Blood on Parchment


by Doctor D

Tags: #cw:noncon #f/f #gothic_fantasy #vampire #bondage #D/s #pov:bottom
See spoiler tags : #tattoo

Time moved forward in fog-laced chunks. Skewed, tilted, and nonsensical. Sound drilled across her mind in giggles and laughter warped out of sync. The guiding patterns once cast by lantern’s light were now too sharp against her body’s edges.

She could hear something familiar whisper against the boundary of her struggling mentality. Sleep, it said, for she often had as a victim of the bell tower’s order.

But she couldn’t, not… yet, despite it’s midnight calling. So beautiful, so arousing.

She shivered in her bindings.

In between lengthy heavy-lidded blinks Alderose caught peculiar scenes, things tinted in shades of red and pink that might have been waking bell-forced dreams. The wine still pumped tingles throughout her body, intensified by strong guiding hands or dominant lips. But those floating limbs were owned by shadow-shapes, hard to seperate as different from the coal-colored dirt she swore vibrated beneath her, echoing the heavy steps of constantly moving brain-held women.

Am I asleep?

“No,” the vampire whispered, “yes. A little of both.”

Alderose’s eyes rolled downward and caught sight of the vampire between her open legs. She sat upon a low squat stool with Her hands against her inner thighs, hot as they toyed with the wetness gathered there. At Her side kneeled a prostrating Anna—who held a bowl of steaming water with empty eyes, just a poseable thing acting as the vampire’s makeshift table.

The vampire stroked one lone finger along her slit, an act that made Alderose jerk in her bindings, before She brought that finger to Her lips and a black stained tongue curled inhumanly around it.

Alderose moaned.

Across Her lap stretched a belt of tools, each one a shape she couldn’t properly perceive. They were imposing just by their dubious nature, sharp on their tips or flat like razors. She’d seen this sort of belt before, she wasn’t naive, and yet her mind refused to determine its purpose.

It doesn’t matter, Her voice slipped across her mind, amused as She used a still wet finger to tilt her head back.

Alderose’s eyes slid shut.

While she floated, held in twilight dreams of liquid lust she felt the warmth of water across her skin, methodical and efficient. The stains of drool and wine were removed from her skin, but a heated cloth remained heavy against her lower abdomen. Awash in the sounds of water and flesh, she fought to notice a sharper sensation—

A blade that pulled down across her crotch.

You’re beautiful here. Of that there’s no doubt. But I need… room for my work.

Dread was smothered and squashed beneath the heat of laced-wine and the most she did was sigh as the vampire worked. When she lowered her head with half-opened eyes she found her mons was smooth and entirely bare. She’d been…

Shaved, yes.

She shivered as the vampire licked Her bottom lip, giving Alderose a thrilling sight of fang.

You’re body is mine to do with whatever I want and this is what I want tonight.

With a low rolling laugh the vampire gave her bare mons a squeeze, inspiring a hungry little thrust of her hips. She pressed and kneaded with firm examining fingers, appraising her worth with a hum of interest. The pad of her thumb, soft and strangely textured, nudged and brushed across her trembling clit. And she tumbled, falling, falling, falling toward a sense of endless driving desire.

Her body felt owned by something greater, broken down to its ultimate purpose.

How quickly you fall back into that state when you instinctively recognize your betters.

Alderose shivered as Her fingers pulled back, dripping lines of submissive moisture.

“Widow Graham,” the vampire spoke, Her voice startling and different away from the intimacy of her mind.

She missed it already and flushed with the shame of it.

“You were captured tonight. This is the second time. Are you even trying to win our game?”

The vampire didn’t seem to mind either way, the emotions that brushed against her said as much.

“Meat always finds it difficult to play for long. My bloodbitch too, fell eventually.”

Alderose followed Her pointed gaze and saw Gail between the Constable’s legs. Within her grip she balanced something shiny and pointed—reminiscent of a thick handled knife, some kind of ritual blade. While the women from the general party moved around their circle, put to either task or flesh based delights, Gail remained focused with a near-empty gaze, powered only by the intensity of determination unmistakably planted by Her will. A will that bid her to draw on Cathy’s flesh, the tip of that blade red and wet.

The vampire’s nostrils flared, but with Alderose She remained, even as Cathy whimpered and jerked—

—with rolled back eyes toward the umbrella streaked sky.

A tug to her clit brought her attention back to Her.

How long had she been thoughtlessly watching Cathy writhe beneath Gail’s care while desperating trying to perceive danger through dream fog? Long enough for the vampire to have summoned others with strange mechanisms and long leather straps.

