Sacred Circle

by Claire Thompson

  She was breathing hard as his hands slid sensuously down her sides, wrapping around to cup her small, round ass. She leaned forward, trying to touch his body with hers. Again, the sudden slap to her cheek, this time harder. Grace’s hand flew again to her face. “Julian!” she cried.

  “I gave you one simple command, dear girl. Surely, you can remember it? But if not, we shall move from a little slap to a spanking on that sweet little ass. Would you prefer that? It can be most humiliating for a grown woman to submit to such a thing. But I have done it before and will certainly do it again.” He smiled, his eyes bright with lust.

  “Julian, this game, I…”

  “It’s no game, my love. There are rules, yes, but it is no game. I told you when we met to accept your fate. Your fate as a vampire and your fate with me. We were born for one another, do you deny that?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Then you must trust me. You belong to me, as I belong to you. I will lead you. You will follow and you will obey.” Then he kissed her, passionately, bending her back so that she fell out of her kneeling position. His lips and tongue explored her mouth and then trailed down her throat, again teasing and suckling her nipples before moving down to her firm flat belly and the sweet bud of her sex, soft and hot to his kiss.

  When he entered her, she was ready to receive him, her folds engorged with blood and wet with need. He fucked her slowly, easing in and out until she screamed and wrapped her legs around his hips, forcing him to penetrate her more fully.

  “Fuck me! Fuck me!” she yelled like a wanton whore, and he eagerly complied, claiming her with his cock as he held her pinned beneath him.

  Later, as they lay sticky and sweating in the late afternoon Grace murmured, “I want it.” They were lying back to back, barely touching on top of the sheets. The ceiling fan whirred and clattered overhead.

  “You want what?” Julian asked, though he knew.

  “What you said.”

  “You say it, Grace. You tell me.”

  “I want to obey. I want to be yours.”

  “Ah, that is good, my love. Because you already are.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Grace was surprised how little she had collected in her short life. They went through her things, deciding what to keep and what to store. It only came down to a few boxes of prized books and a few trinkets from her childhood. The rest of it—the used furniture, the kitchen items and most of the clothing and costume jewelry—she found she had no desire to keep.

  How different the world seemed when time no longer mattered. How easy it had been to give notice at work. Because it was a large law firm and paralegals sometimes took their client information with them to rival firms, Grace was not asked to stay until they could find a replacement, but was instructed to pack her things and vacate the premises immediately.

  Standing at the desk where she had spent five days a week for the past three years, she only took a moment to decide what to keep and what to toss. She pushed most of her things straight into the garbage, of course having no intention of going anywhere even remotely like another law firm as long as she could help it. She happily gave away things that used to matter to her. To her desk mate, Julie, she gave the coveted heavy-duty hole-punch, her sizable supply of post-it notes and her lucky Shamrock plant. The little magnetic sculptures she used to play with while on endless phone calls with law offices, real estate firms and corporate secretaries, she gave to Ron the mail clerk who had always admired them.

  The rest of the support staff seemed to be in awe of Grace, who could just walk out with no future plans as far as they could see. If they knew the real reason she was leaving, none of them would have believed it. It saddened Grace a little to realize she wouldn’t really miss any of these people. No one, she admitted now to herself, had ever made much of an impact in her life. Her mother used to say she was cold. “And after all we’ve done for you,” she would say, shaking her head sadly. The accusation hurt, but Grace hadn’t been able to project a warmth she couldn’t seem to feel. She did love her parents but it never seemed to be enough. Grace knew now that it was because she was different. She just hadn’t realized quite how different.

  They rented a little storage room in the area, and Julian noted the information carefully in an old leather-bound notebook he carried in his luggage. “I really should get with the modern age,” he said smiling. “If I lost this thing I’d lose access to a number of bank accounts, houses and storage facilities across the United States and Europe. But I’ve used this book for so many years it’s like an old friend.”

  “I’m going to get you a palm pilot,” Grace rejoined. “You can still carry that notebook, but we’ll just enter the information in the pilot as well. Kind of a backup system.”

  “Fine with me, as long as you’re the one to enter the information!” They laughed, and Grace was quietly pleased that she had a skill or knowledge that this learned and cultured fellow did not possess. She was also pleased that though he had told her she was to submit to him, this didn’t mean he was going to treat her as something “less than”. Quite the contrary. As he explained it, a submissive woman was the most exalted creature on the planet. She would be revered and debased with equal fervor.

  “It’s a paradox, much like the taking of blood. The intrinsic beauty of pleasure and pain, combining in an alloy much stronger than either sensation on its own. The loss of blood weakens but the giving of it strengthens the spirit immeasurably. Submission is like that, when love is a factor. And I do love you, Grace. I do.”

  When she took her second victim, Julian provided the distraction, but it was Grace herself who subdued the prey. This time it was a woman. A prostitute standing under a sputtering streetlamp in the gray hour just before dawn. She shouldn’t have been alone, and it was only chance that she was, as the two other whores who worked that block had just gotten quickies. They were hidden in the alley, sucking the condom-covered cocks of lonely, desperate men.

