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A Lesson in Submission
NC-17
Darla teaches her new childe some things.
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She watches the muscles twitch beneath the lacerated skin, a smug smile crossing her face as her eyes drift down the pain- wracked body of her childe. He is magnificent.
Men mean little to her, males of her own kind even less, but there is something about this one. Something wicked and ancient glittered in his eyes as he lurched drunkenly around the tavern.
Something that drew her to him.
Of course he is handsome and young. Tall and well-built, as all her lovers, with long dark hair and snapping eyes. But, there's something special about him. She knew that from the moment she saw him. A voice inside her spoke, whispering glimmers of possibilities, of the future.
A magnificent monster he will be. Once he is suitably broken.
Raising the long, blood soaked whip, Darla brings it down on his back again. And the male once known as Liam howls in agony.
*****
He hurts. The bitch is hurting him over and over, whipping him more fiercely than ever his father had, and agony burns through him with each lash. He can feel his blood flowing down his back, over his buttocks and slithering along his legs to his feet. He's standing in a pool of his own blood.
Yet...
A part of him finds the pain oddly pleasureful, and his cock is hard and swollen with need. When it rose, swift and proud, she tied a leather band around the base, preventing him from finding release, and he called her every name he could think of, writhing in the chains that bound him to her bed.
She just laughed.
He doesn't like this anymore.
When he awoke and crawled from his grave, power and strength and hunger and lust flooding him, and once he realized what he had become, a future of delightfully evil deeds filled his head and he reveled in the thought of maiming and killing and drinking his way across the world.
And she, the one who had changed him, would be at his side, in his bed.
His.
It was so easy to follow her simple instructions and slaughter his family and half his village. He drank deeply of the blood of his kin, bathing in it, dark delight intoxicating him. And he felt only joy.
As the sun rose, they sought refuge in a small manor house, tying up the owners and servants for a later meal, and she bathed him, washing him clean of the blood and the stench of humanity. And then she took him to her bed and introduced him to more wicked pleasures than he, as debauched as he was, had ever imagined. On awakening it came as quite a shock to him to find himself chained at the end of the bed. Even though she made him, he is the male, he is the master. She is only a woman.
*****
"The world of the night is different, boy." She speaks softly, each word a caress belied by the painful lashes of the whip falling without respite on his torn back. "The sexes can be equal if the progenitor of the line chooses it so, and ours does. But, there are still rules. Rule number one, a childe will never be master over their sire, no matter what the sex."
"I am not a child," he hisses, his voice echoing his pain.
She smiles and brings the whip to her lips, tasting his blood, his power. He will be difficult. But, oh so wonderfully strong, conceivably powerful enough to some day challenge the Master--not that she would ever allow that.
As that wicked thought enters her mind, a warmth pools in the pit of her stomach, and she drops the whip. Not wanting to ruin her dress, she is nude, and her inner thighs have grown slippery with her growing desire. Climbing on the bed, she unhooks the chain from the frame and wraps the end tightly around her hand, before jumping lightly to the floor.
He struggles, trying to free himself, but he is weak from blood loss, and she easily sends him falling to his knees. Head down, soft pants coming from him, he shakes from pain and hunger.
"Look at me," she beckons softly.
Slowly he lifts his head, his eyes full of pain and anger.
"Not broken yet, are you."
"I won't break, bitch."
One eyebrow arches and she cracks the loose chain across his face, breaking his nose and cutting open his forehead. As he cries out and slumps on his side, she speaks, her voice cutting, "Do not ever call me that again, boy, or we will see if a tongue once cut out can grow anew. Lay on your back," she orders.
"The pain..."
"I care not," she snaps, using one slender foot to shove him over. His body contorts in agony, arching from the floor, as he bites deeply into his lip to hold in a scream. "Pain is just another facet of pleasure, boy. Revel in it."
Straddling his writhing hips, with one quick twist of her hips she impales herself on his engorged staff. As he howls in surprise, she digs her fingernails into his chest and begins to ride for her own pleasure, grinding her swollen nubbin against the leather knot preventing his own release.
With a harsh cry she climaxes and quickly moves off him. As her body quivers with pleasure, she lounges next to him, watching him squirm and listening to his soft groans. His cock, coated now with her secretions, is nearly purple with lust. Reaching out, she wraps her fingers around it and squeezes until he howls again.
"Please."
The soft, broken sound is nearly inaudible, but she smiles at it. "I made you for my pleasure, childe, not for your own. You must earn that."
Confusion floods his eyes, and she feels a brief tightening of emotion in her. He really is lovely. The next few years of training are going to be blissful. For her, at least.
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