I didn't stay in the private room for very long after Lilly left. I thanked Mark for looking out for me and told him to cross Lilly off my list in future. Been there, done that. If my request was unusual he didn't say so and nothing about his demeanour gave me the impression that it was. He asked if I was still interested in being matched up in future, I told him I was. He told me to have a good night and I went home. Alone.

I hunted after I'd set my keys and wallet down and felt pretty good as I settled in front of the piano to play. I didn't feel as weird as I had after coming back from my random hook up with the girl. I had a better idea about what had gone down, and why, so I played comfortably for the rest of the night.

I wasn't as nervous the next time Mark called to tell me of another match and by the third one I was finding my groove.

I knew better what to expect and found I actually quite enjoyed pleasing these girls sexually and could adapt myself to whatever quirk it was about them that they needed me to adapt to.

And the sexual part got better for me too. I was still disappointed when introduced to my match up for the night and it wasn't the girl, but at the same time I began to look forward to the variety that a new girl could give me. The ending was always the same, but their personal tastes varied. So I began to think I had the best of both worlds. I'd managed to hold onto my need for impersonal sex but I now had variety and diversity in the type of sex I was having.

The personalities of the girls were much the same, but their tastes differed. These girls were detached and confident. They knew what they wanted and how to make me give it to them. They had time constraints and that meant there was no awkward pick up lines or tension or nerves. I was a sure thing, as they were, so the need to charm anyone was removed. I was relieved. It had always felt like deception to me but I could dispense with that and just enjoy the time with them.

Before I became a member of this club I'd chosen similar types of girls. Demure, shy girl next-door types who I assumed never twigged that I was deceiving them. Because they had similar personalities I had the same sex each time I found such a girl to go home with.

I always orgasmed, and apart from one or partners two who obviously faked it – not for lack of trying on my part – the sex had been nerve wracking compared to what I was experiencing with other members. My technique mattered now. It didn't before. I'd wanted to please the random girls, but I HAD to please the players.

I still wanted to find the girl but I might as well have some fun while looking, right?

That's how things went for me after the first few matches. Mark, or Angel, would call and tell me I had a match up available. I'd go, be disappointed that it wasn't her, and then indulge in whatever that nights dominant wanted from me. And then I got to bask in the attention and care I was shown afterwards.

I became increasingly obsessed by being a good submissive. No matter how harshly treated, or how indifferent they were to me, I became determined to make them climax at my pace, not theirs. It didn't always work and sometimes it was nothing short of a disaster, but more often than not I made them come undone with some finesse.

I found ways to hold off my own climax until I was sure my partner could take no more. I thought about innocuous things, or pictured strange or weird things, which usually staved it off. But once I was sure my partner had reached whatever height she was striving for I took my own pleasure. It made me happy to please them. It gave me a great sense of achievement when they praised me. I began to wait for it and once or twice even mentally beg for it.

And then I began to crave it.

It wasn't long before I began to purposefully breach a rule in order to gain the praise when I stuck to it the next time. If I had a partner that was particularly aloof I would find myself goading her into punishing me just so I could feel the sting of her hand on my skin, knowing she'd take the extra time afterwards to soothe that spot.

Not one of them ever commented on my unnatural healing abilities but they all took extra care to ensure my wellbeing if they'd used considerable force earlier.

And then I began to break rules with every partner, no matter how aloof or impassive. I endured any number of punishments and once or twice the use of my safe word – even though I'd never be hurt - just to gain the extra measure of care later on.

I was flogged for disobedience. I was whipped for indifference when enthusiasm was called for. I spoke out of turn and earned having to give a full hour of oral sex to my dominant. She thought of it as a punishment but I fucking loved it!

My bonds were yanked on, tightened, doubled and tied to furniture all in the name of teaching me to obey. I'd been slapped and pinched, twisted into some pretty incredible positions and denied my orgasm on more than one occasion and I kept right on doing it so that after she came she'd care for me for longer than had I obeyed like a good boy.

I started getting off on the perception of my own pain. I didn't feel pain, but these girls wanted me to. So when they thought they were hurting me their scent would heighten and their pulse would race. And I would have to try extra hard not to come where I stood.

There were varying degrees of domination though. Some of the hook ups just wanted me to be quiet. I could do what I wanted as long as I didn't speak. Some were okay with me speaking but didn't want me to touch them until instructed. A few wanted me to lie completely still while they rode me. I was down with that.

Some were downright cruel and no matter how I behaved they'd deny me the release. I didn't enjoy that much because I knew, those times, that their care was necessary and not freely given. They got what they wanted from the sex and the 'looking after' was a task, an obligation. Thankfully those encounters were few and far enough between that it didn't put me off wanting another match.

