How to Discipline Your Vampire

by Mina Vaughn

  I pushed aside the fabric of my thong and forced him inside me. Ever since I laid eyes on this man, I wanted him. Why bother kissing or bantering words? I wanted his cock, and now I had it.

  We groaned simultaneously and the piano keys whined. He gently put his hands on my hips as I watched his ferociously aroused expression.

  Once he was sufficiently settled in position, William began to move.

  The man was a fucking jackhammer.

  I gripped the piano for dear life as my fully tuxedoed submissive serviced me roughly. “Fuck, William,” I moaned with surprise. I never expected such aggression during our first time, but I wasn’t going to complain.

  “Is this what you desired?” he panted, removing one hand to tickle the piano keys softly.

  “Just play me.”

  He smiled wickedly and placed his free hand between us, working me with his thumb.

  “Mmm, I think I can make you hit a high note,” he said, flicking gently as I squealed.

  As my grip on the piano tightened, I watched him work. His eyelids fluttered, and his mouth was caught between a smile and a snarl. I clenched my teeth as I rode out the waves of pleasure he dealt. I was beyond feeling, beyond words. I couldn’t tell if he was cold; all I knew was that he was inside me and that was perhaps all I would ever want. Nothing had ever felt this good. Ever.

  And we stayed there, fully clothed and fucking, for what seemed like hours.

  I called him my toy, my slut, and taunted him.

  I stretched my legs and wrapped them around his shoulders. He groaned and watched with a curious smile as our bodies slid apart and back together.

  “You feel so good,” he whispered. “So good.” I whimpered at the sound of his low voice, and the vibrations it sent throughout my body.

  But I needed more and wanted it deeper, so I sat him on the bench and mounted him, sliding down slowly, inch by inch, teasing him. When I was fully settled, I began to rock back and forth, grinding myself against his hips and pushing down on his shoulders for leverage.

  I noticed his eyes settling on my cleavage, so I yanked down the top of the dress, exposing my breasts.

  He stroked my chest with his gloved hands gently, and I squirmed beneath the silky touch. He watched my body heave as he gave my nipples a soft pinch, and I ground into him deeper and harder.

  And while the entire experience pretty much felt like one long orgasm, I realized I needed something to push me over the edge. One more thing that would do the trick.

  I undid the sash of my gown and blindfolded him with it. His eyes closed slowly as I wrapped the luxurious fabric around his temples. “Yes,” he goaded. “More.”

  “More?” I asked, undoing his bow tie. “How about this?” I made the tie into a makeshift gag and stuffed it into his open mouth.

  And the sight of him beneath me, bound and gagged, was my undoing, and my body unraveled explosively.

  “You may come, submissive,” I said to him, and he did as he was told.

  Like a good boy.

  I needed a moment to calm the fuck down, so I sauntered casually over to the fridge and opened the door.

  “I know you won’t eat,” I said passively, “but please stay while I make myself some dinner. I’d love to talk.” Between the journals and the music, I simply had to talk to this man who had just rocked my world.

  He approached me, straightening his tux, composed already. “Mistress, would you like me to prepare you dinner while you make yourself more comfortable? As breathtaking as the dress is, I doubt it’s terribly comfy.”

  I smirked at his offer and kind gesture. “That’s why I like the weekends,” I explained. “Once I get home from school on a Friday, I wear flannel until Monday,” I laughed, then looked at him seriously. “Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Gentry?”

  His eyes searched me. “I’m sure if pressed, I could find something,” he joked.

  “Well, start thinking, because I might just press,” I said, placing my hands on his hard chest. “There are plenty of ingredients to work with in the fridge and cabinets. I’m not picky . . . when it comes to food, that is.”

  “I don’t see any recipe books,” he said, eyes scanning my counter, “but I would like to learn your food preferences. May I prepare you something from this?” He began walking toward my recipe box.

  No!

