Blood and Bonds

My life isn't exactly of great worth or stellar presentation. If anything, I found it almost lack luster. At the age of 16, I had created a computer algorithm for tracking and locating other peoples messages across the internet, regardless if they had been deleted. A year later, after much refining and app adjustment, I sold the algorithm to the American government for 1.8 million dollars.

Despite such a large money figure, I wasn't drawn into greed and over consumption, more the opposite. Within a year of selling the original algorithm, I created an app for tracking packaged goods aboard freight trucks, one that worked independently of the freight companies tracking system and check times. The app even foretold when a delivery would be late or early. I then turned around and sold it off to Conway for 3 million, plus a few royalties.

Once again, I was left with heaps of money and not much of anything to keep my attention. So I began to reach out and attend parties in my native land of Los Angeles, making just enough effort to keep myself entertained, but not fully involved, and maintain a modest lifestyle.

I found many beautiful and gorgeous women, especially many foreign ones. However, after a while with some, I found out my deep, hidden desires, ones that seemed to fit my personality after I thought back on it.

Blatantly put, I'm a complete sadist.

After my first sexual encounter, needless to say I was a novice, I had found the girl to try and take control of the situation. Something I wouldn't tolerate. I had suddenly assumed control in her moment of weakness and took her by hands and rutted her like the dog she secretly wished to be. Slinging insults and bringing my hands down onto her ass as hard slaps, made her moan and gasp like nothing in this world could equate to her current feeling of animalistic submission. The scene had been so invigorating that I was still tough enough to continue and lasted for two hours. By the time I had finished with her, I found a much more darker side to me, though one that I seemed to enjoy despite some embarrassment of my behavior.

I regularly found women who wished to be so roughly treated and dominated, taking my sweet time to figure out every course of action I could take on there beautiful bodies; even resorting to a few delicious toys and contraptions. Thus, not only did I become used to being such a sadistic lover, I also found great interest in a woman's body, not in any sort of cruel or harmful way, just an interest. But soon afterwards, I found most girls to be the same, all a momentary high for me. Soon, I just started referring to them as my 'dolls'.

Then about the time I turned 21, I had found my perfect match. She was a very elegant woman, very refined, and carried herself as if she were a pillar of pure, unadulterated superiority.

Her name was Beatrice Hollows.

I had first met her at a lobby for public safety in Washington, not because I cared, but I because I needed something to pique my interest and some good political blabbering might've kept me entertained for a while. However, after a few people continued to solicit me for funds, I found it better to be entertained at the guest bar.

I had already acquired a favorable taste to brandy and was glad to be tasting that than any of the nonsense the solicitors were trying to spoonful me. Beatrice had been sitting beside me, a glass or Chardonnay in hand.

She was blonde, although her aura carried with it great sense instead of the stereotypical stupidity. Her eyes shown red, which had first set me to inquire as to how such an oddity was possible. I must say, looking back now, a decent pick up line wasn't 'Ma'am, how did you get eyes like that?'

She was caught by my query and almost spat out her Chardonnay. She promptly explained that she was in fact a Vampire, which consequently almost made me lose my brandy. Mamono weren't that rare to see nowadays, but it was still a surprise to behold, this marvelous woman a monster?

After that, she not only expected me to leave, but even run scared shitless away from her, which I was happy to dash her assumptions. Instead I offered another drink and polite conversation. I have no quarrel with mamono, why should I? Just as the same as anyother person, despite some physical appearances. For the rest of the lobby activities, we had sat at the bar and talked a good deal about our interests, which were astonishingly similar.

When the party ended, she and I exchanged phone numbers and we decided to meet up again, maybe even in a scene that wasn't surrounded by political blood suckers. She almost spilled her purse when I had said that.

Not a day after had she called me and asked if I cared for going with her to an art gallery exhibit, to which I was free to attend. It had been an agonizingly awkward call, as she had called me right in the middle of a session with one of my dolls, one where I was thankful enough to have desired a ball gag on her today. After the call, I found myself working over exertedly on the doll and kept imagining Beatrice as the woman below me. I finished the woman off in one of my most feverish orgasms, I quickly dressed and primed myself for my appointment with Beatrice.

When I had arrived at the gallery, she seemed a bit put off by me, or so I had assumed. She kept some distance which I then thought was normal, considering how we had only met twice and now was outside that of an actual social gathering.

I also realized how nervous I was as well. No other person had made me like that before. Finally, she had stopped me and sat down on a neighboring bench and broke down, apologizing and saying how she hasn't been on a date in a very long time. Not only that, but she explained that she has a daughter to take care of and without her, she might've not summoned up the courage to ask me out once more.

The news was somewhat relieving to me. Against her assumptions again, I took her hand and told her how this was by technicality my first date as well. Her having a daughter was something I had thought of beforehand, which didn't frighten me in the least. Beatrice still held my interest, that means her daughter would too. She smiled and we held hands the rest of the date, deigning to act more casual with one another and make some laughs out of the exquisite works.

As we headed out of the gallery, she paused and asked to go to a bar for some drinks. We did so, and after our first drink, she asked me if this was truly my first date. I was thrown off by the question, but answered yes, that had been my first actual date. Then she took another drink and asked why she could smell multiple girls on me then.

I figured my sexual activities would come to light soon, but I would've never thought the subject would come out so early. So, with another drink, I delicately explain my night time, sometimes daytime, sexcapades.

I left out no detail, as something compelled me to tell her everything, the things I took pleasure in doing with a woman, how much I enjoyed their submission, and even the various contraptions and roles I would enact for my pleasing. Everything.

At he end of my explaination, I had avoided her gaze this whole time and right as I had granted myself courage to face her, I was struck by her intense stare of attention. She had been envisioning and playing through all of these in her head and, as she told me much later, how it would feel to be warmly and roughly treated as so.

To say that the atmosphere was uncomfortable was an understatement. She had flushed and looked away from me, I was too much embarrassed to say anything. I was able to take a drink and try to analyze why I was even feeling nervous in the first place, as I had told other girls of how tenderly I'd treat them before we'd get intimate. Now was different.

So without speaking, I paid our tab and we walked out in stoic silence. I had taken a cab, but she broke our silence to offer me a ride home. With reluctance I accepted. The ride home was equally quiet, both of us kept our eyes on the road. Finally, we arrived at my condo, a modest one, nothing too outrageous of a living space.

Summoning up my last reserves of courage, I turned to apologize for my behavior, when I was swept into a flurry of movement. As my mind came back to focus, I found myself fervently kissing and groping Beatrice in my arms. I hadn't moved and inch out of my seat, she had lunged into me.

After what seemed like ages, she let go of my lips and sniffed around my neck, telling how it's been 8 years since she'd last been fucked by a man, much less even been this close to him. I felt her fangs seep down into my skin, a few beads of blood went off the side of my neck. It was quite the novel sensation, getting bitten that way; a sensation I would definitely come to love.

But as she suckled on the vine of my vein, my hands were busy seeping down past her waist and into the back of her pants, fingers striking the wetness already occurring. She popped off my neck and smiled as she licked the traces off her lips. Her red eyes were now glazed; a look I was all too familiar with.

Beatrice needed to be fucked. I was more than willing to provide.

But I will not be taking back seat.