Finding suitable servants hadn’t been especially difficult. Camille prided herself on her ability to persuade others. A few minutes in her company, and men were scrambling to be permitted to clean her home and run the occasional petty errand. Once or twice she’d even allowed one to help her dress or fix her hair, and the attendant groveling thereafter was quite satisfying.
Many of the other vampires had amazingly modern ideas and snubbed her for her use of thralls. Camille generally ignored them. Her attendants adored serving her and even willingly kept her fed, which was far superior to raiding hospitals for chilled, half-coagulated bags of sustenance. She hadn’t needed to “hunt” in the traditional sense of the word for over fifty years.
Camille looked scarcely a day over twenty, though her true age was counted in centuries. She remembered her childhood clearly, every day up until a nobleman visiting her father’s estate begged for her hand in marriage. The match was an extraordinary one for a merchant’s daughter, and her parents had immediately acquiesced despite their attachment to their only child.
Her lord, of course, hadn’t been looking for a wife in the usual sense. In fact, he’d had disappointingly little interest in Camille’s lithe form, brilliant red hair, and fair skin. No, he wanted a hunting companion, a girl who could help him ensnare prey.
And Camille had always been very good at getting what she wanted. Turning had come as something of a shock, but eternal youth and immense strength more than made up for the inconveniences of vampirism. She’d been pretty enough as a human girl, but now she exuded an aura of dark, seductive beauty. Her dark brown eyes had deepened to a nearly midnight-black hue. Her skin, which had once been spotted with freckles, was milky-white after centuries of hiding from sunlight. Her hair had never lost its luster and fell to her waist in scarlet waves. Back in the day, she’d been told constantly that she fell a bit too far on the skinny side. Modern men seemed to find her size attractive, though, and their eyes were often drawn to the curves of her hips.
She’d bought her freedom from her lord back in the early 1900s, and by then he was willing enough to let her go. Parting had been amicable, if bittersweet. Since then, she’d established herself in an old Victorian-style house on the outskirts of a small city. Realtors had dropped by occasionally, but it took only a few quick doses of hypnotism to convince them that she’d bought the house years prior. She’d even managed to convince a gentleman to arrange for electricity. She didn’t need the light, of course, but her servants benefited from it and she adored being able to take hot baths.
More importantly than all this, though, the house was conveniently located near a large city park frequented by early evening joggers, tennis players, and the occasional dog walker. Many of these were the rather impressionable young men she preferred. And of course there was nothing unusual about an attractive if strangely-dressed woman chatting up handsome strangers.
This evening, she walked accompanied by one of her older servants, a man who often passed as her uncle and played the part well. They had parked themselves on a convenient bench so Camille could casually eye the patrons of the park. She could feel her other servants as faint tugs on the back of her mind, the men secreted in various positions nearby.
A new jogger had recently begun coming to the park every evening at about eight-thirty. Camille had been eying him for nearly a week and decided that today she’d reel him in. Behind her sunglasses, which certainly looked incongruous beneath her wide-brimmed dark violet hat, her eyes were immensely keen. She was able to study the gentleman long before his features would have been visible to a human woman.
He had beautifully tanned skin, long lean legs, and muscular arms well-emphasized by the tight running shorts and tank top he usually wore. His shock of black hair was raggedly cut, falling in choppy layers around his face and often over one eye. He was tall, with a square jaw and the sort of aquiline nose that had fallen out of favor in mainstream beauty years ago but Camille still preferred over flatter features.
“This one,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. Her servants, highly attuned to her desires, immediately trained their attention on the young man. One, a boy barely out of high school, pressed a paper cup of lukewarm coffee into her hand. As her target approached, Camille stood, holding her cup and allowing a small purse to dangle carelessly from her shoulder. She began walking casually in the general direction of the lovely jogger, leaving her escort on the bench.
Just as the jogger would have passed by her without incident, another one of her servants sprung from the bushes, barreling into Camille and knocking her over. Her coffee cup, as planned, flew from her hand and soaked the jogger’s white tank top with cold caffeinated liquid. Her “assailant” wasted no time in snatching Camille’s purse and sprinting away.
“Help me!” Camille cried, layering a thin level of persuasive harmonics into her normal voice.
The jogger wheeled around and chased after the “thief,” who promptly dropped the bag and ran with all the speed Camille had given him for occasions like these. The jogger lost him quickly in the nearby strand of trees but returned to Camille with her bag.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Camille dissembled a bit, pretending to feel shaken. “I think so,” she said. “Oh! Your shirt!”
The shirt was indeed stained with Camille’s coffee. She apologized profusely, ending with “. . .and here you are helping me and I’ve gone and ruined your clothes.”
“It’s no problem,” the jogger said, smiling a little. The night was growing chill, however, and Camille noted the goose flesh on his arms.
Camille shook her head. “My home isn’t far. At least come over and warm up a little. I can give you a ride home if you like, too.”
