How to Discipline Your Vampire

by Mina Vaughn

  She shook her head and began to walk back inside. She muttered something about freaks and then was gone.

  I think I know what I feel, now.

  Humiliation.

  While this sort of pain is close to what I was hoping to feel, it just leaves me hollow and embarrassed. But I know I can’t stop now. The feeling of that belt and the look in her eyes as she was about to control me is something that I need.

  I will continue my search.

  Defeated but not broken,

  William

  I snapped the journal shut and tried desperately to absorb the tear that was threatening to fall down my cheek. It ended up drying in the duct because I told myself this was just a story; it wasn’t real.

  It was time to go to bed, so I lifted the books from the gray comforter and toted them over to my bureau. Just as I was putting the last pile down, a CD slipped from one of the journals.

  FOR MISTRESS CHERRY it read in William’s cursive script. I had become very familiar with his handwriting in the past few hours.

  Oh God, I realized, those really are in his handwriting . . .

  I pulled the CD out of the case and placed it in my laptop, which was sitting on my end table. I liked to record my dreams in the morning, so the first thing I usually did when I got up was type. My laptop was a Dell and had a coffee ring in the dead center. Techies would weep at my indiscretion.

  Music poured out. Piano. Passion. I listened to the tune with my head in my hand, trying to place it.

  It was sad, but beautiful. It was ferociously emotional and bordered on sounding obsessive, but full of longing.

  I simply had to ask William about it tomorrow. The prompt for tomorrow was “piano player and his muse,” so while the CD wasn’t a huge surprise, the song was.

  I checked my e-mail while the computer was still open, and found a simple note from William: “Hope you’re enjoying listening to your hint.”

  Okay, so I have a confession—I brought two things into school today that I probably shouldn’t have.

  One—my headphones. I ripped William’s song and had been listening to it on loop during my free periods while I graded some multiple-choice tests the teacher had left for me.

  Two—I just lied about grading. During my free periods, I read his journals.

  Apparently, finally, after a complete dry spell in the 1960s, William sort of got a taste of what he was looking for in the early seventies. I mean, if this were really William. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been.

  January 24, 1972

  Dear Journal,

  Her name rhymes with pain for a good reason. Today, for the first time, I truly felt the pain of submitting to a sadistic Domme.

  She is like me—vampire—and her name is Laine.

  I am not attracted to her. Her body was strangely pear-shaped and I didn’t like the smell of her.

  Nothing that we did was sexual anyway. The only touches my body received were from sharp fingernails that broke through my skin and tore deep slices in my arms and legs. I’m healed but slightly scarred.

  The vampire world is a small one. When I finally confessed to my small group of friends that I was looking for a vampire Domme, my niece Breanna called Laine, who she had met decades ago. I was humiliated, and not just because a family member knew about my shameful secret. I was “out,” and it felt very confining. People close to me looked at me differently.

  But if Laine was worth it, I didn’t care.

  The next day, I arrived in San Diego for my “date.”

  There were no pleasantries. She simply asked me to wear a white linen robe and nothing else.

  She smiled like a deranged hyena as she flayed me with her hands and bit me hard on the shoulder. She verbally abused and mocked me. She beat me and cut me and I begged for more, intrigued by this new sensation.

  When she felt satisfied by her reign of terror, she walked out and I gathered myself on the cold marble floor.

  This was something. I felt it. I felt pain. She dominated me like nobody else had.

  And yet, it was not enough.

  There was nothing arousing about it. I wasn’t turned on, and it certainly wasn’t an experience I’d use to fantasize about in the future.

  No, this wasn’t what I wanted, either.

  Resolved to continue my search for pleasure and pain,

  William

  If they got close enough to me, I wondered if these students would know that I was turned on. Like, could they see that my blush went down into my shirt or something? I felt like I had a sign that said HORNY around my neck.

  I wasn’t sure if I could handle seeing William today. Aside from the fact that I wouldn’t be getting an e-mail, I was transfixed on his story. Yet, all day, the only thing I could think about was those journals, and I never ever re-created or revisited a scene.

  But I wanted to. I wanted to give him exactly what he has been looking for. The idea that I was someone who could bring satisfaction to a man who has had decades of unrequited desires was absolutely captivating.

  I steeled my resolve. I wouldn’t mention the scene again, but I would give him exactly what he needed.

  I decided to e-mail him.

  From: Cerise Norrel

  Subject: Angry Mistress

  Date: May 4, 2012

  To: William Gentry

  Submissive,

  While yesterday’s scene was very pleasing, I reminded you that you broke a cardinal rule of mine when you mentioned something in the hallway that was related to the day’s “plot.” I have said several times, including in our nondisclosure agreement, that you may not revisit or discuss a scene after it has ended. The scene ends in the bedroom.

  When you arrive today at my house, I’d like for you to go to my toy chest. You saw where it was yesterday—I got the ropes from it.

  You are to pick the flogger of your choice and give yourself ten lashes across your thighs.

  I want to see red. Show me how sorry you feel, and I may spare you an additional ten.

  Mistress Cherry

  I centered myself and began thinking about today’s scene.

