Immortal Masochism

This story developed very differently than I expected. Initially, I was going to have the main character be a vampire, then a vampire hunter, then a normal person. Then the vamp would be the top, the human the bottom. Then they would both be vamps. Eventually, I settled on the vamp masochist and the human sadist. But I liked both perspectives. So what to do?

I did them both. I don't usually like switching narrators mid-story, but it was fun to experiment with this.

Today's story is not for the faint of heart. It involves torture to a level that goes way beyond safe and sane (but remains consensual). Hopefully, I didn't go too far. As I said to someone earlier, it's a fine line between "wow, that's hot" and "hey, didn't Eli Roth direct that?"

Hopefully, I stayed on the good side of the line.

Our Last Scene (1)

It might be a bit excessive to call it immortality, but I still like calling it that. Sure, there are things that can still kill a vampire: decapitation, stake through the heart, consumed by fire. But those things would kill anyone. Cutting off someone's head to see if they're a vampire is like shooting someone in the heart to see if they're a werewolf. Either way, someone is dead, but it doesn't prove anything.

But there's a lot you can do to a vampire that you can't do to a human. With a human being, you need a safe word for a beating, so you stop before any real damage is done. With a vampire, you can start the beating with a metal bat and not really have to worry about it. With a human, tossing them into a trunk is sexy, but dangerous; a rear ended car will almost certainly kill them. But a rear ended car with a vamp in the trunk isn't really a problem.

You can road haul a vampire. You can crucify them with real nails through their wrists. You can slice off pieces of skin. You can suspend them by hooks from their skin. You can put handcuffs on as tight as you want, and dangle them by those cuffs without worrying about nerve damage. You can pump them full of electricity, you can hit them bamboo until the rod breaks. You can do just about anything, and they'll survive. They'll just keep coming back for more, as long as there's blood there for them to drink.

It's true. No matter what I do, no matter what I say, he just keeps coming back. Doesn't matter that I ran a belt sander over his skin. Doesn't matter that put meat hooks through his calves and hung him upside down in a meat locker when his family came looking for him. Doesn't matter that I fucked him in the ass with a jagged metal dildo, tearing him apart from the inside. As much as he screamed, as much as he begged me to stop, he still came back.

When I threatened to nail him to the floor, six inch spikes through his arms, his hands, and his legs, that didn't deter him. When I told him I would hook his mouth to the pipe from my toilet, that didn't stop him. He just kept coming. He just kept begging for more.

So I broke his bones. I dislocated both shoulders, both hips, and I smashed his knees and elbows with a sledgehammer. I pulverized his jaw, broke his back, and crushed his ribs. Then I put him inside my septic tank and left him there for a week.

He was gone for one day before he came limping back, smiling, somehow clean, and wanting more.

Tonight, I'm going to break him. Really and truly break him. Tonight, either he goes away forever, or he never leaves at all. That's the deal. I know I have my work cut out for me.

It's amazing what immortality does to pain tolerance.

****

The hardest part of living forever is boredom. Most people go through their lives following the same routine, comfortable in the ruts they live in. But every once in a while, they need to do something different. Something new. Some way to break out of that routine, even if just for a while. But routines are good; they let the mind wander, they let people ignore the passage of time through their drab, wretched lives.

And that was all well and good, for a while. Back when the world didn't change much, it was no big deal to look up and suddenly realize that it's been a month since you last went outside. It wasn't a big deal to realize that you haven't bought new clothing in a decade. Back then, the world was slow, and missing a year or ten or twenty wasn't that big a deal.

But the world has changed. Or maybe I've changed. Maybe I'm just like the people in their ruts. My rut is old, older than I care to admit. And I want out. I want to find a way out of it, to experience life all over again. I want the thrill, the joy. The experience. The sensation. The pain.

