How to Discipline Your Vampire (10 page)

William and I smiled at each other, and prepared to leave. Our departure was nervous and chaste, like we really were on a first date. He took my hand with tentative fingers, as though I would reject him. Like we had never fucked on a piano or anything. But, you know what? The cool, smooth kiss he gave me on my forehead did more to my hormones than the thought of Johnny Depp tied to a mast.

There was no doubt in my mind anymore—I wanted more Chilly Willy.

I knew that no matter what happened, things would get even more interesting from here on.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

William

There’s the last of it,
I thought to myself as I hung up the final Christmas decoration. It was a sprig of mistletoe—one long twig of it, scattered with festive leaves and berries.

It was surprisingly easy to find Christmas decorations at this time of the year. I wasn’t going to use the ones belonging to my family because Breanna logs and categorizes every seasonal piece of décor we have, and then puts them away—alphabetized—in plastic tubs that are color-coded according to each holiday.

Needless to say, while our stock of family ornaments and tinsel was tasteful and plentiful, I would rather not disturb my niece’s OCD filing system and instead just hit up the Dollar Tree. Nestled in a mini-mall down the street from the main shopping center, I found a store with a treasure trove of past-season goods. I had never considered shopping here before, but now that I perused the aisles, I found myself intrigued and somewhat disgusted.

Mainly, they sold out-of-date holiday paraphernalia and past-expiration snacks. I grabbed a box of Little Debbie holiday tree cakes, noticing the 2007 date on the back. I shuddered at what these confections may do to my Cerise’s tummy, and put them back.

I left the store with armloads of garland, candy canes, and festive goodies.

I opted out of the Santa costume. I wanted my mistress pleased, not creeped out. I felt my body stir involuntarily at the thought of what my Domme would do to me today. She was out doing her weekend grocery shopping so I could set up the scene alone.

When I arrived at Cerise’s house, I took great care in moving her bedroom furniture to the spare room. I had the routine down now, although at first, cramming two rooms of furniture together seemed like a daunting puzzle. Once her bedroom was again a clean slate for me, I got to work decorating.

Soon, Cerise would arrive home to an office Christmas party, per her lesson plans. I had e-mailed her last night that our scene would involve her playing the part of “the boss’s wife.” I loved the opportunity to improvise with her.

My mistress was an outstanding actress. It pleased me endlessly that she enjoyed the fun prompts, and each time she would find some clever way to control me.

When I told my friend Melissa about my arrangement with Cerise, she was shocked by the workings of our relationship.

“William,” she growled, “how can you submit to someone if you’re dictating parts of the scene? It makes no sense.” Melissa was a submissive, although sometimes I wondered about her aggressive tendencies. Perhaps she would switch if she met the right girl.

“It’s not like that,” I explained coolly. “For Cerise, sceneing is a fetish. In addition to dominating, she gets off on the surprise role-play I provide. She loves thinking on her toes and being challenged creatively,” I said, gushing. “It makes her an even better Domme. To her, it would be no challenge to simply have me do what she wants. Instead, she showcases her talents on the fly. She’s brilliant.”

She gave me a “Yeah, yeah,” and quickly closed the conversation. She didn’t get it.

She didn’t have to.

What Cerise and I had was special, and we didn’t need anyone else’s approval of how our D/s relationship worked. The bottom line was that we were both incredibly satisfied thus far.

And today, my Cerise would be more than satisfied.

I took care with the outfit I selected for her. I picked out a red wrap blouse that would hug her figure in ways that her “teacher wardrobe” would never allow. I paired it with a tight gray pencil skirt with a long slit up the back. Lastly, and this was a gift from me, a pair of sexy black Louboutin pumps, characteristic red underside matching her blouse perfectly.
Definitely a boss’s wife outfit,
I decided, pulling out some jewelry to highlight just how much her “husband” made. The silver and ruby choker would look especially lovely against her tanned skin.

I waited patiently in the “office conference room” for Cerise to arrive home. It had a little desk with punch and chips, typical of a work party, along with a bar of cocktails and mixers. I even floated some green sherbet in the punch. I was becoming quite domestic—too bad I would never eat or drink my creations.

