How to Discipline Your Vampire (4 page)

Pink hair extensions with a Hello Kitty clip to hold them in.

“I saw them on some girl at a concert and asked her where she got them,” Lizzie said as Nev tried to clip them in my long blond hair. “I told her I had a teacher who would love them.”

“Substitute,” I corrected her with a laugh, working the pink part into my own hairdo. I loved extensions, and never shied away from wearing them to work.

“Totally you,” they both said.

I nodded in agreement. “So me.” I smiled brightly at the two little misfits, in their neon socks and multibraceleted forearms.

“I wish you were our real math teacher,” Nevaeh whined. “You explain the homework better than the actual teacher.”

Lizzie nodded. “I hear Mr. Wood’s leaving to teach at SNHU—you should totally apply.”

I shook my head, feeling the artificial pink hairs dangle down my shoulders. “I’m all set. I like being free.”

“Oh I hear you—I wouldn’t want to come back to this place every day, either,” Lizzie said.

I held my hands up in protest. “It’s not like that. I enjoy high schoolers. I just like variety.”

“My friend at Londonderry High said you’re there sometimes.”

“I’m everywhere, my dear. No escaping me!”

The girls picked up their book bags and gave me a quick hug and made their way to lunch.

The rest of the day, however, dragged like RuPaul.

Today I was at Newmarket High, a place I frequently called home. One of their math teachers, Mr. Wessel, was a hypochondriac, so I got calls at least once a week here. I was basically part of the faculty. Work today was more torturous than usual—kids had nitpicky questions, the other teachers wouldn’t stop hounding me about helping plan a colleague’s baby shower, and I was literally doing equations in my head for fun to kill time until lunch.

Lunch meant a break. Lunch hopefully meant an e-mail from him—from Chilly Willy. The anticipation was killing me. I strode toward the teacher’s room purposefully, head in the clouds—or in the gutter.

“Cerise, so do you think we should go with a ducky theme or a clown theme?” Deirdre asked, trying to catch up to me. I threw up a little in my mouth at her suggestion. Maybe because I thought it was a horrible idea, or also maybe it was because Deirdre was a douche-cannon who talked down to substitutes.

“Clowns?” I asked incredulously, screeching to a halt. “Isn’t, like, ninety percent of the population terrified of clowns?”

She pursed her gross, chapped lips at me and pushed her glasses up her nose. “My dad was a clown, thankyouverymuch. I thought it might be cute to have a circus theme for the shower since Katy always does that field trip to the carnival.”

Katy was a history teacher who was eight months pregnant. Deirdre was a science teacher who kept disgusting specimens in her room on display. She even had a dog fetus she called “Pickled Poochie.”
Of course she wouldn’t mind clowns,
I noted.

“Listen,” I said, trying to maintain my decorum, “do what you want;
I’m
just a sub
. All I know is that most people have a visceral reaction to clowns and circus folk, ’kay?” I just wanted her to leave me alone with my pervy thoughts. I didn’t want to think about baby showers—I was only twenty-nine and the only clock inside me was ticking to the beat of “Let’s Get It On.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Duckies it is.” She walked away, and I noticed that her jeans were from Sears. I shuddered and continued to the break room.

I heated my Lean Cuisine panini—oh and seriously, does
anyone
else
think that word sounds dirty?—and discreetly checked my iPhone.

An e-mail!

I blushed and leaned against the microwave, feeling its slow rotation vibrate against my back. My thoughts drifted again, for the billionth time, to William. I slid my finger against the screen of the phone, opening the e-mail slowly, savoring the anticipation.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Dearest potential Mistress,

I have made all necessary preparations to meet with you today. I made sure my thirst is fully sated, as not to be a threat. The last thing I would want to do is hurt you, but please know that it typically takes extraordinary restraint to control myself. I have been looking forward to our scenario today since we met. Because I do not sleep, my mind has been occupied with thoughts of you and what you would like. I do hope my talents are to your liking, and please know I would do anything you ask, for as long as you will permit.

