To Protect and Serve Ch. 01

"Once you become a vampire, you're given your own territory, and that territory gets bigger as you get older. Vampires challenge each other for territories if the other guy or gal has something juicier or wealthier or . . . well, sometimes just because. That was what you got caught up in. Shane had arranged to meet with these guys about a land deal but didn't trust them. Figured if we met in a public place and had some outside people watching then things would go smoothly."

"That didn't look smooth to me," Shamira said. "Honestly, they looked like petty thugs in nice suits." Of course, that hadn't stopped their guns from working.

"They were. There's a clown out there who wants to muscle in on Shane's . . . Shane's our sire, by the way . . . territory, which is pretty much all of Atlanta and its suburbs."

"Is that big?" Shamira asked. 'I can't believe I'm having this conversation.'

"Huge. Both in area and importance. Atlanta is one of the primary transition points for magical beings entering the United States. Kind of a mystical Ellis Island. That means lots of money and prestige flows through here. We weren't expecting anything so blatant, which means the guy who tried to backstab us is in for a world of hell from the Tribunal, which is the fancy word for the big council of mystical creatures that makes sure no one does anything stupid that would endanger the rest of us." Someone chose that moment to knock on the door. "Come in!"

Shamira's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when a gorgeous black (excuse me, "African American") woman strolled into the room. She had a body like Halle Berry, though her skin was a bit darker. She had a short afro which, on her, was actually pretty cute and her breasts were perfectly proportioned to that hourglass figure. She was dressed in a PVC teddy that thrust her breasts upward, and a black thong that was little more than string with an eye-patch on the front. Topping it all off was an elegant iron collar. Suddenly, Shamira felt embarrassed at being naked again. Next to these two women, she felt something like a rhinoceros.

The woman, who Shamira assumed was Monique, walked with lowered eyes. She knelt at at Clara's feet and offered up a pair of designer sweats like it was a sacrifice. "As you requested, Mistress Clara."

"What is with the whole Mistress --" Shamira started to say, then watched as the Clara took Monique's head roughly by the hair and pushed her face down to the toes of those leather moccasins.

"You were insolent earlier," Clara said sternly. "You should know that just because we have a guest that you should not forget your place."

"But Mistress Clara, I was in my workshop when you called."

Clara's face softened. "Then you behaved properly."

"What is with you?" Shamira asked. "Can't you weirdos wait to play your games until after I'm out of here?"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Weirdos?" She looked down at Monique. "Do you consider us weird?"

"No, Mistress Clara."

"No?" Shamira asked incredulously. "Bondage vampires from hell isn't weird?"

"Monique is a werewolf, not a vampire. And no, it isn't odd for us at all."

"Werewolf?"

Clara smiled. "Our guest is a woman of few words," she said. "Monique, I think she might like a display."

"Display?" Shamira asked. "What kind of display?"

Monique stood up and quickly undressed. While this was happening, Shamira pulled on the sweats, which were way too tight for her. Her breasts were amazingly firm (thank you Mr. Plastic Surgeon), so the lack of bra wasn't a problem. She actually had a pair of sweat pants and a tight workout shirt that was cut low enough to entice the views of every guy at the gym. Or girls. 'What is it with you thinking about girls recently?'

It didn't take long for Monique to get rid of her clothing. Shamira then watched as her skin began to glow and shift, the muscles and bones rearranging themselves under that exterior. Fur sprouted everywhere and, in the course of about thirty seconds, Shamira had a full blown wolf sitting in the bedroom. She probably should have screamed or run, but instead just said --

"Beautiful." She reached a hand out, and the wolf sniffed her, then licked her hand.

"She thinks you're beautiful," Clara said. "There just may be hope for her yet. Sit!" The wolf sat. "Shamira, vampires tend to collect broods about them. These broods become that vampire's support organization as he or she comes into power. You can't create vampires until you are at least two centuries old, so the members of the brood tend to be less powerful than their creator. Shane also has made friends and allies amongst the other races and the magic community, so his brood is more diverse. I think that make him more formidable. Vampires are also very sexual creatures. At least the movies got that part right. And since vampires tend to live a long time, they surround themselves with people like them. Shane is a sexual dom. Please don't tell me that I need to explain what that is?"

"Nuh-oh," Shamira replied. "I think I've got that one."

