The Last Girl (11 page)

Now there is the pleasure of the vibrating rubber, the pain of various implements, and objects entering me. A lubed plug in my ass, then some toy in my cunt. Then the plug is replaced by a cold, lubed metal object slowly fucking my ass.

I was an anal virgin. It should have hurt or at least scared me more, but my body has surrendered so strongly that I feel like a piece of driftwood floating down the river, unable to be harmed because I flow so beautifully with the current.

Everything happens at once, making me aware for the first time that Christian isn’t the only one involved here. He’s only got two hands, and too many things are occurring without breaks in between. As if to put a fine point on it, pain, pleasure, invasion, and hands caressing me are all simultaneous experiences. It’s as if Christian is whispering in my ear, taunting me with the horrible truth that it’s not just him.

A light, rod-like object sends fire along my thigh, while a dildo of some sort is plunged in and out of my now sloppy-wet cunt. A hand strokes my cheek, wiping up stray tears. Another hand pets my hair. A tongue licks at the pulse point on my wrist, another at the pulse point of my throat. They want to feed. They want to drink my life right out of me. They’re drunk on my arousal, waiting for permission to get drunk on my blood.

I’m struggling again, trying to fight through the haze of sensation, afraid one of them will hurt me, that Christian won’t be able to make them stop. My survival instinct has pushed through miles of water to break the surface of reality. I’m afraid he might step away and leave me alone with them. I can’t communicate my fears. Tears stream down my face, slipping from underneath the blindfold to pool on the ground beneath me.

Suddenly the tongue that was stroking over my throat is gone, and a hand is gripping the back of my neck. It could be anyone, but the possession in that touch unmakes me, and I know beyond all doubt it’s Christian. He’s still here. He hasn’t left me. He’s watching and he knows where I am. I remember that he can feel my distress, and he’s reminding me he’s with me and he’s in control. I let myself fall backwards into the sensation again, holding onto this reminder.

All at once, everything stops except the vibrations. Tongues and hands and tools of pain are gone. The plug is gone. The toy is gone. Then someone is inside me. There is no doubt or fear. I know it’s Christian. That transcendence happens again, only this time it isn’t just a merging—it’s a complete and utter surrender. Mine.

I was helpless with him before, but now the feeling has been impossibly heightened. I shudder as I come for what seems like the millionth time tonight. Fangs are in my throat. I can’t even feel the pain this time; I’m too overstimulated. But the drugged feeling comes and I don’t feel like I exist anymore. I wonder if I’m spiraling into the void, but it’s an illusion because I perceive it. If it were nothing, a true void, I wouldn’t be able to feel it. I hold onto this as he seals the wound.

The gag comes out, and a wrist is in front of my mouth. I drink like the good girl I am, while I lie here still exposed, knowing I’m watched by a hundred glowing eyes.

When he pulls his wrist away, he doesn’t gag me again. I don’t say anything. I don’t scream or cry or beg or accuse. I just lie there, trying to absorb what’s just happened. Through much of it I felt somehow disconnected. I’m not sure what that means. Has he broken me beyond repair already? Is it the music that made me pliant when we started?

The earplugs come out and that music lulls me out of questioning, back to a place where I accept and obey without even a stray mutinous thought. I want to somehow crawl inside Christian’s soul and sleep there forever. The blindfold comes off, the shackles are undone. The vibrations cease. The only thing left vibrating is me. I’m shaking, and I didn’t realize it. I’m too spent to realize much right now.

Christian gathers me in his arms and carries me through the crowd. Someone is following behind us with my clothes. He takes me into a back office with a couch.

“Just put her clothes on that chair,” he says.

“Yes, Sir.” The vampire leaves the clothing and stares at me, hunger plain on his face. I wonder if he’s one of the vampires who touched or whipped or licked some part of me. I wonder if he held the dildo that was thrust inside me, or the anal toy. But I’ll never know, and I’m too embarrassed to ask Christian.

Christian sits on the couch and pulls me into his arms. He cradles me like a small child, rocking me, his fingers combing through my hair. He trails light kisses along my collarbone.