The stories of vampires are exciting because of how dangerous we are. The tales tell of hunters facing off against the monsters of the night, conquering evil in the name of Christ, or whoever. But they don't take into account the truth. Most of us die because we want to die. We die because we're bored. Those stories you've heard, they exist because someone got tired of living, sought out one last adventure, one last chance at breaking the monotony. They killed so that they could live, and they got killed so they could finally get a new experience.

I'm not there yet. But I worry sometimes that I'm on my way. Or at least, I did. Until I met Michelle. My own Mina, my Louis, my Varney. She is my own Buffy. It disgusts me to say it, but she's my Anita, my Bella. She is the one who will bring me out of this slump and who will make me feel again.

I knew as soon as I met her that she would be the one to bring that excitement back to my life. I've been going to bondage clubs and fetish parties for a decade, and I've seen every style of dominatrix, leather daddy, or sadist you can name. Michelle didn't stand out in appearance. She's beautiful, but all women are beautiful. She's young, but all humans are young. Her hair is black as sun burned flesh, and her lips as rich as freshly spilled blood. Still, nothing unusual.

It wasn't her walk that made her unique. There is a certain walk, a liquid flow of limbs, a roll of muscle and sinew that only a very few can manage. Michelle does walk like living sex, but that wasn't it. She's not the only one I've known who does that.

It wasn't her glare, or that dismissive look she so effortlessly gave to submissives. It wasn't her sneer, or the throaty laugh when she made people cry.

What set her aside was that inner fire. That need to be, to just be. She didn't have to be better than everyone, didn't have to be prettier, or stronger, or smarter. She didn't have to have higher heels or wear more leather. But there is an energy to her. Something that just burns from the inside. Something that made me first inquire with her. Something that made me first play with her.

Something that brought me back, that saw how far I could push her to push me. Maybe it was her utter and complete lack of fear when I told her what I was. Maybe it was the experimentation she started doing once I convinced her it was true.

She has brought me pain unlike any I ever experienced. No raging mob has been able to match her tender cruelty. No inquisitor ever had the creative horror that lives in her beautiful brain.

Tonight, I will take whatever she wants to give to me. And when I survive it, if I survive it, I will give her immortality. And I will let her spend the rest of time finding new ways to make me feel, to make me ache, and to make me regret my decision with a smile on my face.

****

I told him to shave before he came over. I warned him that if I found even one single strand of hair on his body, anywhere at all, I would remove it with an acetylene torch. Then I made him buy me one, so he knew I could carry out my threat. He's waiting for me now, out in the cold. I can see him, just outside the porch light. He's followed my instructions. Not an eyelash, no eyebrows; no hair whatsoever.

And looking down, I can see that it's true all over his body. He left his clothing in his car, as I instructed. I know the cold won't kill him, but there's no way he's enjoying the negative temperature out there. There's no snow on the ground -too cold for that- but there is a layer of ice that used to be snow. Any warmth he might have had on the way over has to be gone by now.

The question is whether or not he did the other things I told him to. And whether or not I can really handle doing what I planned. Can I really make myself go through with this? Even knowing what he's survived before, even knowing just how much he can take, I'm not sure.

I guess it'll be as much a question of whether or not I break as it will be if he does.

I open the door, and he crawls in to the circle of light, shivering and pale as a corpse. Paler than I've ever seen him. He crawls in, grimacing in pain with each movement. I close the door behind him, and he groans in pain as the heater right next to the door thaws him out. Any human being would go into shock from that. The sudden change from sub zero temperatures to comfortable warmth would be too much for their body to handle.

He cries at the pain of it, but it doesn't kill him. Like everything else I've tried, he survives it. He survives it, and he stays on the floor. He keeps his eyes down, and he waits for whatever I have next. His tongue is so cold that it sticks to the buckle on my boot when he starts licking. I rip my foot away from him and kick him in the head with the other foot.

“I didn't tell you to do that!” I say. Looking down, I'm pretty sure I took part of his tongue with me when I yanked it away. That's kind of gross.

