The Almighty is the finest strategist, placing His soldiers exactly where they needed to be. I believed that, even though the reason was hidden from me at the moment. Faith is with you in the dark, cold places, or else it is not with you at all. And the dungeon was definitely dark and cold; chill seemed to seep from the walls and floor, and crawled down the iron chain that led to a manacle about my wrist. I sat in my greatcoat, hugging it about myself, and prayed. The dungeon had—clearly—used to be a cellar; wide, vaulting arches, and a worn flagstone floor. The chains were not a recent addition though; they were rusty, but still strong enough. 

The other women were all gone now. Each chosen by one of the Countess’ hangers-on. They had thought the first one to be a lady-in-waiting, until her predatory smile had revealed her sharp canines. The women had been close to panic before, and whatever reserves of stoicism they had now vanished. They screamed and shouted, prayed and cried. They swore and spat at me, for leading them to their death. But the clamour grew silent, as each vampire picked its meal.

⁂

Torches were the most important thing. Monsters need shelter too, and burning their lairs down was almost as effective as killing them. That went for human monsters too. I have seen several witches—who were granted freedom because small-town magistrates or clergy were unwilling to try them in court—crying bitter tears as their house and possessions burned before them. They would find themselves tried by the Almighty, and He had winter as His sword.

I had plenty of torches, and enough people, although the village of Heiliger-Hügel had been slow with volunteers. I had my soldiers, of course. They were rowdy and irreligious, unhappy about being assigned to the Witchhunters’ office. Unhappier still at being commanded by a woman, though they had a few amongst their number. The chapel had turned out a few more; farmers, peasants, traders. They had simple tools but strong arms. A few thugs and sell-swords from the inn. Normally, a village’s hostelry will supply a good number of drunk fighters and curious onlookers. But they seemed to have little appetite for confronting this vampire. Still we had enough, and the Lord will protect us.

The gate to the lair was open, revealing a courtyard beyond. This had been a nunnery once, but a noble had taken it for his manor, and it had changed hands several times.

We moved cautiously into the courtyard. To my left I had Gunhild, a soldier, huge as any man, and better than most with a warhammer. To my right, a sell-sword named Ingeburg; she was impious, and looked at me in a way that reminded me of Corina, but she was skilled with her sword.

We were being watched; the inside of the nunnery was dim but I saw faces spying from the windows.

“Surrender,” I shouted. “By order of the Office of Witchfinders, surrender vampire, and beg the Almighty for mercy.”

⁂

A servant brought me food and water; she had the swarthy and dark-eyed look of a foreigner. Though she, at least, was no vampire. 

“Free me,” I said. “And we will both escape.”

She looked at me blankly; a simpleton, perhaps.

“My mistress is very angry with you,” she said, finally. “I certainly do not wish to make her angry at me, too.”

“It is the wrath of your Almighty you should be afeared of,” I said.

She just gave me a sneering look, and left. 

The water was in a ceramic jug; I dipped a finger in to check whether it was some noxious substance. But, no, it appeared to be water, cold and clear. I took several large gulps.

The food was simple bread and cheese; again, I checked for any sign of unholy tampering. I could see none; but I wondered still whether there was some subtle corruption. A brave rat approached, sniffing, and I made up my mind, and ate. I would be strong for whatever opportunity the Almighty saw fit to provide.

⁂

The Countess was evil; I could tell that at once. She emerged onto a balcony and looked down at us with disdain. The Countess was demonically beautiful, and very arrogant in manner. She carried a glass of red liquid, casually, almost spilling it. A gray wolf walked at her heel—the monster’s monstrous hound. Behind her was a veiled figure wearing some twisted, scarlet version of a nun’s robes.

“The gate,” the Countess said, “is open. Turn around, Witchfinder, and thank your god that you found us on a night when our appetites were already sated.”

I levelled a flintlock at her. “Surrender, hellspawn, or die!” To indicate how serious I was, I jerked my aim over to her wolf, and fired.

The sound was infernal; the dying screams of a wolf. The Countess bent immediately to it, like a master to a beloved hound.

The gates swung shut behind us.

“Kill the men,” hissed the Countess, “and capture the women.”

Doors and windows were flung open, and the servants of darkness swarmed out.

⁂

The next time a servant brought me food, two shadows came with her, standing beyond the candlelight. 

“Is that you, unholy fiends?” I shouted.

