How to Discipline Your Vampire(4)

            “I’m Roy,” he said, eyes downcast, bending slightly. Yup, he was a sub, all right.

            “Mistress Cherry,” I said coolly.

            Erin stood up with a satisfied smirk. “Well, then. I’ve done my job. You two have fun.”

            I started to sweat. “Already?” I asked, my voice creaking.

            She approached my still-seated form and clasped a hand on my shoulder. “Choke up on the bat, and don’t strike out.”

            I giggled nervously. “I only have one strike against me.”

            She laughed. “Then let the balls come your way.”

            I buried my head in my hands as Roy silently watched our exchange and snickered. I raised my eyebrow at him and he promptly stopped being so amused by my embarrassment.



            Salsa breath.

            All I could think of while I was making out with Roy was the fact that his mouth tasted like cheap, jarred salsa. New York City–slicker stuff.

            I wound my fingers in his hair, pulled his head back, and licked his neck slowly. No more kissing. My tongue swiped over his Adam’s apple, which I felt bob at my touch as he groaned.

            He was tied to the chair, and I was grinding myself against him, sprawled across his lap. My fingers traced the tattoos on his collarbone as I desperately tried to forget about the cilantro-laced assault on my nostrils.

            Finally I had enough. “Listerine.”

            He opened his eyes and looked at me quizzically. “Is that your safe word?”

            “No,” I replied, getting up, “you’re going to gargle with it. Your breath smells like leftover chalupas.”

            He snickered. “Close. Bean burrito supreme from Whole Foods.”

            I gagged and headed toward the bathroom and grabbed a little Dixie of the sharp-smelling green fluid.

            “Drink,” I said, shoving it in his face.

            He wrinkled his nose as I tipped the cup to his mouth. “Um, do you have anything more organic?”

            My teeth clenched so hard, I got lockjaw. “Excuse me?”

            “I try to put as few artificial things in my body as possible.”

            You can’t really hover over someone when you’re a five-foot Domme, but I tried my best to stand over him menacingly as I berated him and his hippie tendencies. “So, you must use organic ink and metal for your tats and piercings, huh?”

            He just stared ahead as I pushed the cup closer to his face. “I guess since I’m not swallowing it, sure, I’ll swish it around.”

            I brought my hand back to his mouth forcefully and nudged the little paper cup past his lips. I guess I let the Listerine flow a bit too fast, because before I got to the bottom of the cup, he was spewing it everywhere. My face dripped the minty antiseptic and it pooled on his now not-that-interested crotch.

            “Dismissed.”

            He left without a word, just waggling his middle finger behind him.

            “How dare you!” I barked.

            He snorted. “Fuck you, pip-squeak.”

            I scampered up to the doorway and pulled on his collar, trying to spin him toward me. “Excuse me?!”

            He contorted his mouth into a sneer. “You’re probably the least intimidating Domme I’ve ever seen. Maybe you should invest in some platforms,” he snickered. “Or stilts.”