Miss America - a BDSM Vampire Tale

by Chrissie Bentley

  “Many of you do not” – there was an answering bellow. “And a handful, of which I am one, have yet to decide what to believe” – strangely, but maybe not, there arose another bellow, even louder than the last.

  “It is for her to convince us. Ladies and gentlemen. I give you Miss America.” I stepped forward; I curtseyed to each block of seats in turn. And then I froze. What the fuck am I expected to do now?

  My answer arrived in what I can only describe as my own James Bond moment, as a figure approached… an elderly, kindlylooking gent, the kind you’d be proud to call Grandfather… and handed me a bundle of flesh-colored tubing and straps, much as Q might have handed Bond his latest remote control gizmo. Assuming Bond shot loads instead of bullets.

  It was, I saw at once, a dildo. “But,” said the old man, “we’ve made certain refinements.” My mind sneered sarcastically. Of course you have.

  “Tell me,” he continued. “Have you ever worn a strap-on before?” I nodded. A couple of times. I’d never really followed through with it, though; I always ended up laughing too hard. So I was astonished to discover that this one ‘followed through’ for me.

  On first inspection, it was no different from any other that I’d seen. A harness buckled it to my hips, a smooth rubber base enfolded the region around my clitoris. I was surprised how readily I peeled off my clothes at the old man’s suggestion; how easily I stood bare in front of the watching crowd, how oblivious I was to the calls and cries that greeted the removal of my bra and panties. I guess I’d spent so long living naked that it really didn’t bother me any longer.

  “Lovely tits,” shouted the South African drag queen. “Let me know if you ever decide to get rid of them.” I looked over and smiled. At least somebody here was on my side.

  The dildo extended out seven, maybe eight inches, that was all, and I was impressed at how natural it looked, both in terms of shape and size. After the distended horror I’d been presented with on my very first night in the dungeon, I’d have expected at least a couple of feet of latex-gorged molding. Instead, it looked positively normal.

  Or maybe not. I tried to remain impassive as the old man knelt at my feet and, unceremoniously parting my labia lips, inserted a long wire deep inside my vagina. Another he coiled round and attached to the small of my back. And a third extended up my back and into my ear. “An earpiece,” he smiled. “The other two are sensors.”

  “To sense what?” I asked nervously.

  “Your orgasm, of course. Now, let me explain.” You probably thought I was joking about James Bond. I wasn’t. I was informed that deep inside the dildo was a computer chip, primed to register three stimuli: movement, heat and, apparently, the onset of the wearer’s climax. As it detected these, a signal would be transmitted from the chip to the earpiece.

  If I was not yet ready to cum, all I had to do was slow my movements, and the chip would reset itself. But if I was, I should ignore the signal and, at the precise moment of my physical orgasm, a valve would open and a jet of ‘sperm’ would be released from one of four reservoirs in the dildo’s bulbous sac.

  I had to ask. “And what is this sperm?” “Well, it’s artificial, of course.” The old man sounded positively grateful to be explaining his toy to someone who cared. “But it’s totally organic, and it was designed to precisely the same consistency, texture, warmth and, I’ve been reliably informed, flavor as the real thing.

  “Now, your own natural copulatory

  movements should be sufficient to induce your orgasm. However, if you’re having trouble, there’s also a small vibrating device which you access thus”… he took my finger, and placed it on a tiny rubber button at the base of the shaft. “It has three speeds, although I think you’ll find the first one offers stimulation enough.”

  Tentatively, I tapped the button – instantly, I felt a thrilling buzz flicker through my nerve ends. Damn, if they were to actually put this thing on the open market, and it does all the things they claim it can, they could render straight sex redundant.

  The question was, what was I supposed to do with it? I had my answer. I hadn’t paid any attention to the sounds that raged around me while I was being kitted up; the clamor of the crowd kicked up so many yelps, squeals and cat-calls that I barely registered the burst of screaming behind me. I was too intent upon the dildo I was to demonstrate. Only when Magdalene appeared by my side and gave me the rest of my instructions, did I turn to see my ‘victim’.