Do not be afraid; my only thirst now is to please and serve you.

Sincerely,

William, your potential submissive

“Cerise, are you going to leave your lunch in there to marinate or what?” Paul asked me, eyes bulging. Apparently I was holding up the line at the micro.
Shit.

Anyone who has teacher-friends knows that we all eat
really
fast and seldom talk while we dine. That’s because we’re conditioned to wolf down our food as fast as humanly possible. Twenty-six-minute lunches—that was all we got. Factor in five minutes of waiting in line for the microwave, then another two for lunch to cool down, then another three to get back to the classroom, and we were left with virtually no time to eat. Lunch in the teacher’s room was a serious affair, and I was breaking some social faux pas by not removing my panini fast enough.

“Sorry,” I muttered, bringing my hot sandwich to my seat, fanning it with my hands.

I pulled my phone back out and began a response while my ham and cheese cooled.

From: Cerise Norrel

Subject: Re: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: William Gentry

William,

I appreciate your assurance of my health; however, your e-mail was more formal than I’d like. I am henceforth requiring a little more pizzazz in your response. Essentially, please go on about being a bad vampire, and how you’d like me to assist you in your atonement.

Waiting patiently . . . for now,

Mistress Cherry

P.S.—See attached spreadsheet detailing your scenes for the next two weeks, Monday thru Wednesday only. Consider this your homework.

I bit into my sandwich, but quickly tried to disengage when I realized how hot it was. As I pulled it away from my face, the melting cheese drew a long string before snapping back and hitting me in the eye.

“Fuhhh,” I muttered, mouth full of nuclear-hot Swiss and mozzarella. I ran to the barrel and spit out the offending mouthful.

Paul snickered while hovering over the microwave, heating his Chunky soup.
Chunky like his ass—gross.

Quickly, I began to swirl some water around in my mouth. The burning subsided and my mouth was left relatively unharmed, aside from the pizza burn. You know, that little flap of burnt skin you get right behind your front teeth when you eat something too hot. I resisted the urge to use my long acrylic fingernails to peel it right off.

I headed into the bathroom to inspect the damage to my eye area from the cheesesplosion . . .
ugh
. Redness. There was a small streak from my lower eyelid halfway down my cheek—evidence of the dairy attack on my face.
The last thing I needed was to look injured in front of a vampire,
I giggled to myself. I couldn’t wait for our scene.

Luckily, there was a quick reply e-mail from my dear Chilly Willy that made me wish for another five minutes to my lunch break . . . so I could be alone . . . in the math office . . . just reading it over and over.

From: William Gentry

Subject: Re: Scene One: Atonement

Date: May 3, 2012

To: Cerise Norrel

Dear Mistress Cherry, (May I call you this already?)

I am sorry my first e-mail wasn’t to your liking. This is a road we will travel together for a while, I hope, and I’m glad you gave me feedback so soon. From now on, I will make sure my e-mails are more titillating. Additionally, I have read and memorized your spreadsheet. The days that come will be filled with untold pleasures, I assure you.

I had difficulty selecting your outfit today, since our scenario is less costume-driven and more plot-oriented. So, what I did was imagine your beautiful body. Then, I asked myself, what could possibly cover such a lovely form that would do it proper justice? I didn’t want to select something overtly sexual—that would be too cliché, but I also wanted a chance to see my Domme in something befitting of her position over me. And hopefully under me, eventually, should you permit, Mistress. I went to La Perla and, with a basic idea in mind of what I wanted, shopped for you. I thought of your beautiful tan skin tone, and which colors would bring out your lovely blush best. The color is ingrained in my mind. I was torn between pale green silk that reminded me of your eyes, and a lovely midnight navy that would offset your coloring nicely. I bought both sets.

