The Vampire Woman Tied Me Up in the Boiler Room
Several months had passed since the last time I heard anything from Korven and Daliana. As a precaution, out of sheer fear that they might come for my children to feed, I cut off all contact with them. It wasn’t an easy decision. For years, Daliana had been more than my servant: she had been my confidante, almost a friend, someone I thought I could trust with my eyes closed.
But all of that ended the night Korven emptied her. He bit her breasts and drank until he left her dry, and I saw her sprawled on the living room floor, pale, without a single sign to betray her as alive. After that I lost consciousness. I only remember, as if through a haze, two figures bent over me, two cold mouths fastened to my nipples. I woke the next day with terrible wounds on my chest and between my thighs, and a weakness that pinned me to the bed for days.
The first thing I did, when I could move, was go up to my children’s room to make sure they were still unharmed. I spoke to them with all the calm I could fake and made them promise they would never let Daliana inside, no matter how much they wanted to, no matter how much she insisted. Because she was no longer her. She was one of them, a being that fed on blood just like those who had transformed her.
Her body was never found. And that absence confirmed it for me: she was still out there, wandering with the others.
***
As I said, after several months, one full-moon night I found her at my door. She was the same as always, with that half-smile I knew by heart, asking in that same soft voice to let her in. I didn’t allow it. I was the one who went out to meet her, closing the door behind me.
Anyone who knows anything about their kind knows the rule: a vampire cannot enter a house unless invited, and once permission is granted, there is no way to stop her from going into any room. Not my children’s room. I wasn’t going to give her that key.
“Long time no see,” she said, and her breath did not cloud in the cold air. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see me again.”
“I didn’t,” I replied. “But here you are.”
She gave a quiet laugh and started telling me things I hadn’t known. She spoke about how she had managed to survive all that time, about a place, some kind of discreet club where her kind gathered. There were people there who offered their blood voluntarily, some for money, others because they had been sold into that fate. A donation, she called it. Bodies loaned out to be bitten and used as food.
While she talked, I was aware of my own clothing. It was very late and I was only wearing a sheer gauze wrap, one of those that hide nothing. Under the moonlight my dark nipples showed through and the shadow of my pubis. And I could feel Daliana’s eyes slipping again and again to my chest, fixed, hungry, restraining herself. She was waiting for something. She was waiting for me to let her.
“Daliana,” I said, “I suspect you didn’t come here just to chat. You told me all that about the club to soften me up, didn’t you? If I let you bite me, you have to swear me one thing: that no matter what happens, you will never touch any of my children.”
“I offer you my blood in exchange for their safety,” I added. “That is the only thing I ask.”
“I would never hurt them,” she answered, and for a moment her voice was the one I remembered. “I love them. I would love them even if you didn’t give me a single drop. And I wouldn’t do anything to you without your consent either.” She paused, looking again at my neckline. “Let me in and we’ll talk while you decide. Give me your blood, sweetheart.”
She knew exactly what she was after, and I knew just as well that I was not going to give in on that point.
“You’re not coming into the house,” I said firmly. “But there is a place.”
***
The boiler room is a six-by-six-meter structure attached to the house, where the gas system is installed, fed by an outside tank. I keep it clean and use it as a storage room; tools hang from the walls, along with hooks and old ropes. The street was no place to strip naked and let yourself be bitten: anyone could walk past on the sidewalk and see us. That room, on the other hand, had four walls and a door that locked from the inside.
“Here,” I told her, pushing the door open. “Another day, if you want, I’ll go with you to that club of yours and let you feed again. But tonight, here.”
“All right, sweetheart,” she murmured, slipping in behind me. “I understand your distrust. I respect it.”
Once inside, in the warm dimness given off by the boiler, I turned around and let her come close enough to reach me with her hands. The first thing she did was place her palms on my shoulders and draw me gently toward her to kiss me on the lips. Her mouth was cold, a cold that was not unpleasant, but strange, like spring water.
She traced my cheek, my ear, my neck, clearly intent on finding my throat. I felt her lips slide over my skin and the tips of her fangs barely scrape me, not biting in, not hurting. A shiver ran down my spine and tied itself very low, in a place that had nothing to do with fear.
Her hands were not still. They slid the straps of my gauze wrap down and the fabric fell to the floor in one motion. I was left completely naked, exposed to her gaze and to the cold of the concrete.
