Chapter 16
16
M y phone rattles against the concrete driveway with an incoming text notification, drawing my attention away from the vanity I’m in the midst of staining. I keep forgetting to turn off notifications for anyone except close contacts during my down time. I should ignore it. Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m done with the task at hand. The whole point of me working on this DIY project was to get my mind into the blank space I go to when I’m concentrating on a repetitive task.
I stretch and continue, the dark cherry stain looking almost black under the light of the moon. Crafting in the dark isn’t the smartest idea, but my vampiric vision is much better than what it was when I was alive. It’s nights like these, where I’m outside at 2 am refinishing furniture, that I’m glad for the tree cover and private driveway. Getting the money to afford this house wasn’t easy, but it was worth everything I did to get it.
Before I was turned, I was broke, spending my days working a shitty receptionist job so that I could spend my nights at various goth clubs and bars throughout the city. After I was turned, I only had my ancient car and a handful of possessions because I’d given up my apartment, thinking I’d be moving in with the love of my life.
Once I survived the initial blood-soaked haze of my acclimation to vampirism—the horrific memories of which are still clear despite how mindless and feral I felt at the time—I had to figure out the practicalities of being a monster. Even if I hadn’t lost my job because I’d spent three weeks in a violent feeding frenzy, I wouldn’t have been able to go to work because the sun would burn me to a crisp. I had no friends to call on, because Dominic had deftly pulled me away from the few I had remaining after my boyfriend cheated on me with my roommate. I certainly didn’t have any family that would help.
So I took what little money I had to my name, rented a room at an awful motel on the outskirts of the city, bought a slutty white dress and matching heels, and signed up for a sugaring website. I could’ve tried bartending or worked the overnight shift at a warehouse, but I was done with having nothing. Being a sugar baby made me more money than I’d ever seen in my life, even though I despised every minute of it.
It’s also how I found out I had the power to charm people into doing what I say. One too many men grabbing me without my permission, and I snapped. Yelled at a man to get his hands off me. He listened placidly. I told him to give me all the money in his wallet. He smiled and passed me a wad of bills .
I did that for three years, robbing rich men blind while convincing them they wanted to do everything I asked. Feeding on them if the scent of their blood didn’t repulse me. I reasoned that they were going to give me the money anyway, so I was just cutting out the steps in the middle, where I had to fawn over them and pretend I liked their jokes and their wrinkly dicks. I could’ve probably kept doing it as long as I moved around, but I loathed it. I gave nothing to those men, yet I still felt dirty.
Luckily, I met my first monster client, Aven, who changed my trajectory for the better. Unbeknownst to me, they were a fae, and when I tried to charm them, they were shocked but unaffected. Aven laughed and patted my hand and explained that it would take a lot more than a neonate’s powers to affect them. They could’ve destroyed me on the sugaring sites, or honestly killed me for daring to try my tricks on them. Instead, they took me under their wing. They taught me the basics of paranormal society. They introduced me to kink. They even told me about the burgeoning monster community in Moonvale.
I still wonder sometimes where Aven is. They vanished, leaving no sign they ever lived in their fancy loft apartment. No one knew who the hell I was talking about when I asked where they went. At first, I thought I was crazy and they were a figment of my imagination. Then I learned that fae love to do bullshit like that. Aven was my weird, kinky fairygodperson, and I guess they decided I could make it on my own. Maybe I’ll see them again in a few hundred years when the whim strikes them.
My phone buzzes again, pulling me out of my memories. I know I should ignore it, but there’s a spike of worry that something is wrong and if I don’t look, I won’t be able to help in time. To be fair, it’s not an unfounded worry with what happened with Mona last year .
I set down the brush and wipe my hands off on a rag, then unlock the screen. It’s an unknown number. Probably spam. Still, I check it in case it’s one of my clients and they got a new phone.
Unknown: Put to death, therefore, what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these, the wrath of God is coming. (Colossians 3:5–6)
Unknown: It’s not too late. Repent and come home.
Mother. If only she knew how much of an impure, deviant sinner I am now.
How the fuck she keeps getting my number, I’ll never know. My grip on my phone tightens so much I’m afraid I might crack the screen, but I swallow down my rage and block the number. There’s no point in replying.
There goes any sense of calm I was going to get tonight. I sigh and drag the vanity and supplies back into the garage. No doubt to be neglected for another month or so.
As usual, the house is dark and quiet, and I don’t bother turning on the lights as I make my way to the kitchen to grab some blood from the fridge. I warm it up a bit in the microwave in my faded mug that says “I hate Sundays” with a satanic version of Garfield that I’ve kept as a reminder of my past self’s questionable sense of humor. I take it with me into the living room and turn on my rarely used tv, putting on a random home improvement show where a smiling redhead calmly informs people how hideous their perfectly nice homes are and how they need to spend thousands of dollars on renovation that almost always end up making the place look worse.
It does little to help calm me down, but at least it redirects my anger from my mother and shitty family to an innocuous source that I’ll never encounter. I’m grumbling about the lifeless beige clean mom aesthetic they redid a nursery in with when my phone vibrates. I scowl at it, ready to tell off any client bugging me on my night off or block yet another fake number from my mother, but it’s neither.
Grace: Hey.
It’s almost 3am on a Monday night.
Blair: Why are you awake?
Blair: Are you okay?
Grace: I’m fine. Sometimes I can’t sleep.
I frown at my phone.
Blair: Because of pain?
Grace: Yeah. Not tonight though, thankfully. Just too many thoughts that’ve been rattling around in my head.
