The Stake and Silver — To Morning Light Coming!

  Our righteous mission is to save the innocent and that includes the immortal soul of that which was once human. Make it confess its sins.

  “Who!”, a cp, “has!”, a cp, “been!”, a cp, “a bad monster hunter?” and the st words come with a bunch of spanking like a drumroll. My ass is starting to seriously burn but not as much as my pride. I tell them to fuck themselves of course, because no way I’m answering that loaded question with a denial. Predictably, this results in a chuckle from my captor and another round of spanking.

  So much for my ass. And so much for my pride too, because I'm starting to get hard down there. They threw me like I weigh nothing, face down again on the master bed, hopefully they can’t see the growing bulge in my panties in this position. “Oh my”, they say, “you’re carrying a very naughty wooden stake aren’t you?” — so much for hope. “Are we maybe enjoying this? Tell me, tell me, are you really a bad hunter or are you a bad girl?”. The words get my face burning so hot it feels like the silky pillow it’s buried into is about to start melting. Vampires are supposed to sleep in a sober wooden coffin not on some incredibly soft bed with top end linen. How did they even get that shit into a house two holes in the roof short of a ruin? Maybe they ordered online, it’s not like amazon drivers care. Maybe the st of the owners’ money was spent on some very fancy cousin fucking, i don’t know.

  “Answer me baby girl, did you want to get caught, do you like this?” She punctuates her like with a strike so hard I can't help but yelp. “I’ve met one or two of your kind over the centuries, righteous freaks the lot of them, but you might be the freakiest of them all”. Thinking about the unexpectedly soft bed only helped so much, not gonna lie. The bad girl thing was bad enough but baby girl? This shit is basically a silver crucifix spray bottle filled with macerated garlic holy water to a trans girl. That’s just unfair. Still, my profession calls for stern stoicism, I’m gonna keep bming that yelp on the spanking. On the inhuman skill in physical torture developed by a creature of the night over centuries of the practice of evil. Yeah. It’s just a normal, human response to pain. To unexpected pain. It was definitely not a moan.

  “Oh look, this helpless little kitten is moaning for me. What a treat.”

  I know better than to acknowledge the taunt of course. I’m not gonna engage on the spawn of a dark power’s terms. I’m not a helpless little kitten. I'm a roughened soldier in the eternal war between good and evil. I’m above such petty mindgames. And it was not a moan. “I’m not a kitten you asshole, if i die tonight then i died uncorrupted, you cannot break me. And it was not a moan.” The trembling in my voice really doesn’t sell the defiance, nor does the high pitched, inarticute, raw sound I let out when I get cut off by another round of spanking. Fuck, that one was definitely a moan. Maybe even two. Or three. The spanking does not relent.

  At st they stop, and rest their hand on my aching cheek. The caress is soft and gentle and so fucking unfair. I want to tell them to fuck off, that i will escape these binds and fuck them up but I’m afraid to speak again. My words have had a treacherous tendency to turn into moans tely. “I’ll fuck you either way you know, i”ll make you mine, my very own pet kitten. Falling will be more fun if you just admit you want it. Tell me you’re a bad girl. Tell me you want it.”

  “I don’t”, I say. “I don’t want it and I'm not gonna fall for you bitch. You can’t touch me in any way that matters”. Fall for you? Fuck me. That is not what I meant to say.

  “Even if I touch you like this?” they say.

  Well not when they touched me like this as it turned out.

  Because they still had one hand massaging my butt, giving it comfort after pain, and the other one was caressing the side of my breast dancing around the ropes that bit into my skin, and with their lips they drew little kisses into the hollow of my lower back. So when the kissing stopped and they asked again who had been a bad girl, I couldn't help it. Gruff stoicism be damned and so am I, I guess. I’ve been crying and moaning for the st who-knows-how-long anyway.

  “Me, it’s me. I’ve been a bad girl.”