Vampire Master: Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis

by Joey W. Hill

  Roughhousing could sometimes pave the way to a joyous puppy fuck, but they didn’t often do it in the public play space. Though with the “puppies” tangling with one another, occasionally a more dominant “puppy” dry humped a more submissive one, a hint of what might happen behind closed doors later.

  At the moment, however, it was all play. She bounded in among the playful canines, tackling Toby.

  Toby was one of those who wore the German shepherd style head mask with a pair of jeans. Calling himself an old dog, he was a senior among the “puppies.” He was about thirty-five, but a lot of those on the floor tonight were in their twenties.

  He’d seen her coming and caught her, rolling them over and over. He’d taken care to wrap his arms around her and cushion the tumble, but when he let her go, he was all dog, cavorting around her, growling and darting in for ticklish nips at her breast, hips, stomach and legs that had her laughing and rolling away. Which only took her into the middle of another group who were happy to have her sit up on her knees, pet them, toss the tennis balls across the ballroom so they could chase them as a group, wrestle and tumble one another.

  She wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the chance to play with puppies, but she did it with such enthusiastic abandon, the number of human playmates increased exponentially. So when she was out of breath, she moved to the edge of the converted dance floor.

  Once there, she met the gaze of Arthur, assigned Dungeon Master over the puppy gathering in this section, and therefore renamed Master of the Hounds for the night. She gave him a slight nod. When he returned the gesture, telling her he was ready, too, she stepped behind the wall around the dance floor and into the shadows. She stripped off the tunic, revealing the black body suit and laced bustier she wore beneath. A ribbon had kept the loose end of her “tail” attached to her hip, but now she removed it so the tail could twitch freely with the movements of her body. The base was sewn underneath the bottom of her bustier, fitted just above the seam of her buttocks. From practice, she knew it swished quite jauntily, particularly when she gave her hips that extra swing that could draw male eyes.

  An alert staff member at the nearby drink station came by with a secret smile and a tray of drinks, slipping her the headband with tufted ears. Ella winked at him, then positioned it, digging the comb-tipped ends securely into her thick hair, which she loosened from its overtaxed barrette, so the dark curls spilled down her back. Then she removed the black mask tucked in her bustier. It covered her face, giving her whiskers and the illusion of tilted feline eyes, while leaving her mouth and chin visible.

  That was okay. She wasn’t attempting to present herself as all cat. Instead, she was going for the fantasy, a mix of the feline and feminine. Providing elusive, teasing prey to a pack who were a mix of canine and human male.

  The pièce de résistance was the gloves. They fit her like a second skin and had claws embedded in the fingertips. Not too sharp, but they could do damage. She liked imagining the sensual uses, raking them up the back of a strong Dom, plowing himself between her legs. A Dom with a wide, bronze back…

  Stop it. Time to get in the right headspace. If she gave herself to whatever the moment required, it was easy to assume any role she wanted to play. At so many different points of her life, the skill had come in handy. It also offered the perfect escape from all sorts of pain and regrets that time didn’t heal.

  Still in the shadows, she dropped to her haunches and then all fours, her eyes closed. She thought of cats. The way they moved, the way they looked at the world. They liked to taunt, to live on the edge. To encourage danger to come close, meet it with an indifferent languor and then slip away like a flash of light.

  She’d practiced this a lot before tonight, preparing, so it wasn’t hard to shift. She liked that word, shift. Like the books with wolf shifters, only she was shifting to a cat. She rubbed against the wall, using her chin, her face, the way a cat would, marking it with her scent. She rubbed her whole side against it, liking the feel of the hard surface stroking her side. Taking her time, indulging the pleasure, because that was exactly what a cat would do. No schedule except what revolved around her.

  At length, she rose and moved into the opening.

  Toby noticed her first. His head came up, his mask nose quivering, as if he were sniffing the air. His body went stiff and alert, all the muscles along shoulders and arms rippling.