The Countess stepped forward into the light, leaving the other shadow in darkness. I was startled by the raw hatred in her steely eyes. I flung the trencher at her; she stepped aside easily. She bent to pick up the bread, dusting it off. And then suddenly she was on top of me, a hand around my throat. She forced me to my feet; I struck out with my free hand, and kicked. She paid it no mind, as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. Her cool hand was around my neck, not crushing, but tight enough that I could feel her talons against my nape. She looked me in the eye, and I felt my fight drain away. Her eyes were the grey of old swords, of cobwebs, of the moon behind clouds. They were cold and merciless. 

“You need to eat,” she hissed, bringing the hunk of bread to my mouth. “So eat. Starvation is too easy a death for you.”

I nibbled at the bread; I do not know why I obeyed, only that I did. It was dry, or maybe my throat was.

“You do not know how much effort it is taking not to snap your neck,” said the Countess. “It is only the thought of keeping you alive and suffering that stays my hand. You shot my Hippolyta, my wolf, my bravest and most loyal companion. So be assured, we will devise some method of keeping you alive, and in agony, for years. My predecessor had a torture chamber; it’s all boarded up and dusty, of course. I could never see the point until now. So eat, mortal, so you live while I learn the torturer’s art upon you.”

She let go, and I slumped, sliding down the wall. The Countess walked away. The remaining shadow also turned, a glint of gold at eye level. 

The servant put the cheese back on the wooden plate, and put it in front of me.

⁂

Most of my force died or were disarmed quickly. Gunhild kept them at a distance with her warhammer, as she backed towards the gate. But when she turned to try to get it open, the vampires swamped her. 

Ingeburg had immediately climbed, with remarkable agility, onto a low roof, and had run for the perimeter. But a huge vampire jumped onto the roof before her. Ingeburg attacked with her rapier; the vampire parried with her bare arms, before grasping Ingeburg in a bear hug. 

⁂

The trencher tonight had a chicken leg rather than cheese. I looked at the servant questioningly. 

“Just what we had,” said the servant. “The Countess makes sure her herd eats well, and I thought you could do with some variety.”

“I see no chains about you,” I said. “Why do you not escape?”

“As I said, it would make the Countess angry,” said the servant, “and maybe sad. I hope she would be. Life isn’t bad here. Besides, escape where? In a harsh land, where people mutter at your very being? Where my best hope is finding service to someone who doesn’t care if I live or die?”

“At least you won’t be serving a child of Satan!” I said. “At least you will have church on Sundays; your soul might be saved.”

She sneered. “Your churchgoers have damned me many times. At least, as one of the Countess’ herd, I am free of their judgement.”

⁂

The veiled vampire leapt at me; I fired my second flintlock in its chest, but that did little to slow it. I dropped both flintlocks, and drew my sabre; the vampire was unarmed. Its veil was metallic and gold; I could see only the occasional glint of eyes. I thrust with my sabre, but it twisted aside, almost casually. It hit the side of my blade with the palm of its hand, and my sabre shattered. The infernal army overwhelmed me.

⁂

I awoke to find the Countess standing close, looking down at me. Her servant stood behind with a flickeeing candle.

“On your feet,” she ordered. She was dressed more lightly than last time; a sheer black robe, showing a shameful expanse of pale skin. I struggled to my feet and started to mutter a prayer.

The Countess reached for me, and lifted my chin. “I, and my advisor, have decided on your punishment,” she said. I kept praying; this hellbeast might torture me, but the Almighty would not abandon me.

“Stop that,” said the Countess, staring me in the eye. Her irises were like antique silver coins. “You will no longer pray to your god. He has abandoned you.” The prayer died on my lips. I tried to recite it again, but my mind refused. 

The Countess smiled. “I always forget how fragile human faith is. But like the human body, it dies very easily.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “Thirst: three days. Hunger: maybe seventy days. Pain: it depends, but your heart gives out before long. The ways to torture mortals are actually quite limited.”

“I’m… I’m sorry for your wolf,” I said, my courage faltering.

The Countess smiled again, showing her sharp canines. 

“Vampires do not accept apologies,” she said. “They exact revenge, piece by bloody piece.”

She pulled me in, as if into an embrace; my body thrummed with her evil. She bit down into the side of my neck. It is painful, but not as painful as I imagined. But the feeling of losing blood, of having your life force sucked out, is obscene. Like when Corina… no. I tried to banish the memory, as usual, with a prayer. But there was nothing.

The Countess stopped the bite, and licked the wound with her long tongue. I felt weak; remaining standing up was an effort.

The Countess pressed me back against the cold wall. She bared her teeth again, but this time deliberately nicking her lower lip with a fang.