“How do you feel, pet?”

I believe he really cares. I cry again because I’m desperate for him to. Less than forty-eight hours has passed since he took me away from my life, and yet it seems as if that other life never existed, like it was nothing more than a hazy dream. I want to stay awake here with Christian. I want him to never let me go. Is it possible that only yesterday I tried to escape? Who was that stupid girl? Who is
this
stupid girl?

“I don’t know.” I’m not sure if I’m high or numb or something in between or different altogether. I’m scared by my lack of repulsion. Except for brief fear, I didn’t react as I feel I should have since I wasn’t given any choices. I’m afraid of myself, but I don’t know how to tell Christian that. I don’t know how to tell him that I am scarier than he will ever be. I don’t think he’d like that much.

He seems to accept the answer I give without a need to pry or demand more, for which I’m grateful. “You pleased me very much. You’re such a good girl, Juliette. I knew you would be. I knew you were worth waiting for.”

He holds me for a small eternity, and I know I’ll do anything, allow him to debase me in any way just to get to this private, intimate moment where I feel I’m the most important thing in his world.

He shifts me onto the leather couch and stands to retrieve my clothing. He hands them to me, and I dress. Then he takes my hand and leads me out of the club.

Outside, away from the thrumming music, I’m no less confused by my reactions. When he says we’ll return to the club many more times, I can’t deny the way my cunt clenches in excited anticipation or the way my pulse speeds. I feel I’m in an endless fall with nothing to hold onto but the air.

The ride home is silent. Just as the night before, we get home only a little while before the sunrise. When we reach my room, he looks at me for a long time with something like pride. I’m somewhat ashamed that I eat that up. He embraces me once more and whispers “Sleep well, my pet,” before locking me in and going down the hall to his room.

I fall into bed, exhausted, my hand slipping between my thighs as I replay the night’s events to yet another orgasm. I can’t believe how greedy I am to seek more after all I’ve already had. The release is somehow lackluster, less sharp and fulfilling. I can’t reach my highest pleasure alone. Only Christian can take me there.

***

Weeks pass and I stop questioning what happens at the club, the way they use and fuck me. The way I can’t see or hear or speak, only feel.

At the regular club, Christian said he wouldn’t share me, but obviously at this other club he does. I’m not sure what the difference is or what shifted in such a short time. I would still be upset if he shared me outside that club, but inside it, we’re swept away in a dream world where the rules are different and nothing that happens seems to count. I wonder if the music alters him as it alters me. Maybe we’re all drugged on an energy in the air that makes us prone to orgy. I wonder if it’s all an illusion and that’s why it feels as if none of it is of any consequence. Could it all be a mind fuck and nothing more? Can he get inside my head like that, and I just don’t know it?

If a shrink were watching all this, she’d might have many things to say about what’s normal or abnormal, but I can’t be bothered to care. Fuck the shrinks of the world and their safe little opinions cloaked in their sterile offices with yellow legal pads and pens. Fuck them.

A part of me feels above all that human shit. I’ve stopped identifying as a human. I don’t see myself as sub-human or as a vampire, but I’m different in ways that make old classifications and understandings of life seem trite and useless. Everything I knew about existence is wrong, and I have no new information to fill in the gaps. Only my captor can cushion that blow and insulate me from the pain of it.

Every night when Christian comes to me, our first joining of the night, hurts. It’s the one constant that has been with us since the beginning, the one comfort that I haven’t morphed into something so different I no longer exist.

He makes me bleed, fucks me, then licks the blood from my thighs. He always drinks from me and then feeds me his blood later in the night. He never feeds after he’s given me his blood. At least not from me. It’s a ritual you could set your clock to. After several weeks of this I work up the nerve to bring the subject up again. All this blood I’m consuming.

I know Christian says it won’t make me into a vampire, but I feel more and more like one every day. I don’t have the super strength or speed and I don’t think I’m evil, but all my senses are heightened and my night vision has improved. I also get tired when the sun comes up, but that could just be because he’s got me on a forced graveyard shift. I just want him to give me a few days without blood every now and then. I feel like I’m losing something of myself and it’s scaring me.

