The Crimson Lounge

A pleasure house come dining experience; catered to your every need. Or so the glossy brochure reads.

Essentially, an elevated red room. As discreet as it is expensive. A den where vampires come to quench their thirst when blood bags fail to satisfy.

How long has it been since I fed my lusts with a warm body? Years? Decades? Gone are the old days where I could snatch a hearty meal from the street.

My fangs ache as I flick through the brochure, half-heartedly searching for someone that will appease my appetite.

I could just order blood from the bar above. An opulent art-deco affair, all fashioned in sleek walnut and chrome. A front for the more sinister and illicit goings on downstairs, where I'm sat in an equally grand waiting room. But I said I'd see this through, and I will.

There are no photographs of my prospective meals. They're categorised by gender and the only available characteristics are age, height, weight and blood type, next to made up names listed like dogs at the pound.

Coco

Luna

Trixie

All waifs if their credentials are accurate. And likely addicts who found themselves here while searching for their next fix. A fix they'll never get.

I'm not interested in that. I want a woman. A full blooded, full bodied woman.

I loosen the tie at my neck and the petite red-headed concierge meets my eye. She's what my sire would call a glampire. All style, no substance.

"Have you found what you're looking for?" She says in a slightly too-high voice.

I shake my head, thumbing more pages absently.

She stands, approaching me with her pen dangling from her mouth. "We specialise in catering for all tastes." She winks and I clench my teeth.

"Why don't you tell me exactly what you're looking for, and I'll do my best to meet your needs?" She sits to my right, resting her manicured hand on my thigh.

"I want a woman."

She laughs. A forced, shrill sound.

"Oh, we have plenty of women, Mr. Dalcour, you're going to have to be more specific." Her thin fingers squeeze my thigh and I lower my eyes to her hand until she takes the hint and removes it, picking up the brochure instead.

"Do you have a preference for blood type?"

"No. And I don't want a user." I don't want the headache and cravings that follow.

She presses her hand to her chest in mock outrage. "Mr. Dalcour, I can assure you we are not that kind of establishment. All of our offerings are given a mild sedative to help them settle into their roles but that's all."

I mentally scoff as she skips forward a third of the brochure, running her finger down the page.

"Do you have a budget in mind Mr. Dalcour? I wouldn't want to over promise and under deliver."

"No budget."

"Fabulous," she grins. "What about Roxy? 23, 5ft 6, 121 pounds, A positive.

"Too young. Too thin."

"Hmmm," she muses, "Do you prefer blondes or brunettes? Or maybe something a little more exotic?" She twirls her pen around a curl at her temple.

I lean forward to look at the page. "There are no photographs."

"No, Mr. Dalcour, but I know all the women currently residing at the Crimson Lounge. Perhaps there is something off-menu that I could offer?"

I don't have a preference for hair colour but her incessant flirting has me issuing a curt, "Brunette."

"Perfect." She smiles but it's strained. "We procured some very delicious brunettes only this afternoon. So fresh, they haven't even made the brochure yet."

She stands, returning to her mahogany desk and bending over to press herself against it, her legs spread as far as the tight pencil skirt will allow.

"Are you sure I can't get you a drink while we deliberate?" She coos over her shoulder, bottom arched up and wiggling.

"No."

She hmpphs before straightening herself out and returning with a thin folder.

She scans the page inside. "Too young. Too thin. Oh, what about this one? 32, 5ft4, 146 pounds, O negative."

"Clean?"

Her smile widens. "No previous history of drug use. In fact she passed our medical with flying colours, the only thing of note is a nut allergy."

"She'll do."

"An excellent choice Mr. Dalcour. I'll have Mishka prepared for you. You'll have an hour. Any time over that is charged at double the rate. That includes any additional cleaning services."

I nod.

"Would you like a private room?"

I frown. "Are the rooms shared?" What kind of 5 star premises is this?

"Oh, no, no. Not unless you want them to be, of course. Some clients like to enjoy a show while they're here, so many of our rooms have a discreet viewing window. They can see and hear you, but you won't be able to see or hear them."

"That's fine." If the woman, 'Mishka', fails to meet my expectations perhaps the thrill of an audience will spur me on.

"You'll be in room number 6," she hands me a black key-card. "The light above the door will turn from red to green when you can enter and will automatically lock until you use the card to exit.

"Spectators aren't allowed into the area until you have entered the room, and will be ushered out when you're ready to exit, so you'll not be running into anyone. But if you head through that door now," she nods towards a door behind her, "you'll be able to enjoy some entertainment while you wait."

"Thanks."