One asked me to wear a mask that hid my eyes and one told me to wear a full face mask and speak in any accent I could muster that wasn't my native one.

More than once I was asked to kiss or lick feet.

There were also various forms of lubricants. Most didn't need it, but some used it simply for the pleasure I gave them as I applied it. Others enjoyed using it on me and one or two wanted either themselves or me to be covered in it from head to toe.

Leather was a preferred material with these women too. Skirts, tops, pants and even full cat suits were pretty standard. Some, I think, thought it made them look dangerous. Others I believed enjoyed the feel of it against their skin. Some of the items used on me were leather too. The riding crops I enjoyed most. There was nothing quite like the quickening of a pulse when a girl used a leather riding crop on my bare ass as a punishment.

The use of latex did throw up a few interesting problems for me though. Sure, I didn't need to breathe, but there was one girl who I think wanted me to behave as though I couldn't. She'd brought with her a latex facial hood that had only a slight scrap of gauze where my nose sat. It took me a few minutes to work out that this girl wanted me to pant, hard. She wanted me to struggle for breath. She wanted me dependant on her for oxygen. It didn't bother me, and I played my part as best I could, but I didn't enjoy that as much as I did the other latex items that I was presented with over the months.

Ball gags were also a problem for me. They were used more frequently than the hoods and I quite enjoyed them, but my teeth were far too sharp for the rubber they were constructed out of. Once or twice my dominant would frown when she removed the now deflated device from between my lips. I assumed they took that to mean that they'd dominated me sufficiently for me to bite into it, releasing the hideous rubber infused air inside it.

There was a common theme for binding too. Other aspects of the match up might have differed, but almost all of the female doms wanted me bound. Some quite restrictively, like that first girl, others loosely or only for show, like Lilly's collar.

Some liked rope, some chain. Cords were popular and so were lengths of leather strapping. I had one girl who used bandages! I must have looked like an Egyptian mummy that night!

The only other similarity amongst nearly all my partners – apart from those who got off on the punishment and denial and saw the care as a job and not a valuable part of the whole experience - was what would happen after they climaxed. They all changed emotionally. They all took the same care with me afterwards that the original girl had.

The routines for that care varied though. Some wanted to shower me, or with me, but most preferred the tub. Some washed my hair, others merely wet it down. Some washed me with their own hands; some wanted to watch me do it. Some kissed or caressed me, some didn't. Some rubbed my entire body down with lotion, some just the points at which I'd been bound, some not at all. Some girls bathed with me in the tub and some I never saw any of their flesh other than through tight holes strategically positioned in their clothing.

The match ups that occurred with 6C as the initial meeting point were different to those that began in the private room at the club, but they nearly all ended the same way. A fierce, arrogant almost calculating woman would show up and a sweet, likable girl would leave.

I didn't change from start to finish.

I enjoyed the sex and I loved the aftercare, but they weren't the right girl and my brain knew it.

Sure, I liked the sex a lot better once I started getting more out of it than 'just get it over with so she'll be nice to me' but I still didn't want anything from these girls like I wanted from that first girl.

Something was still missing even though all the encounters could be described as having similar traits to that very first one. It still wasn't her.

Through it all I kept in regular contact with Alice. I didn't tell her where I'd been and what I'd done but there were nights when I'd come home from a match up and just really needed to talk to her. A few times I wasn't after that but she'd ask how the search was going and I was grateful for the opportunity to talk about it. She didn't want specifics, and I wouldn't have given them to her even had she asked, but she always sounded sympathetic when I told her I'd had no luck yet.

And I was starting to realise that it was going to come down to luck.

I couldn't be sure just how many people were members of this club, or if other clubs existed in the area, but I'd had so many match ups and not one of them had been her. Did that mean she was no longer a member? Had she moved out of the area or joined a different club? Had she given the lifestyle away altogether and settled down with some schmuck? And worst of all had she found the perfect submissive and decided to keep them as a permanent pet?

I hated that word. Pet. It got bandied about a lot at the club but I hated the idea of being someone's pet and I hated the idea that a dominant would want one. It was this part of my thinking that didn't fit with the lifestyle.

It was about this time when I was matched up with a submissive for the first time. Mark called me and told me that I shared a lot of hit points with this girl and that even though I'd never had a match up from the organisation where I was to be the Dom he offered me the match up and asked me to think on it before deciding.

I did think about it long and hard too. By that point I had plenty of experience being the submissive and thought that maybe it was time to see how the other half lived. It might even increase my chances of being matched with the girl.

I knew what I liked on the submissive side of things and if I reversed the roles I could actually picture myself as the dominant. If it didn't work out, or I turned out to be crap at it, I could always ask Mark to take those options off my list too. I had nothing to lose and everything to gain so I told him I'd do it.