“Master?”

He looks up from my throat, his fangs still stained with my blood.

Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted during his dinner. It might not be the best way to get him to see reason, but I’m not going to get the nerve to bring this up again. I just know it. He’s been decent to me, all things considered, and I’m afraid of breaking that spell. But I can’t seem to let this issue go.

“Do you just give me your blood every night because of the virgin thing? Would I not heal back if you waited a day or two?”

“No. I have to give you blood within the same night. And I’ve already told you, I enjoy deflowering you every night.”

“But it hurts.” The things that happen in the club hurt, too. But it’s not the same, I’m so drugged on pleasure and acceptance there that it’s different.

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes. I enjoy that, too. Perhaps even more than your exquisite taste. Be glad it is sating me for now. Soon things will escalate.”

I don’t have time to ask him what he means by that—isn’t what happens at the club enough? But I think I know. I’m sure I know. He’s a sadist.

He continues, “But I would feed you my blood nightly anyway, even if it wouldn’t make you a virgin again.”

I’m afraid to keep questioning him, but he can see it in my eyes anyway.

He sighs. “Juliette, some things are for your own good. I am not honorable, but I do take care of my property. I give you blood for more reasons than keeping you strong and pure.”

“What other reasons?”

“Have you not noticed you’re more awake at night and naturally go to sleep during the day like me?”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you keep me up all night. Anyone would be tired.”

Christian shakes his head. “You are a creature of daylight. I’m a creature of darkness. Humans need the light and the day. They need the sun on their face and they need to be up with the sun and in bed at night. Otherwise, over time their health will suffer. Not every vampire gives his pet his blood every night. Some wait until the human is too weak for the vampire to drink from them. Some forget to feed their pets altogether and let them die. Some keep a harem and feed a little from each of them without returning the favor. My blood doesn’t make you a vampire, but it does make you nocturnal. It allows you optimal vitality while also allowing you to live in my world. In these matters I have far greater wisdom than you, and I expect you to defer to that wisdom in future. If you bring it up again, you will be punished.”

I stare at him hard, trying to figure out why it’s so important to him that I stay so healthy and overall comfortable. I want so deeply to believe he has feelings for me. I know he’s not human, but wasn’t he once? Isn’t there a kernel of anything from before left? Surely he must care a little with how well he takes care of me.

Yes, there is pain in our relationship, but I know it’s coming. I’m ready now for the sharp agony when he first takes me, and the sting of his bite. Both types of torment transform into pure pleasure each time. The bad part doesn’t last. And then there is the club, which I’ve put in a separate compartment.

It’s gotten to the point where I associate the feelings together even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s become Pavlovian.

And most of the time, he’s in control—especially earlier in the night and after he’s had a little of my blood. It’s only sometimes that I start to see the hint of his true darkness seeping around the edges. Basic and quick obedience has kept his anger at bay, but I know it’s lurking and waiting, preparing to wrap around me and suck me under.

“Juliette, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Master. I won’t bring it up again.” And I won’t. I’ve beaten that horse to death already and it’s time for me to let it go and drink when he says drink. Questioning him isn’t good for my well-being. He’s right. He’s making me more comfortable, healthier. It’s another gift, and I know how he feels about ingratitude toward gifts. I don’t need that lesson repeated.

“Do you love me?” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. My hand flies to my lips as if I can put the genie back in the bottle, but I know I can’t. It’s too late. The words are already out there, hanging between us like a thick, dark fog.

His eyes widen, and I inwardly groan. I’m so stupid. Such a child. He’s told me he’s not noble and good, that this isn’t some fairy-tale, and yet my mind still seeks to turn it into one. But he’s not laughing at me, and he hasn’t said anything cruel. Yet.

“Oh, Juliette.” He sounds sad when he says it.

What does that mean? I want to rewind back just a couple of minutes and not ask. Please, whatever higher power may be out there, let me have this one boon. Just a minor time travel. It’ll hardly be a blip. I can’t stand this awkwardness. I feel like such an immature child for asking. I wait for him to say something awful or to taunt me, but he doesn’t.