"You are most welcome Mr. Dalcour. At the Crimson Lounge we live to please." She takes my arm, leading me towards the door. She swipes my card against the control panel and it slowly swings open.

"If you need anything, anything at all, use the intercom to the left hand side of the door in the room."

I nod and step forward into the endless red-light lit corridor, the door closing shut behind me with a click. The faint smell of disinfectant permeates the space.

The discreet viewing windows happen to be the length of each room from waist height to the ceiling. The first I pass is empty, but for a single table and a chair. The same is true of the second room.

Deep male grunting grows louder as I reach the third room. A broad, naked man hangs from chains in the centre. His head is lolled to the side and bloody half-moons cover his skin. A vampire dressed in jeans, and a dark shirt raises his head from the man's thigh. His lips and chin coated in blood.

My cock twitches, and my fangs stir, both eager to sink into something--someone.

Room 4 has a large breasted vampire seeking pleasure in the mouth of a man laying on the floor. She thrusts one nipple into his open mouth, then the other. There's another in the room, a man with a bloody wound on his side where an arm should be. Blood and flesh slides down the inside of the viewing window. I'm all for playing with your food but she's downright wasteful.

I hear giggling from the last room before my own. A woman, dressed in some regency style gown is darting from side to side attempting to escape a heavy set, balding man. A human. It seems this place does cater for all needs.

He grabs her by her hair and she squeals as he roughly rips the dress at her bust. His fat hands pinch her exposed breasts and she shrieks. He frantically hitches up her skirts and plows into her in one brutal plunge.

I feel myself hardening, straining against the confines of my boxers. Alone, in the hallway, I squeeze my aching cock.

The sound of chains rattling has me turning to room 6--my room. The light above the door is still red but I watch as a woman is hoisted through a hole in the floor.

Her pale arms are suspended above her in chains, her dark hair hangs straight to her collar bone. Secured in her mouth is a ring gag, fastened behind her head. Her eyes are heavy lidded, a side effect of whatever sedative they've used to keep her malleable. Pliable.

I breathe a sigh of relief when her full, heavy breasts appear. She has some meat on her. A good handful across her stomach, her hips, and her thighs.

I might actually enjoy this.

I growl when the V of her sex emerges, covered in dark curls.

The floor locks into place below her, leaving her poised on her toes and the light above the door flashes green.

I enter quickly, quietly, shutting the door behind me and taking in the room.

A chair and table are against the wall. The table is covered in all manner of equipment. Cuffs. Gags. Plugs. And more. I run my hand over a silk blindfold as remove my jacket and lay it over the chair.

The woman's oblivious until I approach.

I run my fingernail down her naked torso and she shivers. Goosebumps rise on her skin and her nipples pebble. Mishka is sensitive. It takes everything in me not to reach out and tweak one between my fingers.

She opens her eyes wide, taking in the scene and attempting to thrash in the air.

"Shh. Shh," I coo, wiping away the saliva that's dribbled down her chin.

"I won't hurt you, if you promise me one thing." I ghost my hands over her breasts.

"Let go of your fear. Can you do that for me?" I drag a nail across her beautiful, unmarried neck. "Can you do that for me, Mishka?"

She stares at me, her eyes dampening. I lean in close until my nose is pressed below her ear. I inhale her scent, thick with apple blossom. I growl against her skin, allowing my tongue to slowly lick her throbbing pulse.

I can feel her quick breaths in my hair. Her fear will taint her blood. I can fuck it out of her, but I'd prefer if she submits. An orgasm can only do so much.

I step back, loosening and removing my tie and throwing it onto the table.

"One more chance. Can you do that for me?"

She nods frantically.

"Good girl."

"I'm going to touch you and you're going to enjoy it, yes?"

She nods again.

I cup her breast, pulling her nipple into my mouth and allowing my fangs to gently graze her skin. I flick my tongue and a breathy groan escapes her.

I bring my other hand to her sex, my fingers easily finding the seam of her cunt through her glistening curls.

"You're going to get wet for me, aren't you Mishka?" I rub my thumb over her clit in lazy circles until she's panting.

"So responsive," I murmur, licking a path from her breast to her neck.

I push a finger into her already weeping cunt and she tries to clench her thighs closed.

"No, no," I whisper into her neck, "None of that."

I press a second finger into her, my thumb still massaging her clit vigorously as I latch my mouth onto the spot beneath her ear.

She starts to buck and I withdraw. She whimpers and I bring my cunt soaked fingers to her mouth.

"I want you clean these." I press them to her tongue. "Lick," I demand, as I force them closer to her throat. She licks slowly. I pump my fingers in and out of her mouth just as I had her cunt.