  Demonstrating a kitten’s guileless indifference, she sashayed along the wall’s inside perimeter. Only a few feet, though. She needed to keep close to that egress point. She kneaded the floor, letting her claws lightly scrape it before she straightened, moved toward that opening with a saunter and swish of the tail. She rubbed her hip against one side of the threshold, rotating her backside in their direction. She was wearing the kind of slippers professional ballet dancers wore to give her good, non-slip footing.

  More canine heads were up, eyes fixing on her. Play had stopped, and several of the dogs were advancing, at a slow, stalking pace. There were over two dozen of them.

  People sitting at the tables outside the dance floor, enjoying the puppy play, conversation, and their drinks, had noticed the change in the program. Anticipation was spreading, quieting conversation.

  She lifted her chin, letting her lips tip up. The dogs were at rigid attention, waiting for a signal, knowing one was coming. They were human males, but just like herself, they were mixed with the animal in a way that had her heartrate increasing, her breath shortening.

  “Meow,” she said.

  The chase was on.

  The dogs erupted into movement, surging toward her, voices lifted in a chorus of baying, yips, urgent barks.

  She took off through the club, careful to avoid the semi-private alcoves with active scenes. She cut through the public areas with abandon, though, looking like a cat in truth, lithely jumping from one table to another, an army of the joyous, barking dogs in pursuit.

  Since it was hard for a human to gain any speed on all fours like the dogs they emulated, most went with the two-legged approach, like her, and several of the males behind those masks were athletic and swift. Like Toby.

  When she reached the smaller bar and sprang up on it, her first safe zone, she turned, hissed, batted at Toby’s nose when he shoved it at her. They gathered around, and she sat down on her haunches, catching her breath. One of the dogs made a grab at her, and she was away again.

  She dashed down the bar, neatly missing any drinks not abruptly pulled from her path. The puppies were slowed by the need to navigate, to not topple or destroy anything in their path. The pound would be a picnic next to Mistress Anwyn’s wrath.

  She dodged, leaped, feinted. Laughing faces, sparkling eyes flashed by, a wave of ebullient energy. The club visitors and regulars were loving the unexpected drama, puppy and non-puppy alike. She should be delighted, because this mini-event to kick off the evening had been her idea. Compliments of Julie, your cruise director.

  But something was off. She’d looked forward to immersing herself in child’s play, because she couldn’t figure out what kind of mindfuck Wolf was doing on her. He acted like he didn’t want to pursue anything with her, but he kept engaging her. He’d bitten her, and not just a love bite. He’d broken skin, left two puncture marks from his canines that were still healing. She’d run her fingers over those marks a million times, trembling a little over the obvious sign of possession. A sign Wolf wanted her.

  She was running from the dogs, but she was also running from frustration, anger, a little fear of herself and her life, the loneliness that never seemed to abate.

  She went over a spanking bench, doubled around the sub strapped on it. The dogs swarmed around him and the Mistress tending him. Everyone had been warned of the planned drama, and how it might momentarily disrupt a public scene, to add to the realism of the chase. The Mistress stepped closer to her bound male, her hand on his back, and made a menacing gesture with her cane, applying it liberally on the dogs who came too close—p
robably on purpose, since she managed to land fairly targeted strikes on hindquarters. One floppy-eared one in a thin body suit even stopped and lifted his hindquarters for an extra smack, giving her a lolling tongue look of pleasure that made the Mistress’s lips twitch before the dog was on his way again.

  Ella shot for a different section of the club. It was thrilling, really. The dogs were closing in, because there was only so much space, and so many of them. It was a little scary, but primal play could be like that.

  A table toppled with a crashing noise. A pup caught and rolled her, so she stumbled and hit the ground pretty hard. The inner cat came forth, and she didn’t hold back. “Rrowr!” She squirmed, snarled, struck him with her claws, and got away, though she felt his hands grab at her ankle. Not just his. There were two other “dogs,” and they piled on.

  She screeched, used the claws liberally to shred the forearm of the one holding her the tightest. He let go with a whimper, followed by another snarl, but she’d wiggled free then and scrambled away. Someone caught her hair.