She leaned in and pressed her mouth against mine. By some infernal instinct I opened my lips; she drove her tongue in. I sighed, strength and faith gone, and relaxed into the demonic kiss. Then I felt her blood, a few drops; heady, icy. I felt a strange innervated sensation down my throat, into my stomach. 

Then she pulled back, and some demon-infused part of me was saddened. The Countess smiled. “It’s a shame we need to torture you; you would have been good livestock,” she said. She turned and vanished into shadow.

⁂

The next time I awoke, I was sweltering. It didn’t make any sense; the dungeon was always cold. Nonetheless, I removed my greatcoat. It was awkward with a wrist bound; I had to push it up the chain. Several of my outer clothes followed it, and for a while it looked like the heat would not abate. But finally the sweating stopped, and I became more comfortable. 

However, that’s when the hunger started.

I have been hungry before, of course. In a few cases—long marches in rough territory—seriously hungry. But this quickly grew into something so far beyond that. The desperate feeling in the pit of your stomach multiplied tenfold; a screaming, gnawing hunger, coiled around my insides.

A curious rat scurried across my cell; I leapt, faster than I had ever moved, to the full extent of my chain. My other hand closed around the furry body, tightly; crushing bones and killing it. Part of me was disgusted, but that part was tiny compared to the hunger.

⁂

The hunger was increasing again by the time the Countess and her servant returned. She smiled at the exsanguinated rat corpse.

“I forgot about that,” she said. “One of Hippolyta’s jobs is keeping the rat population down.”

I barely heard her; I was nearly fainting at the delicious smell from the servant. Warm and meaty and spicy; a gravy overflowing with juices and herbs. My mouth watered. I thought that maybe she had food in the sack that she carried; but no, it was her, her blood.

I leapt again, to the full extent of my chain, grasping for the girl. She was out of range, unfortunately, and the Countess stepped in front of her. I pulled at the chain and snapped my teeth.

The Countess smiled. “Your transformation was quite rapid,” she said. “Another few hours and you might have broken that rusty old chain. But don’t worry, I have a new one.”

She gestured back to the servant, who handed her something metallic from the sack. A thick and shiny chain, and a collar of the same material.

“Silver infused steel,” said the Countess, reaching for my neck. “Much more robust than old iron.”

I could bite her, I realised. Theoretically. But every instinct in my body was telling me not to. She would win, of course, but beyond that there was an inclination to cower.

She lifted my chin and snapped the collar into place. It was heavy and solid. The Countess took the silvery chain over to the wall, and passed it through a massive iron ring, securing it in place with a shiny lock.  

The Countess came back over to me, and grasped the rusty manacle. With a twist of her fingers she broke it, and it dropped to the ground. She still held my wrist though.

“Your flintlock ball struck Lyta’s front leg,” she said, running her fingers up my arm. “Shattering bones. Massive blood loss.” She stroked my arm. “You heal very quickly now. But a silver spike in the right place will keep you in agony, unable to heal, and unable to die.” She squeezed my arm, and then backed off. 

“You can feel the hunger now, can’t you?” said the Countess. “The scent of Tzivya’s sweet blood. You smell it don’t you? Imagine how it is to taste it, to have it fill your mouth.” She pulled the servant towards her; she—Tzivya, I suppose—was unresisting, presenting her neck to the Countess. She bit, and the scent became overpowering. She took merely a taste, but Tzivya sighed and rubbed against her. I was drooling.

“The hunger will get worse, so much worse. In a century it might kill you. A vampire of my acquaintance used to punish his political rivals in a similar way. He would bind them tightly in silver chain, so that it bit into their skin, throw them in an iron coffin, and have them buried. In fifty years, he would dig up the most feral, insane vampire one could imagine; driven quite mad by hunger and pain. A guard dog, a weapon, if he needed one. If he didn’t, he would toss a cat in there, and bury them again.” The Countess kissed Tzivya’s neck. “He stopped having political rivals. I assure you, I was quite apolitical when I killed him.” Her eyes blazed. “Hippolyta is in the chirurgeon’s quarters at the moment, unconscious, between life and death. If she dies, then you will spend the rest of your long, long unlife with a spike through your arm, bound in silver and buried in iron.” She smiled, meanly. “If she lives, I might be persuaded to make your punishment slightly less cruel. Maybe give you to the chirurgeon; she was quite interested in your punishment.”