I spent the entire ride home imagining how glorious you would look in my purchases. In all my years on this earth, I have never seen someone as beautiful as you. I hope I am worthy of the kind of worship I will lavish you with. I simply cannot wait for you to do with me what you will. Have you thought of what you would like to do? I’m sure you have plenty of plans for me.

I live to serve, and count the moments until I hear your footsteps through the front door.

I will be, as you have asked, in your bedroom, clad in black.

Servile to only you,

William

My mouth was watering. The last few potentials hadn’t worked out this well from the start—their scenarios were unoriginal or totally awkward, and none of them had a way with words.

I could paraphrase my last sub, Frank, with his first “original scene” e-mail to me.

“U r 2 pretty 4 a guy liek me, so I cant wate for u to smack me around. Well pretend were from the old west and your an indian and im your cowboy lover, only not like those gay guys.”

I was surprised I let him lay a hand on me after that grammatical vomit, but he had a really nice ass. And yes, I did smack him around a little, since that was dictated in the scene. I gave him one more chance, and the next week when his e-mail said,
“ok ur a doctor and ima football player with a groin injury,”
I was out.

Then there was poor, sweet, harmless Bobby. God, I had no idea why he wanted the things he wanted. He always ended a scene sobbing. I used to just shake my head at him in bewilderment. But, that man ate out every night like he was a food critic, so I didn’t toss him overboard for about a month.

But William seemed different already. Intelligent, mysterious, and even a little old-fashioned, which could be fun. Just to keep him hanging, I didn’t respond. I’d let him wait to see my reaction in person.

And the day from hell just kept getting longer. We had a lockdown during one class so that the police dogs could sniff book bags for weed. The kids in class were all tweaking—they either thought there was a terrorist in the building, or that they’d get caught with their stash.

And I was stuck in the reject room. We have this one shitty classroom that teachers rotate using because nobody wants it for the year. So, once a month, everyone has one class there. It has no windows, no Wi-Fi, and no computer, so I was without any kind of outlet for the last period of the day.

And it was “ice cream sundae Monday,” so the kids were amped up on whatever goodies they had adorned their scoop of Rocky Road with.

Too many cruddy variables for one day—something good
had
to come my way.
Please, God, let there be justice in this world. In the form of a naked man in my bed within an hour.

“Miss Norrel, can we play Hangman?”

“Um, what?” I asked, blushing. I prayed none of my students were telepaths or tech-geeks with mind-reading iPhones. Glancing down at my sub planbook, I saw that I had scrawled a few notes on scenes I’d like to do with William. I folded my personal notebook shut and pretended I was doing legitimate teacher work.

“Hangman.”

“Go for it,” I said, waving my hand at the board. The bell was a good twenty minutes away, and most of them had done their homework, so I went back to picturing William’s body. His abs, his butt, and that glorious V that swimmers have.

I wonder if William was a swimmer,
I mused as the kids played Hangman and I managed to keep all my drool in my mouth until the bell rang.

I blew through every yellow light on the way to my house.

And when I arrived home, justice was served in the form of his SUV parked neatly next to my spot. It looked cozy there, like it belonged.

I walked inside and the house was completely quiet. I knew he would be in the bedroom, so I headed into my bathroom to get changed into whatever he had picked out for me. I pushed the door open, and hanging on the shower curtain was an array of some of the loveliest garments I had ever seen.

Green and navy blue silk and satin dripped to the floor in varying degrees. Nighties both long and short hung on shiny fabric hangers. Sinuous robes hung over my towel racks. An arrangement of bras, panties, and hose sat neatly in a white wicker basket. It was nearly an entire store display, right in my home.
Why so many items? And how did he know my exact size?
Just as I ran my hand down the smooth material, I noticed a note, penned in exquisite handwriting.

“Reveal to me only what you choose. Show me only what I deserve to see. I await.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Cerise

Reveal to me only what you choose. Show me only what I deserve to see. I await.

I smiled at his wording. He was being very careful with me, as he should. Every sub understood that his Domme should set the pace, and even though he knew we were entering a sexual relationship, he didn’t want to assume too much.