I heard the purr of her car as she pulled into the driveway, and the soft jingle of keys as she put her purse down on the table. The bathroom door slammed, and I threw on some holiday tunes and a mistletoe tie while I waited.

“Have a holly jolly, Mrs. Norrel,” I said, handing her a cup of punch as she walked into the “office,” looking like sex on legs. I could barely keep my body from pouncing at her. Forget the blouse
hugging
her, it was sensuously embracing her. Cerise’s cleavage peeked out so amply, I wanted to accent it with some mistletoe, or stick a candy cane in it. I held back my desire as she took the punch wordlessly from my hands and sauntered over to the bar.

“Thanks, William,” she said, sipping casually. “Any plans for the holidays?” She leaned over, décolletage bouncing slightly. I licked my lips and found words.

“Not really. My family’s heading to visit relatives in Pennsylvania, but I have too much work to catch up on. You?” I tried to break eye contact, not wanting “the boss” to walk in and catch me ogling his wife. I suppressed a smirk—I was getting immersed in my own fictional scene.

She made a sour face with her full lips and groaned. “
Ugh
. Matthew’s taking me on some
cruise
. I hate cruises,” she said, raking her hand through her long, curled hair. “He always picks vacations where we’re forced to be together twenty-four-seven. I’d rather just travel and sightsee. I prefer being
alon
e
,
” she purred, biting her lip slightly.

That sent me over the edge. I had to get things moving faster, but without her noticing I was taking too much control.

So, I flirted. “I wouldn’t want you to leave my side, either,” I mused. “Mr. Norrel is a smart man. A lucky man,” I said, my throat going dry. I wanted her so badly. She turned to refill her drink, and I caught a glimpse of her long, luscious legs through the slit of the skirt. I imagined taking the fabric on either side in my hands, and tearing it until it exposed whatever lingerie she was wearing beneath. I was hoping for some lacy boy shorts this afternoon. They were the perfect blend of a thong and bikini panties, and showed lots of cheek.

Now I was the one biting my lip. She noticed.

“Well, if you were on the cruise with me, I don’t think I’d leave the cabin,” she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. I feigned shock. She opened a candy cane and took a long lick.

“Mrs. Norrel,” I said softly, voice hushed and scandalized. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”

She grabbed me by the tie and pulled me close. I could smell her sweet scent, blended with the sharp mint of the candy on her breath. “The firm’s partners all went onto the balcony to chat about a case and smoke cigars,” Cerise said softly, and nuzzled my cheek with her nose. “Matthew couldn’t possibly hear me propositioning you right now, don’t worry.”

I pulled away, hesitantly. “I don’t deserve attention from someone like you, Mrs. Norrel,” I said, bashfully. “My job is my life. I’m usually buried in paperwork, I just don’t—” I stuttered.

She leaned against the bar, pulled me against her, and wrapped one long leg around my waist. She radiated heat, and her aroma made my head spin. “I want you buried in something else,” she said huskily, grinding against me, pressing her sharp heel into my back. I moaned, and grazed my thumb along her collarbone.

“I’ll do anything you want,” I panted, as she slid her tongue down my neck, fingers loosening my tie.

She giggled, and asked me to lock the door in case any of the partners came back. I scrambled to her bedroom door, and locked it with a satisfying click.

I spun and faced her, and her expression spoke of impish delight. “He won’t catch us,” she said with a smirk, and slowly began to untie the bow keeping her blouse together.
This was one gift I’d like to unwrap myself,
I thought, but kept my hands by my sides until she beckoned me over.

She took her time stripping her clothes off for me. I must have pleased her greatly during our little date. Underneath the blouse, she was wearing black. The lacy bra hid nothing from the imagination, and I was glad, because I don’t think I could have waited much longer to ogle her perfect breasts. I loved the way the sheer fabric held them together, doing work that my hands should be doing.

She
was
wearing lacy boy shorts. I suppressed a yelp of victory.

“Get over here. We’re going to have to make this quick,” she said, and I crossed the room with need.

I ran my hands around her waist and slid down, cupping her exposed cheeks. I knew that some men were ass men, or breast men, but for me it wasn’t that clear. I was just a Cerise man.