⁂

The Countess was right; the hunger did get worse. A gnawing pain that refused to let me rest. The rats quickly learned to avoid my range. I shouted and screamed. I tore my clothes. I tried to remember how to pray. I cried. The only thing that allowed me a few seconds of escape was to think of Corina, and let old pain swamp the new. No, that wasn’t true. If I put my hand between my legs, like some slattern, that was an escape too. I thought shamefully of Ingeburg, the Countess, the servant, and Corina, all in an effort to keep the hunger at bay. Corina, I swore, I would never demean by imagining her so; but she was the most vivid vision for my sin. 

Time was hard to track in the cellar, even harder in my current state, but I had the feeling that it had been only days. I despaired at the thought of months, years, decades ahead of me.

⁂

I smelled Tzivya’s scent before she had fully opened the door. I almost fainted; it was so strong and toothsome. I thought about my teeth around her neck, an artery pumping into my mouth, draining her dry. She was carrying two buckets, which she put down just within the room, then exited again. The door was open, so I could still smell her. She came back a while later with a mop and a box. She sat on the step and waited. 

“Come over here,” I called. "I want to talk."

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head. I resigned myself to just smelling her and tried to ignore the hunger.

In a few minutes, the Countess arrived. I felt the same instinct to cower that I had before.

“According to my chirurgeon,” said the Countess, without preamble, “Hippolyta will live. For a few days she has been improving, but now the healer is confident she will live.” There was a look of genuine relief on her face. 

“Good. Could I have some blood, please,” I said, ashamed by how much pleading was in my voice. “Please, Countess, I’m so hungry.”

“Good,” said the Countess. “I’m still angry with you. You tried to kill my wolf. I’m not going to bury you, but you’re still going to be punished. The rest of us are having a banquet; meat and wine for the herd, the blood of the herd for us vampires. You’ve never tried blood from a replete and tipsy girl; it is truly excellent. Obviously, you won’t get to taste it. But don’t worry, you will get to smell it. I thought it might be a nice punishment. Lots of delicious smells. Watching us eat.”

In truth, my first thought ran to scraps; blood splatters, or maybe a girl that isn’t quite drained. I nodded eagerly.

The Countess looked over to Tzivya, who handed her something from the box. 

“I had the smith make a device,” the Countess said. “To help you behave.”

It was a muzzle.

“Iron and leather and a bit of silver,” the Countess said, getting closer. “And look, it even has ears on the head straps.”

I backed off, but the Countess simply grabbed my chain and pulled me closer. Again, the fight went out of me. The Countess pulled the muzzle over my head, straightening the straps, before fastening it with a solid click at the back of my neck. She took out a small silver lock and secured it.

“Good,” said the Countess, showing her canines. “Let’s properly prepare you.” 

The Countess reached for my petticoat, torn and dirty as it was. With her thumb she split the fabric and yanked it off me. The same with all my undergarments, until I was standing naked before her. I wanted to hide, to cower, but the hunger told me just to obey. If I obeyed, I would get closer to blood.

“She’s pretty,” said Tzivya, walking closer, carrying the two buckets.

“You just like vampires, Tzivya,” said the Countess, with amusement. She grabbed both buckets, and walked up to me. She tipped one bucket over my head. It was water, cold. I didn’t really feel cold anymore, but my body still had memories, and compulsively shivered.

“Tzivya,” said the Countess. “Use the mop.” 

“She could grab me,” Tzivya said, almost as if she was reading my mind. I was thinking about opening her wrist and spraying it through the muzzle. I could get a mouthful before the Countess intervened, couldn’t I?

“If she harms you, or any of the staff,” said the Countess, “I will break every bone in her hands, and stuff them into tiny iron and silver mittens, and lock them in place forever.”

The hunger still argued that it might be worth it, but what remained of my rational mind won. I looked away.

“See?” said the Countess.

Tzivya used the mop on the most grimy spots; I tried to cower away, but the Countess moved closer and forced me upright.

The second bucket rinsed me off.

“Good,” said the Countess. I noticed that no new clothes were forthcoming; I tried to use my hands to cover myself. 

She unlocked my chain, wrapping it several times around her wrist. She looked at me like I was forgetting something. 

“On your hands and knees,” the Countess said.

⁂

The scent of this room was so overwhelming, so disorienting and wonderful, that I did not know what to do. The clamour of scents was so intense I could barely make out what was actually going on. I was embarrassed by my nudity, but no-one else had really noticed. The Countess indicated a space next to her chair—throne really—and I had sat in it. I fought my hunger with obedience, compliance, but I was not sure it was going to win.

The room was richly decorated with rugs and wall-hangings but I barely saw them. As a witchfinder, I had read many lurid accounts of satanic orgies; I had never expected to see one. Or to scent one; the frustrating aroma of blood was mixed in with the smell of arousal. I could pick out individual scents, blood scents, of the women. The mortal women, for the vampires were all female too.

