La Maison Sanguine is a historic piece of LA property, a gothic manor that's been a landmark of the Hollywood Hills since it was first built in the 1920s. A fixture of movies and TV shows and the site of countless famous parties, its fame only increased by its steadily growing history of strange sightings and supposed curses. The house is known for having several odd features. It has no windows, its gardens are entirely indoors, as are its three pools, and unlike most homes in Los Angeles, it has an extensive basement, though barely anyone's been allowed down. No one knows who the owners are, and in its long history, there's no record of the house ever being sold. It's a mystery, a legend, the most unique property in Los Angeles, and now, it's mine.
If only I didn't hate it so goddamn much. It's a performance, a big black refuge in audacity telling the whole world the secret of its owners with the firm knowledge that most won't believe it and those who do won't have the power to do anything.
Bloodsucker hubris at its height.
The European leeches, the ones with real age and real power, they have an excuse for their castles and their mansions and all their baroque extravagance. They've been that way for centuries. The vampires here have made a choice. So desperate to tap into the same power as their kin across the sea they put up this display and pretend it compares. Children in costumes.
That's all I can think about as I approach the mansion. My house in Malibu, the one I bought when I first moved here, is much nicer. Lots of sun, close to the beach, inconspicuous. I'd be there now, except this eyesore is right on a nexus of leylines, the perfect place for magic workings, and besides that living here is a reminder to everyone in the know of what happens when they try to fuck with me.
There's also the view. From up here on the hill, you can look down on all of Los Angeles and see the dense sprawl of buildings stretching out to the horizon, all so tiny from this height. As I get out of the car, I take a second to look and appreciate it all, like I've done every time this month. That view is one thing I won't get tired of.
The inside of the mansion is just as bad as it's exterior. The whole place screams "We are vampires" as loud as possible, it's as subtle as a brick to the face. Moody lighting, gothic furniture, black and red everywhere; it's only saved from looking godawful by near-perfect execution. The interior designer did not get paid enough. I've already reached out to them about redecorating.
For now, though, I'm stuck with an entry hall out of a B-movie. A big dark room lit only by candles, walls lined with portraits of dead old men, and a black marble staircase that takes up most of the space. The staircase is the only thing I like about it. Everything else makes me feel like I'm about to meet Dracula. Thankfully, the vampire waiting to greet me is much lovelier.
"Master, you're home!" Belle shouts, her whole face lit up with a genuine smile. I'm by her side in a flash, taking what I own. Her body gives easily to my touch, and she lets out a cute little sigh as my fingers make contact with her skin. As my hands sink into the flesh of her breasts, so soft and warm, she only gets noisier.
It hadn't taken much to break Belle. I'd already done most of the work before I even left the Santa Sangre. I've had pretty much the entire month to get the vampire exactly how I like her. Belle has always been a pretty little thing, but I've made her something special. Her ass is now a jiggly mass that begs to be spanked, tattooed with the initials JE in big black letters to show my ownership. Her tits, nice and big to begin with, are perfect teardrops even a pornstar would envy, and golden rings dangle from her nipples and her clit, waiting to be played with. I pierced her tongue too, made it nice and long, and got rid of her gag reflex. The vamp's whole body is as sensitive as I can make it; a single touch is enough to make her crumble, and I've turbocharged her sex drive along with it. There will never be another moment in this leech's life where she isn't desperate to get off.
"May I cum master?" Belle's already on the edge, looking up at me with pure need. All she's wearing are some bunny ears, a thick leather collar, and a set of lacy white underwear. Her panties are already soaked through, and lines of girlcum trickle down her thighs, nearly to the tops of her stockings.
"Not yet, little rabbit." I take a hand off Belle's chest, slipping it into her panties. My fingers slide into her folds easily. Belle whimpers, grinding onto my digits, though that only makes her situation worse. The only way this leech can cum is if I command it. I match the pumping of my fingers with Belle's movements, curl them so they rub against her inner walls, and force more noise out of my vampire. It is a joy to see the surrender on my plaything's face, to watch her lips quiver, to hear the music of her cries. I feel like I could stand here for hours, tormenting her like this.
But not tonight.
"Cum for me, Belle." That's all it takes to send the vampire over the edge, a full-body orgasm rattling through her, shaking the sound from her lips. Belle's eyes do not leave my face, widening with pleasure. Her lower lips clench tightly around my fingers, sending her juices spurting onto my hand. I continue to pump my fingers into her, forcing her to higher and higher peaks through it all. Her scream echoes through the mansion, and the sound of it brings a smile to my face.
Slowly, Belle comes back down. Her movements slow, and her body relaxes. There's a look of half-drunk satisfaction on her face. I slide my fingers out of Belle, and the vampire sighs.
"What do you say?"
"Thank you, master."