She pushed me backward until I hit the wall. I felt the roughness of the surface against my ass, my shoulder blades, a harshness that raised gooseflesh all over me. Then she lifted my arms over my head, stretching them slowly, and with two turns of rope tied my wrists to a pair of hooks driven in high up on the wall. I was left hanging from myself, open, with nothing to offer but my own body.
My breasts stood high, my nipples hard from the cold and from the brush of her icy skin. I should have thought about the danger. About the fact that this woman, tying me naked in a locked room, was no longer my friend but something capable of ending my life in a matter of minutes. I did think it. And desire wiped it out in an instant.
“Sweetheart,” she purred, stepping back to look me over, “you’re so appetizing I don’t know where to start.”
“Those nipples are so hard they’re begging to be bitten. But the smell rising from your cunt, from how wet you are, makes me want to eat you another way.”
The truth was I no longer cared about the order. I could feel my sex moistening against the cold air and my nipples hurt from being so taut.
It was she who decided. She knelt in front of me and began licking the inner face of my thighs, moving slowly, dangerously close to my most sensitive spot. I expected the bite any moment, anywhere; the waiting was a calculated torment, designed to take me to such a degree of arousal that, when the fangs went in, I would have no choice but to come.
I could tell she was choosing the spot carefully, looking for the exact point to draw a good gush of hot blood without opening a wound that would keep bleeding.
Suddenly she pinched both my nipples at once. The tug made my hips thrust forward, offering the swollen clit to the greed of her mouth, and she did not hesitate: she bit and sucked. It was like feeling two needles sink into the most delicate part of me, and the mix of pain and pleasure tore a long moan from me. The jolt was so brutal that I felt a tingling in my breasts and, to my astonishment, they started to leak: warm drops of milk slid down my belly.
I wouldn’t have known whether what I felt was pain or pleasure. My surrender was total. Her tongue lapped at the thin threads of blood and offset the burn of the fangs sunk into my lips. Every lick was a caress, every bite a lash, and I hung from the ropes not wanting either thing to end.
Without stopping the pinching at my nipples, she milked them with such skill that the milk dripped nonstop, forming white runnels over my skin and down to the floor.
“Sweetheart,” she said, lifting her gaze with blood on her lips, “this is going to be the first time I drink blood from breasts that give milk.”
She said it while tracing the white trails on my abdomen with her tongue, climbing up to close her mouth over my right nipple.
“Bite,” I begged her. “Don’t leave me like this.”
“Finish feeding from my breasts,” I panted. “I want to feel your fangs inside.”
“You’re going to give me blood and milk at the same time,” she murmured against my skin. “Both things at once.”
I didn’t have to repeat it. She bit my right nipple and began to suck just like my youngest son does, only with her fangs sunk into the areola. The pleasure of feeling her mouth sucking, while she drove the points in again and again to make the blood spring from the tiny wounds, had me on the edge of madness.
Not content with one, she took hold of the other breast and repeated the ritual: sucking the nipple, biting, drinking my milk stained red.
Far from frightening me, being tied up and at her mercy while she devoured me excited me in a way I had never known. I had already come twice, and I felt a third climax approaching. The pain of the bites and the sucking on my raw nipples drove me into it, deeper and longer than the others. I convulsed all over, hanging from the ropes, and my cry was trapped between the cement walls.
It was she who brought the feast to an end, afraid I might lose too much blood and be unable to recover.
“That’s enough for today, sweetheart,” she said, pulling away with a sigh of satisfaction. “I hope I get to come back many more times. Your blood and your milk together are the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She untied my wrists and, with her help, I made it to an old seat in the storage room, where I let myself collapse. My legs could barely hold me.
“Take this,” she added, holding out a bottle I already knew. “One swallow every morning, before breakfast, and you’ll recover in no time.”
It was the same wine they had given me on other occasions, before and after my meetings with them. Supposedly it loaded me up with vitamins and, as a bonus, gave my blood a special taste for their palate. I accepted it without arguing.
We agreed that another day she would take me to the place where her own kind gather with their wet nurses. And, though I shouldn’t admit it, I felt a strange excitement imagining other women willingly giving themselves over to serve as food for Daliana and those like her. As if a part of me, the part that hung naked from a wall that night, had already begun to belong to them.