There was a naked woman being taken from behind by a vampire, the huge one, looking none the worse for her fight with Ingeburg. Her fangs were in the woman’s neck as they rutted like animals. The woman’s blood had the wild scent of abandon. 

Another woman—Gunhild, I realised—was on a table, writhing under the ministrations of half a dozen vampires. They bit her—neck, thigh, breast—but also groped and kissed her. Her moans contained at least a measure of pleasure. Her blood smelled rich and deep.

Most of the women from the cellar were here; not dead, but caught up in this infernal celebration of blood and sex. All were either unclad, or dressed in the flimsiest of garb. One woman sat with each wrist in a vampire’s maw. Ingeburg had a vampire between her legs. Another was kissing the feet of the veiled vampire, while she whipped her back with knotted leather.

I shut my eyes against the obscenity, but that only intensified the smell of blood. I whimpered.

Closer by, Tzivya was on the Countess’ lap, drinking wine from a bottle while the Countess undressed her. The Countess was being quite delicate in her unbuttoning. If I was her, I would simply plunge my fangs into her neck, and pin the servant down while I drained her. I rubbed my thighs together feeling both appetite and—infernal, demonic—arousal. Maybe this was all judgement from the Almighty. I have thought about women in an unnatural way; maybe this is my punishment.

Tzivya slid off the throne; she was wearing only a petticoat. The Countess slipped forward, as Tzivya knelt. 

Then I gasped in shock; the Countess had a male member! Could it be a demonic spell? Or… Corina had I said that some women do. I had dismissed that as an obvious lie, but now…  

At any rate, Tzivya was unhesitating, and took it into her mouth in the manner that whores are said to. I watched in bizarre fascination, as Tzivya ran her mouth up and down the Countess’ shaft. I could smell the arousal in her blood. But, also, I was not immune. I had, of course, seen men’s manhoods before; not willingly, or for long. They interested me even less than they did most women of good character. But the Countess’ shaft was enthralling. And beneath Tzivya’s petticoat I saw another member, a little smaller but just as hard. I could tell from her scent that Tzivya was a woman, a mortal woman. The realisation that I had doubly wronged Corina, all those years ago, almost startled me from my bloodlust.

I watched as Tzivya went deeper, and then gulping down whatever evil seed the Countess’ could produce. Tzivya giggled, wiping her lips. 

The Countess lifted Tzivya into her lap; Tzivya presented her neck, and the Countess bit down. The scent of blood and arousal made my already confused head spin. 

Though she drank deeply, the Countess did not drain Tzivya; eventually she stopped, licked the wounds closed, and held her while she slept. This was true of the other vampires; I could see no death among their victims.

A few drops of blood lay on Tzivya’s naked breast. I could smell them individually, like rubies against a background of gold.

“Please, Countess,” I whispered, “may I have a taste.”

The Countess sighed, and lifted the drops of blood with a single talon.

“Call me Mistress,” she said.

I was not going to call a vampire, a hellbeast, mistress. My loyalty was to the Office of Witchfinders, and to God. But the blood…

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, quietly.

She poked her finger through the muzzle, and I sucked at the blood. The taste was so much better than rats; lively and spicy like Tzivya herself. She left her finger in my mouth so that I could lick and suck for anymore of Tzivya’s blood.

⁂

I was starving again by the following evening, of course. The Countess had locked me back in the cellar as morning approached. The few drops of blood had stilled my hunger for almost an hour, and slowed it for several more, but it was howling by the time Tzivya opened the cellar door. She looked at me suspiciously.

“The Countess says I am to take you upstairs,” Tzivya said. “You remember what she said about your hands?”

“I do,” I said, and dropped down to my hands and knees.

She warily walked past me, and unlocked the chain. I could run now, I realised. I could easily yank the chain out of her hand. Run into the forest. Maybe find badgers and foxes to drink. Or maybe a peasant. And soon enough I’d have a militia looking for me. I could try to turn myself in to the authorities, but the absolute best case would be a nice execution. There was no point escaping, not if I wanted to live. I walked nicely to Tzivya’s heel.

“The Countess is going to give you to the chirurgeon, you know?” said Tzivya. “As a reward for her healing Hippolyta.”

“I’ve heard,” I said. “What’s the chirurgeon like?”