  Julian approached her as if to ask for her favors. The young woman perked up, flashing most of one breast as she said, “Hey good-looking. I’ve got just what you need.”

  “You do indeed,” he said, his teeth flashing white in the pale light of the streetlamp.

  Grace meanwhile had slipped up behind her. Silently she wrapped an arm around the woman’s throat in the way Julian had taught her. Within moments, with barely a cry, the woman had succumbed, sinking back against Grace. Julian lifted the woman and they quickly moved to the chosen alley where Julian propped the woman against the wall of a crumbling building.

  Grace eagerly pulled the woman over onto her lap. To think, a few weeks ago she would never even have encountered such a person—much less lay them over her lap, lovingly pushing back the brittle, over-dyed platinum hair from her neck.

  Bending swiftly, her blood-thirst rising like a flame, Grace bit. She sucked deeply, choking for a moment until the pressure evened, allowing for a steady hot flow of life. Julian watched her as he stood guard, glancing each way down the dark alley with his keen eyes.

  After several moments, he heard a scuffle and the sound of voices. One of the prostitutes and her john were coming around the corner. “Grace,” he hissed. “Grace, stop. Let’s go. They’re coming.”

  Grace heard him and knew she must obey. They had talked much of the dangers of feeding in heavily populated areas such as this, and his dire warnings had impressed her. Oh, just another mouthful, just a little more! She felt him wrench her arm, forcing her to release her passionate grip on the woman’s throat.

  With great reluctance, Grace let go and allowed herself to be pulled fully upright. As she and Julian slipped away, she turned back to see the couple bending over the still unconscious woman. Would they see the tiny wound at her throat? Probably not. What would they think had happened? But their story was not for Grace to know, as Julian hurried her to his waiting rental car, a black sports car, as sleek as a panther.

  Julian fed next. He left her w
aiting in the car with the soft strains of a jazz quartet soothing her as she sat. The sense of well-being at having fed fully was offset by a pulsing heat in her sex. A part of her had wanted to watch him on his own hunt but she didn’t want to slow him down. There would time, so much time, for that later when she grew stronger and more sure of herself as she more fully claimed her birthright. Meanwhile, her desire awakened, as it always seemed to be by the hunt, she contented herself with slipping her fingers into her panties to steal a moment’s pleasure.

  They made love again and again, unable to get enough of one another. They kissed until their lips were raw and touched each other with tenderness and rough passion. It was several days before they dared to share the sacred blood again.

  Julian noted with approval that Grace’s countenance had changed since she’d begun to feed. Her skin, while still pale, had begun at last to take on the luminous shining quality of a true vampire. It was a subtle thing, but one which made her immeasurably more beautiful. She was no longer a skinny waif of a thing. The blood she had needed for so long had begun to restore her, adding a much-needed layer of fat beneath skin now dewy with health.

  People stared at the girl passing by, at her long auburn and golden hair tossing as she laughed, walking beside the tall, handsome young man with the dark hair and broad shoulders. “They’re in love,” they would sigh wistfully.

  Tonight Julian agreed to her entreaties. “I’m strong enough! I promise you, Julian. I can withstand anything you choose to give me. Please, let us share the blood again. I want your sweet, sharp kiss. I must have you!”

  Julian laughed, but her words ignited his passion. He had been holding himself back in concern for her and her weakness. She did seem much stronger now. If she could withstand it when she had only fed the one time, how much easier would it now be? As Grace began a slow, sensual striptease in front of her man, Julian relented, taking off his own black T-shirt and jeans.

  Grace stood in only her thong panties, black against fair creamy skin. He admired for the hundredth time her long, lean lines, broken only by the gentle flare of her hips and the round sweetness of her breasts.

  Julian kissed her roughly as he bent her back in his strong arms. Her arms were bound at her sides by his embrace and she moaned, whispering, “I love that feeling of helplessness. When I can’t move, when I can’t resist you. My big, strong, sexy man.”

  Julian laughed, still holding her captive. “You’re giving me an idea, my lady. How would you like to be truly helpless? Truly bound and at my mercy?” As he spoke, Julian released her, but only for a moment. Rummaging in a large trunk while Grace stood watching, he produced several lengths of thin silken rope, dyed a bright red.

  “These were a gift from a Japanese lover who adored the art of nawa shibari, the Japanese term for sensual bondage. I believe I shall tie you with these bonds and render you completely helpless.”

  “Oh, Julian, I don’t know.” What had sounded sexy in theory suddenly seemed a little frightening. Especially, since they were going to share the blood. Grace began to back away, wrapping her arms around herself in that old characteristic gesture of uncertainty.

  “That’s all right, darling. You don’t have to know. I’ll do the knowing for both of us. All you have to do is obey. Now, hold out your wrists.”

  Grace bit her lower lip but she complied, holding out her arms to her lover, the palms and wrists touching. Julian wrapped the ropes around and between her wrists, executing a clever knot that could be easily undone but would only tighten if one struggled against it.

  He used the rest of the ropes to skillfully secure his lover. She couldn’t move and certainly couldn’t walk, so he lifted her bound body and carried it to the huge bed in their hotel suite. He had left her pussy, ass and breasts easily accessible to his probing fingers and mouth. He proceeded to kiss and lick her exposed parts, drawing a sensual series of moans and sighs from the girl.

