Vampire girl #13

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Diane had said that vampires didn’t get whipped. I said, “Well, you do.”

“Well, I’m a vampire pervert. Um. Jaime?”


“Does it hurt? I mean, you’re going to make me bleed, with these.” She nodded at the bundle of switches in my hand. “That’s the idea, yes? Will it hurt?” 

This is why we should have started this conversation earlier. I said, “truthfully, yes. But also not exactly. If you’re turned on and it’s all working, then it’ll hurt you a lot and it won’t hurt you at all. Like firewalking. Don’t stop and you’ll sail through unharmed. But: you’ve had someone bite you.” 


“Well, I don’t know what that’s like, but I think this could hurt about as much, but its more like a good pain. When it’s sexy it doesn’t hurt.” 

“It’s not only biting. Sometimes vampires cut the skin and suck, if they don’t want to bite.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s a vampire problem, I don’t care. When I’m birching you, the issues are going to be different. And if you find it’s too much, I don’t want to be doing something that’s no fun. The main thing there is: well, you’ve heard of safewords.” 

“Yeah. If I say the safeword, then you stop, right?” 

“That’s right. Well, your safeword is ‘monozygotic embryology.'”

“Mono-what? My safeword is WHAT?” 

“Yeah, what I mean is: you don’t need to remember a magic word. In practice, if it’s not working for you, just tell me it’s too much, or it’s not sexy, and you want me to stop it. I don’t care what words you use, and I’ll stop. And if you want I’ll fuck you stupid instead. Okay?” 

“Okay. I can say ‘psychotic embolism,” or whatever that was, but I can just say, ‘hey, this is no fun.’ Okay.”

We’d calmed down too much, with all this meta-talk. It was time to pick up the energy and the pace. “Good. I’m not going to talk about rules again. Take your shirt off.”


“Take your fucking shirt off, right here, right now in this park. Strip. Now.”  


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Vampire girl #12

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Diane scampered, shirt flapping at the tops of her thighs. This time she was all business, and she crouched to look for switches for her birching, rather than the coquettish display she’d given me earlier, all hip-swinging and wiggling, and bending, legs apart, at the waist.

There were plenty of bits of freshly fallen branch on the ground, with thin switches, still green and flexible available. She picked her switches, broke them from the branch, and brought them to me.

She probably ran a few seconds over the five minutes I’d set her, but I was watching her, and not my watch. Anyway, I had a duty of care, now that she was doing as she was told, and though I’d enjoyed making the threat, I had no intention of walking her naked through the streets, even if it was a quiet and safe neighbourhood. Still, she couldn’t be sure of that, so she hurried.

As she handed me the last switch, she was a little out of breath. She asked, “Are these okay?”

“Perfect. And in case you were wondering, you’re still a good girl.” 

She grinned. “I’ve never been one of those before.” 

“Have you ever been birched before? Or not just birched, whipped or caned or anything.” 

“I had a boyfriend who liked to spank me. But mostly he wanted me to whip him. With a belt.”

“How did you like that?”

“It didn’t do much for me, I mean whipping him. And when he spanked me, it was kind of … pathetic. He kept asking and apologising, and it was never hard. No-one else has even tried. Vampires just don’t get whipped; you really should understand that.” 


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Vampire girl #7

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Telling Diane that I wasn’t going to spank her wasn’t reassuring. I hadn’t meant it to be. I wanted her to think about the length of whippy ash-switch in my hand. 

Diane had her left cheek pressed against the bark of the ash tree she was clasping. She muttered, “Oh. Awffuck.”

But that wasn’t in response to what I’d said, or even the fact that the switch had just missed the backs of her legs by centimetres. It was because I’d slipped my fingers just out of her, to rub her lips, finding her clitoris alert and taking an interest, and giving it a little smack.  Her hips jerked forward, and back, while I stroked her. The little moan had come when I slipped my fingers back into the warmth and wet.