"Well, everyone who lives here is part of that scene. Some are doms or dommes, some are subs, and others are switches. A switch is someone who can play either role, depending on their mood."

Shamira shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Glad I won't be living here then."

"That's . . . unfortunate," Clara said, running her her gaze up and down that magnificent body. Oh, the things she could do with a woman like this. "I realize this is a lot to take in, and Shane will want to talk to you before morning. Yes, vampires sleep during the day. Daylight doesn't kill older vamps, but it definitely weakens them. Fledglings can actually move about during the day or night, depending on their preference." She folded her hands in front of her. She was actually surprised that Shamira was handling it so well. "Do you have any questions?"

Shamira scratched the wolf behind the ears. The wolf seemed to like it. "I don't even know where to begin," she muttered.

"Well as I said, I'm going to be your guide, but you can ask questions of anyone in the house. I'll introduce you in a little while. Monique, change!" She waited until the wolf was once again a gorgeous naked black woman, who still sat at Clara's feet. Clara grabbed her hair and yanked her head backward, planting a vicious kiss on the girl's mouth. "Have you been claimed yet for the night?"

"No, Mistress Clara."

"You have now. Be in my bed by dawn. Bring handcuffs."

Shamira took a deep breath. "Uhm, could I have a moment alone? And maybe a shower?"

"Very well. I'll be back in a little while. Unless you'd like some company --"

"No! I mean, no thanks. I'm not into that either."

Clara just smiled again. "Of course not."

Shamira was left alone with her thoughts. Her first thought was, 'What did she mean by that?' It was odd getting undressed again so shortly after getting dressed in the first place, and even more odd that she was doing in a stranger's house after getting killed. 'I wonder if I could get on Oprah with this? Or at least Jerry Springer.' She had to joke about it. If she didn't, she'd go insane. She didn't want to do that. A shower had seemed like a good way to get rid of them and collect herself. She didn't think she'd get hit on.

'That's what happened, right? Crap, this is just fucking too Twilight Zone for me.' Warm water was relaxing, but she wasn't really achy or anything to begin with. Shouldn't dieing make you sore? She actually felt . . . fantastic. Her body felt stronger than usual. The world inside her room seemed clearer in her eyes, and she could smell the lilies in the vase from across the room. She didn't remember them smelling so nice before.

She got dried off and dressed and flopped down on that enormous bed. 'Okay, you're . . . a vampire.' Given what she had been shown thus far, it really wasn't too hard to accept. Figuring out what it meant was something else entirely. 'You could always just leave,' she thought. 'They didn't say you can't leave.' She got to her feet. She could leave anytime she wanted. Unless they used their massive vampiric powers to try and stop her.

Shamira opened the door and peeked out into the hall. The house was huge. When one had a hallway with that many doors that were probably just bedrooms, then it was a big damn house. It did have a creepy undead vibe to it. The wall lighting involved medieval-looking torches with custom built bulbs to look like flickering flames. Where the bedroom had been luxurious, the hall was rather stark. She slowly made her way down the hall, wondering if this was a good idea. What if she ran into someone who didn't know she was there? She didn't want to have to fight for her life. Or her death. Undeath? Whatever. But she wanted out. Did she?

After a few wrong turns, she started to hear noises and crept towards them. She peeked around a corner and saw a sunken living room, and her heart stopped beating. Well, it would have if it could. She had fallen down a rabbit hole, and she was finally understanding what Wonderland looked like.

There were several people in the room, but most of them were standing around just watching what was happening. And "what was happening" was a girl was getting fucked, hard. A woman with the most beautiful light-brown skin and hair that almost matched. She had a round butt that was sticking up in the air, and Shamira couldn't get a good look at the face because it was between her shins. The girl was bent in half and her wrists were shackled to her ankles.

There was also a leather band around her waist with a ring attached to it right at the base of the woman's spine. The ring was attached to a chain which stretched up into the air, presumably anchored to one of the massive wooden beams that criss-crossed overhead. There were a series of red welts on her back and thighs, and the cause was obvious. The man fucking her had a leather strap two inches wide and two feet long dangling from one fist.

