, dark fingers glide onto her breasts and she involuntarily quivers. His hands cup each breast teasing the nipples as he strokes his fingers exploring every curve and slide.
As she blinks, one of his hands streaks to her neck and spins her to face the bed. She feels another drip down her thigh as Eric bends her over the edge of the bed thrusting her ass out. He slides his other hand gently up the back of her leg to her bare ass and rubs in small circles. Being careful not to graze her pussy, Eric positions the hand to the other side of Elizabeth's ass and then back.
"Little One, are you ready?" Eric speaks quietly.
"Yes, my Lord. " Elizabeth replies in a hushed voice.
He raises his hand from her naked skin and after a very brief pause, brings his palm down to a sharp smack on her ass and she whimpers suddenly ashamed she let it out so easily and tries to suck it back in.
"Do not worry, my Darling, this will be new for you. You may vocalize as you need," Eric assures her.
"Thank you, Master, you are very genero…" Elizabeth's reply is brought to an unexpected stop as Eric spanks the other side of her ass. Her whimper is louder than the first and she can feel him getting hard against the outside of her leg. He spanks the first side once more, harder this time, and her back arches. He wonders how the sting felt for her shooting through her body as he brings his hand to the back of her neck, forcing her face down onto the bed. He strikes her ass again and alternating between sides proceeds to spank her, slowly increasing in repetition. Her skin begins to burn and ache, the pain increasing with every slap and when she starts to question whether she can take anymore, he changes, taking her where he wants to go…and where she needs to go.
Grabbing her by the throat with his closest hand, his other hand speeds between her legs and his fingers part her drenched lips and slide hard across her pussy to her swollen clit. Her moans are exquisite. As his finger begins to swirl around her clit, his grip tightens around her throat and she can feel her pulse in the sides of her neck. And so can he. Her blood coursing through her veins builds a specific madness inside of him and the Hunger swells. She fears his control begins to waver as she feels him throbbing against her.
His finger massages and rubs her, over and over, again and again. She squirms feeling the orgasm building, growing ever stronger, building like a monster trying to free itself from within her. She loses reality slightly as the sensations rush to the surface. Eric can smell her arousal and he grins his wicked grin, his fangs peeking from behind thirsty lips. Then he stops. Abrupt and cruel. Elizabeth's body immediately writhes against the shocking cease in sensation. Before she can react, his hands are on her wrists and pulling her up, stretching her arms above her toward the canopy.
"You will wait here, Pet," Eric orders sternly.
"Yes, my Master," Elizabeth demurely utters beneath her waning breath.
She listens as he moves away from behind her, long and purposeful strides over the hard floor. She listens and hears those footfalls stop and the brief rustling of fabric; then nothing. Elizabeth strains to hear but there is nothing. Her heart thunders in her ears and she feels it trying to erupt from her chest when she feels the familiar rush of displaced air. Eric is behind her again and used his celerity to get there. What was on that table? What did he get? She is ready to explode.
His unnaturally powerful hands ever so gracefully slide slowly up her arms to her delicate wrists. She feels her body shudder as he places thick leather wraps around her wrists and chains them to the edge of the canopy. Her naked, curved body shudders in anticipation. They had been speaking of trying this, working up to testing her limits. She is ready.
The first strike she knows and welcomes. The flanges of the flogger wrap themselves around her ivory flesh. Her back arches as the pain melds into pleasure just and Eric brings the flail back to find her waiting flesh. The clap of leather across skin strikes a stark chord through the room. This was harder. Elizabeth bites her bottom lips to maintain but loves the pain flowing through her naked body. Eric makes the leather find her other side, harder again, and she whimpers in reflex. She can feel the skin of her back begin to redden where the flanges came to bear on her plump ass. And again. Each stroke falls harder. Harder. Harder. Whimpers build and grow with intensity. Whimpers become cries. Cries turn to tears and he whips her. There is nothing gentle here. There is little of "love" felt as he wields the whip again and again and flesh begins to part. Skin breaks and she cries, tears pouring down her face, smearing makeup as it streaks.
Blood leaks its way to the surface of her and slides down. She knows there are open wounds now; the pain is so great, so much. It is nearly too much for her. Tears pouring, she grinds her teeth, trying as hard as she can to accept the punishment. Her limbs grow faint and weak and standing is a battle itself. Again and again he flails her until she cries out loud "Master, PLEASE…"
Eric halts immediately. Letting the whips fall to the floor, his hands tear the chains to nothing but broken links and Elizabeth falls into his arms, beaten…broken. Eric extends his slender fangs and holding one wrist to his mouth, punctures his undead flesh. His think vitae streams out and he places it to his love's lips. They were working up to this; testing her limits. Could she actually drink from him; allow him to truly exist within her? The pain flares as if she were the sun and streams of pure heat shot from her surface. Searing pain envelops her. The blood flows still and her vision blurs and thoughts darken and she drinks…
Quaking lips close over the wounds on Eric's wrist and she takes him in. Her pain is immediately replaced with a different fire and the flame in his blood scorches through her. Deeply she draws and fills herself with him; he is everywhere within her. Grasping his wrist with both hands, she eagerly swallows again. One part of her mind marvels as she feels the cuts over her form begin to close and seal. Her muscles right themselves and begin to fill with energy. Elizabeth's body is electric as she drinks once more. Now, the moans come from Eric and he pulls his wrist from her blood-drenched lips. Elizabeth's tongue shoots out quickly after her master, "more…"
"No, my dear, that's quite enough for now," Eric answered calmly trying to mask the fact that she had drank enough from him to make him feel it. He can see her body vibrating with his life inside of her. Grinning slightly, he shows his fangs to her and in a characteristic blur, has her throat. Spinning her face down, his hands spread her legs to find her thighs soaked with herself. His fingers pierce her lips and he thrusts them deeply into her. Elizabeth groans as Eric invades. She feels the rush of air once more from his speed, him leaving and returning before she could move. Eric spreads her legs wider and slips his cold, hard cock into her…