AN: The Vampire Diaries characters all belong to LJ Smith and the CW. I'm just borrowing them for my own naughty purposes. This story is copywritten from © 2018-2025. No part of the story may be reproduced anywhere without my permission. This is a little oneshot to test the waters and see what you guys like! WARNING: This story contains elements of BDSM, fire play and ice play and so much more. If that will bother you then please skip this story.
She knelt on the rug outside the door as Damon walked down the hall behind her. Her hands were folded just so, her head bowed, shoulders straight. Damon stopped in front of her. He was barefoot, and she could see he was wearing the faded jeans she loved. They were just loose enough to hang from his hips just so, but tight enough to cup his ass. If she looked up—which she would never, ever do—she knew he'd be shirtless. She closed her eyes, a wave of arousal washing through her. She allowed herself a tiny smile.
"Enter, Elena." He stepped aside and she rose, the move practiced and graceful. She walked across the carpet to her assigned spot, toes aligned perfectly against the outside edge of the rose on the carpet. She waited.
Damon slowly circled her. She knew he wouldn't find anything wrong with how she stood; her posture was perfect, hair tied up the way he'd asked her to do it. Her feet were precisely the correct distance apart.
He was thinking, she knew, by the way he walked, pausing for a moment, then moving again. Finally he stopped in front of her.
"On the bed, Elena. On your back."
"Yes, Master."
The bed was massive, the mattress over-sized, covered in a pristine white sheet. She loved this bed, loved everything about it from the first time Damon had brought her here. She climbed onto the mattress, toes pointed like a ballerina, the way Damon had taught her.
"Very good."
She glanced up as he walked to the cabinet against the wall. He didn't always tell her what he had planned. She never knew if he had something planned ahead of time or if he decided only after he saw her standing in this room.
He turned and she dropped her eyes, but not before she saw he had a set of ropes and a length of silk in his hands.
"Arms and legs out, Elena."
The sheet was smooth beneath her back and ass, her movements making a soft sound. Damon was all about the touch, the sensual experience. When he'd made the bed for the first time, he'd washed the sheets first in scented soap, then lovingly spread them out. She waited, standing behind him in obedience, for a long time while he smoothed and tugged, pulled and adjusted, running his hands over the fabric. Finally he'd just knelt down by the side of the bed and spread his arms wide, cheek resting on the bed. He'd had the same blissful look she'd seen as he rested his cheek on her breast, just before sleep.
When she was spread before him, legs wide, arms over her head, he took a length of rope, running it through his hands for a moment. Then he took one foot in his hand, wrapped the rope around her ankle, and tied her to the carved bed post. He did the same with the other ankle, and then moved to her arms.
"Arms out to the side."
She brought her arms down, watching as he slipped a loop of rope over her wrist and then through one of the metal loops set into the bed frame. Damon usually spent a great deal of time on his knots, losing himself in the rope work, the process practiced and methodically, but also highly erotic. Tonight he was swift and efficient, and she was quickly restrained.
She loved this feeling, being tied down, even if it was only simple knots she could probably have worked her way out of. Not that she ever would. Damon had restrained her, and she would stay here until he undid the knots.
He moved closer to her, leaning over to lift her head. "Music and darkness tonight, Elena. Bye-bye for now." There was something else, she thought, then wasn't sure he'd said anything. Then he was fitting headphones over her ears, and lowering the silk over her eyes.
The last thing she saw was his smile, his heavy-lidded eyes looking into hers, and she forgot her confusion. And then everything went dark. There was a pause, and then music started playing. It was a new piece, trance-like, hypnotic.
She smelled something rich and spicy, a scent she knew Damon loved, and she'd grown to love, simply because she loved Damon.
The oil dripped on her stomach, almost body temperature. There were more drops, moving up between her breasts. They stopped and she felt the bed dip. Damon must be sitting beside her.
He touched her softly, where the first drops had landed. He traced a circle around her navel, moving up, slowly—very slowly—over her body, up between her breasts, to the notch at the base of her throat. He make a lazy circle, then traced the lines of her collarbones.
There was a pause in the music and she caught a few words, Damon talking to himself. "...like wings...perfect...beautiful..." The music started again and his words were gone. The beat was stronger, louder, the melody gaining in intensity.
But his voice had been very close, his breath very warm. She raised her head, drawing in a deep breath. She smelled the oil, and Damon's aftershave, and beneath that the very masculine scent of the man himself. That smell, that wonderful primal scent, triggered a wave of passion, of love, so deep and powerful she gave in to it, arching up, pulling against the ropes. It passed and she sank back onto the sheet, breathing deeply.
Damon moved one finger down over her breast, circling her nipple. At the first touch it drew up hard and tight, a counterpoint of sharp electricity racing through her. She bit her lip as he moved to the other breast.
He lifted his hand for a moment, then palmed her breast, caressing her, slowly and gently at first, then harder, until he was kneading her flesh, his hand sliding in a delicious way through the oil. He touched her other breast, not gently at all, squeezing her hard, rolling and pinching her hard nipples, his touches matching the music She gasped and he pinched harder, and she cried out.
The music slowed, grew quiet, and then he was gone. She lay back, letting the fading sensations wash through her. The music was still quiet, just audible, and she thought she could hear Damon breathing, but she wasn't sure. She could hear her own heart thudding in her ears, the rasp of her breath, waiting, anticipating.
