I Gave Myself Up, Bound to the Masters of the Secret Club

Drusila stayed with me until almost dawn, and only then did she get up to leave. She preferred to travel at night, she said, though with a hoodie, dark glasses, and sunscreen she could move around by day without much risk. Before leaving, she stroked my cheek with her cold fingers and promised she would come back as soon as I had recovered.

—When you’re completely well —she murmured—, I’ll take you to meet a place. I want to introduce you.

It took me a week to heal. Her bites weren’t like the ones in the movies: she didn’t drive in her fangs to suck, but to open little wounds and drink from what welled up afterward. My nipples had been left sensitive, cracked, and nursing my baby those days was a sweet torment and a painful one at the same time. I bit down on a cloth so I wouldn’t scream every time the boy latched onto my breast. Luckily, her saliva helped the wounds scab over faster than I’d expected.

Drusila reappeared on a Friday night with two bottles of that dark wine she used to bring me and a smile that promised things. She made sure I was recovered, but this time she didn’t feed on me. She made me go with her to the boiler room, where we had first been together.

Face to face, she let the dress fall to the floor. Her body was an impossible contradiction: firm breasts, smooth skin, not a trace of the passing years her ancient eyes betrayed. She rested her hands on her hips, teasing me, and I felt the heat rise from my belly.

—Come closer —she asked.

I slipped out of my nightgown and our bodies came together in an embrace. Her skin was cold as marble, but supple, alive in a strange way. Her mouth traveled along my throat without biting, only licking, and the uncertainty of not knowing whether she would made every inch of my skin prickle.

—I’m drunk on the scent of your skin —she whispered against my neck—. You smell of milk, of heat. It’s a pity I have to keep you in reserve.

I didn’t want her to keep anything in reserve.

Her lips slid down to my breasts and lingered there, moving from one nipple to the other, pressing them with her lips, barely brushing them with her fangs without quite piercing. I no longer knew whether it was her mouth that was seeking my nipples or whether it was they, rigid, offering themselves to her mouth.

—Don’t stop —I begged her, voice breaking—. I’m about to come.

She couldn’t hold out either: the wet trails running down the insides of her thighs gave her away. When I reached climax, I took hold of her breasts and returned the game, licking the outline of her areolas before trapping her nipples between my teeth. I slid one hand down to her sex, drove my fingers inside and traced circles over her clit with my thumb.

Drusila shuddered. I learned then that theirs feel pain too, and that pain and pleasure blur together for them just as they do for us. Her moans turned to convulsions, and she ended with a scandalous orgasm, clinging to my shoulders.

—Sweetheart —she panted afterward—, it had been centuries since I had one like that.

She picked up her dress from the floor and dressed slowly, without taking her eyes off me.

—I’ll come pick you up next Friday. Dress up pretty.

***

The week dragged on forever. I drank the wine, nursed my baby, and found myself imagining over and over what would come next. That Friday I left the children with their grandparents, with enough milk in the jars, and told them I’d be going out with a friend and wouldn’t have a time to be back.

By mid-afternoon I was already dressed up in new lace underwear and an ivory suit with a short skirt and a jacket worn without a blouse, designed to suggest more than it revealed. But when Drusila got out of the car, I knew I had misread the dress code.

She was wearing a black leather bodysuit, laced tight to lift her breasts, tall boots hugging her legs like a second skin, and gloves that climbed above her elbows. Compared with her, I looked dressed for an office dinner.

—You’re beautiful —she said—, but I brought something more fitting for the occasion.

She handed me a leather top with a zipper down the front and a pair of panties that fastened at the sides. In no time I was naked in front of her, and with her help I slipped into the garments. Completing the outfit were a red fabric collar around my neck and two leather wrist cuffs with clips.

—The red collar is important —she warned as she adjusted it—. While you’re wearing it, only I can touch you. No one else.

I swallowed. Thank God it was already night and her car was inside the garden, because going out dressed like that in front of the neighbors would have been unthinkable.

***

We drove for almost an hour to an industrial estate. In front of a huge warehouse, a side metal door was flanked by two men so big they looked like four. They recognized Drusila and let us in, not before letting their eyes linger on my neckline.

Inside, it still had the look of an old meat distribution warehouse: ceiling rails, sliding hooks, concrete floor. The atmosphere made my stomach tighten before I understood why.

We crossed a sliding door and reached a room where several women waited, tied to the wall, facing it, with green collars around their necks. Others waited in some kind of display case, with numbers hanging from their ribbons. I didn’t ask anything; Drusila had taught me that in places like this silence was the rule.