  “That’s all right. Those are my mom’s recipes, and she’s a real cunt.” He nodded, backing away from the box. “But enough about dinner,” I said, changing the subject. “I would like to see the results of your penance.”

  He began assembling ingredients. “Penance?” he asked.

  I frowned. “My e-mail,” I grunted through my teeth.

  He shook his head, looking very upset with himself. “I hadn’t checked my e-mail today—I was picking up the piano and gown. I won’t make this mistake again, I promise,” he said, defeated.

  I felt guilty, but still pushed him.

  “Please do as it says when you get home. I’ll send you off tonight with a flogger of my choosing.”

  “Of course.”

  I decided to take a shower. It gave me a great opportunity to pull myself together. I took my time in the bathroom. I wanted to come out to a cooked dinner, not a meal in progress. So I exfoliated, I conditioned, I buffed, I brushed. When I got out, I moisturized and blew my hair straight and clipped in a few colorful extensions. Since my hair was sort of a boring, dark blond, I liked to mix it up with some funky strips of blue or sometimes pink. And when I’m Domming, red. Lots of it.

  Deciding what to wear right then was a challenge for me. I liked wearing black in the presence of my submissives, just to remind them of my position. However, some of the things that William had given me yesterday simply screamed to be worn. I selected the navy blue silk pajamas—the top was a satin and lace camisole and the bottoms were satin drawstring pants. Covered but sexy and casual. And the navy was dark enough to be considered a variation on black. Nice.

  I stepped out to otherworldly aromas.

  “Tortellini with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes,” he said, and poured me a glass of white wine.

  I pulled up a seat, puzzled. “Pesto?” I asked. “I don’t have pesto in the fridge.”

  He gestured to the food processor in the sink. “I made it. You had a nice bundle of basil, along with some cheese, olive oil, and pine nuts.”

  Holy Jamie Oliver without the lisp—the man made me homemade pesto? Oh, and he fucked the bejeezus out of me, too.

  “You are a master of improvisation. Good,” I said. “Please, sit.”

  He complied, and watched me eat. Normally that would be quite unnerving, but his attention was fixed solely on giving me what I wanted. And right now, I wanted food.

  I savored the first bite. Delicious.

  “Is the meal to your liking?” he asked. The oven beeped and he got up. “I had taken a number of cooking classes when I lived in Tuscany with my parents, so I hope I learned enough.”

  “Seriously? Yes, it’s perfect,” I said after swallowing. “But what’s in the oven?”

  He pulled out a tray. “I made garlic bread.”

  Well, there goes the “he’s really a vampire” theory again, I thought. Garlic bread = dead vampire, right? Maybe I should tease him with holy water ice cubes on his nips just to make sure.

  I was somewhat deflated by this revelation, then realized I was insane for even considering it. “Thank you,” I said sincerely. “Really, you’re so . . . I don’t know . . . worldly. Artsy. I don’t know.”

  He shrugged. “I like to learn things. And art comes in many forms. I guess I just wanted to master them all.”

  “Tell me about that music,” I said between bites.

  “The piece I played today and on the CD?” he asked, smirking, eyes lowered. “That’s an original composit
ion, Mistress Cherry. Did you enjoy it?”

  I nodded, mouth full and eyes wide. Original?

  “I have been playing the piano for a very long time. I actually prefer guitar, though. I eventually tired of playing the same composers over and over, so whenever I’m inspired, I write music myself.” He ran his fingers across the kitchen table as though there were invisible keys. “I find it soothing. Music is something I truly enjoy.”

  I grabbed a piece of garlic bread and motioned for him to go on. All that orgasming made me hungry. “What do you typically listen to?”

  “As far as classical composers go, I enjoy Mozart. When it comes to modern stuff, I—” He stopped, and looked sheepish.

  I swallowed. “Come on,” I said. “Don’t be shy. After scenes, I’d like you to really be yourself. You make me curious.”