  She could not have been more than eighteen and she was terrified out of her wits. She was not, I was assured, a virgin. “Her mouth and her pussy have both experienced penetration,” Magdalene explained. “But she is young and her lovers were boys. Your reward for your fine speech will be to let her experience a man. Your kind of man.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but a warning flash in Magdalene’s eyes made me close it again. I was to give the girl – her name was Chloe, from a small town outside Copenhagen – the full benefit of my experience and knowledge. I had already been told that my weapon had four chambers. I was to empty one in Chloe’s mouth, one in her puss and one in her ass. In whichever order I chose. The fourth, I could disperse however I saw fit.

  I looked over at Chloe. She was tiny, her breasts almost boyish, though her nipples were broad and brown; but her frightened eyes were wider, and her mouth was the widest of all, contorted in a perpetual scream.

  “What is her failing?” I almost said crime, but now I knew better. People were not brought here to be punished, but to be remedied.

  “A traveler propositioned her. She turned him down, with a slight upon his manhood. She caused a scene. She embarrassed him. Now he wishes her to feel the same

  mortification.”

  Jesus, is that all it takes? Do men… rich men, that is… really think that all they need do is flash their fat wallet, and the girls will just fall from the branches? And, if they do, what does that make the people here? Tree surgeons?

  I stepped over to where Chloe lay. At least she had been spared the sheer torture of the harness; instead, she lay bound across a short bench, her spread legs over-hanging one end, her head bent back over the other. On either side of her, two men stood naked from the waist up. I glanced towards them; then, turning to face Magdalene, I raised my eyebrows quizzically.

  “Insurance in case I cannot do the job?” I asked. “Not at all. They are simply there to turn her over for you. Now, begin.” She turned and walked back to her seat; I moved to stand alongside the bound and tearful Chloe.

  Her screaming had stopped. Instead, her eyes were fixed on my strap on, following its length and then flicking up to look me in the face. “They have no real men, so they ask a woman to do the job for them?” Her accent was heavy, her voice was soft. Though the room was now silent, I doubted whether many of the listeners even heard her words, let alone understood them.

  There was, however, no mistaking the girl’s next gesture. Expectorating noisily, she drew a great glob of phlegm from deep within her throat and spat it at me. I stepped back; the spitball hit my strap on, oozing around the shaft and dripping lazily, slimily, to the floor. “Make her lick it off !” A voice broke the silence around me. Another joined in. “Fuck her!” shouted someone.

  “Punishment!” roared another. Somebody ignited a slow handclap; it built slowly but surely, echoing from the walls, pounding in my ears. I had never realized just what a terrible, ugly sound that can be.

  I glanced up at Magdalena. She looked back blankly, but I could read her thoughts. You made your bed, Miss America. Now lie in it.

  I leaned towards Chloe. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not like the others.” My words sounded like the stilted dialogue in the worst kind of movie, but she sensed… at least, I think she sensed… the sincerity behind them. “I have to do this. If I don’t, one of the others will. Let’s just get it over with, and maybe have some fun?” This in a whisper so low that she may not even have heard me. But, as my fingers danced across her stomach, in
ching up towards her nipples while I bent to kiss her lips, she at least seemed calm, relaxed… resigned.

  My tongue flickered between her lips; felt hers impassive behind her teeth. I drew back, kissed her again, and then moved to her neck. The clapping was dying down again, as some kind of action finally seemed to be starting; with my free hand, I began to finger the shaft of the dildo. It even felt realistic; a little cooler than reality, perhaps, and not quite so pliable. But I ran my fingers across some authentic ridges, even located a few tiny pimples in the skin, and was astonished by the veracity of the nest of public hair. I began to run my hand along the shaft and felt the first reciprocal taps against my clitty, as I lowered my lips to Chloe’s breast and took one nipple gently into my mouth.

