Translvania concubine
My name is Cassandra DaCosta, and I set down these words in the event of my death. If you are reading these words, then it must mean that I have died, as so many of us must do, and that means that Count Dorin needs someone to replace me as His servant. It has been many years since He first entered my life, since He first demanded His offering of blood from my veins, and though I do not regret a day of my lifetime of servitude, I already know that you (whoever you may be) might recoil at first at the thought of serving a vampire--assuming you even believe such a creature exists. But I assure you, they do, and as you read my gospel of servitude, you will understand why I believe you will embrace the endless duty. I shall tell you now of how I became Count Dorin's slave.
When I first met Dorin, I was but a young and foolish woman in the city of New York. I had embraced ambition, seeking to climb the heights of power as an investment banker, and the attachments of a personal life were for others, not for me. I used my body's considerable charms to further my ambitions, but the idea of devoting my life to another was anathema to me. I wanted nothing more than to be fabulously rich, and thought nothing of working fifteen-hour days in pursuit of that goal.
That still left the weekend, and I recall well those heady days in which I packed a week's worth of hedonism into a single wild night. Drink, drugs, vapid young men with no ambition but an immense talent for pleasing a woman...moving from club to club as the night passed, dancing with fury, like a summer blossom on the wind...it is little wonder that I attracted His attention.
It is almost laughable, but our eyes really did meet across a crowded room. We were at a club, the name of which passes out of memory, but I was dancing, and I saw Him sitting at a table. He had no drink in front of Him--of course, He would not--and He did not dance. He did not even move. He simply stared out at us all with such hunger, as though He fed on our vitality without needing to drain even a single drop of our blood. He wore a plain, tight white shirt, against which His pale skin seemed to stand out as whiter still, and dark, tight pants. His body seemed perfectly outlined, and outlined as perfect. I looked into His eyes, and was lost.
Much has been written by the ignorant and foolish about the gaze of a vampire, but words cannot express the sensation. Upon the moment His eyes caught me, I felt as though the darkness in the apple of His eye had rushed forth to enfold me in a velvet blanket, as though the darkness had a tangible hold upon my body...and it caressed me. I did not freeze in place, for He did not will it to be so, not yet...I continued to dance, but I knew I danced for Him now. The motion of my body seemed to be to a different music; I heard it within His mind, not from the world around me, and I could feel His gaze penetrating me in a way none of those foolish men ever had. I felt oddly surprised that the people around us were not shocked; here I was, with my soul naked and being roughly taken by a stranger in the middle of the crowd, and nobody noticed? But of course, our intercourse was more intimate than any those rutting fools could have imagined. Though we never touched, He ravished me more totally than anything I had expected. In that eternal moment of total bliss, I recognized that He was the totality of my being, that He loved me in a way I had never been loved, not even by myself.
I scarcely remember moving, but I was suddenly at His side. He took my hand in His cold, pale fingers, and I trembled in pleasure at His touch. The two of us slipped through the crowd as ghosts, wordlessly, and were out into the alley in moments. He gazed deeply at me again, and I shuddered in ecstacy, my eyes rolling back in my head and my neck arching in pleasure. That was His intent, I now realize, for it was then that He bared His fangs and sank them deep into my throat.
There was no pain. There was not even the barest instant of pain. The sensation of His long, white teeth ripping at my flesh produced nothing but a rapture beyond anything sex or drugs had yet produced in me. Far from struggling, I pressed myself against His mouth, wishing to give Him all of me. The sensation of my lifeblood flowing out of my veins was like the throb of an orgasm, and I wished nothing more than for it to continue forever. Had I died that night, my last memory would have been the most perfect one in the world. He let me go, and without strength to hold myself upright, I fell to the ground in the dark, stinking alley, and stared weakly up at Him as though I had fallen onto a bed of roses. Without a single word, He left me then, and I simply lay there gazing up into the night, having been a part of the most wondrous communion imaginable.
Of course. How could I not remember the sign? It was visible to me, as He walked away. The club was called 'Dark Desires'.
*****
I do not know why He did not kill me that night, and when pressed, He will admit that neither did He. It was a near thing; He had drained well over a litre of my blood. Had I not been found soon afterwards, I would have died that night. But I have seen Him drink every drop of a woman's blood, drain them until He could not squeeze a single drip more of their vital essence and still hunger for more. He could have done that to me, yet He did not. Perhaps He noted something in me even then, some potential for a higher service.