  When she was very near to orgasm, but not yet there, he stopped, precisely aware of what he was doing. Leaning over her, he lay across her, rubbing his cock against her pussy. “Listen to me, Grace. I’m going to untie your legs and then retie them to the bedposts. You are not to struggle or move, do you understand?”

  Grace nodded, trying to focus on his words. She was so close! So close and longing to slip over the edge of ecstasy. She shuddered, pushing up against his hand wantonly when it accidentally brushed her bared pussy as he repositioned her on the bed. Within a few moments, she was tethered by ropes at her ankles and thighs to the bed. Her cunt was completely exposed, spread and shining with her juices. Her arms and wrists were still securely bound.

  Julian again slid over her, pressing her down with his weight. He kissed her mouth for several minutes as he ground his hard cock against her body. Then he whispered, “I’m going to take the blood, Grace. But as only a lover and a master would dare. I’m going to bite your sweet little clit, Grace. And take the blood from there.”

  Grace, whose eyes were shut in a state of blissful arousal tried suddenly to sit up. Her eyes flew open, and the panic was clear in her movements, in her cry and in her thoughts. “No!” she shouted, all promises of submission forgotten.

  “Hush, my love, or I will be forced to gag you as well. And you’ll want use of your mouth, because I plan to share my blood with you as well.”

  Grace stilled and lay slowly back. Her body was trembling. But the thought of his blood, slipping down her throat, flowing like fire into her veins, gave her courage. You can trust me, my love. I adore you and would never harm you.

  I am afraid, but I do trust you. Take me as you will.

  Kneeling between her legs, Julian licked and kissed at her clit, teasing it out from its hooded cloak as it engorged with blood. Grace shuddered with pleasure, but her body was rigid, poised for the sharp bite of his fangs. She couldn’t suppress a little mewl of fear. When it came, she felt the piercing of tender, delicate flesh, but she was unable to move, securely bound by the thin, soft ropes.

  Along with the sting of the bite, she felt the euphoria that came with the offering of the sacred blood. His long tongue continued to lick and suck at her, even as his fangs pierced her like needles. The combined sensation was almost too much to bear, and Grace began to wail, the pitch rising as she neared a searing orgasm.

  Just as suddenly, he withdrew his hold and lifted himself over the bound woman, thrusting his cock against her tender center. As he entered her, his head dropped to her shoulder, his neck exposed.

  Do it. He sent the message, but even without his permission, her lips were already parting, the teeth distending for her own piercing kiss. Julian groaned as she bit down, finding the sweet spot where blood gushed in a hot flow. As he thrust and swiveled inside of her, creating the perfect friction, she was transported by his offering. No longer greedily sucking, but content to let it slide down her open throat, Grace lost herself in the moment.

  She no longer knew who or what she was. She was pure sensation, bound, fucked and fed liquid gold the color of life, bright and urgent. She felt herself leave her body, hovering overhead with Julian’s spirit. Together they shared the blood and the passion until both fell unconscious, one bound in silk, but both bound in love.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace’s cell phone was ringing. Julian was out on the terrace reading a book and sipping champagne. Grace was lying on a huge couch just inside the hotel suite with her own book, feeling very peaceful. She hadn’t told anyone where she was, though she had given her landlord notice and the little apartment now stood empty. To her parents, who lived over a hundred miles away, she had said she was taking a much-needed vacation with some friends, and would let them know when she returned.

  They were not a close-knit family and it wouldn’t have occurred to them to question her. The few friends she had knew she had quit her job and that a man was involved. It was so unlike Grace that they didn’t quite know how to respond. Not that she gave them a chance to.

  Ev
ery moment was spent with Julian. It was only a matter of time before they would leave the continent and begin their journey back to France, where Julian would seek out the Elders of the Dark Circle and request her initiation into the coven. Grace hadn’t yet decided what to tell her parents. The truth, obviously, would never do.

  Now she picked up the little phone and read the caller ID. Margo Patrick. Mistress Margo! During her intense confusion following the episode with Rhonda, Margo had been the one who had talked her through it all. She had been supportive and never judgmental. What had she said? Grace recalled now, she had told Grace there was something she needed to confront. Something about admitting her true nature. Had Margo known? Was she a vampire? But no, that was impossible. Julian would have sensed it. She herself would have sensed it!

  She flipped open the phone and said, “Hello?”

  “Hello! Grace! Where have you been? I’ve been calling for days!”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize,” Grace said. In fact, she had only just picked up the cell phone from the apartment yesterday, when they’d done her final packing. She hadn’t bothered to check the messages since Regan was usually the only one to leave one, and she was in Cancun at the moment with her latest conquest.

  “Well, it’s okay. I mainly wanted to see how you are. The way the two of you just left the dinner last week! You and the dashing Julian Gaston. You were quite the talk of the party.” She paused as if waiting for Grace to respond, but Grace remained silent, clutching the little phone to her ear. Margo continued in that low, smooth voice with its particular New Orleans accent, part southern, part Brooklyn, part French. “I know about you, you know. I know what you are.”