  She had been bathed recently; I tasted a light perfume on her skin, and allowed my tongue to investigate further, across to the other breast, up towards her armpits, down towards her belly. I raised my eyes; the angle in which she had been tied ensured that I could not see her face – I wasn’t certain whether that was a good thing or not. I would have to rely on her muscles and the sound of her breathing.

  She was relaxing a little more, as I swirled my tongue round her naval, then dipped towards her sex. My fingers brushed her pussy lips; she was dry, and I did not intend pushing my way in. Instead, I crouched and let my tongue start the lubrication, in the hope that her own instincts would follow.

  The crowd was growing restive again. Clearly foreplay was something they weren’t too familiar with. Well, they’d better get used to it. I continued my gentle nuzzling; was rewarded by the tiniest tang of

  reciprocal flavoring. Gently, my finger slipped in; she was still dry, her folds clinging stubbornly to one another, and though I could have forced the issue, I chose not to. Instead, I shifted my head a little, sought out her clitoris… a tiny little thing, barely a pinhead beneath its cloak. But I felt her hips tense as my tongue made contact, and heard the tiniest gasp as I commenced gently suckling.

  She was warming up; she was moistening up. I had hoped to bring her to a climax before I brought my tool into play, but feared that time or our audience’s patience might run out long before that. So I stood and, guiding the shaft as gently as I could, began pressing it inside her.

  I did not enter the whole way, not at first. Just the head, then ever so patiently, a little more with every stroke. Her hips, beneath my hands, remained rigid; I drove no deeper. Instead, I began gently gliding, half a length in, half a length out, allowing her to absorb my rhythm and, hopefully, pick it up.

  I wondered what I would do if she didn’t respond. I was desperate that this should be as bearable as was possible under the circumstances. But I had my own duty to perform, and no misgivings whatsoever as to how we would both be served should I fail. Would I… could I… simply rape her where she lay, slam in and out as hard as I could, until the machine between my legs decided that orgasm was imminent, and released its own juices? And, if I did, what did that do to my fine arguments of before?

  A thought flashed through my mind. Is this how the others – the men here, the rapists – started out? Not all of them; maybe not even more than a handful. But a few, surely… the Doctor, for instance. They wanted to be gentle, wanted to make love. But that takes two and, in a crowded room that was awaiting entertainment, there might not be time. So they just get it over with as quickly as possible?

  No! You can’t think like that, I won’t think like that. And, besides, my time was running out anyway.

  “Is there a problem, Miss America?” Magdalene’s voice rang loud and harsh. “No problem, Ma’am. She wants it hard, so I give it to her slow. And we will meet in the middle.”

  My response seemed to satisfy Magdalene, but a discontent rumble still growled around the room. I leaned forward, placed my face as close to Chloe’s as I could. “I know you’re scared, I know this is disgusting. But work with me, please.”

  As if in answer, the girl gave a cry and suddenly started to buck, her hips slamming up and down on the hard table top, engulfing the length of shaft to which she had not yet been introduced. I rode with her, slamming myself inside, withdrawing and then nailing her down again.

  The clapping resumed, but it was to the rhythm of my thrusts this time, speeding up as my own movements quickened; and something else was happening, too; my own excitement was building now. I wondered if the computer chip was ready, because this one was barreling down on me like a train… there was a low buzz in my ear; I tossed my head, sent the earpiece flying, shuddered to an orgasm and felt Chloe, too, buck one more time wildly, then sink back, her hips still shifting, but slower now.

  Stepping back, slipping my shaft out of her, I noticed a trickle of white just behind it. I dipped a finger in, raised it to my lips, touched it to my tongue. Close, but no cigar

  – if I had to compare it to anything, I’d say lightly salted oatmeal.

  I scooped out a little more, reached up and wiped it around Chloe’s mouth. Her tongue lolled gently out, tasted it, then returned for more. She may have been young, but she was clearly a lot more experienced than I was at her age. Now we would find out how much more. I looked at the attendants, still standing alongside her.

  “Raise her head.”

  They hastened to obey, loosening the bonds around the girl’s arms, then shunting her body down the table just sufficiently that they could lay a long, velvet bolster beneath her neck. Now I could see her face, still luxuriating in what had apparently been a fairly spectacular orgasm of her own.