Good.

This move empowered me and put me in the right mind-set. I couldn’t be swooning and falling all over him—what kind of message would that send? They say in the teaching world, “Don’t smile until Christmas.” Essentially, if you were a softie from the start, they had full rein to walk all over you.

Remember not to smile, remember not to smile,
I kept telling myself as I got into character—Muffy the Vampire Spanker.

I selected the navy bra and panties, and slipped the lacy robe over them. Instead of the slippers provided, I put my black patent leather pumps back on—the ones I wore to school. I unbound my elbow-length hair from its ponytail, and stepped out of the bathroom.

To find dozens of white candles leading to my bedroom. My hallway was lit with an almost supernatural glow. My brow lifted in surprise. My vampire was quick and quiet, since I didn’t hear him do that while I was getting changed.
Better not be losing my edge,
I wondered, as my shoes clicked along the hardwood leading to today’s pleasure.

He was neither sitting on the bed nor lying on it. He leaned against my wall, looking at me with a grim face. A serious, beautiful, godlike visage. A shiver of fear ran down my spine as I prepared to encounter a vampire.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said, voice low and velvety. “My thirst for punishment outweighs my desire for your blood, but I must say, looking at you is making me hungry.”

He bit down on his lip and my body began to tingle warmly. His eyes absolutely consumed me. I never felt so utterly vulnerable from such a simple stare. I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks as his eyes followed the curves of my body beneath my robe. It didn’t matter that it was knotted shut—I could sense his eyes under it already. Perhaps he could see beneath it, with his vampire sight.

I went over to my bag of tricks and pulled out a length of rope. “I am aware your thirst is sated, but I’d feel better if you were bound,” I said hungrily.

He nodded in assent, relishing my choice. “Of course, Mistress Cherry. You are a brave Domme indeed to take me into your service. I await your punishment.” He wet his lips in anticipation, and I wet mine, so to speak—only the ones he couldn’t see. Yet. Hee hee.

Get a hold of yourself and go for it,
Bizzy nearly shouted at me.

“Shhhh!” I hissed, although I didn’t mean to do it out loud.

William looked at me quizzically. God, I must look completely schizo.

When I was in Domme mode, Bizzy called the shots. Right now, she was mad as hell that I was taking my time.

I pulled the chair out from my desk and motioned for him to sit. He complied easily, even holding his hands behind his back so I could bind them easier. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, so unfortunately I didn’t get to feel the icy chill again . . . yet.

“Have you ever punished any of my kind before?”

“Too many times to count,” I replied. “Although I haven’t decided exactly what to do with you yet. I need to know more.”

I wrapped the rope around his wrists, then torso, and stopped there. No need for the legs today. He looked gorgeous sitting in that chair, motionless, completely and utterly at my mercy. His head was tossed back rapturously, enjoying each of my tugs at the rope.
God, the things I am going to do to this man.

“Tell me about yourself, vampire.”

“I believe everything you need to know is on your bed right now, but I’d be more than happy to recount the history of my life,” he said, voice still soft and guarded, eyes again downcast.

I looked over at my bed in wonder—I hadn’t noticed anything in the room but him. There, scattered across my comforter, were dozens of leather-bound journals. I rifled through the stacks, amazed.

There was thorough research . . . then there was
this
. I tried in vain to keep in character. No sub had ever shown this much effort in a first scene.

I looked over at him and he smirked at me, clearly pleased by my reaction. “Do you find my paperwork to be in order, Mistress Cherry?” he asked, almost humorously.

“You must have lived a very lonely life to have written so much,” I said, hiding my initial awe with simple curiosity. I strode over to him and caressed the ropes that bound his muscular chest.

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, his eyes burning into me. “Too lonely.”

“How many people have you killed?” I asked, scraping a long fingernail across his jaw.