“Reserved. A bit weird, with that veil. And rather rough, sexually,” said Tzivya. “With the herd, at least. I don’t mind that, though I could barely walk afterward. But she did give me a salve for it. Gruff compassion, I suppose. She’s a good chirurgeon. If a vampire has been too enthusiastic with your blood, or you just trip in the courtyard, she’ll fix you up. Well, you won’t need that, of course. But she’s the reason the Countess isn’t burying you. The Countess trusts her as an advisor, and getting the Countess to listen to anyone is tricky.” She said the last with warmth.

We reached the hall again. There was a crowd of vampires, and some people, clustered near one of the great fires. The Countess made shooing motions to the crowd, who quickly dispersed. 

The wolf lay on the carpet; her foreleg was braced and bandaged. She looked across at me, and growled. The veiled vampire—the chirurgeon, unless there was more than one veiled vampire—touched the wolf’s shoulder, and it stilled.

“She does not like you,” said the Countess, taking my chain. “Rightly so. And you sit in her spot. Luckily, you will be the chirurgeon’s responsibility soon.” The Countess nodded to the veiled figure.

The Countess led me over to the side of her chair, and the night’s activities proceeded in much the same way as the previous night; a hellish orgy. But one where I am hoping for drops of blood. It appalled me just how quickly I had got used to the debauchery.

This time the Countess used a wineglass to save a mouthful of Tzivya’s blood. She dipped her finger in it, and I could not conceal my hunger. I whined.

The Countess looked meditative for a moment, then sucked her finger. “Mmm, still nice and fresh. Would you like some?” The scent of it was overpowering.

“Yes, mistress,” I answered quickly.

“Hmm,” the Countess said. “But what do you have to offer?”

I thought. I had little. I doubted she would react well to ‘a pardon for your devilry’.

“My… my blood?” I offered.

“Oh my,” said the Countess. “You’re a vampire, hound. Your blood is unappetising to us.”

I said nothing.

“Well, since you have nothing to offer...” She swirled the wine glass.

“Wait,” I said. “My… my body,” I whispered. 

“I didn’t quite hear that.”

“My body,” I repeated, louder. I was ashamed, but fixated on that blood.

“Oh,” said the Countess. “So you are offering your pussy to be pounded?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me up, but not as much as I wanted that blood.

I nodded.

“Out loud,” said the Countess.

“Yes,” I said.

“Or,” said the Countess, “as some prefer, your mouth to pleasure womanhoods and pussies, filling your throat with the juice of girls.”

“Yes,” I said.

“And,” said the Countess, “your arse for sodomy, of course?”

“Y-yes.”

“And all that for a mouthful of blood?” said the Countess. 

I imagined magistrates, clergy and witchfinders looking at me. But I was a vampire now, or a hound; at any rate I would never be a witchfinder again. I cannot pray. There would be no heaven for me. But maybe there might be blood.

“Yes,” I said.

“Are you not a chaste witchfinder?” said the Countess. 

I shook my head. I really wasn’t, anymore.

“Our vampires are used to talented sexual partners,” said the Countess. “Tzivya, for instance, is very highly skilled with her mouth.” Tzivya snuggled against the Countess. “Now, occasionally, a useless hole is enough, when there is also delicious blood. But yours is unappetising, and you obviously have no technique.” She swirled the blood again. “Still your willingness to whore yourself out is noted.”

Tzivya leaned over to me. “Are you a virgin?”

“Of course,” I said. “I am unmarried, nor has any man persuaded me to his bed.”

“Oh, by that definition, I am a virgin too!” said the Countess. “I am so chaste!” 

“You obviously like women,” said Tzivya. “Have you bedded any girl?”

“No,” I replied, but some misguided fealty to Corina made me append, “sort of.”

“Sort of?” said the Countess, raising an eyebrow. “Tell us that story.”

“No,” I said. “It is my shame.”

“Excellent,” said the Countess. “Well then, you have two choices to earn your blood. One, you tell us that story, or, two, you submit sexually to a woman of my choosing. Or three, no blood, of course.”

“Two,” I said. The Countess looked surprised, but then shrugged. “Tzivya, proceed, I know you have been looking.”

The Countess positioned me on the rug in front of her, on my back, and stepped on the chain, limiting the amount I could move my head.

Tzivya crouched over me and grinned. I was expecting her to slam her member into me, and I was planning on exercising stoicness. But she started with her fingers; running them up and down my folds. She was so warm and full of life and when I looked at her she was smiling, like she was having fun.

I whimpered. God would not approve, but I was beyond His gaze now. It was a relief.

Tzivya’s fingers were brushing deeper now; I was embarrassed by how wet I was. I felt the crowd’s eyes—humans and vampiric—on me. I felt exposed, completely exposed, but unjudged.