In any event, I awoke in the hospital feeling as though I had passed a test of sorts. I had survived His First Communion, one where He drank of my blood instead of my drinking His, and though I could not forseen the ends of His grand design, I could see where my next steps lay along the path of servitude. First, I needed to recover. I learned quickly what foods would replenish my blood, what vitamins and supplements could restore me to health quickly after the draining experience. My doctors helped me out in this. Indeed, they were thrilled that their patient was taking such an active interest in her own recovery. Within a mere fraction of the usual time for such an injury, I was fully recovered. That meant that I could begin the next step. I needed to find Him again.
I had already traversed most of the clubs in the city, but always in the interests of mere decadence. Now, I searched them with a more analytical eye. It did not take long to find Him, to be honest. He made little effort to conceal His bloody path through the human cattle.
That night, I must have surprised Him when I found the table He sat at, when I surprised myself at my own boldness by joining Him. He glared at me at first, coldly, and I thought that He might lash out at me, perhaps even kill me on the spot--or worse, that He would simply leave without deigning to acknowledge my presence. But finally, He spoke.
"The girl," He said, his Romanian accent still thick on his lips. "From the club, two weeks ago. You lived."
"I did," I said. I had walked through the corridors of high finance, had made deals worth billions, but I had never been so nervous as now. "I came back. I came looking for You."
He snorted derisively. "You wish to kill Count Dorin, little girl?" To this day, I have never found out exactly where He was a count of, or even if it was a truly won title and not an affectation. He will not speak of it, no matter how often I ask. "I sensed a madness in you, but I did not think it was a death wish. But no. You do not stink of garlic, or silver, or fennel." He looked in my eyes again, but did not deign to mesmerize me. Instead, He smiled cruelly. "Ah! You wish Count Dorin to fuck you with His teeth again, yes?"
I looked down. I felt like the little girl He had called me. I could not meet His gaze. "I want more than that," I said. "I want to serve You."
"Serve Me? You can best serve Me by baring your neck for the bleeding once again. Unless you would like Count Dorin to bite you elsewhere, little girl..."
I shivered even at the thought of such a thing, but I do not know if He noticed. "I...am skilled in the ways of finance. I could help You to manage money, set up safe houses and funds for travel and security. When men get too close to You, I could help You disappear. I could even guard You during the daylight hours. And I could...could..."
"You could serve Me with the blood as well, yes. I know what you want out of this, little girl." He bared his teeth, but He did not smile. "You want this. As often as you can get it without dying." He closed His lips again, staring at me appraisingly.
Finally, He turned away. "Very well," He said dismissively. He pulled out a roll of bloodstained money and tossed it onto the table. "Use that. Make it grow, make it safe. Count Dorin will watch you from the shadows. If I am pleased..." I heard the cruel smile in His voice, now. "Then I will be fucking you with the teeth."
*****
Our relationship could have gone on like that for years, if not for the hunters.
In fact, it did go on like that for a few years. I invested the money He brought me after His nights of predation, supplemented it with my own funds, and created trusts and foundations that He could draw on anonymously even after I was long dead. I bought safehouses in most major cities, imported Romanian soil to them that He might sleep in peace during the daylight hours, and used public relations funds to promote fanciful, romantic portrayals of vampires. And once every few weeks, He would come to me (always when He wanted to, though I wished it to be every night) and He would sink His fangs into my wrist or my neck and draw out some of my blood.
I remember His teasing voice, each visit. "Have you done well by Me, little girl? Have you proved your devotion to Count Dorin? I think not. I think you have done only the easy things for Me. So My fangs will not sink into your breasts, into your sweet and juicy cunt. You have not earned it yet." Such a thing might make lesser slaves angry, but the only fires that burned in me were the fires to prove my devotion. That proof came one early morning, a few years after I met Him.
He staggered into my room, soaked in blood that was not His own, and some that was. He bled from several wounds, a wooden stake protruded from His side, and one eye had swollen shut. (I learned later that they had blown garlic powder into it.) "...blood..." I heard Him say.
"Of course," I said, rolling up my sleeve.
