Reagan needs to be alone

Reagan lays in Carla's cool embrace, listening to the crackling embers of the fireplace. Reagan looks at the cooling body of the blonde **** is slumped on the floor, looking almost serene. She feels enormous pangs of guilt and self loathing.

I loved watching her being drained Reagan thinks shamefully. What the hell has happened to me? Reagan tries to tell herself that the girl was doomed no matter what. It might even be true, but it does little to salve her guilty conscience. Despite the guilt, to her horror Reagan finds herself becoming excited and aroused thinking over the images of Carla viciously biting and draining the girl. It's as if the guilt is purely intellectual, distant. She isn't sure if she actually feels guilty or just thinks that she should feel guilty.

You know you want more a small voice tells her seductively in her mind. You've never felt more alive than you did cutting that girl the voice says slyly. Reagan buries her face in Carla's bosom to hide her tears. It's as if she can feel her old self receding into a dark void, and a new, stronger, colder figure stepping into the limelight.

Carla pulls Reagan close, stroking her hair. As if reading her mind, "Don't feel guilty. You're going to get used to it. You'll come to crave it. I'll guide you." Carla says softly, her voice full of affection. Reagan can't find the words, and simply nods. "It's normal to have a bit of a crisis of conscience when you first come to terms with your nature" Carla says, her tone conveying deep experience.
"Is it my nature, or yours?" Reagan snaps. "Am I just another toy, under your spell, under your control?" she says, totally unsure herself what is even true.

"I never enthralled you" Carla says bluntly.

Reagan has no idea of that's true. How could she?
"I think I'd like to go to my room now" Reagan says quietly, wanting to be alone. Carla pauses, and then smiles, coldly.

"Very well. If you wish, we can also go our separate ways here - my assistant can drive you home - and you can pretend this was all a bad dream" Carla says, with zero affection in her voice, her lips a thin line.

Reagan looks at the floor and curses Carla. Leave now! a voice screams inside her head. But she can't. She's angry, feeling like a bluff that she didn't even make has been called by Carla. She knows that she should leave, forget this place, forget Carla. She looks up at Carla, trying and failing to project defiance.

"I'd like to go to my room" she repeats, her voice flat. It's a cop out and she knows that - neither embracing Carla's depravity, nor rejecting it. It's a holding pattern. I just need to think Reagan thinks to herself. I need to think.

Carla gestures at the door, sighing.

Reagan follows the attendant leading her back to her room. The woman looks to be Reagan's age. Reagan notices the bar code on the back of her neck, and the pierced nipples prominently visible through the thin fabric of her black shirt. Seems to be part of Carla's dress code she thinks. The servant is a pretty brunette, with a youthful face and soulful brown eyes.

"Our mistress likes you" the servant says, still facing forward as they walk, not looking at Reagan.
"Yeah, I got that" Carla said, a touch of exasperation in her voice.

"That's dangerous" the servant replies. "You're not the first that she's fixated on, ..." The woman trails off, but the warning in her words is crystal clear.

"Are you saying I should leave?" Reagan asks, wishing someone in this fucking mansion would just speak directly. The woman turns to look at Reagan, pity in her face. She opens her mouth, as if she's about to speak, but then looks away, silently.
They walk the rest of the way to Reagan's chambers - the room she woke up in the first night. The woman bows her head slightly, and leaves Reagan.

Reagan tosses and turns as she sleeps fitfully through the daylight hours, her sheets damp with perspiration. The **** of the blonde **** weighs heavily on her conscience. In her dreams, she finds herself in that red room.

She relives the **** of the blonde ****, over and over again. But each time is slightly different. Sometimes the blonde turns to Reagan and begs for her life. Sometimes the blonde begs to be tortured more. In one, she slices a line down the ****'s tongue before sucking on the wet muscle, tasting the metallic fluid in a sloppy kiss.
Sometimes Reagan is the one being exsanguinated as the blonde looks on dispassionately. In those, Reagan begs for Carla's sharp kiss, yearning to feel Carla's fangs in her skin.

In her most vivid dream, Reagan is naked and straddling the blonde. The blonde's head is thrown back, her neck exposed, her jugular pulsing. Reagan gropes the ****'s breasts as she feels Carla's breasts poke into her back, Carla's hands on her waist, Carla's cool breath on her ear.

"Take her" Carla croons into Reagan's ear. "Look how she's offering her throat... Her life... To you. Take it" Carla whispers huskily, her hand slipping between Reagan's legs. Reagan breathes heavily, her mind clouded with arousal. The **** squirms under her, the ****'s skin hot against Reagan's thighs. Reagan looks up to see about a dozen slaves standing around her, watching silently, their faces expressionless. She looks back at the blonde, at the blonde's throat. Her mouth waters as Carla's finger traces over her moist slit.

"Why deny yourself the pleasure?" Carla asks seductively, kissing Reagan's shoulder with her cool lips. "Why deny your true nature?". Reagan feels the room spinning around her, the slaves around her murmuring to each other inaudibly. Reagan softly grinds herself against Carla's hand, feeling a thirst she's never felt before come to the fore. It's visceral and primal. "Show Mommy what a good girl you are, Emma" Carla moans into her ear.

Reagan feels an acute pain in the roof of her mouth, feeling her canines sprout into razor sharp fangs. The pain quickly gives way to intense pleasure. She leans in and licks the sweat off the ****'s neck.
"Drink" Carla moans into her ear, pressing up against Reagan.

Reagan feels like an observer to her own actions, like she's watching herself from across the room. She is overcome with an overwhelming need to feed. Reagan drives her fangs into the ****'s neck, the sharp canines feeling the skin give way and break. She drinks deeply, sighing. The **** struggles and tries to push Reagan off her, but the other slaves hold her down, pinning her arms.

"That's a good girl, take her. Drain her. Drain all of her" Carla coos as she kisses the back of Reagan's neck. The ****'s warm blood flows over Reagan's lips and tongue, sweet and thick. The fluid's taste is indescribable - rich and complex and floral and smoky. She bites harder as the blonde's struggling becomes fainter, the blood flow slowing to a trickle. Carla's fingers rub Reagan's clit in wide slow circles as she exsanguinates the helpless girl, Carla's cool lips on the nape of her neck. Reagan feels an electric warmth spread through her body as the girl's lifeblood flows into her. The blonde takes a final ragged breath; her heart stops. Reagan sits back, eyes closed, touching her tingling lips, licking the blood from her fingertips.

"How does it feel to be a killer?" Carla asks pointedly.

Reagan's eyes snap open, her heart pounding furiously in her chest. She feels drenched between her legs, in addition to the sweaty sheets. As so often happens, her memory of the dreams melts away like dew in the morning sun.