I pressed against her roughly, and asked, “How do you want it?” I could tell that my cool breath tickled her ear, and she shivered.

She hopped up onto the bar and spread her legs, pulling me close. “Like this,” she said, arching her back.

I reached around back and grabbed her ass. I palmed her soft, round skin in my hands before running my finger through her wetness. As I began to pull the lacy garment down, Cerise begged, “Keep them on.”

After confirming that yes, there was a God, and he wanted me happy, I pulled the fabric aside and penetrated her in one swift thrust.

Cerise cried out, and gripped the bar with her hands. I could hear fingernails scraping wood as I pushed deeply inside her. She wiggled and squirmed against me, desperate for more.

And I gave her more.

I grabbed her hips with a force that was just short of bruising to her delicate skin, and plunged into her wildly.

“William,” she moaned, and I spread her legs farther apart, dipping her lower, getting a better grip on her ass and a better angle inside her.

She bounced and shook, and held on to the bar for dear life. “Fuck,” she groaned, tightening around me, coming vigorously. I watched her beautiful skin blush as the orgasm’s waves washed over her shaking frame.

“Pull out,” she demanded firmly.

Dammit, what did I do wrong?
I wondered.

She sprawled out on a nearby dessert table, pushing the little decorative ornaments and almost all the cupcakes onto the floor. “I want you to give me a Christmas gift,” she said, undoing her silver and ruby choker.

I stood there, half naked, and somewhat confused. “Anything,” I said, wondering what I could possibly come up with on the spot. I was good at improvising, but . . .

“Jewelry,” she said, running her hand along her neck.

“I’d spend my entire salary just to please you,” I said, walking toward her, still aching with unsatisfied need. I stroked myself once to keep sated until we made contact again.

She smirked, and clarified what she wanted. “I want you to give me a pearl necklace,” she said, and grabbed my length roughly between her small, soft hands.

Where was I supposed to come up with—oh.

Oh
.

She grabbed a lone cupcake from the edge of the table and looked at it, questioningly. “I wonder,” she mused, and took a lick. She smiled, satisfied. “So smooth,” she said, and lifted her eyebrows at me suggestively.

I didn’t catch on in time, again, but quickly got the drift as she unhooked her bra, loosing her gorgeous breasts. She slid the soft frosting between them and beckoned to me with her finger.

That was all the prompting I needed.

I mounted the table and removed my tie. Wouldn’t want it hitting her in the face.

I situated myself semi-kneeling, grabbed beautiful handfuls of flesh in my hands, and slid myself into the trail of frosting. Cerise moaned, and I pushed her breasts closer together, nestling my cock between them snugly as I thrust. Sometimes, I would push myself far enough up her chest so that my mistress could take little licks of my frosting-coated cock.

I realized quickly that it would not take long to produce my Christmas present for Cerise. The sight of her breasts in my hands, the occasional flicks and swirls of her tongue against my head, and the surprisingly smooth consistency of the butter and sugar confection between our bodies was enough to put me over the edge.

Cerise was ready for it. As soon as I began to come, she arched her back and exposed her long, supple neck. She got her pearl necklace, the white beads decorating her lovely throat. She moaned, and then swirled her finger in one spot and took a lick. She bit her lip, and took another, sucking her whole finger into her mouth greedily.

“Thanks for my present,” she said, her voice sweet and innocent.

I smiled, and pushed myself up. “Your wish,” I said, kissing her lips softly. “My command.” I promptly cleaned up the room, and while she showered off the “evidence” of our illicit affair, I put her bedroom back together. She wanted takeout for dinner, so when I went out to pick it up, I grabbed a little something else.

A little Christmas gift.

“What’s this?” Cerise asked, pointing her chopsticks away from the noodles and toward a small box I had in my hand. It was wrapped in red and green paper, and had a little silver bow on top.

“Open and see,” I said.

She smiled, confused, and unwrapped the tiny package. And pulled out a pearl necklace.

“Merry Christmas, indeed,” she said, blushing. I pushed her long hair away from her neck and clasped the string of pearls neatly in back.

I am a man of my word—whatever my mistress wanted, she got.