A way to be free or die trying +18

Standard disclaimer applies: this story contains fictional depictions of erotic and vulgar scenarios, so if it's immoral for you to be reading it, please avoid it! All characters are at least eighteen, all situations are entirely fictional, and any resemblance to any real-life situations is entirely coincidental.

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—Lucius

The thirst ruled me, constantly, as per her commands and starvation diets. I ate her c*nt more than I drank blood, and was never allowed to orgasm for the longest time.

Everything became agony, and I very quickly learned a self-control that would become a monumental asset for me one day. Her cruel commands forced me to control.

When she switched or whipped me, I was not permitted to fall, and my muscles shook. But it turned out that it didn't matter how much pain she gave me. My body had the capability to stand through it, and it did.

It was knowledge that I locked in my head, along with the knowledge of hunger having no end and being a way to control a vampire, along with the fact that my body healed remarkably and the healing process increased my need for blood as magic repaired me.

She would often whip me until the cuts wouldn't heal anymore, and the flesh would just be laid bare, bloodless, and agonizing. And then she would claw her nails across those marks so that I howled in torture.

The dungeon would change with our travels, and I wouldn't even notice. I locked myself in a safe compartment of my mind, and I don't know why that was, except to say that it was probably a basic self-preservation instinct.

I would have quickly gone mad in her dungeons if I hadn't. As it was, I kept that secret self locked up and stored little bits of hope and knowledge.

I didn't know how I would get out of her grasp, but there had felt like impossible moments in battle, too, so I would do so if it killed me.

I did something I wasn't good at. I bided my time and waited. I won't sicken you with all the details, except to say that I thanked her for every second where my pain was lessened.

Starvation and torment became friends of mine in her dungeons, and I learned to think through the pain, learned how to focus, and not go absolutely feral under the hunger.

I learned a great many things when it came to pleasing a woman, and she did at least like it rough, so I got to indulge in that. There were silver linings. Small ones, but they were there.

I faded, with that one part of my mind safely locked away for the day when I could use it again, and I let myself sink to the suffering, lest it destroy me. Every sentence out of my mouth ended with the word "Mistress".

She would have me worship her *sshole for hours, while she cropped my shoulders with instructions and called me her little lion. There was never any affection in the nickname, only degradation.

At times, she would collar me with a cruel device that pierced into my neck and let my blood onto my shoulders so that I would have to smell it in my hunger, would have to feel the waste of such a precious fluid that I never received enough of.

And of course, I learned her p*ssy both inside and out. I learned the way it looked spread around two fingers, the way it looked spread around my fist.

I learned the way it pulsed and flowered apart with her arousal, the lips thickening and reddening and falling open to accept more. I learned the way her cl*t turned engorged and swollen to better allow me access to tease it.

So, it's true that I learned much from my cruel Mistress, perhaps more than any fledgling ever has under a proper and caring Sire.

My Mistress, as it turned out, was not at all the norm. I would learn this later because our relationship did change.

Eventually, after decades, she decided I was quite well broken and allowed me certain freedoms. I would receive a night for myself, for instance, after she commanded me to not feed and to not f*ck another.

And no orgasms, always that. She would give me times when I was to be back. I obeyed every one of her commands and curfews, even returned earlier than commanded, always.

I needed her trust, needed her to know me for a truly insane fledgling. So when she would have guests over and would make me kneel beside her to humiliate me in front of other vampires, I suffered through it.

She was delighted when she commanded me to bark, saying I was her little stud, and I did so with a crazed little smile.

Her guests were my first tip off. Most of them would react to my service to her with horrified amazement. "You are a cruel Sire, Astarte."

To which she would laugh. "Why else would I make a fledgling?"

More rarely, there were other friends she would invite over, and they would be amazed, but would want to see more of my humiliation. To which she would also laugh.

"Come here, little lion. My friend is going to watch while you f*ck me. No orgasms." And she would take up the crop to stroke me with it like I was an animal while I took these things.

I had never been interested in an audience, and yet I learned to f*ck with her friends around as well, especially after the first time I balked from doing it.

I took it, worshiped her as if I were a broken creature. And it pleased her so that she even started to allow me up to a week of freedom when she had to leave and didn't want me to go with her.

"I will leave blood that you are allowed to drink every other day. No orgasms. And you may do as you please, so long as you are in this bed to serve me when I return."

"Yes, Mistress. Your leaving wounds me, Mistress."

"Then I'll give you an extra terrible whipping tonight, little stud, to take your mind off of it."

But I didn't care about suffering the pain and humiliation and starvation anymore. I only knew that she was taking trips and leaving me be.

And I would find a way to be free or die trying. Desperation makes men do very insane acts. Vampires, as it turns out, are similar in that aspect.

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