How to Discipline Your Vampire

by Mina Vaughn

  He looked at me for a long moment, and then spoke. He sounded somewhat detached, or conflicted. “Mistress, I’m moved by your sentiment. I’m thrilled that you want to proceed, and that you are enjoying this experience together as much as I am. I have to admit, however, that I think you need that information if you want to keep seeing me like this. Honesty, remember?”

  I found his stubbornness surprising, yet again. I pressed. “Tell me what you need to tell me, William. I’ll listen. Remember, I said I would take care of you, and if you need to get some things off your chest, then do it.”

  He stood and grabbed his keys. “You have to see it for yourself. No amount of my explanations would do the story justice. Please,” he entreated, “read it tonight.”

  And in a black whirl, he was out of the kitchen and out of the front door. I sprinted to see my bedroom in perfect order. He had removed the parquet floor and refurnished the entire room in the span of a minute.

  As I cheerfully filled out today’s scene card, I knew I could no longer suppress the feeling that had been lingering in my mind ever since we met: William was much more than a man.

  I supposed I should read that journal now.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cerise

  I opened the journal to the first page, and saw that it was dated about six months ago. I flipped to the last entry, making sure I didn’t read any of the actual text, and noticed the date—a few days ago.

  This did look like the real deal.

  I took a long breath and turned to page one.

  November 14, 2011

  Dear Journal,

  Why did I come back to Philly?

  I wish the Pennsylvania coven we were friendly with had just minded their own business instead of meddling with my life. Then again, for a shot at happiness . . . I suppose my decision was justified.

  One of the women Steve tried to set me up with—Melissa—had called me a week prior to my visit with some interesting information. She told me that she was friendly with some human women who were Dommes . . . and that she had subbed for one or two members of the Philadelphia BDSM community. I was shocked at her confession, but not completely taken aback. Of the two sisters, Melissa was the most like me—the most submissive. She told me that nobody had a problem with her “peculiar skin” and that there was a chance for some of the Dommes there to do a trial with me.

  I was elated.

  This was the first real lead I ever had. Perhaps I wouldn’t be judged, or rejected. I had to find out.

  I went to a social with Melissa, and hoped for the best. I made a few contacts with several Dommes, but one in particular showed great interest in me. She was a brunette who called herself simply “Mizz” and took me home that night.

  Things did not go well. I had excellent restraint and command over my strength, so breaking out of shackles or ropes had never been a problem, but there was one thing that simply wouldn’t work.

  As soon as I heard her say the word plug, I knew I was done for. That simply was not going to go there. Physically impossible.

  But despite her thirty or so minutes of frustration, she said she would keep me around for something else. I figured that anything could be better than that . . .

  So she kept me as her “pretty.” For a few weeks, I’d show up at her house, and she’d just have me stand around and look good. Or she’d dress me up . . . or not at all. Sometimes she’d take me to parties where she would show me off. That was it. Apparently I was good for looks alone. And while I enjoyed the idea of what we were doing, there really wasn’t much else to it. Nothing physical whatsoever, aside from the fact that she sexually assaulted me with her eyes on a daily basis.

  After that, I was pretty much attending parties for the chance at an hour or so of play. I’d try to do a scene with some of the other Dommes there that knew Melissa, but the most I ever got accomplished was a little awkward groping or an unsuccessful flogging. It was miserable, being so close to what I wanted and still dealing with rejection. I thanked Melissa for her effort, and was home within a month.

  Maybe I need to give up.

  William

  And then, like a jolt of electricity, a memory shocked and paralyzed my body momentarily. Something Erin said . . . about her friends in Philly. He was a BDSM urban legend down there . . . so this was true. Then again, there was no mention of being an actual vampire, so I didn’t really know what to think. He did use the word coven, and that was pretty creepy.

  Um, and don’t forget the fact that he moved an entire room of furniture in one minute, coupled with the fact that everything about him screams “different,” my consciousness taunted me.

  Oh well, moving on. I read some more entries that had some family-centered themes, but there was nothing I was really looking for. Nothing of note until relatively recently, when I saw Portsmouth mentioned, so my attention snapped back into place.

  February 26, 2012

  Dear Journal,

  I had always considered this quest for satisfaction to be an act of hunting, but never did I think I would become the hunted. Too bad I wounded the hunter.

  Women approach me all the time—this isn’t something new. I just read their body language and instantly make my decision: no. I have to actively look for the type of woman I need, and just because a woman is bold enough to approach me, that doesn’t mean she’s a Domme. And I just can’t imagine sleeping with a woman on equal terms—it’s just not my sexual preference to be on equal footing.

  I know what I want, and I’m not ashamed of that inclination.

  Well, a Domme approached me last week and saw right through me. Her motions told me her appraisal of me—the way I walked, the way I held myself, even the way I dressed, all told her one thing . . . that I was a single submissive on the prowl.

  “I’m Mistress Jenny,” she said, “and I think you and I should get to know each other.” She took my hand and guided me to a small table at the bar. After living in Portsmouth for a few weeks, I found out that the bar Alto was considered a BDSM hotspot, so I went.