Grace: Anyway, since I’ve been awake, I filled out a checklist.
I’m missing something.
Blair: What kind of checklist?
An attachment pops up to a file, and I open it.
Oh.
It’s a kink checklist. Looks similar to one I use with new clients .
My undead heart races, pumping the blood I just consumed through my system as I read. As a vampire, I don’t sweat unless I actively make myself do so, but I swear my palms are getting damp from nerves.
The checklist is categorized by types of activity, with colored bubbles to indicate levels of interest and experience levels.
I laugh when I see she’s typed in a note at the top.
I didn’t bother filling out any of the experience information because other than my disaster with Declan and one guy using nipple clamps on me and asking me to call him daddy, I have none. I’m a blank slate. Do with me what you will.
I don’t think she’d say that if she knew what I want to do with her. Grace’s effervescent beauty begs the vampiric side of me to consume every part of her. I’d be greedy, taking every piece of her I could until there was nothing left but her true self laid bare at my hands. Not because I want to ruin her, no. She’s already been torn apart and left to cobble the jagged pieces of herself back together in a way I’m all too familiar with. No, I want to bask in the radiant warmth that she exudes straight from the source, with nothing else in the way.
I sure as shit can’t tell her that. She’ll think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. I’m the one that offered to teach her, knowing how much my monster hungers for her.
I shake the thought away and continue to read the form. It starts with a bondage section, and blindfolds, light bondage, ropes, shibari, and cuffs are all marked as interested. Gags are a maybe. Mummification and more intense bondage are no’s.
Nothing unexpected. I already have some rope that would match the signature pink she loves to wear. I’m sure I can handle tying Grace up without it becoming too much of an issue. I teach shibari and have done so many demonstrations that the process has become almost second nature to me. I’ll be able to focus on the beauty I’m creating with my ties, and the sensations that it evokes for Grace, instead of everything I’d want to do with her once she’s bound.
At least I hope I will.
She’s left another note in this section.
I can’t do anything that will mess with my neck too much. I’d be happy to try a collar and leash, but you probably couldn’t tug on it very much.
Fuck me. Grace wearing my collar as I gently lead her around is now all I can think about. Knowing how eager she is to please, I doubt I’d have to tug at all. I’d issue a command, and she’d follow.
The idea makes me ache with unfulfilled need. My clit is begging for me to reach between my thighs and give myself some sort of relief. I close my eyes and try to breathe through it, startling when my phone vibrates in my hand.
Focus, Blair.
Grace: Are you reading it?
Blair: Yeah.
Grace: If you have a better list for me to fill out, I’ll do that instead.
Blair: This one looks fine.
Grace: What part are you up to?
Grace: If you have any questions, I can answer them.
Grace: I put some notes because I felt like things needed explanations.
I smile down at my phone as I read her influx of messages.
Blair: I’ve read through the bondage section.
Grace: And? What do you think?
I think the idea of her bound and at the mercy of my commands is making me wet, but I’m not going to tell her that.
Blair: It all makes sense. Give me a minute to read the rest, okay?
Blair: I promise I won’t judge anything you’ve put on here.
Grace: Okay.
I go back to the checklist. The next section is impact play. Again, there’s a note at the top.
This one is hard for me to know what to put. A lot of them sound interesting in theory, but I’m not sure how I’ll react to them. I’m already in pain a lot, so I’m not sure if I want to add to that. But we can try if you want!
Despite what I just said, I message her.
Blair: Some people with chronic pain like impact and pain play. It helps them feel in control of the pain and their bodies. Plus, the endorphins that come with it are no joke. But it’s not about what I want, it’s about what you’re comfortable with. If we did it, we’d start gentle and be very cautious.
Grace: Oh wow, okay. Let’s try it.
Great. Now I’m imagining marking her pale skin as she begs me for mercy. My clit throbs at the thought.
I read through the next few sections, and it turns out Grace is interested in more things than she isn’t. She has a strong inclination towards servitude, and an aversion to intense humiliation, which doesn’t surprise me at all. I laugh when I see that she’s written “duh”, followed by a vampire emoji and a winking emoji next to blood play.
Then I get to the bottom, where it lists sexual activity. I’d planned on sending her a modified checklist that didn’t include it, so it wouldn’t make her uncomfortable. I brace myself for facing the reminder that she doesn’t want me that way. The shock I feel as I read what she’s put takes my breath away.
Kissing- Interested
Breast play - Interested
Fingering (Giving and Receiving)- Interested
Oral (Giving and Receiving) - Interested
Face sitting (Receiving) - Interested
Vibrators - Interested
Dildos - Interested
Strap-On Dildos (Penetration) - Interested
Edging - Interested
Forced Orgasm - Interested
Orgasm Denial - Interested
I stare at the checklist in disbelief. There must be some kind of misunderstanding.
Blair: Did you fill this out as a general thing? Or did you put what you’re comfortable doing with me?
It takes over a minute for her to reply. My stomach clenches as I wait for her answer.
Grace: With you.
Holy shit. I feel like I’m dreaming. There’s no way she wants that.
Blair: You don’t have to do anything you’re not interested in.
Grace: I know.
Grace: I didn’t mark anything as “interested” that I didn’t want to try.
Grace: But I know you also need to consent to things and set your own limits. So can you fill out the form and send it back to me? Then we’ll be on the same page.
I’m at a loss for words. I blink down at my screen, dumbfounded. My hands shake as I type my reply.
Blair: Okay.
Grace: Are you okay?
Blair: Of course I am.
I’m not. With a simple checklist, Grace has turned my world upside down.