  He laughed and covered his face. “Thank you, Mistress. Honestly, I know I’ll sound like a fifteen-year-old kid, but I really love punk. Especially Believers Never Die.”

  And I saw God for the second time today. “They are . . . my favorite band . . . of all time,” I said, then became skeptical. “Did you look at my CD collection while you were getting ready, or do you really enjoy them?” I narrowed my eyes menacingly.

  He looked shocked, but eager to continue. “No—I genuinely love them. Now, I get in this debate with my niece Breanna all the time—do you think their best work was before or after they got their new drummer? I actually have a soft spot for their most recent CD. Breanna thinks I’m crazy.”

  He really does listen to them. “I love A Madness Shared by Two. It was totally panned by critics and hard-core fans, but I think it has some of their best stuff ever.”

  He truly grinned for the first time since we’d met. “Favorite song?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “While I’d love to do a favorite ten, I’ll think for a moment and come up with one.” My mind mentally inventoried about fifty contenders until settling. “Work the Room,” I said with conviction.

  He hopped up and made his way from the kitchen into the dining room to where the piano sat. To my delight, he then began playing the raucous anthem. “Punk on a piano?” I asked incredulously.

  Moosh.

  Although I was able to keep myself together outwardly, my body and soul turned into a gooey porridgelike substance and I thought I was going to make a mess all over the floor. Luckily, I remained solid and finished eating while he serenaded me with my favorite song.

  When he was done, I applauded with sincerity. “My boy is quite a catch. I’m glad you approached me this past weekend,” I confessed. “I’m really looking forward to more—” I stopped, at a loss for words. “More everything,” I finished.

  He smiled shyly, looking at the ground. “Thank you, Mistress.” He got up and cleared my plate. “I truly wish to serve you. Role-play is something I’ve never explored, and between your plans and my original scenes, I’m really looking forward to this.”

  “Another art for you to master,” I joked.

  “In a way,” he said smiling. He stood up and headed to the sink. “Speaking of art, I’m teaching a pottery class tomorrow at work around six—would you like to come?”

  Again with the invitations to do normal things.

  “Thanks, but no. Tell me about your niece—you sound very close. Is she in high school? I wonder if I know her.”

  He shrugged. “She’s actually older than me. It’s a long story. Anyway, since none of our parents are around, she’s pretty much my only family. We live with a couple of friends in a town house complex by Strawbery Banke.”

  “I love that part of town. Really nice for taking a run,” I said, trying to sound athletic. I really didn’t go for runs, but by his body, I bet he did.

  “We’ve been there for a few years. I used to live in Philly,” he said, washing out the pots and pans he used. “So, are you substituting until you find a permanent position?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I have my certification, and I’ve been offered plenty of full-time jobs. I just don’t like being tied down to one place,” I said, laughing at my choice of words. He just shook his head, smirking. I continued before I forgot what we were talking about. “Plus, I make my own hours—if I don’t feel like going in, I don’t.”

  He nodded, interested.

  I sipped at the wine, contemplating my next move. I had just given him two precious things—my encouragement, and more important, myself. A glimpse into who his mistress truly was when she wasn’t wearing her high heels. I pulled back a bit.

  I went into my bedroom and pulled out a rubber flogger. From what I’d been told, it stung nicely. “You’re excused for the night, William. Thank you.”

  I was worried this harsh move—this cutting off of conversation—would unsettle him. I wanted it to, since he shouldn’t get too close to me just yet.

  Instead, as he was wont to do, he surprised me again.

  He approached me, and lowered to his knees. He bent lower, and gently kissed each of my bare feet.

  He looked up with utter submission and reverence.

  “I live only to serve you.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cerise

  Today I was at a local private school and I gritted my teeth as I watched the students interact. I desperately wanted to intervene. I knew what he was doing; I knew his type. I knew he was toying with her, just as my ex, Nick, had toyed with me all those years before.

  But we were not supposed to interfere when it came to students’ personal lives.