Thankfully, vampire flesh has the courtesy to turn to ash almost as soon as it leaves his body. Cleanup is always pretty easy.

He mutters something about being sorry, and I storm off, pretending to be in a huff. He can't see my smile.

I come back and put a choke collar around his neck, then drag him towards the basement without so much as checking to see if he's ready to come along. I pull hard enough to bruise, and I don't give him any slack. He makes a gagging sound, but no complaints. He just crawls along as best he can until we come to the basement door. I pull him to face me, then lift him until he is on his knees. I kick his knees apart a bit with my foot. “Don't move,” I say.

I take aim carefully. I give him a swift kick, as hard as I can, and smile when his knees his the floor again. I lifted him up, just a little.

He groans in pain, doubles over, but doesn't fall. He coughs for breath, and I hear at least one sob of pain. Not a bad start.

“Back on your knees,” I say, and I slap him across the top of his wonderfully bald head. “This time, I want you to hold yourself. Squeeze just above your balls, so they're a nice and open target for me.”

I would never, ever do this to a real person. What I'm about to do will almost certainly burst those beautiful testicles. That might kill someone, or at least leave them permanently sterile. I would never do this. I can't believe I'm doing this.

It's the hardest I've ever kicked anyone in my life. I know something burst, I could feel it breaking against my foot. And I know something else broke as he rolled down the steps into the basement. I heard the sickening sound of bones snapping as he went, and the wet thud when he hit the floor.

Part of me panics. Part of me feels like I'm going to have to somehow explain to a jury why I did something like this, and hope they don't send me to the chair for it.

Even when he groans, even when he sits up, and I hear that other sound, the one that sends chills down my spine, when he snaps his bones back into place, it doesn't make me feel any better. I'm still not sure I can do this.

****

When her foot impacted, I felt like I was going to die again. Light and pain blinded me, and I don't even remember the roll down the stairs. I was too focused on the shattered mess that used to be my manhood. In fact, I was surprised to find out that my neck was broken. Usually, that's the sort of thing I notice.

I almost didn't fix it. The spinal cord had severed, and for a precious second or two, I couldn't feel any pain. But I'm not here to avoid feeling pain. I'm here to feel it. To enjoy it.

So I snapped myself back into place and let the agony rush back in. I lay back, cradling my groin as my body rearranged itself, as the pain slowly faded into a memory that, I'm pretty sure, is never going away. I smile up at her when she doesn't come rushing down to see how I'm doing. I hate it when they show concern for me, when they feel guilt for what they've done. I knew what I was getting in to, she knows I knew what I was asking her for. If she felt guilt, that would mean she would hold back. That would make her just like the others.

But not my Michelle. She just stands there, hands on her hips, and looks down at me. She shakes her head, makes a little shiver when my neck snaps back into place. She hates that sound. But it doesn't stop her. She just walks down the stairs, taking them slowly, letting me watch as her boots hit each step.

If I had hair, she'd grab me by it. She'd drag me over to wherever it is she wants to go next. That's what she did last time. But I don't have hair anymore. This time we're using a choke collar. It's metal, and it has barbs. They're meant to get through dog fur, so the dog still feels the sting and knows to stop pulling. But I have no fur. When she pulls, the metal pokes into my skin. If she pulls hard, it punctures me. I can ignore not being able to breathe, but when she pulls on this collar, it feels like she might rip my head off if I resist too long.

Not that I want to. This is delicious.

There's a noose hanging from the rafter. And a block of ice, already starting to melt.

She pulls the collar off. “Up,” she says.

I step up and slide my head through the noose. There's still some slack, but the ice is going to melt sooner or later. I can't tell for sure, but it looks like my toes might still hit the floor when it does. Of course, that'll be quite a while after it cuts off my air.

Not bad. But I expect more from my brilliant demon.

She must see what I'm thinking, because she gives me a smile that makes me colder than the ice beneath my bare feet. Then she looks across the room. My eyes follow hers, and I see a car battery with jumper cables. Cables that are lying just a little distance from the ice.