She said “awffuck”, again. It was a reasonable thing for a vampire gothgirl to say. If she was wearing only a shirt. And that shirt was tied above her waist. And she was pressing herself against an ash tree in her local park. And she was being masturbated. Pale in the pale moonlight.

Diane was happy. So was I, but I’d started to wonder if I was doing the right thing. The switch in my hand, brushing just past her skin, promising her a different kind of bite later: I was certain that this was part of why this was hot for her as well as me. She had some expectations of what was coming, and those thoughts were helping to keep her wet, and her bottom arched. I’d already imagined her white skin streaked with red, and her body jerking and rolling, and the little noises she’d make at first, and the louder noises she’d make later. And so I was hard, and I was ready to push her to the ground, switching and fucking her, mercilessly, there and then.

On the other hand, generally I believed that before I so much as smacked a woman’s bottom we should have talked about it first. And we shouldn’t begin the talking in the heat of the moment but beforehand, to make sure I had not just desire and consent but considered consent.

I’d already broken that rule that evening by smacking Diane’s arse when she’d tried  to bite me. I’d liked delivering that spank, including the fact that from her point of view – since we hadn’t talked about bdsm at all – I’d simply assumed the right to punish her. But the result was too wonderful to regret: Diane with her bottom arched back, riding my hand and riding the moment. I said, “Ah fuck it. Fuck the rules.”

“What you say? What rules?” 

I eased my fingers slowly out of her, and held them, slippery, to Diane’s mouth. She put her tongue out to lick them.

I said, “Exactly. What rules?” and smacked her bottom sharply, as never happens to real vampires, and as ethical doms never do without prior discussion. Diane opened her mouth properly for me. She sucked on my fingers, hard, with a lot of tongue.

It was an invitation, but I wasn’t sure I should trust her with my cock in her mouth. 

I leaned close, my face to hers, and let the switch touch her bottom, press against her skin. I whispered, “I’m going to whip you.” Diane nipped very lightly on my fingers, then licked them better. “Whip you until … what happens, Diane?”


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Vampire girl #6

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But I didn’t talk about that mythological Daphne. I stroked the backs of Diane’s thighs, then between her buttocks to press my fingers just under her cunt. Diane parted her legs a little more. She wasn’t a silly girl like that tiresomely virginal Daphne.

I said, “There’s a reason vampires feared ash trees, you know.”

“I know vampire hunters are s’posed to make their stakes out of ash. Why, are you thinking of putting a stake through my heart?”

“Not a stake. But traditionally, you’re vulnerable to ash.”

There was a broken branch on the ground below us, still green and fresh. I picked it up and broke off a switch a little longer than my arm. At the thicker end it was only about as wide as my little finger, while the leafier end was extremely thin and whippy.

I swished it, experimentally, letting it disturb the air near the backs of Diane’s thighs. The air whistled admiringly as it passed. There was a lower sound beneath the whistle, which might have been the air or Diane’s moan. Goosebumps rose at her inner thighs and the upper slopes of her bottom.

I began stripping the leaves off, until the switch was down to stem and green twigs with only a few rags of leaf.

“Jaime, if you’re being a traditionalist, I don’t see that you can spank me. Villagers burnt vampires. Or they put stakes through them. Oh!”

The ‘oh’ was because I’d stopped stroking the outside of her cunt and pushed my fingers upwards. This vampire was penetrated not with stakes but with two fingers, wetly and deeply lodged, past the second knuckles.

The next sentence was breathier, but she could still speak it because she’d already prepared it. “They didn’t just give them a spanking – oh fuck! – and send them on their way.” 

I pressed my thumb between her buttocks, so she was held firmly by it and the fingers in her cunt. She leaned her forehead on the bark because that sensation was worth her full attention. Like Daphne, whose tongue turned to leaves, she had nothing more to say.

I swished the denuded ash switch through the air again, letting it pass centimetres from the backs of Diane’s calves. Without its leaves its breathy little song was somehow a little fiercer.

“But I’m not going to spank you, Diane.”


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