I remove my belt, letting it clatter to the floor as I take my cock in my hand, stroking it as I take in every inch of her sweat dampened skin.

I need her lower. And I need her now.

Using the lever by the table I drop her until her feet are flat against the floor, then I secure her legs in the hanging stirrups.

I spread her cunt wide, taking a moment to breathe in her delicious musk before I press the tip of my cold cock against her warm entrance.

She shudders and I impale her in one swift movement. She cries out and I pull out, only to ram into her again. And again. The sloppy sound of sex filling my ears along with her breathy little groans.

I use the stirrups to guide her on and off my cock, my thumb back on her throbbing clit.

I can feel her cunt clenching around me, her release only moments away.

"Come for me Mishka. Come for me."

She convulses, throwing her head back to expose her neck. Her whole body vibrates with her orgasm and I sink my fangs into her breast.

Her hot blood splashes against my tongue and suddenly I'm grunting my own release. Shuddering as I spurt my thick spunk into her warm wet insides, coating her cunt in my semen.

"So sweet," I murmur over and over again as I lap at the blood leaking from her breast like a babe.

"So exquisite."

I rip off the gag, forcing my blood covered tongue into her mouth. I want her to taste it. I want her to taste how sweet she is.

My kisses are bruising as I continue to thrust into her slowly, my cock softening and slipping out of her with our combined fluids.

I hadn't expected to come so quickly. So easily. One splash of her blood and I'm coming like a school boy. I won't waste a drop of her.

I suckle the wound on her breasts until the blood stops seeping out. Then I rub the little droplets into her skin. Over her nipple.

God, she's a sight to behold.

I remove her legs from the stirrups gently. She's breathless and limp but otherwise unharmed. I didn't get the chance to do any real damage. No matter, I've barely used half my time and I can't have had more than a pint of blood.

"Stay awake Mishka. I'm not done with you yet."

Her eyelids flutter and I return to the lever, lowering her until I can bend her upper body to be parallel with the floor.

I tap her face gently, and her eyes crack open.

"You've got to stay awake Mishka," I coo. "I think you should clean your come off me. What do you think?"

There's just enough give in the chains for her to kneel, so I pull her by her hair until she's on her knees in front of me.

"Lick my cock, Mishka. Be a good girl."

She tentatively runs her tongue across the head of my flaccid cock and it stirs to life. Her licks are light--soft and teasing and when I'm semi-hard, I push my cock against her face.

"Open your mouth."

I squeeze my cock between her swollen lips and fuck her face in a smooth, slow rhythm, watching her gag as my hardening cock travels deeper with every thrust.

"Such a good girl taking my cock in your mouth, Mishka."

I pull out, my fist still in her hair. She gasps and spits and if that just doesn't get me harder.

"Up," I instruct, manoeuvring her so that her upper body is back to parallel with the floor. Her heavy breasts hang low, and I knead them before settling into position behind her.

I line my cock up with her entrance, and bury myself to the hilt inside her, my fingers digging into her thighs to hold her still, making her hiss.

Without the gag I get to hear every one of her little sounds as I slam my hips into hers. My balls slap against her wet skin. And she grunts, or cries or moans. I relish the sound of them all.

The pleasure threatens to overwhelm me, so I slow my strokes and rub her soaking clit with frantic fingers.

"Come for me Mishka. Come for me now."

Her cunt flutters around my cock and I yank her upright by her hair, sinking my fangs into the space between her neck and shoulder just as she comes. Her sweet juices drowing my cock. Her back arches and she screams.

God, I should have told her my name. I want to hear it on her lips as she comes undone.

Her blood gushes just like her cunt. It floods my mouth in ecstasy. I swallow it greedily, letting it coat my mouth, my tongue, my lips.

I'm thrashing, erratic in my pounding as my balls tighten, ready to paint her cunt with my seed. I roar. Blood cascading down her back as I finish inside her, continuing my thrusts until every last drop is pulled from my cock.

I collapse over her, using her suspended body to hold myself up as I catch my breath.

I lick her wound languidly, feeling the throb of her faint pulse at her neck. I squeeze her unconscious body against me, inhaling her copper and apple-blossom scent.

"Shall we go home, Mishka?" I whisper. "Would you like that?" I drag my fang down the column of her throat. "Would you like to come home with me?"

I take her silence as agreement. While she's alive, she's mine.

I release her naked body slowly, allowing her to dangle from the ceiling like a chandelier.

The intercom buzzes three times before the concierge answers. "What can I help you with, Mr Dalcour?"

"How do I go about arranging a take-away?"