By Laure Alexander

Three days have passed and the taste of dead lawyers lingers in her mouth. Strolling along the boardwalk on Venice Beach at three in the morning, Darla runs her tongue over her teeth and smiles.

Why did she fight this?

Being a vampire is all she was ever meant to be.

Drusilla flits into view, dancing to a song in her head. She wears a sheer black dress, lacy panels barely covering her breasts and mons.

In her own comfortable shorts and tank top, sexy in a casual way, Darla approves. It's about time the girl entered the twenty first century at least where fashion is concerned.

"Grandmummy."

"Don't call me that," the ancient yet fledgling vampiress responds automatically, but there is no heat in her words.

Drusilla continues as if uninterrupted. "The moon is telling me stories. Daddy's light is going out." She giggles and dances off again.

Interesting.

Her goal is to bring Angelus back. She'll do anything to achieve that end.

He was her companion for one hundred and fifty years and she misses him. Her resurrection has only brought the old feelings back to the surface.

Not love, of course, but a sense of family, of belonging, of rightness. To a certain extent, she gets that with Drusilla, but the girl's madness is a barrier to a true bond.

Although there is a new and very odd bond between them.

It has been many centuries since Darla felt the fledgling bond to its sire.

That Drusilla, that mad childe, is her sire is almost beyond her.

Sidestepping a sleeping drunk, the blonde vampiress continues her meander south. The sound of Gregorian Chants reaches her and she turns a puzzled eye towards a distant bar. Her sharp eyes make out a sign reading 'The Monk's Refectory', and she smiles.

This town has everything.

"Ooh, can we eat the pious, grandmummy?"

Drusilla's sudden appearance at her side startles her. She's almost forgotten the speed that age and the dark gifts bring. The brunette vampiress is nearly one hundred and forty years old.

Darla hadn't given her a year.

Goes to show how little she knows.

"They're not really pious, dear."

Pouting, Drusilla links her arm with her childe's and they continue walking. "The moon has stopped making sense. It's a baby moon, like you."

That rankles the blonde. "I'm not a baby."

"You're my baby," Drusilla coos. "My fledgling. I remember when I was a fledgling and you were ever so wicked." She stops and turns to the other female, a sudden gleeful smile on her face. "You're my fledgling. That means I'm your sire. I'm the dominant one."

Darla cocks one sculpted eyebrow and silently waits.

Drusilla slowly wilts. "No?"

"Regardless of the facts, I am, in truth, your elder and your dominant. Shall I prove it to you?"

A shiver goes through the brunette and she nods wordlessly.

"Then let us return home."

"I'm hot and sweaty."

Heading to the end of the boardwalk, Darla rolls her eyes. "We don't perspire."

"But we can still take off our clothes and get cool, right?"

"Whatever you say, dear."

"The new baby moon says I'm naughty," Drusilla murmurs, as they leave the beach.

"And naughty girls are punished."

*****

An hour later, Drusilla writhes naked on the hotel room bed. A ball gag muffles her cries of pain and thick chains hold her captive to the four corners of the old fashioned four poster bed. Kneeling between her spread legs, wearing only a thin white tank top, Darla fucks her steadily with a large, black strap-on cock. The vibrating end pulses against her swollen clit, and she grinds down, eyes closed.

Sometimes Darla wishes she was a man, but most of the time it's good to be a woman.

Especially one with a big fake cock.

As she climaxes with a harsh cry of pleasure, she pulls out of the squirming girl. Reaching up, she unhooks the gag, and Drusilla pants hoarsely.

"Please Darla, please let me come."

Ignoring her, Darla slides back and unchains the cuffs around Drusilla's ankles, then quickly flips her legs up and over her head, rechaining each foot above her hands.

Drusilla groans at the sudden pain of over-stretched muscles. "It hurts, like I'm splitting in two."

"Then I'm doing it right." The blonde gazes down at the widespread, glistening vulva, the swollen clitoris, everything pink and pretty with stolen blood. Removing the strap-on, she tosses it aside and reaches for a squirt bottle of water. She opens it and turns it upside down.

One bead of water drips from the opening and falls on Drusilla's clit.

Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to scream in pain, but Darla slams her hand down over her lips.

"If you scream, I'm going to empty this bottle of holy water some place it will burn for days." She eyes the bottle and smiles nastily. "I think it will fit." She removes her hand.

Tears flood down Drusilla's cheeks as she chokes out, "You're gonna put that where?" She knows, but she doesn't want to accept that knowledge.

That was something only daddy had ever done, and only once, when she had sinned so gravely by denying the Master. The pain had nearly destroyed her.

But, she'd lost track of the number of orgasms that mind-melting agony had induced.

It was the first time the pain and the pleasure were truly one.

"In your cunt, of course, lovey. It will eat away at your insides and the pain, oh the pain, Drusilla..."

"I won't scream," the brunette vampiress promises breathlessly, although a part of her damaged mind remembers coming and coming as the fire burned the tender lining of her quim. Would the pleasure be worth the pain this time?

Sitting back, Darla nods in acceptance and squeezes out another drop, this one landing on a nipple.

Drusilla bites so deeply into her lip, blood flows over her chin.

*****

Another hour passes and Darla grips the headboard, rolling her hips back and forth and pressing her juicy cleft to Drusilla's eager mouth. The brunette still whimpers from the pain of dozens of burns to her most tender parts, but she licks and sucks, drowning in her childe/grandsire's sweet release.

Darla cries out softly and bucks hard, then slips off the bed onto wobbly legs. Behind her, Drusilla whines wordlessly and squirms on the bed, once again spread-eagled.

She still hasn't come and her womb clenches and throbs as her stomach twists painfully into knots, but she doesn't beg.

She knows better.

Pulling her tank top over her head, Darla strolls into the bathroom and takes a quick shower. Naked and glistening with lotion, she returns to the bedroom and dresses in a green shift and matching heels. Running a brush through her hair, she glances at the bedside clock and sees that it's not yet three in the morning.

There's undoubtedly some fun still to be had in this town.

She meets Drusilla's stricken eyes and smiles. "I'm going out for a while, pet. I'll leave you something to play with."

"Oh, yes, please, mistress," Drusilla pleads breathlessly, the aching between her legs making her willing to do and say anything to try to please the other vampiress.

"Am I the dominant one, Dru?"

"Yes, always, I swear."

Smiling wider, Darla opens the door and steps out of the Victorian Room at the Hampton Court Inn and into the parking lot. Off to the right, a middle-aged homeless man pulls two suitcases on wheels down the sidewalk. He's dirty and smelly.

And perfect.

Giving him a twenty dollar bill, she pushes him into the room and closes the door behind him.

Drusilla's cries of 'fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,' make her laugh, as she heads for the car and the seedy clubs a few blocks away.

It will be quite some time before the girl forgets her place again.

The End

Challenge Requirements:

Femme slash pairing; moonlit walk, mention of the stage of the moon; someone getting hot and sweaty which leads to the shedding of clothes; "You're gonna put that where?"; a squirt bottle; unconventional type of music; white tank top.

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