The man doing the fucking was familiar to her. She had seen his face twice, once in the club and once from her coffin. He was a hauntingly handsome man, bordering on beautiful. Only the v-shape of his torso and firm square chin prevented any real claim to femininity. His expression was intense as he sank his cock into the woman with unnatural efficiency. He had a nice cock, at least in Shamira's humble opinion. Not that she had a whole lot of comparison samples. It was just a little bigger than average, maybe seven inches or so.

There were a number of people standing or kneeling around watching. She recognized Monique, who was on her knees on a pillow nearby, and her look could only be described as envious. Kneeling next to her was another blond Caucasian male who was so Aryan it was almost scary. He was six feet tall and trim, more toned than muscled. He was dressed in black leather from his boots to his pants to his vest. Under the vest was a white silk shirt that would've looked at home at a renaissance fair, and an iron collar. Next to him was a Hispanic man who should have been on a Mexican soap opera. He had the "come-hither" eyes and pouty lips and everything. All he had on was a pair of leather shorts and an iron collar.

'Okay, iron collar means submissive,' she thought. 'Check.' There was an iron collar on the green-eyed redheaded female wearing a robe that Elvira Mistress of the Dark would have considered risqué. She also had those damn freckles that could drive men mad for no apparent reason, and her lips were full and inviting.

Behind those iron-ring clad folk that were kneeling were two men and a woman, and these had to be the doms (or dommes, if you prefer). One was dressed in black cowboy boots, leather pants and an ankle-length duster. The Marlboro Man face and unkempt brown hair was capped off with a wide-brimmed cowboy hat of which Shamira was jealous. When not on duty, she had a cowboy that she wore almost every time she left the house. It saddened her to think of what her folk might have done with it. They never liked it, considering it "unladylike."

Next to the cowboy was an Asian woman who looked as delicate as a flower, except for the black leather corset, black silk g-string and thigh-high stiletto boots, black lipstick, and hair done up with a skull-shaped tail-holder. The third standing man actually made her more nervous than the rest. He was a bald black male, and he almost filled the room with his presence. He seemed so much more solid than the others, and his muscles were almost as bulky and defined on him as Shamira's were on her. And he was still . . . so dreadfully still. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he knew she was there. This was the sort of guy nothing slipped by.

The man who was fucking the captive girl pulled out, his member pointing angrily at the place it wanted to revisit. He raised the leather strap in his hand and brought it down sharply against her ass cheeks. She didn't make a sound.

"Banshee," the man said calmly, "please remind me of Renata's title."

"Chief of Security," the Asian woman replied, almost purring the words.

"And yet five members of an opposing organization were able to approach me with weapons and, at least in their minds, get the drop on me." He slapped the girl's ass hard with his hand this time, then hit the other cheek. Next he grabbed the belt around her waist and pulled his length back into her pussy, pounding at her with little apparent regard for her wellbeing.

Shamira clenched a fist. 'So she made a mistake,' she thought angrily. 'That's no excuse to --' Suddenly, Shamira was not alone . Clara had appeared at her side, but covered the woman's mouth before she could screech in surprise. Clara's lips were very close to the back of her hand and Shamira's face when she whispered to the muscular woman to shush.

"In our world, not everything is as it appears," Clara whispered.

"He's basically raping her for screwing up on the job?"

Clara's eyes darkened. "Be very, very careful on how you use that word around here. Her face softened. "But again, there is no reason you would know. The dominant is Shane Stapleton, and he is your sire and founder of this House. The woman is Renata de Souza, Chief of Security, and she is far from an unwilling participant. She's a switch."

"Either dominant or submissive, right? But what does --"

"What happened the night you were killed was in no way Renata's fault and Shane knows this. He actually was more trusting than she wanted to be and ignored several of her suggestions by meeting his adversaries where he did. He does not hold her responsible for his own mistake."

"Then why is he doing this to her?" Shamira was really confused.

"It took her a couple of days to convince him that it was her fault and that she should be punished."

Shamira was floored. "She wanted this?!" was her heated whisper.

"Oh yes. She hasn't had an opportunity to be a sub for a while and wanted the experience again. Neither her life, health, or even job is in any danger. Shane was taking personally how bad things went, so she thought this might cheer him up." Clara smiled. "She's just a bit of a hussy. I suppose most of us are, but she's in heat most of the time. And she's perky too. It gets a little annoying after awhile." But Clara didn't sound all that annoyed. Her voice reflected genuine affection. "She's a werejaguar, by the way."