  When a BDSM scene evolved into something else, it could be amazing, a high like nothing else. But there were times devolution happened, too. Sometimes shit could get real.

  She was a cat and a woman, scrambling free and bolting for safety with no thought in mind but getting beyond their reach. The dogs—and men—were in fierce pursuit. As one rolled her again, he spoke against her ear. His laughter didn’t sound quite right.

  “Run, little pussy. Try to run.”

  Her heart was triple hammering, her breath rasping in her chest. She could use her safe gesture. All she had to do was rip the tail loose and wave it like a flag. But she didn’t. No, it was just a weird moment. Things would settle down. She was safe here. Always safe at Atlantis.

  Another crash. She wrestled free and headed for her end goal.

  There was a tree in Atlantis. Not a live tree, but one constructed of wood and fabric, commissioned by Anwyn from a company that did upscale private playgrounds.

  See? For kids, yet adults had even more fun with them. The reminder brought her back to herself, helped steady her. She leaped for a grip on the lower branches and scrambled up. She kept going, until she was well above the heads of the tallest dog.

  They had to behave like dogs, so they couldn’t climb after her, but they had her well and truly treed. She hissed and growled, and they barked and growled back. She saw their dancing eyes, the sparkle, predator pursuing prey.

  That shiver-inducing side was still there, the humans behind the masks channeling what they would be driven by instinct to do. Acting as a pack had brought to life a savage drive that stayed dormant when they were individual, far more socialized pets.

  Thinking of that, it wasn’t hard for her to summon the kitten response, the meow this time far more plaintive, a little fearful.

  The perfect note. It was okay. Everything was all right.

  There was a social area near the tree playground, with another small bar area, the round tables populated with Doms and subs watching the entertainment. It helped remind her. This was a show. That was all.

  “Well, that was exciting, wasn’t it?” Madelyn had picked up a megaphone behind the bar and spoke forcefully into it.

  The jarring sound seemed to break the spell. Some of the dogs looked a little dazed. Ella didn’t know which of them had whispered that menacing threat in her ear, and she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to know. She couldn’t reconcile it with the playful men who’d romped with her on the dance floor only a few minutes before.

  She briefly met Madelyn’s gaze. It hadn’t taken the Mistress more than a second to figure out things needed to be taken down a notch. She mouthed Okay? at Ella.

  Ella managed a nod. She was fine. She needed to be better than fine, though, so whatever weird thing had just happened didn’t become a big deal. Maddie’s expression was caught between “what the fuck” and “Anwyn’s going to want to discuss this.”

  Ella shoved the big bundle of nerves in her stomach aside and went into full performance mode. Cocking her head, she peered down her nose at the dogs and summoned a disdainful hiss, a bat of her paw in their direction, the cat equivalent of up yours, inciting laughter. Good. The audience was on board. Now she just needed to calm her shaking, which was ridiculous anyway. Everything was fine.

  “Our kitten needs a rescuer,” said Madelyn. “But our sexy emergency responder requires compensation for his services. Tonight is Charity Tuesday, so our kitten will donate a free two-hour session, good for a year, to the first person who makes a donation to our local animal rescue. Minimum $300.”

  “Three hundred and fifty, right here.”

  Master Charley called out the bid in her musical, throaty voice. She went by the title of Master instead of Mistress, because she didn’t like the historic connotations of the word mistress, a paid woman kept in style to do the dirty things a man couldn’t or wouldn’t do with his wife. Charley’s preference was male subs, but she sometimes used female subs to help her. She was always creative and fun, and Ella liked working with her. She had a straightforward brusqueness, and could give male subs a hell of a workout.

  “Well done, Master Charley,” Madelyn tipped her head to her. She raised her hand, a signal, and spoke loudly in the microphone, angling it toward the public area around the corner, out of Ella’s line of sight. “Our kitten may now be rescued.”

  “Or you can shake that tree and let the dogs have their way with her,” one of the Doms called out.

  The suggestion set off a chorus of loud, piercing howls from the pack as they danced and jumped. Ella flinched, shrank back.