He hung his head. “Too many,” he said, and looked back up at me desperately. “Please, help me. I need you.” His tone was husky, and his throat was thick with desire. And I was nearly panting.

“I’m thinking these ropes are far too restrictive,” I said. “Mistress wants you to move freely.”

My hands worked busily to get him out. I wanted him, just him. No ropes, no bindings, just his body and his voice and his dark secrets.

“Mistress,” he said, still seated in the chair, hands on his thighs, “would you like to spank me now?”

I stood over my toy box motionlessly, wondering what my next move should be.
Should I paddle him for making a suggestion or do I sit on his face?
I didn’t want to delay my pleasure, but he did expect punishment.

But, dammit, I wanted to come.

And then, one more time he spoke, low and slow, and his voice was my undoing.
“I’ve been very bad.”

My mouth spoke before my mind could object. “Pleasure me now, vampire,” I moaned, hands grazing over the silk robe, unknotting the tie desperately. “I’ll punish you another time.”

He hesitated for a moment. “But, I need to atone.”

“You can atone by giving out pleasure since you’ve dealt so much pain.”

He nodded in understanding, although he did look slightly disappointed. “Well, in that case,” his voice continued to invade me, “I brought a few helpers.” He reached into a small black bag I hadn’t noticed, and pulled out a long white feather quill and moved toward me with need.

William ran the feather down my neck and between my breasts. I shuddered. “I don’t deserve to touch you yet, Mistress,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear.

I licked my lips. “That’s right. You don’t.”

Gripping the bottoms of the sleeves, he slid my robe off, revealing the bra and panties set he had bought me. I had yet to feel his touch.

“Lovely,” he mouthed, almost afraid to spoil the enchantment of the moment that had settled between us. I sat on the bed, and lowered my head to the pillows, rapturously. I was completely in his thrall.

I had read
Dracula
back in high school; I knew about this sort of thing. Vamps could hypnotize and seduce, and I was so far under his spell, I was in China.

He pulled out one more item from his bag and mounted the bed. I wondered if he had changed his mind about not touching me.

Then the feather was back. The light, flickering touch licked my skin as he traced swirls of desire across my torso. I arched my back, moaning, giving in to the soft feeling. He used it to trace my lips and stroke my jaw and I swore I saw God.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Please me, William. That’s why you’re here.”

And that was
before
I heard the
buzz-buzz
of item number two—a vibrator.

It was a simple model, just a Magic Bullet, but my eyes lit up at the prospect. I wasn’t just going to get romantic feathery touches—I was going to get
buzzed
.

His eyes glowed wickedly as he taunted me. “I am amazed you want a creature like me to please you,” he growled. I demanded he continue. Whether or not he could tell, my body and voice were no longer my own; they were slaves to him. My vampire hypnotized me into his dark, velvet grasp.

He slid the quivering object up my thigh, careful not to touch me with his damned flesh. My body writhed, desperate for contact.

“Tell me about your other Dommes, and how they didn’t satisfy your need for redemption,” I said, testing him.

He began drawing on my thighs with the vibrator, almost writing out his answers on my skin. His gaze was intense—I could see he wanted to do his job thoroughly. “I could never call any of those women my Domme,” he said, trying to ignite my body with his eyes. “They never gave me the chance. They weren’t as brave as you.”

“I find it hard to believe your charms didn’t make them melt,” I purred. “You have me rapt. It’s not just your vampire powers, you know.” I arched my back, urging him to proceed with the small vibrating object in his long fingers.

So. Long.

He moved the Bullet to the apex of my legs and I shuddered. He spoke again. “What do you see in me?” he asked. I bit my lip and considered my answer.

He slid the vibrator up and down me like a paintbrush. I could barely keep myself together. He was an artist.

“You’re intelligent and well-spoken,” I said between gasps. “I need a man who can keep up with my voracious intellectual cravings.”

“Do you have any . . . other cravings?” he asked, and made a motion to remove my panties.