"She turns into a jaguar? That's so cool!" Shamira couldn't believe she said that.

"And a gorgeous jaguar at that. She's Brazilian, and werejaguars are more common down there. But the werecats are rare breeds regardless, and Shane is lucky to have her. So to speak." She placed a hand on Shamira's arm. "I promise you, this is about unwinding rather than punishment. She will be quite satisfied by the time he's done with her. She climaxed three times before I went looking for you."

'Three times?!' Shamira thought. Her eyes were wide in disbelief.

"Have you never experienced multiple releases in a single session?" Clara asked innocently.

Shamira blushed through and through. She'd never climaxed during sex at all.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," her companion said. "Shame." She looked at the muscular woman next to her. "If I had you beneath my thumb and heel, you'd be begging me to stop because you simply couldn't cum anymore."

The other woman had absolutely no response to that. So the two of them watched from the safety of the hallway as Shane continued his relentless assault, filling her up before withdrawing and laying leather against her exposed back. Shamira started to hear noises that made her think the woman was gagged. She was moaning, and not in a complaining kind of way. For the first time, she noticed that Renata de Souza's inner thighs were glistening with the remnants of those orgasms that Clara had eluded to.

Shane withdrew and replaced his dick with his fingers, probing her greedy sex while thrusting his thumb into her anus. With his other hand, he slapped her ass with the leather strip. She was moaning harder as pain and pleasure were meted out with equal enthusiasm, and soon she was cumming again. She wasn't so much standing on her legs as much as hanging from the belt and attached chain. Shamira watched the girl's body twitch and tremble.

"Normally I would punish you more for not asking permission," Shane said, bending down and brushing her hair away, "but I will forgive you that this time." The girl had a ball-gag in her mouth. And she looked utterly satisfied that Shamira was dumbstruck. Clara had been telling the truth.

Shane returned to his position behind her and plunged into her again. A few strokes later and he arched his back, sending his seed into her welcoming body. Shamira couldn't help but admire how cute his ass was as it flexed, encouraging every last drop of his sperm to find refuge inside Renata. After he was suitable finished, he donned a pair of dress slacks and tucked in his shirt. "You will remain here until eleven a.m. to think about your failure. You will then be released and allowed to join us for lunch."

Shamira checked a wall clock and saw that the Brazilian beauty would only be trussed up for another twenty minutes, so she didn't think it would be too uncomfortable for her. All Shamira could do at that point was admit that she had never had the look on her face that Renalta was sporting. Not even in those fantasies that even scared her.

"So you know Shane now, and Monique and Renata," Clara started.

"The Japanese chick is Banshee, right?"

"Correct. Renata is the Chief of Security, and I'm actually party of the security team. Monique and Lillian, the redhead, are also on the security team. No, I don't know why all the live-in security are girls. Shane has straight human security, but they don't actually live here. All of them know what we are, but none seem to mind. Big paychecks and benefits seem to help. Lillian and Monique were lovers before ever coming to work for Shane. Lillian's a switch too, but Shane's the only male she allows to dominate her. Oh, and Lillian's also a human necromancer."

"Necromancer?"

"She can raise zombies, talk to ghosts and other dead, and she can heal the undead. Useful to have around. She's our primary conduit to Jeremiah."

"Which one's he?"

"Oh, you can't see him. He's a poltergeist. Actually, he's part of the security team too . . . in a way. He's somehow attached to the land this house is built on, but don't worry. If you have permission to be here, he'll leave you alone."

Shamira gulped. "Great. Poltergeist."

"Yeah. So if you see a television on in the break room, don't turn it off. He loves soap operas." Then, as if that wasn't a weird conversation stopper, Clara continued. "Cowboy guy there is Henry. He's a dom. The ones standing are doms if you haven't figured that out, and the kneeling ones are submissives. Lillian and Renata are the only two switches. Anyway, Henry and the blond guy on his knees, whose name is Bjorne, are both enforcers. Means basically they run errands, interact with the public and help keep the peace. You and Henry have a lot in common. He was a sheriff back in his mortal days. Both he and Bjorne are vampires: Bjorne is a shadow and Henry is a fledgling, but only for another six months."