—The green collars are available —she explained anyway, reading my face—. They’re offered, auctioned, rented out. Yours is red. Remember that.

We moved among little circles of people speaking in low voices. In the next room, Drusila raised my arms and hooked them onto a rail in the ceiling, leaving me hanging by the wrist cuffs, and pushed me along the track toward the adjoining room.

What I saw froze my blood. A woman hung upside down, surrounded by figures bending over her. I understood, with a knot in my throat, what the black collar lying on the floor at her feet meant.

—Relax —Drusila whispered in my ear—. With the red one, nobody touches you without my permission. I brought you here so you could see what’s behind the façade, and what you’d be risking without proper protection.

—Put me down —I begged, trembling—. Please.

Fear ran down my legs. Drusila clicked her tongue, almost amused, and pushed me along the rail through that area forbidden to those who weren’t like her.

—You can’t walk through here —she said—. It’s only for us. Hold on a little longer.

The next room was full of St. Andrew’s crosses, T-shaped frames, chains hanging from the ceiling. There was no need to ask what they were for. A blonde woman, with huge breasts crossed by red marks, was strapped to a cross, her breasts trapped between two bars that pushed them forward.

I heard the whistle of the whip and the crack as it struck. I couldn’t look away from that cruel scene, half horror, half guilty fascination.

—Don’t worry —murmured Drusila—. It’s all controlled. Nobody goes past a certain limit here unless their collar allows it. Some like it when the prey has already been punished. They say the blood tastes different afterward.

I noticed how the ones whipping the bound women looked at me, the desire to put their hands on me obvious. The red collar was the only thing keeping them from me.

—This is the last hard room —Drusila announced—. From here on, they’re pleasure rooms, for those who keep their chosen ones exclusively. I could swap your collar for a green one and let others sample you… —she paused, savoring my panic—. But no. I’ve got a surprise saved for you that you’re going to love.

She lowered me from the hook and led me on foot to a leather seat, where she let my naked body settle surrounded by those present, who devoured me with their eyes. My breasts were tight, sore, full of milk that hadn’t been emptied, and any one of them would have given anything to ease them. They couldn’t. I couldn’t ask for it either.

***

When Drusila appeared again, I understood the surprise: she wasn’t alone. Two old acquaintances were with her.

—Hello, gorgeous! —Tibor exclaimed, hugging me—. You have no idea how much we’ve missed you.

—Tibor… Aldric —I murmured, recognizing them—. It’s been so long.

Aldric slowly turned me around, admiring my naked body.

—Drusila told us you’re nursing —he said, with a hungry smile—. Someone’s going to like that a lot.

—Let’s go somewhere more intimate —Tibor suggested—. Everyone here’s got their eyes on you.

We went into one of the private rooms. As soon as we crossed the threshold, both of them began stripping off their clothes until they were naked like me. Drusila stepped out for a moment and came back accompanied by a young blond man, athletic, blue-eyed, his gaze glowing like embers when it settled on me.

—This is the other surprise —she said—. Adrián.

When he smiled, the boy showed perfect teeth, without fangs. He wasn’t one of them; he was human, someone who gave himself to them. I noticed it when I shook his hand: his skin was warm, alive, different from the others’ coldness.

Tibor and Aldric didn’t seem to care. They had me trapped between them, one in front and one behind, running their mouths over me, looking for where to bite. Meanwhile, Drusila undressed Adrián and mounted him right there, burying him in her sex as she ran her tongue over his throat.

—I thought the boy was for me —I protested between gasps.

She didn’t answer, busy as she was, but something in her gaze told me the real surprise was still to come.

I felt Tibor’s fangs press into the inner part of my thigh, opening a fine wound from which he drank, while Aldric bit my ass cheek and licked what welled out. It was an unbearable mix of pain and arousal; I knew I’d go days without being able to sit properly, and even so I didn’t want them to stop.

When Drusila and Adrián were done, they made me clean up what was left with my mouth. Then Tibor sat on the floor and impaled me on his cock, while Aldric entered me from behind. Not content with taking me from front and back at the same time, they let Adrián attach himself to my right breast, draining it of milk, while Drusila took the left and, not satisfied with nursing, barely sank her fangs into the nipple to drink milk and blood mixed together.

I was sweating from sheer pleasure. I held Drusila’s and Adrián’s heads with my hands so they wouldn’t move their mouths from my nipples, while I rocked between the two bodies filling me. That was how I reached the first of many orgasms that long night, a night in which I understood I would never want to leave there again.

My story in the club didn’t end that dawn. But that’s another confession, for another night.