He grabbed my arm with a demon's strength, even as badly as they had hurt Him. "Not your blood, you stupid cow! You will need to guard Me, to protect Me while I recover My strength. You cannot do that if I have drained you of every drop!" He pulled the stake out of his side with a roar of pain. "Find Me a woman! Find Me one of these 'safehouses' you have spent My money creating! They hunt Me still..." He slumped down, exhausted but not yet asleep.
"There is a bed of soil for You here in the attic, Master. I prepared it long ago, just in case. The sunlight will not touch You there." I reached down to lift Him up, but He smacked my hand away.
"I will reach it myself! I am not infirm. Find Me a woman, cow. Once I have drunk my fill of her, I may milk you just a little for your pains."
It did not take me long to find a woman willing to return to my house. In New York City, many are willing to do what they thought I wanted them to do, and I certainly did not waste my time informing them that their true purpose was far more noble than mere sex. This girl, Candi, was out far too late for one who walked the night such as her; dawn was approaching, and surely she was as afraid of it as any vampire. Yet she approached me freely as I passed her by, and she agreed to get into my car and come with me.
I took her into my house, and from there into the attic where He waited. Candi must have smelled the blood on Him, for she started to struggle in my arms then, but He sat up and gazed into her eyes, and her struggles quieted. The fear smoothed from her face, to be replaced by beatific joy, and she walked towards him in the gentle trance of one who understands perfection can only last a short while. She slipped her top off as she approached Him, and sat beside Him as He lay on the bed I had prepared for Him. She gently held His head to her breast, and He suckled her like an infant at a teat as I watched the two of them. The smile on her face seemed to mock me, then, and her moans of pleasure were like daggers in my heart as I remembered the eternity of bliss she must be living out. Her life under my roof was brief, but it was happy, and she died with a smile on her lips.
Count Dorin collapsed back onto the bed of soil. "Dump the body somewhere. Make sure it cannot be traced back to Me. I will sleep now, and tonight we will talk about finding another woman for me to drink."
*****
I did as I was told, although even then, I had begun to understand my true place. It seemed, watching that whore gain gifts she had not earned, that I found the madness Count Dorin had seen in me. But what is madness, but a design that the sane cannot see the whole of? I had seen the tiniest part of the design that first night Count Dorin had drained my blood. Other parts revealed themselves to me at times, like the night I made a place for Him to sleep in my home. But it was not until that early morning, when I disposed of the body, that the true scope of my role as His servant became apparent to me.
That was when I visited the jewelers. It took the better part of a day, but I had already called work and told them I would not be in. They were surprised, but I had plenty of vacation to burn. And this was the most important day of my life.
When I returned to the house, He was still asleep. Many of his wounds had healed, but I could tell He was still weak. He would need blood in vast quantities before He could leave. I would have to watch Him grant His communion again and again, all with women I provided for Him, all to those who had not proved their devotion as I had. Who did not love Him as I did.
It was then that I took out the silver rods I had made at the jewelers. The first one went in easily, through His right hand and deep into the wood beneath the soil. The second one proved far more difficult, as He thrashed and screamed. I collected a terrible scratch across the forehead as I hammered it into His left hand, but I forgave him even at that moment. I knew He was in pain and did not mean it.
The other two stakes took much more work to push through. The ankles are thicker and tougher than the hand is. But I had all the time in the world, and He was so very weak, even still. He screamed, cursed, called me a whore and a liar and a Judas. But I explained it to Him so patiently, and eventually He quieted.
"I am keeping You safe, Master," I said. "The hunters out there will find You--if not the ones who found You last night, then others. In here, You are safe...safe even from Yourself, from Your desire to go out and hunt in the dangerous world. You need never hunt again, Master. I will provide You with blood; not as much as You might wish, but enough to sustain You. The silver stakes are for Your own protection, to keep You from leaving and harming Yourself. You need not worry. I love You, more than any other woman ever could. I will prove my devotion above all others, and I will protect You."
It was then that I slipped my clothes off, then that I straddled his face with my cunt. He snarled, but eventually, He did what I knew He must do. He drank.
*****
It has been many years since that fateful day, but I have proved my devotion to Him time and time again. He threatens to drink me dry from time to time, but we both know that He will never do it. I have tamed Him as He has tamed me. We are locked like lovers, until the day I die. Upon that day, you, reader, must prove your devotion to him as I have. You must go into my attic, and give the gift of your blood to my love, my lord, my slave, my master, my sweet and eternal concubine.