The young man put up a small amount of token resistance, but Camille quickly persuaded him to accompany her home. She even managed to get his name – Rick – and he’d taken her arm before they’d walked many steps.
“You’re a bit unusual,” Rick commented. “You don’t see dresses like this often.”
Camille favored long sleeved, full-length dresses as simple in design as she could find. This one was deep blue and hugged her form. She’d paired it with a pair of soft black leather gloves and, of course, her hat. “I’m quite sensitive to sunlight,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “My clothes can either make me look overdressed for everything or like a beekeeper.”
“I like it,” Rick said simply as they reached Camille’s home. She let them in, pretending to fumble a little at the lock. He followed her inside, casually stripping off his damp shirt. “Where can I hang this?” he asked. “It’ll dry pretty quickly.”
Camille carefully closed and latched the door behind them, telepathically dismissing her servants for a few hours. “Leave it anywhere,” she said airily. “I’ll have one of my servants wash it for you, and it’ll be ready by morning.”
Rick seemed taken aback by her abrupt proposition. “If you’re sure. . .” he said uncertainly.
Camille turned to face him, pulling off her hat and sunglasses and tossing them onto a low table. She peeled off a single glove and locked eyes with Rick. “I must repay you somehow,” she said, her voice darkening into a purr. She lightly stroked his muscular chest. “Surely you don’t object to keeping me company for a night.”
His resistance crumbled at her touch. “Not at all.”
“Good,” Camille said. She cupped his face in her hands and tugged him down to her level, planting a long, slow kiss on his firm mouth. Their tongues danced together briefly, and Camille felt a flicker of desire in her loins that was entirely unrelated to her bloodlust.
Well, she could certainly satisfy both urges tonight.
She led him unresisting to her bedroom, which was a dimly-lit affair dominated by her bed. She’d gotten the largest mattress she could find and equipped it with satin sheets of the deepest blood red imaginable. The duvet was folded at the foot of her bed; she found it tended to get in the way more often than not. The headboard had been a fortuitous find: it was solid oak, with prominent cage-like bars all along its formidable length.
Camille pushed Rick back against the bed until he sat down. She turned away from him, exposing her back. “Unzip me,” she ordered. She felt his hands fumble at the top of her dress for a moment and a smile spread over her face. Finally, he managed to grip the tiny zipper and tug it down, letting the cloth part to reveal her white back and the black strip of her bra. Camille shrugged out of her sleeves and finally stepped out of the dress, standing before Rick in nothing but her bra and matching silk underwear.
She turned to find that Rick had hurriedly kicked off his shoes and socks and was now sitting on the bed clothed only in his tight black running shorts. Camille let her glance lay heavily over his now-bulging crotch. She pushed back gently on his shoulders until he lay down, allowing her to climb forward and straddle him. She ground against his clothed erection, feeling it grow even firmer underneath her.
Camille leaned down and their lips met again, this time with greater urgency. His hands quested over her body as though trying to memorize each dip and curve. Finally his fingers rested on the back of her bra, lifting and pinching it so the hooks fell out of place. Camille obligingly tugged her arms out of the straps and tossed the garment aside. Rick’s hands went almost immediately to her breasts, caressing them with such gentleness that a soft sigh escaped Camille’s lips. Her mouth moved from his face to his neck and her tongue slipped out to trace a line along his throat. She was suddenly and painfully aware of his hot pulse lying just beneath his skin and her fangs slid out of their sheaths.
Restraint, she reminded herself. It wouldn’t do to scare him off. She contented herself with a light nip at the side of Rick’s neck.
“Would you do something for me?” she asked, her hips still moving over his. Rick made a ragged sound deep in his throat that might have been some type of assent. “I like tying people up. Could I tie your hands to the bed?”
In answer, Rick simply pulled both of them back further onto the bed and lay with his arms over his head. Camille almost grinned, but remembered her fangs and affected a more serious expression. Leaning over him – ensuring that her breasts brushed past his face – she reached into the drawer of her nightstand and extracted a roll of black bondage tape.
She had discovered the stuff quite by accident when another target requested she use it. Camille loved it. The tape was a type of semi-stretchy latex and stuck easily to itself, making it easy to tie her lovers without having to hear them complain about rope burn. She deftly wrapped Rick’s wrists, first tying his hands together before securing them to one of the bars of her headboard. As she was still leaning forward and upwards, she started to feel a hot mouth on her nipple. She glanced back down to see Rick teasing her breast with his mouth, kissing the sensitive flesh and flicking the nipple with his tongue. He noticed her pause and their eyes met. Slowly and deliberately, Rick gently closed his teeth over her nipple, not quite biting down.
Camille’s breath caught and she struggled to focus on the task at hand. She tore the tape with her teeth and finished tying Rick’s hands to the bed, giving the bonds a last quick tug to ensure he wouldn’t be able to wiggle free.
“You’re playing games,” she said mock-warningly once they were lying face-to-face again. A smug smile drifted over Rick’s face. “Did I tie your wrists too tight?”
