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The Joys of Submission: by Seras Victoria	By : MedeaDemonblood Category: Hellsing > General Views: 9094 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing and I do not make any profit from this story.

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            Before I commence the tale again, I just want to point out that I won’t bother labeling the narrative by days. I’m just going to continue my stream of thought where I left off.

            After we returned from Rio we got the retaliation response to our little challenge. Almost as soon as we walked through the goddamned door, actually. God, that fat squat bastard. Laughing at us on a static-laden video screen. Showing us his dick.

            An upsurge of hatred seized me at that moment, and suddenly I found myself faced with the last moment of rage I remembered as born purely within me- the day my parents died. I had seen my mother die, and ran out to stab one of the killers in the eye with a fork. He shot me in the stomach, and to this day, I really don’t know how I survived. I blacked out from blood loss and woke up in the hospital. Later on, after the conference room incident, Master came to me.

            “Police girl, why have you been so preoccupied?” I couldn’t meet his gaze fully, but I tried. I felt sick with heartache and anger. I wanted to keep it inside, and never tell him my dreadful past. But even as this treasonous thought formed, he snatched it from my head and growled. Instantly I knew the brunt of his anger. Master snatched my throat and lifted me straight off the seat of a chair. I flinched, and his bloody gaze transfixed me.

            “You will NOT hide things from me, slave.” I tasted his fury in the inhalation of a stolen breath. I quavered, but relented- without words I played for him my memory of that awful day. I found myself with a sore tailbone moments later as he dropped me.

            “The Major dredges up the same rage I felt that day! I don’t want to be a creature of my own hatred!” It came spilling from my mouth before I could regain some dignity, and as I clapped my hands over my own tremendous gob, tears spilled down my cheeks, and burned a tangle of pathways over my skin. I’m sure my face looked so ashamed, angry, and pained. Master sighed, and wrapped his arms around me, pressing one hand to the back of my skull. My sodden cheeks and still-leaking eyes found the comfort of his shoulder; the bright, oxygenated-blood-red jacket became the proffered solace to dry my tears. He entwined his gloved fingers with my hair affectionately, and cradled me.

            “A heartbroken, destroyed child: that’s what you are, my little Seras.” He kissed the crown of my head, and I couldn’t move for shock. His tenderness was warm and rich, and it filled the gaping maw in my chest. “Never hesitate to reveal information to me, my slave. You will be punished for your disobedience, no matter how slight- but for now I will spare you until you compose yourself.” Suddenly his mouth found mine, and with force, not cruelty, he parted my lips with his tongue and for a while erased all my distress. I melted and burned with that bout of snogging. It was like my body ceased to be solid. I panted and yearned and ached for him to possess my body, and yet he never once spread my thighs nor fondled my breasts. It was slow torture.

            Master grinned wickedly as he allowed me to resurface.

            “Rest, police girl. For now I will leave you in this frenzy, and you are not allowed to pleasure yourself. Consider it punishment for your other crime this evening.” He rose from where he had been pinning me into one of those stately throne-like chairs. I hadn’t realized the knee just barely touching the crotch of my panties, which were soaked.

            “Master, forgive this impertinence, but… what other crime have I committed?” I was truly perplexed, and he saw the truth in my head.

            “You still fail to truly understand the existence of Nosferatu, and thus, me.” My mouth fell open, but I could make no argument. Both because he would have punished me for backtalk, and for not actually knowing what he meant.

            Days later, that displeasure he expressed with me was still rattling around in the back of my mind. I hadn’t worked out his riddle. In every moment of spare time, he’d come, and ask me to name my sin against him. I answered him with whatever new idea I’d tentatively come up with, but every wrong answer I gave resulted in a bit of pain.

            “Police girl- slave. What is it truly to be Nosferatu?” I felt so disappointed with myself whenever he locked eyes with me, and I could detect the desire he had for me to return him the correct answer. I know he knew before my mouth could even form the words, every time. The first time, I had hope- I’d racked my brain during all my spare hours for the answer.

            “Master… To be Nosferatu is to be the dark reflection of humanity. We have great power, access to unlimited knowledge, and desires as intense as flame. We could wipe out all other creatures on this earth, but in doing so we would wipe out ourselves. The strength of will we must have in order to keep balance is also far beyond human ability.” Master looked at me, impressed. A flutter of hope warmed my heart.

            “That was a well-thought out, and rather beautifully phrased answer, my little Seras.” I smiled, thinking I did understand him after all. “But, my dear, you are wrong.” The corners of my mouth drooped, and I let my gaze fall away from his perfect, icy features. I think what I always noticed about that face (besides the eyes of course) is what Bram Stoker called his “aquiline nose.” The look reflected on it (his face) was not angry, but upset. Disappointed. Master pulled me over his knee and hiked up my skirt. Then he pulled down my panties, and told me not to squirm.

            “You’ve given a poetic and intelligent answer, but you’re over-thinking. I will go lightly on you this time, for the sake of your effort.” I clenched my butt and braced for the impact. “If you flinch, slave, you will receive double.”

            “Yes, Master.” I relaxed just a little, and tried to behave as I waited for the first hit. I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted to face my punishment.