  “I know your type,” Jenny said before we had even ordered drinks, “and I can see you’re single.”

  I didn’t disagree. She seemed very straightforward about what she wanted to do to me. I was in. Within minutes, we were in her car, headed toward her house.

  While she wasn’t the prettiest woman I had ever met, I thought for the first time in my life that I was the closest I was going to get to my goal, and that made her attractive. Sort of like what human men call “beer goggles.”

  Then, the disaster began.

  I’m too ashamed to go into details on paper, but it’s safe to say that was the most humiliating instant of my life. If I ever find a true relationship, I had better take note of when her menstrual cycle begins, to avoid potential disaster.

  Tortured . . . not in a good way,

  William

  The book fell from my hands dramatically, as though I were in a cheesy TV show. My hands had physically lost their ability to grip. It was a good thing I was sitting, or else I’d probably have flounced to the ground dramatically.

  Chilly Willy.

  Mistress Jenny?

  Jennifer.

  It was true. Erin hadn’t been trying to scare me off. William hadn’t been lying to me.

  I didn’t know if I was happy or terrified. All I knew was I had to continue.

  “Ohhhhh, widdle widdle duckie-snoogles on pa-waaaaaade!” I shouted, trying to sound like baby showers appealed to me.

  Katy’s baby shower made me gag. The duckies were stacked so high and so close, they looked like they were clusterfucking. Clusterducking? Either way, gross. There were little duckie cupcakes and little duckie napkins to wipe the yellow duckie frosting droppings discreetly smeared on your chin.

  Deirdre was in her glory, proud of her shower-throwing skills
. She was this school’s version of Angela from The Office—party-planning and party-pooping guru.

  Katy rubbed her Buddha belly happily and thanked everyone. My colleagues all patted her tummy in turn, waiting for a kick.

  I tried to blend in, but “high-fiving” a baby belly is pretty tactless, apparently. I tried covering up my faux pas by baby-talking again. “Doeshh dis widdle baby-snoogle wanna come out now?” I asked.

  I figured that pronouncing things wrong and adding the suffix snoogle to nouns would sound like I knew what the hell I was talking about.

  Apparently not.

  “Cerise, where did you get that baby voice?” Deirdre asked, pushing her limp hair off her shoulder.

  I shrugged. “It’s the voice I’d use with my dog . . . if I had one. I figured it would work for a baby.”

  “I don’t think the baby cares, Cerise,” Katy chimed in. “Thanks for trying.”

  “You clearly don’t have plans for kids yet,” Deirdre said to me bluntly. She was the most socially retarded person I had ever met.

  I decided to make her uncomfortable.

  “Let’s see . . . I’m ovulating next Monday, so I better find a man this weekend. Is your ex-boyfriend still in Portsmouth?” I asked loudly. The other teachers snickered only because they like me slightly better than they like Deirdre.

  While the kids adored me, I didn’t have a huge fan club among teachers, mainly because I was a substitute and therefore not a permanent fixture they have to get to know. Little did they know I was just as qualified and experienced as they were—I had my teaching certificate, and I’d been doing this for years. I just didn’t want to settle down with a specific school. Or subject. Whatever. My dad was a principal and superintendent for years so I could go wherever the hell I pleased.

  Deirdre spun on her Payless BOGO sale heel and walked out of the party. The people around me tittered nervously, and I laughed at myself for thinking of the word titter.

  Thank God this party was over so I could get back to that journal.

  I gave the class a pop test I made up on the spot so I could read the journal I fell asleep on.

  Don’t judge me.

  May 1, 2012

  Dear Journal,

  I had been to one or two Portsmouth munches before, but the scene didn’t appeal to me. This one was sort of a speed-dating scenario. Although many of the women were attracted to me, none had ever stood out, either mentally or physically.

  Tonight, I was terrified to see Jenny, so I almost didn’t go in.

  But I did, and it was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  I never imagined I could be so attracted to someone.

  Perhaps I have truly been dead all these years. Perhaps my vampiric existence was hell, and after so much despair, God had finally granted me access to heaven.

  I know I was being a bit fantastical and romantic, but I ignored reason.

  So I stared at the meaning of life.

  She had the most innocent visage, and the most petite but sinful body I had ever seen. Her mouth was pursed in a sweet, full pout, and her pale green eyes searched the room meaningfully. Her hair fell in golden waves around her lovely face, and landed softly on the tops of her more than full breasts. As a function such as this dictates, I’d say she was dressed appropriately.

  Dark gray, tailored suit jacket on top of a skin-tight black corset.

  My mind could barely form the following thought. It was so outrageous. It was so perfect. We talked for only a few minutes, but I will never forget a moment of it.

  She was a single Domme, she was strict, and she wanted to play with me.

  I put the book down with a triumphant slap to the counter.

  It was me!

  He was writing about me in his journal!

  “Hey, Miss Norrel, you wore your dancing shoes today, huh?” a student asked. A few of them were laughing.

  I looked down and realized I was doing my happy dance. The seated running man.

  Shit.

