Follow her lead.

There are some … sounds back here, that’s for sure. You can’t personally claim to know what a whip on bare skin sounds like, but if you had to guess, that crack and resonating groan probably fit it pretty close. Jesus, this is a bad idea. Still, the thought of the dancer beckoning you to join her is hard to push past. Your genitals concur with your imagination vigorously, pushing you ever forward through the nearly-muffled noises of sex and pain and rapture.

Reaching room six, a gold-plated VI pinned above the door, you press what looks like a buzzer on its side. You hear nothing, but a moment later, the door clicks and cracks open the slightest bit. Stepping inside, you see the sheer black-and-purple clad dancer sitting on what looks almost like a crucifix, though angle diagonal to the floor instead of upright. You also wager the supports are a bit less torturous, though by the countless tools for fucking and teasing and tormenting lining the walls, you can’t be ENTIRELY sure. A plush, dark pink bed sits behind it, clearly a multipurposed room, and your head spins with possibilities.

“Door,” she says softly, but with tremendous authority. You turn and close it, hearing it click again. From the inside, though, it has a handle you imagine unlocks automatically. At the very least, for fire code reasons. Fica seems pretty mindful of keeping their non-inherently illegal business above-board. “Didn’t get your name, by the way.” It’s not a question, and a shiver runs through you as you turn back to face her.

“Jaq,” you answer, trying to sound bold and confident. Of course, this woman’s eyes could melt you into a puddle as you look into them again. “I, um, I’m a student at Workwick.”

“Don’t get many of those in here!” she tells you as she stands, walking over to you. “Seemed very affixed during my performance, Jaq. Any particular reason?” Her mischievous smile tells you she at least knows part of your secret, if not the whole thing.

“I felt … alive,” you manage to answer honestly. “My skin so hot it almost hurts, my heartbeat so loud in my ears, and I don’t … usually … feel that way. And I was wondering what you did?”

“Oh, you’re one of THOSE,” she responds, recognition in her eyes not dimming her expression. “Just a bit of hedge magic. You know, ritual, chanting, incense, etc. Not as easy as other kinds, but a lot more accessible to the majority.”

“I’m not even going to pretend to be surprised it’s magic, but what does it DO?”

“Specifically? It reminds people who were human and are no longer of what they miss about it. And lets them feel it.” She steps close to you, your faces inches apart. You want to spring forward, but something about her bearing tells you waiting will be even better. “So, YOU miss heat and physical reactions and the more biological parts of passion. It’s not that uncommon for your people. Now, it doesn’t mean you HAVE those things. Just that you can feel it while I’m performing. Part of why I’m only on the night shift. Can you imagine if one of you stepped outside during the day because of me? Be quite the mess.” One of her hands traces up your thigh, drawing a surprised gasp between the intimate touch and not even sort of seeing her coming. “Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes,” you say, eyes closed and focusing on her nimble fingers slipping up your leg, tantalizing close to the buckle of your pants, “but I have to admit, I didn’t just come back here to see you dance.”

“And I didn’t bring you back here for it. I can tie it to any kind of performance. And you must be hungry?” You nod, biting your lip as you look back at her eyes again. “How hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Mmm. Good. If I could satisfy your hungers … both of them … and make you feel like that at the same time, do you want me to?”

“Fuck yes!” you gasp. She cups your face for a moment before slowly kissing you, sensation flooding back into your body violently. After acclimating to your undead state, it’s almost overwhelming how much more sensitive and responsive your body is like this. Your lips push against hers, but distracted as you are, she easily controls the pace, free hand on your hips.

“Jaq?” she whispers. “You want me to feel good, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Safe? Happy?”

“Whatever you want, yes.”

“Good. Then why don’t you take your clothes off. After all, you’re a big, scary vampire. What if you have some kind of weapon on you?” She pulls away from you, leaning back on the cross and very intentionally arcing her body pleasingly to watch you. “Slow. You know how much I usually charge for this kind of thing?” You shake your head, a bit embarrassed, hands gripping the edge of your shirt you were starting to pull up. “A lot, baby. But even though I think you’re cute, don’t you think it’s fair if I at least call the shots if you’re getting all this for free?” Your eyes scan her up and down, then you nod slowly. “Good. You saw me dance. Now, if you wouldn’t mind?”

The woman reaches under the rig and presses something, an infectious beat slipping into the room from speakers mounted at the corners. You can feel sweat start to drip down your skin, and while you’re unsure if that’s just how it feels or if it’s happening, the heat inside you and the threat of sweat stains prompts you to follow instruction. While you’re nowhere near as trained as the dancer, you know how to shake your ass, at least. You let go of your shirt and sway, building up rhythm and letting yourself loose to the temp of the song, your mind sliding away from self-conscious thoughts about performing as you dip down, then rise with a twist, smiling as you start to just feel sexy and good. The weight of your limbs feels different as you let your arms slide over your body, feeling the promise of strain, exhaustion, things you didn’t even know you missed. Though you frankly prefer the boundless endurance of vampirism, it’s exciting in the moment.

When you actually slip your shirt off, you do it by spiraling your arms to a spike in the song, tossing it up and behind you with a dramatic flair. She laughs, a rich and satisfied noise, clapping her hands together. Your smile sharpens as you look at her, then dive again with a provocative wriggle. Your hands undo the buckle to your jeans, then you shed them as you surge forward on the ground, arcing your back for her before rising. The practical, black underwear isn’t your sexiest set, but built for athletics, it clings to you tightly all the same, the break in the color of your lightly tanned skin still emphasizing the curves of your waist and the pert slope of your breasts.

She curls her finger for you to approach, and you dance your way on top her lap, straddling her. The way she looks up at you makes you burn for her approval, to do anything to make a good impression. Your bra slips off before you lean down, then writhe, your body rolling above hers sensually as you feel her hands slip on to your hips. The way she bites her lip watching you makes your already-damp panties almost overflow, hooking her fingers in them. When she doesn’t pull down, you get the message and rise up, then brace yourself. You’re surprised by how easy it is to do a handstand, but you imagine your inhuman strength is probably a major factor as you draw your legs up, then above you as you perform the maneuver so the two of you are face-to-face. She kisses you again, this time harder as you slowly descend back on to her body while she tosses your underwear aside casually. Your fingers press into each other, yours sliding over the wonderfully soft fabric of her see-through outfit while hers slip over your sides, down your back, and grab your taut ass with an appreciative firmness.

“Get on the cross,” she whispers to you, finally breaking your kiss. You stand, letting her vacate it, then lay down for her. She watches you the whole time she secures the straps. Besides the ones on your ankles and wrists, she puts one around to your waist, helping support and not just bind you. The one at your neck she leaves undone … for now. “You’re going to cum … and you’re going to eat …” You whimper as she speaks. “… when I let you. Is that a problem, Jaq?”

“No, ma’am.” Your voice is soft and eager, completely submissive. This is a far cry from the simple teasing Andy put you through. While you still enjoy taking someone from the top, it’s a fun journey since you died to realize you don’t really mind the other side of the equation, either.

“Good. Because I’ve been told I taste EXCELLENT,” she promises, leaning over you, just far enough away you can’t reach her tied down like this. “Hate for you to get carried away.” She springs up, then retreats to the wall, considering what to use on you first. “Oh, Elspeth, by the way,” she tells you with a nefarious grin over her shoulder.