Panting girls with blank stares took to binding her further, gripping her body with the flexible yet sturdy leather. By the time they were done banging extra hooks into trees and tightening the chains that surrounded her, she felt utterly… captive. Immobilized. Restrained. With legs forced to bend up and out at her hips, keeping her spread and terribly open.

Helpless before the vampire’s strange chugging machine.

It was a metal barrel planted into the soil beside her, with a pump that emitted a soft humming drone. Gurgling water churned within it and steam spilled from the top. A mess of thin tubes were stuck into its body, one of which led across the ground, then up, plugging into a handle held firmly in the vampire’s grip. At the top of the handle, a sharp needle moved in and out, constantly stabbing in a manner that made Alderose’s heart pound in her throat.

“This is your second loss, Widow Graham, so you’ll wear my second mark.”

The lantern’s light caught and held on Her glasses, casting wicked orange tints over Alderose’s twitching belly. Slowly, She lowered the needled machination, and Alderose screamed when she felt the first prick.

“Saturate her,” The vampire mumbled, undaunted by her squeal. Womanly hands held onto her face and immediately thereafter her scream-locked mouth was filled with more honey-sweet wine. Wine that kept her pain laced screams trapped inside her mind as she wheezed and gulped. With each swallow she soon felt the familiar heavy thump of pulsing heat within her stomach, and the buzzing pluck and prick of needles biting at her skin dulled from a wild cry to a pounding whine. She still felt it, that unfamiliar agony, but now it bled through her like melting sticky candy. She could… scarcely perceive it in a manner that felt right.

She kept drinking, desperate to escape what she couldn’t easily overcome.

Amusement tickled across her mind, followed quickly by a playful prompt—

Slow down.

Her red-stained lips released from the upended bottle, while the hands of her captoresses cleaned away excess liquid. From one slow blink to the next, both bottle and hands were gone.

All the while, the needled device continued to move, carving sweeping loops and strange patterns across the flesh of her smooth pelvis with a slow but practiced precision. Perfect and haunting, her earlier struggles had done little to ruin the thick steadiness of the inking. She would have found it fascinating, the alieness of machine brandished grace, were Alderose not the canvas that blossomed ink where flesh once dwelled unmarked. Now, she found it...

—the needle swept down and bit again into flesh and her thoughts stuttered beneath the buzzing roar. Her belly tensed, expecting agony, but the dull pound of wine made it both less and more.

Too much, I think, She laughed with warmth both biting and cruel across her mind.

But thoughts of how much wine she’d actually consumed, whether it had been all or half her forced bottle, only pressed worthlessly against plum-colored cotton. They were all tangled and sloshing and… wrong, swept up in the buzzing beat of the needle-song She wrote against her trembling pelvis. That buzz invaded and danced to the pulse of the wine that now knocked at the back of her skull. Her head rolled back, then forward to the left but when she opened her mouth to speak the most she accomplished was a guttural groan.

But that was enough to inspire movement at her sides, lost to the blur of her twisted up vision. She was bound more firmly, pelvis held still by minion tightened straps of leather.

With nowhere to escape she had to endure. The pain coiled inward, following the needles dance, and a sharp burst of heat rapidly followed. From one blink to the next she was sweat-slick and shiny, a body fighting and pulling against its bonds as anguish twisted sharply to pleasure.

Suddenly that pulsing torment turned sweet, leaving a growing tenderness to invade her twitching muscles. Her sex spasmed happly, empty, and wanton as the space between her ears hummed with a second dose of the vampire’s laughter.

Humans are so soft, especially when they’re melting, and all liquored up.

Alderose huffed out a soft sound of pleasure as the needle dug fiercely across her lower belly, scratching and carving as the world sort of… lessened.

I’m falling, she thought, searching desperately for fear as she spiralled faster and further into the buzz of her marking. The throb of her craving was loud in her ears, near painful with the strength of her pussy’s powerful pounding. She could see the lantern’s light off the wetness that spilled there, pearly evidence to the hunger that struck from behind her swollen clit.

She thought herself cursed as the world blurred and shifted, creating stretched claws out of tree-limbs and shadows. Her pussy wanted, needed, demanded to be touched while her mind coiled helplessly around visions of macabre.

The vampire lordtrix glanced up and when she smiled her lips stretched over shark-like teeth.

The Constable screeched but the sound was garbled, no louder than the following reactionary cackles, but when the vampire spoke with lips and tongue Her words were undeniably clearer.

“I’m almost done, meat. With your... curse.”