  “Too much coffee,” I replied, blushing hard.

  “I’d say not enough. Get up and work it!” some redheaded girl shouted, and suddenly there was an impromptu dance party breaking out in class.

  Some kid took out his phone and put on some tunes.

  I waved my hands. “That’s enough. Maybe if I’m in next week we’ll have a break-dance competition,” I joked.

  Back to William, my mind harassed me.

  Breathing in deep, I composed myself and prepared to see what he had to say about that encounter.

  She was a single Domme. [I reread the line for mental emphasis.]

  Her demeanor was firm and demanding. Her eyes saw into my soul. She, thank heavens, accepted my proposal. She didn’t even flinch at my cold hands. I wanted to present my body to her right there in front of everyone and beg for her to use me. Instead, I watched her leave in my rearview mirror and prepared for tomorrow’s date. And I may or may not have attempted to paint a portrait of her likeness.

  Delighted,

  William

  I stood up and discreetly checked my seat for a puddle. I didn’t know if I peed myself, or Bizzy drenched herself while I was reading this, but the bottom line was that William produced startling reactions from my body.

  As much as I wanted to read about our first scene together . . . what I really wanted to see about was his description of the first time we had sex.

  I don’t think most women get a chance to see firsthand what they are like in bed. So I flipped around until I saw it.

  I even scooted down the entry to get to the good stuff. Fuck foreplay, right?

  And I had to refrain from gasping as she pulled my erection from my pants and shoved me inside her. I focused solely on the warm feeling. The wet sliding. The desperate crashing of our hips.

  She was everything I could have dreamed about. She was tender enough to show her attraction to me, giving my ego the boost it needed for this crucial step. She was domineering enough to make me feel like I was being manipulated by her—pushed around—under her thumb.

  This was what a Domme should be. She didn’t have to be the woman with the leather and the whip. All she needed to be was the one in charge, the one doling out either the pleasure or the pain or both.

  Cerise consumed me mentally and physically, and dare I say it, spiritually. My entire being was inside her.

  Dearest Journal, it was the pinnacle of my existence. My mind was at peace, my body had ascended to new heights, and my senses were burning to a crisp with desire for her.

  I never, ever, thought losing my virginity would be like this.

  Still reeling,

  William

  Vir—

  Vir—

  VIRGINITY!?

  My eyes threatened to leave my head, and I think I got lockjaw.

  VIRGINITY?

  I whipped my iPhone from my pocket like a gun from its holster, and texted him as fast as I could: FORGET WHATEVER SCENE YOU HAVE PLANNED TODAY. SHOW UP AT MY HOUSE AT FOUR INSTEAD OF TWO. BE PREPARED FOR ANYTHING.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Cerise

  I walked into an empty house after school—good. I needed some time to process those entries. There was still a lot for me to wrap my head around.

  No, not the vampire part—I had been suppressing my gut feeling about that for a while. I’d grill him about all the gory details at a more appropriate point in time, if I really even wanted to know more. My real problem was with the other V word.

  Virgin.

  He must be joking. I must have read it wrong . . . a hundred times. Maybe I needed glasses and saw “losing my Virginia accent”?

  He was a virgin the first time we had sex. I popped his possibly undead cherry on top of my new piano, which, by the way, had found a nice spot in the corn
er of my living room.

  My mind could not understand the enormity of it. He was so skilled, and so sexual. He simply oozed sex—okay, poor word choice—he oozed sex in a nondisgusting or -graphic way.

  I had never been with a virgin. Usually submissives have had a decent amount of sex before deciding that they wanted to be dominated.

  I thought back on losing my virginity, and shook my head in distaste. Worse than distaste—disdain was more like it. And I didn’t just lose it—he took it and waved it like a flag of shame for all to see. Fucking Nick.

  I took a deep breath, cleared my mind, and considered the ramifications of taking William’s virginity.

  I didn’t do him justice.

  However, instead of feeling tender toward him, and wanting to rectify the situation by making sweet deflowering love to him, now all this information did was make me angry.

  Steaming mad.

  And he was going to pay.

  “You,” I sneered as William walked into my bedroom at four prompt. “In the corner,” I pointed to the dungeon cross chair by the window, my black-lacquered fingernails shining ominously.

  They matched the black vinyl catsuit I was wearing, and that William was apparently ogling.

  “Of course, Mistress,” he said quietly. “Shall I disrobe before sitting?” he asked. I nodded sharply.

  Once William was deliciously nude and seated, I grabbed the biggest, strongest, widest, and metalist shackles I could find. They should keep a vampire stationary. My mind still slurred mentally over that word. Was he really? I was going to find out very soon.

  I snapped the shackles over his wrists and ankles, and collared him with a thick leather band. I attached the band to the back of the cross and he was secure. I checked all the bolts and bindings.

  Good.

  “William,” I said, voice low, “do you have any idea why I have restrained you so thoroughly today?”

  He half smiled in relief. “Mistress, I believe you read my journal,” he said rapturously. “Thank you,” he added.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” I warned. “Why would I prepare you in such a way? Tell me exactly why?” I said, baiting him.