Ep3

"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.