After I said I'd accept the match up I began to get excited about being the one to have all my sexual needs met and then be the one to make my submissive feel good afterwards too. I knew I'd have to be careful with my strength while I was being the dominant one but I'd shown restraint my whole life toward human females so I figured this would be no different.

The caring for them afterward was to be the 'different' part for me. I'd never taken care of anyone. I was an only child as a human and as a vampire there wasn't anyone who needed any taking care of once they'd gone through their change.

Again I went with the theory that I knew what made me feel good when I was being cared for and set my mind to doing something similar now that it was my turn.

The problem, as I saw it, was the apartment.

I had begun to loathe going to 6C.

It wasn't that it wasn't a nice place, it was. And I knew where everything was there, which was actually a part of the problem. Every time I was taken there by my dominant I had nothing new to expect. No surprises because I knew the layout of the place and where everything was kept.

That feeling of anticipation had gone from it for me.

The impersonal sex I'd experienced before becoming a member of that club may have taught me nothing about the actual woman but I learned plenty about her just by being in her personal space.

I saw how they lived. I found traces of their personalities in their surroundings. There was nothing to be learned about anyone if they all used the same clinical surroundings night after night. That part of it was getting stale.

I still liked meeting at the nightclub because there were others there. I was known by that point. It was strange the first time someone spoke to me and used Fifty-six as my name, but after a few months of being seen there regularly the others began to warm to me. As a submissive I was always going to be cautiously treated – just in case whoever my dominant was going to be that night took offence at her 'property' being social with anyone other than her – but I was never treated as lower than anyone else. Doms socialised with subs there even when they weren't there to hook up or meet a potential match. I didn't do that often, go there without a match being arranged prior, but I had gone once or twice just to talk to other subs or doms.

And I think now that's where my distaste for the apartment began. If I'm truly going to be honest with you, dear reader, I began to resent the apartment itself. Stupid I know. It was an inanimate object without feelings and unable to hurt me in any way, but I began to hate it.

I hated that tub, I hated the wine in the fridge and I hated that coffee table that housed all the ropes and cords, toys and lubes.

I hated knowing that the members of the club used it over and over and I hated being in that living room.

So I checked over my membership carefully and even though I couldn't see anything in any of it that said I couldn't take my match ups anywhere I wanted to, I thought it best to check with Mark first. He assured me that I was free to take my partner anywhere I chose, as long as she agreed, but that the check in and out rules remained the same regardless. I had to give him details of where, when and for how long and I had to stick to those rules. They could change, if for instance I wanted to extend the length of time or move to another location, those details were mine to change, but I couldn't do it without telling Mark so that he could tell my partners saviour too.

I didn't know what would happen if I failed to check in, or out, but I knew it could quite possibly end my connection to the club and therefore any chance I had to find the girl.

I wasn't going to be comfortable in my own house so that meant a hotel room. That was easy enough to arrange, so that's what I did. Then I called Mark and gave him the details. He said he'd pass the message on to the girl's saviour and then he asked if there was anything specific I needed her to bring or wear.

I hadn't given it any thought so said no. Just turn up, on time.

I had a day to wait until my first go at being a dominant and I used it wisely. I made a list of what I was going to need, knowing there'd be nothing in the hotel room other than towels and a bed, and then I did what Alice did so well. I shopped.

I found two or three potential retail stores close to where I was and then I went to each in turn. I checked my list in each store and looked at the quality of the products available and then I decided from which store I'd buy each item.

To my surprise I wasn't even embarrassed, or nervous, to shop in those stores. With more time in the planning I could've done it all online and had it delivered, but without the embarrassment it didn't really matter and I quite enjoyed the experience.

I bought lubricant and lotion – strawberry scented – and shampoo, conditioner and liquid soap. I bought the thickest, best quality robe I could find and a dozen matching towels from the same manufacturer. I bought condoms and spermicidal gel even though none of my match ups to date had asked to use the stuff. The condoms were not a point of negotiation, ever, but the girls didn't ask for spermicides as a rule.

Those things had been easy to find in regular stores, the rest of my list not so much. Sure, the things I wanted were in abundance in specialist sex stores, but the quality varied greatly.

Some of the things that were freely available made me wish I could blush. Of course I couldn't, so I stood in front of the displays and looked them all over carefully. Things like cock rings, handcuffs, spreader bars and all the various clamps and clips didn't interest me. I wasn't interested in pain so I left those alone.

The masks and hoods didn't interest me either, at that point. I wanted to see the girls facial expressions. I wanted to know what she was feeling even if I denied her the chance to vocalise it. The floggers and whips, crops and paddles weren't my thing either, though they'd been used on me often enough.