Her heart beat rapidly, and every sense came alive, straining to learn what he was doing...what he was going to do. The bed dipped again, this time on the other side. There was more movement, and then the music started again, much louder, stronger, something primal.
The music crashed as heat exploded on her stomach and she cried out, body writhing, pulling away but then rising toward whatever it was. Whatever it was...then it dawned on her; it was wax. He was using a candle on her, dripping hot wax onto her oiled skin.
The heat was briefly intense, bordering on painful, then mellowing, spreading, sinking into her. She drew a breath, waiting for the next drop.
She tried to gauge by the music when it would happen again, but the beat became syncopated, erratic, rising and falling, and when the heat hit her, it took her by surprise. But her body reacted, took on a life of its own, hips rising, legs falling open against the ropes.
The drops came faster, closer together. The pain didn't mellow quite as quickly, he wouldn't let it. She wanted it to stop, tossed her head from side to side, but arousal and heat swelled inside her, ready to burst. But just as the word red rose to her lips, the pain changed, spread out, softened. She bit back the word, waiting for the next splash of heat, rising up on the bed, her orgasm building, heading toward some amazing peak.
Tiny pin-point drops landed on her breasts, exquisite drops of pain that made her gasp, her body reacting instantly. The music rose, and so did her body, both reaching a crescendo and then the music ended, abruptly. And so did the heat on her skin. She lay gasping, the silence in her ears deafening, her body seeking release. He'd left her on the edge, teetering, aching.
Damon moved on the bed and she instinctive turned her head toward the movement, tugging on her restraints, aching for the next. The music rose suddenly, drown out any sounds, growing louder. She wanted the heat, wanted the intense pain, the rush. She was sweating from the heat on her skin, from the heat that was building inside.
Cymbals crashed and she smiled, knowing the heat was coming, wanting it, craving it.
But it was cold instead, icy cold and wet, pressed against her nipple. She screamed, her body pulling the ropes taut, goosebumps rising along her arms and legs. The fire that had built inside her rose up fierce and hot, and her hips rose off the bed, seeking release.
The slap against her cheek was sharp and bright, stinging, breaking through her arousal, but doing nothing to diminish it. She gasped, her body thudding onto the bed.
He hadn't said...hadn't told her she couldn't come. But that must be what he wanted...what she didn't understand.
The music still played, but the volume dropped considerably. There was movement again, and then Damon's breath was warm on her face. She could hear words, tried to focus on what he was saying.
"You do not come until I tell you to. As long as the music plays, you do not come. Nod if you understand."
She nodded, a tiny movement of her head.
When he touched her again, it was with his hand, caressing her cheek. She leaned into him, loving the softness of his touch over the stinging sensation on her skin. The volume of the music rose again, and she was surrounded by percussion, sharp and quick.
He took his hand away, and she waited. Was this the end? It couldn't be...the music was still playing. Maybe this was her punishment? To be left here until the music...
The ice came back and it seemed colder this time. It raised goosebumps on her arms as Damon circled her nipple. He held it against her and the cold changed, grew painful, and she gasped. The cold on her breast, the heat inside her, it all came together as the music crashed in her ears. For a moment she forgot Damon's slap, his words. His command.
Fire and ice...and the desire to come was so intense, so overpowering that she gave in...but then it all came back. She wasn't supposed to come. She was under obedience.
Every muscle in her body tensed, fighting against nature, against what was happening. But it wasn't what she wanted; she didn't want to come. Damon had said not to.
Eyes squeezed tightly shut behind the red silk, she pulled away from the physical sensations in her body, tried to disconnect her mind from the pain he'd sent racing through her. Tried to focus on the music, counting the beats, listening...hearing the melody, the individual instruments.
Her body slowly relaxed, coming back from the brink, coming down from the almost-high she'd been on the edge of. She took a ragged breath, blew it out, and waited for the tremors in her body to slow down. Not stop...never stop. Just pull back from the edge.
After a few moments there was movement again, and she tensed, waiting for the cold. It came...on the same nipple, on the same chilled, puckered nipple. The cold slid through her, followed by pain, a spike through her breast.
She arched up, crying out, the pain spiraling through her. Instantly the music cut off, and Damon was there, his tongue laving her, washing over her. The pain rose to a crescendo as he sucked hard, pulling her into his mouth, teeth rasping over her abused skin.
Her scream rose, but Damon's hand was there, tugging at the silk and the headphones. His fingers slipped into her mouth as he pulled on her breast. She bit down, trying to hold back the tidal wave inside her.
Damon lifted his head, eyes meeting hers. "Come for me, Elena. Let go."
She blinked in surprise, her mind still trying to control her body, not understanding what he meant. But her body registered the words instantly, and as she stared at him, tasting blood, her body arched up hard, arms and legs pulling against the ropes, head snapping back. There was no stopping now, even if she wanted to.
Damon watched her, eyes never leaving her as she climaxed hard, the bed shaking with her movements. He wasn't touching her, didn't have to. Now, just having him beside her, his scent around her, his blood on her lips...it was enough.
She threw her head back and the world slipped away, spinning out of her grasp. She cried out once more, maybe Damon's name, maybe not. Then something not quite like darkness claimed her, and she rode the waves, the only thing she was conscious of was how her body felt.
THE END! Wooo! Who needs a cold shower? ;) Thank you so much for reading my story! If you liked it and want more please leave a review and let me know!