  The Dom was teasing. It was a sexual suggestion, not a threatening one. The puppies are just playing now. It’s okay.

  But as she looked down into their eyes, something went wrong in her head. She didn’t want to come down out of that tree. Not until they were gone. They blurred before her, and it wasn’t the dogs leaping and jumping, howling. It was flame, leaping, grabbing, roaring. Telling her there was no escape.

  Oh, hell no. She wasn’t the type of person who fell into that kind of vat. She desperately grasped for logic. She could remove the mask, speak normally to all of them, and everything would be fine. But that would break scene. Just knowing she could do that should be enough for her to regain balance.

  With the exception of Madelyn, the audience seemed to be enjoying themselves, no evidence that they thought anything was off. If she could hold it together, there’d be nothing but compliments for the drama.

  She just needed them to stop the howling and barking. Please, please stop. Despite all her logical thoughts, she could feel the heat closing in on her skin, the smoke filling her lungs…

  The tree shook and she yelped, clutching the rope wrapped around her branch. Several of the dogs were standing on hind legs, pushing against the trunk. A playful shaking. Just playful.

  “That’s enough.”

  Lars was supposed to be her “rescuer,’’ but the command that vibrated through the air like rolling thunder didn’t belong to him.

  Wolf strode past the bar, between the assembled tables. He didn’t slow his pace when he reached the pack, and they scrambled to get out of his way. It was as if they’d suddenly, forcefully been reminded that they were subs, and there was a Dom in their midst who was in an ass-kicking kind of mood.

  She had always loved thunderstorms, but never more than at this moment.

  When he reached the base of her tree, the only one who didn’t back away was Toby. Toby had some of the switch vibe that Lars had, and he stood up, almost as tall as Wolf. For one tense moment, they locked gazes.

  “You better re-think that, boy.” Wolf’s expression was hot and cold at once, containing all the elements of back off or you will be fucked up.

  Toby held his ground. He might just be playing the part, but since that pivotal moment in the chase, the scene seemed to have taken on a life of its own.

  Ella held her breath as a deadly tension
swept Wolf’s body. Was she just imagining the glitter of savage malevolence as he shifted forward? Barely an inch, but the movement contained the dense power of a face punch.

  Toby dropped to his haunches, reverting to proper dog behavior. Not even a sullen whine. He simply backed off, head bowed. The other dogs took an additional pace in retreat, following his lead.

  Ella wasn’t entirely sure that Wolf wasn’t going to go after Toby anyway. To do what, she wasn’t sure, but his fingers were half curled at his sides and his vibrating energy had everyone within its range on full alert, like a herd of antelope suddenly aware there was a predator in their midst, way too close to outrun.

  A movement at the bar caught her attention. Anwyn had appeared. Ella bit back an oath, but the club owner’s attention was latched onto Wolf, not her. Gideon was at her side. He wasn’t as big as Wolf, but he was still impressively built, at six feet and broad shouldered, with a lined, rugged face and dark hair to his shoulders. His midnight-blue eyes reflected an equal alertness.

  They were worried about what Wolf was going to do, she realized.

  Just like that, she shifted away from her worry and toward what a submissive most desired. The ability to serve her Master, give him what he needed. It steadied her like nothing else.

  “Wolf,” Ella said softly. Following instinct, she added another word to it. “Master.”

  Slowly, Wolf’s gaze pulled away from Toby, came to her. Ella held his look with an entreating one of her own. She needed him to help her out of this tree, get them both away from this. Whatever this was.

  The energy changed, called back. She could almost feel a collective breath drawn as Wolf became the formidable—but very in control—Dominant they all knew. “Time to return to your owners,” Wolf said brusquely to the pack. “Get. All of you. Dog park is closed for the night.”

  The puppies slunk away under his hard eye, some rejoining their Doms, others headed to different parts of the club. Some took a seat together at the tables, stripping off head masks and paws to get a drink. There was a murmuring undercurrent of conversation, a half laugh, strained, but things were hesitantly moving back toward normal. Ella could breathe again. As soon as her heart stopped choking her with its manic pounding.