  Now, how the hell was I supposed to think about classical music when all I wanted to do was read about the sexual misadventures of a vampire submissive?

  By the way, that would make an awesome band name. Ladies and gentlemen, The Sexual Misadventures of a Vampire Submissive!

  And the crowd goes wild.

  “Sup, slut?” Erin answered.

  I sat in my car during lunch break, anxious to talk to Erin. I couldn’t wait to tell her about my exploits with Chilly Willy.

  “I’d say a whole lot,” I teased. I should make her work for it, I decided.

  “Spill your guts. Chilly Willy. Details. Now.”

  I looked around the parking lot to see if anyone was near my car. Couldn’t have a student walking by as I detailed tying up some guy I just met.

  “He’s impressive,” I said confidently. “Very creative, intelligent, mysterious. I’d give him a nine out of ten, so far.” I subtracted a point for mentioning the scene after it was over.

  “Really?” Erin asked, intrigued. “The highest you ever rated Brent was an eight,” she laughed. “Now that I’m fucking him, I gotta tell you, eight is low.”

  “Well, my needs are different from yours,” I clarified. Erin was more of a straightforward Domme, whereas I was a scene fetishist.

  I heard a harsh laugh. “Yeah, Brent’s pretty psyched he doesn’t have to do those whacky scenarios anymore, chica. He just gets to be shackled and tortured and pleasured.”

  I was silent. Even for Erin, that comment was a little too insensitive for my liking.

  “Honey,” she said after a moment, “Brent says nothing but good things about you. He’s mostly kidding about the scenes. He had fun
with it, but it was exhausting.”

  “I know,” I said, deciding to turn the subject back to William, “and that’s why William is so refreshing. He’s so creative.”

  I heard a low whistle. “Yeah, but how is he in bed? Did he freak you out? Did he run?”

  Should I divulge details?

  I hunched down in the seat, again to make sure no student nearby could hear the naughty details. “Let’s just say he’s masterful with his hands and took care of me in so many ways.” Telling partial truths wasn’t lying, right?

  “Hmm,” she said approvingly, “sounds like all those girls were overreacting. I’m proud of you, Cerise. Taking on a real challenge. Good for you.”

  I smiled and did a little victory dance. It sort of looked like a seated running man.

  “I’ve been thinking about him nonstop. I can’t wait for today,” I said, and as soon as it came out, I knew I had said too much.

  “Careful,” she cautioned. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Keep your cool.”

  “I will,” I said, attempting to end the call before the bell rang for the next class to start. “Talk to you soon. See you Saturday.” As happy as I was about William, Erin’s comments had set me off. I began thinking of things I shouldn’t.

  My last scene with Brent. My mind flashed to the outfit hanging in the bathroom. The unclaimed ring. The fluffy white dress. The long lace veil.

  As I walked back to class, I could have sworn I smelled the bittersweet scent of almond massage oil and red wine.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cerise

  I swear on all that’s holy, the kids were on chat steroids today.

  “Miss Norrel, do you shop at Hot Topic?” Dylan asked as I walked in.

  I looked down at my Ramones tee shirt. “Is it that obvious?” I asked.

  “No, just other teachers are frumpy as hell.”

  I pointed at him. “Don’t swear.”

  Another kid chimed in. “Hell isn’t a real swear word—it’s like damn or sucks.”

  I handed out worksheets, and shushed them with my secret Domme voice. I was imagining William at home, gagged and bound, and they just wouldn’t shut up so I could daydream.

  “Miss N, will you take us to a Battle of the Bands in Boston? We need an adult,” Emma begged.

  “Sorry, hon, I don’t think they’d allow a substitute to assemble a field trip, and I’d be liable if I drove you anywhere,” I answered. Five of her friends pouted.

  “Do you watch American Idol?”

  “Enough with the questions! What’s your deal today, guys?” I asked, exasperated.

  They laughed a bit, but more than one of them tried to answer.

  “You actually talk to us,” one said.

  “Like we’re people,” another retorted.

  I went up and down the rows, putting checks or zeroes on their homework as I had been asked to. “You are people. And I do like talking to you.”

  “Just tell people that Gunderson tried to look up your skirt and replace him.”

  “Enough!” I growled, and the snickering continued, but hopefully I didn’t get their hopes up. It was true, I did love these kids, but I really didn’t want to put roots down in any school.

  Especially a school with chatty kids who didn’t let me fantasize about my scenes.

  Unlike many lifestyle Dommes I knew, I did my scenes during the workweek. All my friends in the community prefer two or three-day weekends with their subs so they could do what they want at their leisure.

  Me? I needed those scenes to get me through the workday. No idea why more people didn’t do it this way. Walking into school on a Tuesday knowing I was gonna get my socks rocked off later on? Amazing. Fridays were fine because I knew that once I went home, I wouldn’t change out of my flannel jams for days on end. Ahhhh, comfort. Cotton, the commercials were true—you really are the fabric of our lives.

  As I walked out of the building, I realized I didn’t even wear socks today since I knew William was going to rock them off. Plus, socks with high heels was like wearing white after Labor Day. I shuddered at the thought.