Thank God my vagina had only lips and no vocal cords. She would have completely given me away. “Remove my clothing, William. All of it,” I commanded sharply.

Pinching the ribbons on either side of my thong, he unraveled the bows and slid the garment down my legs slowly, eyes memorizing each inch of my skin.

I spread my legs, displaying the prize he was working for. “Make me come, vampire.”

He smiled devilishly, and for a moment, he looked more vamp than human. He was too beautiful, and his indigo eyes were too shadowy and dangerous.

“My pleasure,” he said, and went promptly to work. This time, his left hand used the feather, and his right used the vibrator.

He hovered over me, a dark demigod. He used his instruments on me and made my body positively sing. I bit down hard on my lip as I came, nearly drawing blood. Which would have been a bad idea.

My body shouted
William,
every part. My mind was utterly consumed by the tickling feather, the impossibly fast vibrations, and the eyes that seared so deep they could leave scorch marks.

My chest heaved for a moment, and I tried futilely to control my breath. I sat up smoothly, and asked him to kneel on the floor.

I stood over him, naked. He looked up at me reverently, but did not speak.
Good.

“The scene is over. You have pleased me very much today,” I said, and raked my nails through his hair, gripping the ends slightly as I enjoyed the smooth texture. For a moment, I considered pushing his face between my legs, but I decided to wait. “My good boy deserves a treat,” I teased, still unsmiling. “What would you like from your mistress?”

I was prepared to give him anything he asked for, and Bizzy sure as hell was hoping to see some more of his delicious body. Hell,
any
of his body.

“I do have one request, Mistress Cherry,” he breathed.

I waited.

“I’d like for you to keep me,” he said quietly, voice somber and almost childlike. His expression had changed. He . . . softened. Suddenly, all the refusals he had faced by other Dommes were physically visible on his face. It was as though they had each tattooed
REJECTION
across his lovely countenance.

I straightened my posture proudly, and cupped his face in my hand. “As long as you serve me properly, I will take care of you,” I said, dodging his answer slightly, but still praising his performance. He leaned into my gesture.

It was true, though. The laymen out there think that Dommes are just about power—about making men feel lower. Nothing could be further from the truth. A good Domme cares for her submissive—it is a beneficial relationship for both, if done right.

But nobody had been right for me. Every man thus far had been too selfish, or too self-deprecating, or too needy, or simply not what I wanted.

Now here, kneeling in front of me, was a man who desired exactly what I wanted to give.

“Obey me and keep me satisfied and I can give you what you need,” I whispered.

He said nothing, just nodded contentedly. I dressed and offered him dinner.

“I know in your contract that you specify dinner after our scenes,” he said hesitantly, “but I’d rather not eat. I will stay and talk if you like.”

Truthfully, I wasn’t disappointed. There was a part of me that didn’t enjoy the “getting to know you” segment of the day. It had gone too far with Brent, and I didn’t want anything to screw things up with William just yet.

“You may leave,” I said simply. “I look forward to your visit tomorrow. You set the bar high, William.” I praised him, placed my hand on his elbow, and guided him to the front door. I was anxious to fill out a scene card about him.
I may very well be doodling stars and happy faces on this one.

He turned to me, appraised my face for a moment, and responded. “I did my homework and began props for this week’s scenes early. I left a preview for tomorrow in today’s props. If you’d like.” He raised his hand and, for the first time since we met, touched me.

He drew one long finger across my collarbone, leaving an icy-hot trail on my skin. “Sleep well and dream,” he said, “since I am unable to do either.”

My jaw dropped and I watched him open the door to leave. He turned around and added, “Although, being with you today was the closest thing to a dream I’ve had in decades.”

My pleasure turned to annoyance in a flash.

“Excuse me?” I seethed.

“Mistress?”

“
Never
revisit a scene—even moments later. Drop the vampire shit.”

I slammed the door, spun on my heel, and headed toward the note cards, volumes of journals, and a night of sweet, sweet dreams.