“Shall I fuck you, dog?” said Tzivya. I nodded, urgently; my muzzle, collar and chain rattling.

Tzivya eased her member into me; it might have been small compared to the Countess’, but it seemed large enough to me. Tzivya went gently though. Her member’s hardness and the fact that it was blood-filled made something inside go soft and wild. I moaned.

Tzivya began to thrust, and I began moving in unison; I didn’t know exactly what I was doing, but I tried. The feel of her thrusting inside me was incredible, and I wanted her deeper.

She reached down to above her thrusting member and stroked that spot that makes me writhe. My moans turn into screams. I was beginning to see why people liked coitus.

Tzivya finished, squirting her seed inside me; this sets me off, and I shake and tremble with unholy pleasure. Waves of it. Tzivya stays in place, in me, though her member is becoming softer.

I gasp and moan, and finally I am still.

Tzivya crawled off me, and the Countess handed her the glass. I had turned my head to the side, still breathing hard. She pulled on the muzzle, straightening my head.

“Open wide, mutt,” she said, and carefully poured the blood past the mesh and into my awaiting mouth.

⁂

The next evening the Countess asked, “Do you tell us all that story, or, do you submit sexually to two women of my choosing?”

Gunhild and Ingeburg were less skilled than Tzivya, although equally energetic. Gunhild had a fake member, in lacquered wood, and a leather harness to hold it. Sitting up, facing Gunhild, impaled on her wooden cock, I felt a comfortable sense of helplessness. Gunhild held my hips and bounced me up and down. She didn’t look me in the eye though. 

Ingeburg did. By this point, I wasn’t surprised to see she had a member; smaller than Tzivya’s, though she swung it proudly. She sat behind me, shuffled in close, and pushed her member up my fundament. Both she and Gunhild played, groped, pinched my breasts. The feeling of being pinned, double-impaled, and mauled by these two fine examples of vital womanhood, was wonderful.

⁂

“This is becoming like a fairy tale,” said the Countess, bemusedly. “The story or three women?”

I didn’t know these women at all, and we didn’t get much of an introduction. Because of my muzzle, there were more women than I had holes to offer, but they formed an ingenious relay. They moved around me, fucking, groping, biting, until I was a quivering mess.

⁂

On the seventh evening, something was different. The wolf was lying in my spot next to the Countess’ throne. Her paw was still bandaged, but more lightly. She looked at me, sighed, and looked the other way. 

The chirurgeon was standing nearby, and, at the Countess’ signal, Tzivya handed my chain to her instead.

“Yes, hound,” said the Countess. “I’m passing you to our chirurgeon. She will decide how to punish you from now on. She is a little harsher than me, so be good.” The Countess swirled a glass half-full of blood. “I was rather looking forward to seeing you fucked by half the room. You are quite a slut for a chaste girl. But you get one less choice today; the story or starvation.”

“I can’t,” I said, turning to first the Countess then to the chirurgeon. “Please?”

The Countess shrugged. “Then no blood. How many evenings can you resist, I wonder? You will surrender in the end. Isn’t it better to get it over with?”

She was right, of course. I had hoped a lifelong secret would last longer against the hunger. It did not.

⁂

When I was a young woman, I went to university. A modern university for young ladies. My parents had enough trouble finding husbands for my older sisters, so they gave me permission with some relief. It was there I met Corina. She was studying herbalism and animal husbandry.

She was very shy and tended to hide in corners. She was striking rather than pretty, and was self-conscious about the fact. But I found myself gazing at her. 

I forced her to be my friend; she was very reluctant, at first. But after a couple of years, we had become fast friends. We would spend many evenings in her room, studying and talking. But I began to become aware that there was a problem. As our friendship grew, I began to feel an… unnatural warmth between us. I had heard this mentioned, of course, that foolish females sometimes confused friendship with something unholy. But I was sure that Corina felt the same way.

One evening, I listened to Corina recite the structural elements of snail shells; she got it right, including the columellar plait, which she usually forgot. She looked so adorable, I kissed her on the cheek. She stopped in surprise, then kissed me back on my cheek. Then I kissed her mouth.

I explained, of course, that what we were doing was against God’s will, His design. Corina said that I was the most pious person she knew, and if it was wrong, I would know about it. And that philosophy worked for me, although I would later call it Satan’s enticement.

Kissing became more, until one night, I parted my legs for Corina, and she put her mouth on me, and… 

It was incredible; her warm tongue licking and probing, her mouth nuzzling and nibbling. I had to bite my fist to save myself from screaming euphorically.