Rick tested the bonds for a moment and wiggled his fingers. “I’m good. These shorts are beginning to feel a bit binding, though.”
Camille took the hint and moved her attentions downward, peeling the shorts off Rick’s body and throwing them to the floor. His cock stood stiffly at attention, and Camille couldn’t resist teasing him a little. She kissed his thighs, running her tongue over his skin until he shivered with anticipation.
“May I try something?” she asked.
“Yes,” Rick gasped.
Camille’s kisses roamed back over Rick’s thighs until a dark vein throbbed against her lip. She carefully slid one razor-sharp fang over it, parting the skin. Then she eagerly slid his cock into her mouth, the iron tang of his blood still sharp on her tongue. Her tongue swirled over the shaft as she sucked, Rick tensing and groaning under her ministrations. She alternated teasing his cock with kissing the cut on his thigh, her face flushing with the feed.
Camille was always cautious to take as little blood as possible from her lovers. Convincing a realtor that a house was already sold was simple enough, but humans tended to pay more attention to lifeless bodies. One hunger sated, she withdrew Rick’s cock from her mouth and ran her tongue over the small cut, her vampiric saliva encouraging coagulation.
She straightened, aware of his eyes on her, and slowly eased herself out of her panties. She ran a finger over her already-wet sex and brought her glistening fingers to Rick’s mouth. He sucked them eagerly, tongue seeking for every drop of her fluids. Camille moved forward, pressing her knees into the bed on each side of Rick’s face.
He didn’t need to be ordered to do what came next. Rick craned his neck forward until his lips met the join between Camille’s thigh and her crotch, tongue tracing small circles as he worked his way inward toward her expectant sex. Camille braced herself against the headboard as his tongue finally moved into her, his lips brushing her labia in the softest of deep kisses.
Camille moaned and rocked her hips against Rick’s mouth, encouraging him to move faster. He obliged, tongue moving in and out of her with increasing speed until Camille shuddered against him. She came against his face, hips trembling with exertion.
“Will you fuck me now?” Rick asked thickly, his lips wet with Camille’s fluids. Camille silently descended, moving until she once again lay horizontally over Rick. She moved a hand down to stroke his still-erect cock, squeezing along its entire length before guiding it into her.
She moved slowly at first, sliding her body downwards until Rick fully penetrated her, then shifting upwards until he nearly slid out again. Their mouths met in fervent kisses, tongues dancing together as they shuddered with pleasure. Desire still burned within Camille, though, and gradually her pace increased until the room resounded with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.
“You like that, slave?” she hissed into Rick’s ear, her tongue twining around the curves of flesh.
“Very much,” Rick responded, laying his hands over Camille’s hips to steady her. It took Camille some moments to register the full implication of this simple gesture, and by the time she saw the empty bonds hanging uselessly from the headboard, Rick was already making his next move.
The man lifted Camille off his cock and deftly rolled her onto her back. Camille gave a small cry, more surprise than outrage, and in moments their positions were neatly reversed. Rick held her hands over her head, pinning her down against the bed. Camille gave only a token struggle, deeply curious about this young man who had managed to slip his bonds.
“I know you’re a vampire,” Rick said softly, his cock resting against the outside of her vagina. “I’d have never gone this far without a condom otherwise.”
Camille raised a single eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it, boy?” she asked.
Shifting his grip so he could hold her hands with just one arm, Rick used his now-free hand to reposition Camille’s legs, guiding them upwards until her ankles rested on his shoulders. With a swift thrust, he was inside Camille again, far deeper than he’d been before. Camille couldn’t quite bite back a gasp of pleasure, and it took her another moment to realize that he’d released her arms.
His wrist was poised over her mouth, veins beckoning to her. “Feed on me again,” he said. “I want you to.”
Camille had never been offered blood freely, and she lay dumb for some time before Rick gently pressed his wrist to her lips. Instinct took over and Camille dug her fangs into his flesh, eliciting a soft hiss from Rick as he began thrusting into her.
As Camille drank once again of Rick’s lifeblood, he carefully adjusted the angle of his hips so the head of his penis rubbed against the front wall of her vagina, brushing her G-spot. Camille’s hand tightened over Rick’s wrist as pleasure began knotting in her stomach, extending to her chest and her legs.
She came again with Rick inside her, interior muscles fluttering against his cock. With a low groan, Rick came shortly after, his seed flowing into Camille. He slumped against her, his wrist falling from Camille’s lips, now crimson with blood. The lovers rolled to their sides, facing each other.
“My men have always been passive,” Camille said thoughtfully.
Rick smiled. “I’m immune to hypnosis, as it turns out. And my step-dad was a vampire, and he told me how to find others.”
Camille smiled, almost wondering. “I liked it,” she continued, half-ignoring his previous explanation. “Not having total control.”
Rick leaned in and gently kissed Camille’s lips, his tongue darting out and reclaiming a few droplets of his own blood. “Then we’ll have to do it again sometime.”
With that, the two lovers drifted into sleep, the night closing around them.