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Chained In The Vampire’s
Dungeon

     
     
     
    Some people like blondes or brunettes. Some people have a
preference for foreign accents. Personally, I’m wet for vampires.
    It’s always been like that for me. When my school friends
would hide behind the cushions and scream at old horror movies, I’d sit there
squirming for a completely different reason, wondering what it would be like to
have that tall, dark monster sink his teeth into my neck. For a long time, that
was as close as I ever got to making my dreams a reality.
My parents were pretty strict, so it wasn’t as if I had the chance to visit any
vamp bars. Not until I’d left home anyway.
    I remember a night not long after I’d gone to university
when I got all dressed up in my only pair of heels and a low-cut dress I
borrowed from my room-mate. I’d got it into my head to go to Positively O – the
only bar I’d heard of that catered to a vamp clientele. After I got dressed and
did my make-up, I walked a groove in the bedroom floor as I tried to talk
myself into leaving the house. I got as far as the corner of my street before I
panicked and ran home.
    Part of the attraction that vampires hold is the sense of
danger. That night, my fear got the better of my lust. I’d spent my whole
adolescence fantasising about meeting a cold, pale stranger, but when it came
down to it, I wasn’t ready.
    After that, I tried to make myself forget about men with
fangs. I went on a few dates, but I just couldn’t get serious with human guys.
In the end, I decided I was destined to be alone. It wasn’t so bad. I bought a
vibrator for the horny nights and I had friends to keep me busy in the daytime.
I carried on like that for years. Graduation came and went, and one day I found
I was an accountant with my own house and a smart little car that I owned
outright. From the outside, my life must have looked like a dream come true.
But every night when I went to bed, I went alone. In the moments before sleep,
when I had no work or acquaintances to distract me, my mind’s eye settled on
the image of my perfect man.
    When I thought of him, he always looked the same. He was
tall – at least six foot , with shoulder-length dark
hair that he wore swept back from his face. I was glad of that. It meant I
could see his beauty more clearly. He had grey eyes that were paler than any
eyes you’d ever see in nature. His face had a strong masculine jaw and full
lips that surely should have been a luscious pink, but were drained of all
colour. He sprang up in my imagination fully formed. I mean, the detail about
his bloodless lips was something I would never have thought of. It wasn’t like
creating a dream lover – more like remembering someone I’d loved a long time
ago. There were many nights when I held that picture of him in my head as I
touched myself. I imagined his unnatural eyes on me, watching me throw off the
bedclothes and spread my legs as the moonlight filtered in through the
curtains.
    That was my favourite fantasy when I was masturbating. I’d
take all my clothes off and get into bed, covering myself with just a sheet.
Then I’d run my hands over my breasts, pretending my vampire lover was fondling
me. He’d have cold hands. All the better to raise goosebumps on my skin. I thought of him lying on top of me,
pinning me down with his cold body and penetrating me with his cock and his
teeth at the same time. It was easy to get myself off like that. All I had to
do was conjure him up and my fingers would do the rest.
    There was one night when I arrived home from work with him already
on my mind. It was audit season, so work was one long waking nightmare. At the
end of another long day with no time for lunch, I shovelled down a takeaway
pizza and ran myself what I hoped would be a relaxing bath. By the time the
bathroom had filled with scented steam and I’d lit all the candles I could
find, the stresses of the day were starting to slide away. I decided to make a
night of