  To me, it was all too personal.

  Two juniors, Hannah and Scott, were talking. I didn’t like the direction of the conversation. I was grading tests during a study period, and they were sitting in the front row. I couldn’t help but overhear.

  “You have such bad self-esteem,” Scott crooned at her. “Why do you think I’m not being serious?”

  Hannah was in defense mode, arms wrapped around herself, as though she were cold.

  It was May.

  “Because you don’t know me. Why would you be asking me out? You were my lab partner for a year and never said a word to me other than to ask for answers.” She was a smart kid, Hannah. Very plain and mousey, and definitely not Scott’s type—and she knew it. She smelled a rat. Good for her.

  I wish I had the same kind of self-awareness as Hannah when I was her age.

  “Just give me a chance,” Scott said, as a chorus of boys snickered in the back. “Can I take you to a movie this weekend? Just out for coffee?”

  She looked at him skeptically. “You drink coffee?” she asked dryly, pushing the long strawberry-blond hair off her shoulder. “Since when?”

  He leaned toward her. “Since I noticed that every day you bring in a large Dunkin’ Donuts hazelnut—cream, two Splenda.”

  Her head cocked to the side. Shit. She was falling for it. I almost wanted to hop up and pull the fire alarm just to get her out of this situation.

  “You noticed that?” she asked quietly. Hannah—no!

  Scott smiled sweetly, the fucker. “I notice a lot of things.” Five kids at the back couldn’t hold back their snorting laughter, and I frowned at them and glared.

  “I guess we could have coffee,” she said, pretending not to care. Only she did. Maybe Hannah wasn’t smarter than I was after all.

  “I’ll bring you coffee this week in the morning, then this weekend we’ll go to the movies,” he negotiated.

  Her resolve broke down like a stale cafeteria cookie. The Otis Spunkmeyer kind. The most absurd brand name in history. “Okay.”

  I had nearly bit through my lip with frustration. This kid was just another Nick, and Hannah was just another stupid girl, falling for the oldest trick in the book.

  “Silent study—too much chatting,” I said, intervening as minimally as I could. The kids groaned, but assented.<
br />
  “If anyone needs help, just come on up,” I offered, softening the blow.

  I logged on to the computer and sat in silence, jaw clenched angrily.

  Thank God an e-mail from William was there to distract me from my painful memories. It looked as if he was off and running with today’s prompt: soldier and nurse. Because he had used his free day on the vampire scenario, I came up with today’s roles.

  From: William Gentry

  Subject: Report from the field

  Date: May 5, 2012

  To: Cerise Norrel

  Nurse Norrel,

  I hope this letter finds you in good health. Nights have been lonely on the battlefield, and writing letters to you has been a welcome distraction from the constant gunfire and cold.

  Hopefully you haven’t had to see many casualties, since you’re stationed west of the front. I hate being in the thick of it, but at the same time, I can’t imagine being farther back, like you are. Never knowing if and when the front will crumble, and you’ll be invaded. At least I know my fate.

  I hope to God we make it out of this war alive. All I want to do is hold you in my arms and never let you go. I’ve never met a woman like you. Most girls throw themselves at soldiers as thanks for “doing their part.” But you—you made me work for it. You made me court you, hound after you, and chase you until you found me worthy.

  Most men would tire of this, but I only crave more. At night, when I look at the picture of you in my breast pocket, I don’t imagine you the way most men picture their sweethearts. I’m not taking advantage of you, or even kissing you.

  I’m worshipping at your feet. All I want to do is give you everything you want and more.

  When this war is over, that is my goal. Whatever you need, I will supply, whether that be a warm home, or a man to indulge your every fantasy.

  Yours always,

  Lt. William Gentry

  The most sexy and sigh-provoking image came into my head—have mercy on my soul—William in a uniform.

  I typed rapidly, fingers aflame.

  From: Cerise Norrel

  Subject: Re: Report from the field