That left rope, cord, chain and a collar. I liked the collars. I liked the thought of putting one on a girl and I liked the thought of being in control of her pleasure. I bought karabiners too, in various sizes and strengths. I added a collar for myself almost without thinking and then went through the check out process.

I had a trunk full of goodies by the time I got to the hotel room. It was all safely inside a duffel bag but knowing what was in it saw me signing the credit card slip at reception with a hard on that could've cracked walnuts.

Once inside the room I set about putting things where I wanted them. I didn't bother with the bedroom at all. I'd never had sex as a submissive in a bed and as a dominant I didn't want to now.

So I set my various restraint devices out on the coffee table and then moved on to the bathroom. The pictures online did it justice, just as I'd hoped. Not as big, or as plush as the one in 6C but not poky or too clinical either. I set out the lotions and potions I'd brought with me and then set out the towels.

I showered and dressed in clean clothes though they weren't my usual attire. I'd chosen plain black pants and a fitted black button down and added a thick, leather belt for good measure. I liked the idea of getting my submissive to undo it while I watched. Maybe I was more voyeur than dominant or submissive? Who knew at that point?

At two minutes to seven I checked in with Mark.

At one minute past seven she knocked on the door.

At two minute's past she'd checked in with her saviour.

At three minutes past I'd told her my rules and she'd agreed to them.

I asked what her safe word was to be and once she'd told me I informed her that she wasn't to speak but I insisted she vocalise her pleasure, if I gave her any.

I asked her to stand in the centre of the living room and then I asked her to take off all her clothing bar her shoes. They were boots, though they were shorter and had a thicker heel than the ones the original girl had worn. Once she was naked I circled her body and told her how beautiful she was. I ran my hands the length of her back, over her ass and down the backs of her legs. I ran a fingertip over each pert nipple and then lifted her chin so I could look into her eyes.

They were sparkling and she was already breathing quite rapidly. She was either new or she was really into being a submissive. I didn't know and I didn't ask.

I kissed her then. I don't know why. Nobody had ever kissed me. But her lips were warm and soft and I found that I missed kissing.

I knew it was far too intimate to be done when I was supposed to be being the dominant, but for your benefit, dear reader, know that I liked it. And that I stopped doing it.

I asked her to stand perfectly still while I placed my brand new leather collar around her throat. I left it deliberately loose and then I attached a thick, twisted length of white cord through its spring latch. I wound the free end around my wrist and felt my cock twitch. That one simple act, attaching a collar and having its end in my hand made me hard. Harder.

I took a cushion from the sofa and placed it in front of her and then I asked her to kneel on it and undo my pants. It was exactly as I'd imagined it. She was perfectly obedient. She concentrated on her task and she released me from my trousers with expert efficiency.

I told her to lick, not suck, and she did. I closed my eyes and revelled in it.

I could have anything I wanted from her. I could get her to do to me everything I'd ever hoped would've been done up to that point in my life. And what did I want?

I wanted her to love me.

I was fucked.

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't insist she do anything.

I couldn't pretend to force her.

I couldn't maintain my erection knowing that anything I wanted her to do she might not have chosen for herself freely.

I'd fucked up.

My arrogance, all my planning, it was for nothing.

I couldn't do it.

I helped her up from her knees and then I let the cord go. I sat on the sofa and to her obvious astonishment I asked her to sit beside me. I took her hand into mine and stroked it carefully and then I explained that I wasn't cut out to be her dominant. Not then, not ever. I told her how sorry I was.

And what did she do?

Did she wrap me in her arms and tell me it was alright? Did she tell me that it was okay, that it happened sometimes, that I couldn't have been sure until I tried it for myself?

Did she fuck!

She went berserk!

She slapped me across the face and had I been human it would've rattled my teeth. As it was it just stunned me for a second.

She screamed and yelled and flew off that sofa so fast I thought I might get wind burn from the rush of air as she whipped around the room and retrieved her clothing.

She raged at me that I was useless. That I was too soft. That she was going to tell the organisation that I sucked and then she snatched up her cell phone, wallet and keys and took off into the night.

But, that experience taught me something valuable.

I was a submissive.

And I wanted love.

A/N: Again, thank you to all those who review (privately as well. I understand that not everyone wants to admit that they're reading this type of story, but I want those of you who tell me privately that you're enjoying it that I appreciate you too) and thank you too to all those who are continuing to be very, very angry with me.

Your scorn as made me change this story in ways I'd never have tackled had you not shown your ire. So, keep it up naysayers, your services are invaluable ;)

Thank you for reading,

Please review.