That makes me laugh. The ice will melt, I will choke, and the electricity will pump through my body. It sound exquisite.

She reaches forward with her foot and rubs it against my cock, which is still sore, and still sensitive. Sensitive enough to realize that her boots are rubber soled. She thought ahead.

“Now, I don't want you to see what's happening,” she says. “But I don't want to cut out your eyes, either. No point giving you that kind of pain to focus on.” That's my girl. “So instead, I'm going to put this on you.” She shows me a leather mask. Looks pretty simple. But there's something about it. Something about the shape.

I'm about to ask, but the answer is clear when she puts it on. She laughs at my pain.

“It's a vampire mask,” she says. “I thought it was appropriate.”

She slides on a pair of vampire gloves -though hers have spikes on the outside- and begins scratching them down my sides. I try not to move too much, but even as a vampire, I'm still only human. I moan, and that's when I realize that the mask isn't actually all that uncomfortable. And, more to the point, I can still see.

****

I saw him realize it, and knew it was time for the next step. I grabbed the duct tape from the table and pulled it loose, letting the ripping noise drag on as I wrapped first around his mouth, then up around his eyes. I practically mummified his face with duct tape, and I could tell from the shifting of his body that the little metal prods are digging into his flesh under the mask.

He's probably laughing about that too.

I'd like to say that I don't understand him. That I don't get why he would like this.

“It just makes no sense.” He'll know I'm lying. But he might like hearing it. “You're this being of immense power, an immortal who can control the minds of those around him, and yet here you are. Completely at my mercy.” I take two pairs of handcuffs and put them on, locks facing one another. I squeeze until they don't click anymore. I'm pretty sure there are bones in his hands that are already broken now. “Utterly defenseless,” I say.

I walk around behind him and spank him with my vamp glove.

“I could have a dozen other people here. You never saw any of them. I could let them fuck you in a train, could let them beat you until they passed out from exhaustion.” I barely have to force the laugh. 

“But you'd like that, wouldn't you? You'd just be back tomorrow, begging me to do it again. Wouldn't you?” I spank him again. His erection gives me my answer.

“That's just disgusting,” I say, glad he can't see my smile. “But what if I decided that you weren't worth it? What if I decided that you really are an abomination, that you are a violation of god's holy law, and I decide to just kill you? There's nothing you could do to stop me. For all you know, I've got a stake ready and waiting to plunge into your chest.”

I take a few steps around him, careful not to step in the spreading puddle of water. Rubber soles are a precaution, not a guarantee. I reach out and gently grasp his cock. He shivers in anticipation. Or fear. I guess it depends on whether or not he realizes I'm still wearing the gloves.

I give a gentle squeeze and ignore his whimper when I start sliding up and down his shaft. “Maybe I should just kill you,” I say. “When I'm finished. Once I've had my fun. Once I have you sobbing in a pool of your own blood, once I've fucked every hole you have with a huge horse sized cock, once I've turned your manhood into ground chuck,” I squeeze a little bit harder, feeling it bite into his flesh. “After I've fed you your own testicles, after I've broken every single bone in your body. Maybe I'll just toss you outside. Into the sun. Toss you out and let you burn. Let you become a greasy stain on my lawn.”

I lick my lips, then lean down and lick the tip of his cock, which I've been avoiding with the gloves. He moans.

“Who would miss you?” I ask.

I laugh at the pleasure sounds he makes, and then I let go, moving away before he can cum. The ice is nearly melted enough for the jumper cables.

“You just think about that,” I say. “You think about what you got yourself into. I'll be back later, to see if the battery has worn out yet.”

It should. I hope it will. It was dead this morning, and I only jumped it for a few seconds. It shouldn't be able to shock him that much, not for that long.

But he doesn't need to know that.

“Then,” I say, “We'll figure out what to do with whatever is left of you.”