  I hopped onto the table, astride her body, my shaft lying flat and sticky on her belly. Grasping it, I maneuvered the tip towards her breasts, stroked it against her nipples. If her breasts had been deeper, I might have fucked them, if only to spare her the necessity of cramming her mouth with pussdrenched latex. Instead, I rose up onto my knees and began masturbating the shaft, feeling the tension of every jerk reverberate against my own body. I pressed the button; the vibrations began immediately, and I found myself jerking faster.

  Again, the crowd was with me – the clapping made me think of the Olympic Games, the raw enthusiasm of the audience at the Ice Skating events. All we needed now was some music, Zorba’s Dance maybe, or something from Carmina Burana. Below me, Chloe’s eyes were fixed on the blur of my hand; and her mouth was open, waiting to receive – what? My length or my spend? I lowered my stance, pointing the head of my toy towards her lips. Her head moved forward a little –she took the end in her mouth.

  Around me, gasps. “Suck it, bitch!” someone shouted and Chloe, as if

  responding to their crudity, began to do just that; I could feel the slightest tremble as her head began to move back and forth, could see her cheeks sinking in as she drew deep on the head.

  “Untie her hands!” I snapped. The

  attendants looked startled, then glanced towards Magdalene, who thought for a moment, then nodded. The bonds came loose, and Chloe’s hands were on my hips, guiding me, sliding me, controlling my movements for sure, but shifting me faster, deeper, than I might ever have contemplated myself.

  For the second time, an alien thought – is this how it feels to get a good, greedy blowjob? I’ve given plenty and, beyond my own hungry pleasure, rejoiced in the joy that I know my partner takes from it. But I had always thought that his pleasure was confined to his cock.

  Now, though, I felt it swelling throughout my body, understood how much deeper the sensation goes; understood, even, why so many guys will say “I love you” once it’s all over, even if they don’t yet know your name. Because, at that moment in time, they do.

  I tried to control my own orgasm. Now I knew how sensitive that computer chip was, I tried to hold back until I was pulling out of Chloe’s mouth. But she sensed my climax before I did; and, though I saw her face contort with shock and her throat muscles tighten till I thought they must tear, she took me deep and swallowed me whole. And, as I moved away, and she wiped her mouth with one arm, the clatter of applause filled th
e room.

  Two down, two to go. I kissed her, and whispered again. “Relax as much as you can. Try not to fight. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  While the attendants held her arms, waiting for my next command, I climbed off the table… my elbow banged hard on my shaft and I wondered how guys can actually maneuver themselves around with a throbbing erection rising up from their loins?

  Stepping between Chloe’s legs, I hoped I could do this without having to turn her over. I thought I could.

  “Untie her legs.”

  “Are you sure that is wise?” Magdalene spoke. “Bind her arms again, then.” The

  attendants obeyed. Gingerly, Chloe straightened her legs, flexing the muscles. I took her ankles in my hands, raised them to the corners of the table, bending her legs at the knee until her ass hung over the edge.

  I reached for the pot of Vaseline that lay on the floor, spent several minutes greasing my dildo, then several more slathering her ass, feeling with every administration my fingers penetrate deeper inside her. She was still very tight, but the human body is

  remarkably elastic when it needs to be. I nodded my head towards her ankles. One on either side, the attendants grasped them, holding them firmly in place and parting her thighs a little further. I stepped closer, guided the shaft to the dark, gently serrated entrance of her ass, and pushed.

  Chloe screamed; I slid in, deeper than I ever intended, and harder. She was crying again, writhing, her leg muscles taut as she

  struggled to escape. I saw Magdalene start forward.

  “Tie her feet,” I managed to say before Magdalene could issue her own command. The attendants looked uncertain for a moment; tie them to what? They

  improvised, dragging the girl’s legs down and rudely knotting the ropes to the tops of the table legs. I could see the edge of the table digging into the flesh above her ankles, and hated myself for the suffering I was causing.