Her Will pressed against her with the promise of weight, seductive and oh so tempting. She wanted to wrap her own sense of self about it, to drunkenly kiss and grope and rub against it, lost in the intangible.

“This little marking on you? My special curse? It’s a tattoo. I know most meat in Kentworks is coddled and sheltered. Allow me to educate you.”

She panted and bucked, then settled in place, soothed into docility by the bite of wicked leather.

“It’s the manipulation of ink into pierced flesh, a permanent binding to remind you of your place. You’re losing Widow Graham and now you’ll wear my bloodcrest.”

There are consequences to our game.

Alderose whimpered and the vampire chuckled, pressing a hand against the heat that pulsed in her womb.

“I look forward to seeing you, complete, owned, and honest.”

The chugging buzzing started again, a whining yowl that scratched dread in her lust-soaked mind while her pussy fluttered with anticipation.

She wanted to squirm as the needle drew closer and the pressure within her built ever higher. But it remained and hovered, while shadows swayed in played out tendrils, caught in the thread of her heated horror. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to steady her breathing into calm sobriety, but the wind carried cattish yowling, ravaging desperately wished for silence. When she opened them again her vision had worsened, mixing together a kaleidoscope of doom-thought color over writhing shapes that were once nude women. Those lumps of thrusting bucking flesh burned fiercely against a bending memory. The vampire wanted her to see them changed against the melting scenery, grotesque as faceless moaning skin.

Her sex could not tell beauty from horror. It flushed prettily to the beat of her speeding heart, ever hungry, powerfully greedy, seeking anything to bring it peace—knowing there was only one being that carried the freedom of relief.

The vampire licked Her lips, but the needle only hovered. Not yet ready to complete it’s inking. Her other hand moved instead with weight that stroked around the burn of her marked skin until it encountered the moisture along the lips of her messy sex.

Her attention narrowed to that lone probing figure and the half-cocked smile that accompanied it. It was enough to rattle her heart to a beat she felt behind each throb of her begging clit.

“You want it so badly, don’t you?” She husked, with words meant only for her sex.

The painful ache only increased at that, pulling her further into the depths of her pussy. She was little else but that focused on each clench and shudder, and the rush of her blood that beat behind it. Oh, how she craved for this woman to finish, to ease the pinching pressure that pushed against her pelvis, brought to life by the needle and the promise of a bite.

And she dare not admit it but there was something igniting in the intensity of the stare that drilled upon the center of her body. In the way it inspired such deep hungry throbbing that made her feel both dizzy and lucid.

“This part is so eager and ready to obey. Meat can’t resist preparing itself to be eaten, can it?”

Alderose grunted something incomprehensible, her mind already swimming from the truth of those words.

Then that teasing finger probed a bit higher, scratching a nail across her tight aching clit.

“Oh!” The roar of her blood grew so much louder, a siren call for her to sink, a beat to become.

Then another stroke, with just the right pressure and a wave of exhausting pleasure swept up her name.

Because meat held no need for titles.

“Do you want me to finish, meat?”

The meat couldn’t be sure, desperate as she was to cling onto something more tangible, more real than the blood in her veins and the mark that burned over her pelvis, incomplete, painful, itching, tingling—

What was there left to finish? What was there left to do? The meat couldn’t gather thoughts when it was easier to roll her hips and tap her swollen clit against a lazy stroking finger. It didn’t ease the pounding below, didn’t resolve the desire that scalded her—her controlling pussy wanted so badly to be finished.

Then She, the Lordtrix, leaned just a bit closer, hot breath against her aching center, held needle and lips over Her mark. “I’m helping you be honest, meat. Do you want me to finish?”

The sharp tip of a finger firmly scratching at her slit mingled sweetly with the sudden pressure of the needle—she couldn’t be sure which was which, wasn’t certain her pussy would allow her to.

It didn’t matter to meat, “Y-yes, yes! P-please f-finish!”

To be bitten, to cum, to wear Her ink, to escape this nightmare—anything, finish anything—

The needle pressed in, harsh and commanding, and stole away the drum of cycling thought. All that meat was, all that meat knew, was when the last careful loop—sharp, crisp, and fat—fell right beneath her belly button, she came… undone.

The world caved inward in fat blobs of black, absorbing and devouring shapes of flesh. Trees hunched and withered as they fell into darkness and even the tool-holding Anna, pale against the black, was soon taken by it’s inky thickness. As anguish and pleasure clawed at her being she saw the vampire, her Mistress, her Lordtrix, her Superior.

You’re soul is pretty sweet, Widowmeat Graham. I hope you get addicted to My tasting it.

Then. Nothingness.


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