When I had finished we both rested, and Corina fell to sleep. I thought it would be a pleasurable surprise if I returned the favour. I lifted her skirt and… well, I do not need to tell you what I found. Corina tried to explain, but I thought that was all nonsense and lies. I fled in tears.

I told my family, omitting certain elements, and they told the university principal. I thought she would simply be expelled; that perhaps she could be persuaded to abandon what I thought was unnatural dress and behaviour. I even dreamed we might marry someday. But, of course, the accusations multiplied, and there was no-one to speak for her. Witchfinders and magistrates were brought in. She was a predator, a warlock, a worshipper of Satan.

I don’t know what happened in the end; I stopped following the events, but I cannot imagine it was good. I told myself that this was right. 

I left university. I ploughed into the bible and went to the Witchfinders’ Academy. I told myself that Corina was an emissary of the devil, that this was a sign from the Almighty that I should seek out other evil.

But I never really believed it. I wish I had listened to her explanations. I wish I hadn’t reacted in haste.

I am so sorry. 

⁂

I told the story, with pauses and sobbing. The vampires and their girls were silent. They were judging me now, and rightly so. It seemed so stupid now. 

“Look up,” said the Countess.

She tilted the wine glass, pouring the content through the muzzle but at a greater distance than usual. Some of it went in my mouth, but other bits splashed off the wires, or splattered my face and body.

“It is my turn to tell a story,” said the Countess, and the room hushed. “One day, perhaps fifteen years ago, I was returning here having dealt—pointedly—with some vampire fussing. I was in my stagecoach, of course, rushing through the forest in the deepest part of night, when I smelled a woman alone in the woods. Well, you all know how courteous I am…” There was some laughter. “So I had Ilse stop the coach, and took off for a hunt. She was not far. Nor was she in any state to escape. In fact, it looked like taking a drop of blood would kill her. She was evidently fleeing something. Half her face was bandaged, and I saw other dressings under her filthy clothes. I smelled pain in her blood, but also the scent of healing herbs. I carried her back to the coach, and gave her some mortal food and wine.”

The Countess paused, surveying her listeners. “She really didn’t want to talk about her history, but I am curious, and possessed of a commanding demeanour. She was fleeing from witchfinders, and their mobs. She had been beaten and burned; it was lucky that she had some skill with the apothecaries’ art, or the simple pain would have killed her. She talked of a girl she had loved, or loved still, that had betrayed her. I know the anger of betrayal. Before the journey was complete, I washed a small patch of her shoulder clean, with wine, and turned her.”

I felt something like shock settle over me.

“We vampires heal fast, but burns are the slowest to heal,” said the Countess. “Back here, she picked out clothing and a veil to hide her disfigurements, and resumed her studies. The healing is long complete, of course, but, I suppose Corina is still reserved, unlike her sire.”

I was crying. “Is it true?” I said, turning to the chirurgeon.

“All true,” she said. Her voice was older, more scratchy, but still impossibly familiar. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I clutched at her robes.

“Hush,” Corina said. “Vampires do not accept apologies, they exact revenge, piece by piece.”

I nodded. It was only fair.

“Forgive me,” I pleaded.

“Oh, hound,” said Corina, her hand playing with my hair. “It would take more than a lifetime of atonement before I could forgive you.” She took a key from her pocket. “Fortunately, we have many mortal lifetimes.”

Corina unlocked the muzzle, pulling it down and to the side. 

“Just temporarily,” she said. She opened her robe; she was naked beneath. Why had her member scared me so? It did not scare me now. I kissed it, and took it into my mouth. I wished I had the chance to ask Tzivya about her techniques; I wanted to please Corina. But perhaps technique would have counted for little; she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me onto her member. Vampires had little scent, but this close to her, her filling my mouth, I could smell the younger Corina, shy and soft. We were both hardened by time, I suppose. Or by my actions. She started thrusting wildly, making my eyes water. I tried to make my throat a welcoming hole for Corina. 

She gifted me her seed; mostly down my throat, though some spilled when I choked.

I tried to keep her shaft in my mouth while it softened, but Corina pulled it out, and immediately put my muzzle back on.

She stroked the part of my cheek not occluded by straps. “I will grind you down to dust, dog, to the merest scraps. You will be baptised in the seed of many women, until you almost drown. You will find humility in hard and aching service. And one day, maybe in ten years, maybe in a hundred, I will use your name, the name that is engraved on my bruised heart, and you will weep and kiss my feet in gratitude.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said, and hugged her legs. I no longer—I found—believed in God, but I thanked providence for putting me exactly where I needed to be.