Richer

A hefty egg was churning inside me and a powerful vibrator had been secured with duct tape to my clitoris. Between them, the pleasure being forced upon my body was intense, almost to the point of being overwhelming. I could not even begin to guess just how long I had suffered this fate, nor could I begin to guess at the number of orgasms I had endured. All I knew was that my body kept lurching and twisting and shaking of its own accord, to the point that an outsider probably would have thought that thousands of volts of electricity were surging through me, although my screams were definitely those of pleasure and not pain.

He simply smiled, the admiration and the love in his eyes evident even through my blurred vision. He was clearly enjoying my pleasurable distress, sitting on the edge of the old wooden bed and grazing his fingernails up and down my chest, gently stroking me between my breasts, directly over my pounding heart. While he truly enjoyed hearing me beg, he was very much savoring this particular scenario as I screamed orgasmically between semi-coherent pleas and rocked the bed violently as I struggled futilely in the secure bonds which held me in place and prevented me from ripping away the powerful vibrator and the hefty egg.

The pleasure was so intense that I was crying, yet through the tears, I could see his lips move. If my head had not been so thoroughly filled with lust, I might have been able to read his lips, but without that ability, without being able to hear him due to the pounding of my heart and the piercing cries of my own voice, I could not know what he was saying - knowing him, it was probably some type of praise.

And then he smiled again, and a moment later he bared his teeth.

Despite the tears, I know my eyes widened - they always do when I see his fangs begin to grow.

As if on cue, another orgasm wracked my body, my vision fading as my eyes rolled back in my head and my screams peaked once more. His cool hand on my cheek brought my eyes back to his face, focusing on his mouth, finding his fangs at nearly their full length. Once more his lips moved, and this time, I was able - somehow - to understand just a single word, the word which stated why I was bound to the old bed with so much pleasure being inflicted upon my body: "test."

He wanted to test whether multiple forced orgasms would make my blood even richer.

His head dipped toward my chest, and his lips seemed to somehow peel just slightly back as his mouth opened wide and then began to slowly close...

Between the exquisite pleasure emanating from my groin and the agonizing piercing of a breast, I am still quite amazed and impressed that the old wooden bed did not break, such was the violence of how I fought the strong ropes connecting each wrist or ankle with the nearest sturdy bedpost. Pleasure and pain collided within me, the strange combination spawning new sensations, new emotions, and a renewed vigor of struggling and screaming as he drank from me in an act which threatened to terminate my life.

But he let me live. The pain in my breast remained even as he looked down on me with amusement, his dark eyes full of wicked glee and sadistic delight and undying devotion. The twin trails of crimson red dribbling from his lips to his chin appeared practically obscene against his near-albino flesh. He placed a cool hand between my breasts, the difference in temperature practically reaching my thudding heart to help calm me slightly even as I felt trickles of my own hot blood spilling over the side of my breast to mar the white sheet beneath me.

He said something, but it was lost in the renewed scream resulting from having yet another orgasm forced upon me. For a moment, I lost my sight, and when I could see again, it was a vision of his head reared back, his mouth wide as he unleashed a sound of bloodlust, a sound which always shook my soul with innate fear. His head quickly descended, his fangs at their full length and clearly capable of mutilating my other breast...

Clearly, I had passed out, or at least my mind had simply stopped processing the sensations and emotions associated with my selfless giving, for his face was clean as he used a washcloth to wipe the sweat from my face. The vibrator and the egg were inert and I could still feel the deep aching in each breast, but I could already feel my body healing itself in that near-magical way which made me the perfect companion for him.

"You have never given me such a show before," he whispered, even though he could have easily implanted his words and his thoughts into my mind. "Not even in their last struggles for life has anyone fought for freedom like that in my presence." His smirk was proof that what he had just said was indeed true, and it also reminded me that while he enjoyed me and admired me and perhaps even loved me, he could very easily bring my young life to an end.

...or turn me.

He set the washcloth aside and reached for the carafe on the bedside table. After pouring a little water into one of the awaiting glasses, he tipped the glass over my lips, allowing me to drink. It was amazing how greedy I was for the water, my head even chasing after the glass when he lifted it away. "Not too much at once," he gently admonished me, in the same way I had done with him when I had discovered him several years earlier.

Because of his position, he blocked my view of the clock atop the dresser. "Time?" I finally asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, then turned his attention back to me. "A little past three in the morning. Still plenty of time before daybreak. Still plenty of time for me to enjoy you a little more."

I smiled weakly. "I know you can last until dawn, but I don't know if I can given how much you've made me cum tonight."

Like a stereotypical male, his face beamed with egotistical pride. That was when he set the glass back on the bedside table and stood.

"By the way," he commented as he unbuckled his belt, "the test was a success. Your blood truly is richer after multiple orgasms. I may need to force repeated orgasms on you every week when I feed from you."

As I watched him finish undressing, I doubted that I would be able to walk if he truly did do that to me week after week for several months in a row. But given that I was still bound to the bedposts, given that I was definitely too weak to put up much of a fight if he decided to force more orgasms on me, I simply resigned myself to helping him survive and serving him in every way that I could.