  I couldn’t get William’s song out of my head. He didn’t reply to the e-mail. I didn’t expect him to. But back to what had tormented me all day—the haunting piano, the passionate notes. Would he have the CD on when I got in? Did he have a choreographed fuck routine ready that went along with the rhythms of the tune?

  Then there were the journals. My mind could not discern anything about them—their origin, that story, when he even got time to write them. The list went on. I put it from my mind as I pulled into the driveway. I noted that there were at least fifteen steps from my car to the door, so if he really were a vampire, he would have fried today. The sun was completely unobscured by clouds, so unless I found a pile of charred handsomeness at my doorstep, he was not a vampire.

  I checked inside—no ashes, but my ears were delighted to hear that eerily beautiful tune as I walked through my front door. I smiled and my feet nearly danced their way into the bathroom, where I would find today’s outfit hanging.

  I gasped audibly and blushed. There, hanging on my shower curtain, was a ball gown fit for the Oscars. It was a deep gold with layer upon layer of diaphanous material. Some sparkle and shimmer, but nothing over the top. Honestly, it looked like something an opera singer would perform in. Something grand and glorious that could be seen from afar. It even came with long, matching gloves. I had to check the tag. Balenciaga? Badgley Mischka? No tag. Did he cut it out? The Vogue reader inside me was desperate to know.

  It fit like a dream. The sweetheart neckline accentuated my décolletage, and the flare at the waist gave me an enticing hourglass look. I had always considered my body type to be more of a “ruler” than an “hourglass.” The word ruler kind of turned me on, and I decided I was ready to step out, preparing to debut my role as today’s character—the diva.

  I walked slowly toward my bedroom, ready to see his muscular body (reddened thighs and all), but realized the music was coming from my dining room. I followed my ears and was rewarded.

  This time I was sure he heard my gasp, which was accompanied by my gloved hand fluttering to my mouth and my eyes widening as far as my lids would stretch. He smiled, and kept playing.

  Playing the grand piano that was now sitting in my dining room.

  I almost rubbed my eyes like a kid coming down the stairs on Christmas morning to see that instead of getting presents, Santa actually came through and got her a pony.

  William was clad in a black-tie tuxedo, gloves and all, playing piano where my dining room table used to be.

  I did not care where my table was. I got it cheap on Craigslist from some creepy dude named Hal who lived a town over.

  I did care about not looking like an utter fool, drooling over the demigod playing the most beautiful music human ears had ever heard. I assumed my role.

  He stopped when he saw me waiting.

  “Continue playing for me.”

  He put his fingers to the keys for another song, then rose. “Miss Norrel, I’m delighted you accepted my invitation,” he said smoothly, walking over to me. He took my hand and kissed my glove politely. “O, that I were a glove upon that hand,” he said, quoting Romeo and Juliet.

  Bizzy said, I’ve got your glove right here, but I told her to get some class or she wouldn’t be seeing any action. As much as I loved her, it was like having a heckler. I was trying to play a role here!

  “Your invitation was vague, Mr. Gentry,” I said sharply. “Would you like to clarify?”

  He nodded politely. “Of course. As a singer of your caliber, I know you are a busy woman. I brought you here tonight so I could audition for you privately. I know your usual pianist has moved to England, and I was hoping to win you over. Would you kindly come listen to me play for you?” He gestured grandly to the piano
.

  It was a Steinway. They cost tens of thousands of dollars. Who the hell was William Gentry and why was I lucky enough to have him in my home, ready to please me? He looked older today—not a bad thing, just different. Perhaps it was because the tuxedo made him look sophisticated.

  “Please,” I managed to say, as I followed him over to the piano. “Play for me.”

  He ran his gloved fingers across the keys deftly, and I nearly salivated. His motions were so graceful, and yet so powerful. As he began to play, I found myself at a loss for words. I simply moved closer to the bench so I could get a better look at my pianist, and listen. I watched his face, enraptured by the music, shaking slowly back and forth to the tune. Sometimes he closed his eyes and threw his head back. I licked my lips. I wanted him now.

  “That will be enough,” I said, breathily.

  “Miss Norrel,” he said, “are my skills not to your liking?” He attempted to rise, but I held my hand down on his shoulder, indicating that he stay.

  “You passed the audition,” I said, scooting between him and the keys. His head was nearly pressed to my breasts and he looked up at me with near-palpable anticipation. “However, I need to see a demonstration of your stamina. I have a very rigorous schedule, Mr. Gentry, and I have to make sure you are up to my standards.”

  “Whatever you desire,” he breathed. I felt his exhalation on my chest, and my breath hitched.

  “That’s right,” I said, “whatever I desire.”

  “Of course. Are you going to punish me?”

  “I’m going to fuck you.”

  I grabbed him by the bow tie and pulled him to standing as I perched myself upon the piano. I thought I heard a soft growl escape from his throat, and I quickly unzipped his pants and reached into his silk boxers and he gasped. No hesitation—I knew what I wanted, and I wanted it right fucking now. My gloved fingers wrapped around their desired target and I pulled him up against me wordlessly, not even bothering to remove any clothing.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “Please, Mistress,” he begged for permission. I nodded, and his hands fluttered through the layers of my full skirt to expose my spread legs.