            Master made me wait a few agonizing minutes with his hand raised above my bum. But I didn’t beg him or whine. I didn’t lie in his lap, shaking. When his hand came down, he covered a significant width of my backside, and the force of the slap sent me forward via momentum. For a moment I squeaked and threw my arms forward, in case I fell off his lap totally. He laughed softly, and secured me tightly with his other arm. I positioned my arms by winding them around his, and clasping him around the wrist and the elbow. My bare skin stung from his first strike, but no more than mild sunburn. I knew it would get worse.

            The second slap came down on almost the exact same spot as the first, and at first I felt nothing. Just the ripple of my flesh as force caused it to react with movement. Then, the pain seared across me, and I sucked a breath of air and released it slowly, trying not to cry out. He continued, and the pain became just a little bit worse each time. Yet, I weathered it, refusing to falter or fail him by being a coward. Several more times his hand fell and reddened my entire backside until I could feel the heat coming off of my skin. I gave little moans, smothered in the fabric of his coat, and shed a few tears for the pain. But I never once complained, and when he finished, he rewarded me with a little nip on the neck, right over the scars I’d always bear from his teeth. I moaned in pleasure, already forgetting the awful stinging, burning pain. As he drank just a few small mouthfuls from my neck, causing my whole body to tingle with arousal, he slipped a bare hand between my thighs and filled my dripping cunt with his fingers. He stroked me inside and I nearly lost all my composure.

            The lovely, melting feeling I had was given a distinct edge by the pain; it was like mixing salty and sweet. It was so good I started to feel drunk and delirious with his every little fingertip-stroke. The high of his presence and my desperate desire to be his started to take me over again, and I tugged Master’s shirt collar to draw his mouth greedily to mine. I succumbed totally to his hands, and our tongues tangled together readily. I tasted the remnants of my own blood in his mouth. And just as I was starting to lose all control over myself, near to cumming, he abruptly withdrew himself from me and disappeared through the floor. I groaned in frustration; lustful madness replaced the sensation of his hands and mouth.

            You are forbidden from orgasm, my slave, once again.

            I threw myself into my coffin and buried my face into its velvet lining. I screamed my frustrated libido out until my lungs were totally empty.

            That repeated, with variation, for a week. Every night, Master came to my room and asked me what it was to truly be Nosferatu. Every day I had spent every waking hour pondering my answer, and yet, no matter what I gave, it was never correct. He punished me every time, expanding the horizon of my experience with pain and thwarting my sexual satisfaction. By the end of the week I was begging him to forgive me, to make love to me. I threw myself at his feet.

            “Do you wish wholeheartedly to do penance, police girl?”

            “Yes, Master. Your question is beyond my reach, but I need you inside me.” He seemed to think hard for a few moments, and then grinned.

            “Fine. Tomorrow night, I will have a punishment prepared. If you can weather it without making a single sound, I will withdraw my question until such a time as I deem you ready to try again. If you please me, I shall reward you with my body.” He rested one palm on my head and ruffled my short bangs. I couldn’t help the grin that split my face.

            “I’ll make you proud, Master!” He smiled then, not his usual sadistic, fanged grin, but a smile that was soft and amused.

            “Silly girl,” he said, and then vanished from my room. I didn’t know then if he doubted my ability, or if he just thought I was amusing. But I brushed that aside because I would NOT ruin my own chances of feeling him possess me again. My pussy had been aching so badly since he started his question-and-answer game it woke me up in my coffin, and taunted me with my inability to satisfy myself.

            I could hardly wait for that day to end, and for the night to be ours. The week of building desire had driven me off the cliff. I lived each second as if it were an hour, and such an awful anticipation built inside that I shook hard, and continuously, like I was trembling with cold. When finally he swept through my wall, gleaming madness in his eyes, grinning toothily, I was on the verge of a total collapse. But I leapt to my feet quickly, by way of greeting him silently. I was still shaking visibly. Master touched my shoulders to feel the restless quivering.

            “Have some decorum, police girl. One week of denied pleasure is nothing to ones such as we.” He directed me away from the stately table that occupied my room, and its matching pair of near-thrones. He pressed my back into a wall with plenty of clear space around, and then deftly freed me of my clothes. I stood and bore it with no sound. He stripped me of everything, except my lacy panties, and my stockings. As he began his preparations he outlined everything he expected of me.

            “First of all, my slave, tonight you will be bound and gagged, blindfolded, and hung against this wall, subject to whatever pain or other punishments I see fit. Nod if you understand.” I nodded. He read my honesty in my thoughts and listened intently, for a moment, to my pulse, which pounded. Its strange, undead manner of flowing despite my technical “dead” status was always a bit of a mystery to me, but now, it was the only sound I couldn’t control. He used his weird ethereal abilities to form a complex rope harness and some sort of fastener at the top as his means of suspending me.

            “When I said you were not to make a sound, I do not just mean speaking. You may not whimper, cry, moan, or even sigh. Do you understand and agree to subject yourself to this challenge?” I nodded, sincere. As he spoke, my wrists flew above my head and were woven together securely, tightly, but not to cause excruciating pain. The arm binds were intricately knotted and threaded with a snug and secure filigree of rope along my chest, shoulders, waist, and back. This ensured that my weight would be spread evenly upon the suspension. “Eventually your binding will become painful. But if you can withstand the entire time, I shall reward you.” My groin, hips and thighs were bound next, supported on different hooks than that of my upper body. I was quickly lashed into place with my thighs spread wide. With one last simple flick of his wrist, my eyes were completely covered and my mouth was gagged. It was that silken feeling again, I remembered it well.

            “There may come a point in the night that I allow you permission to speak or make noise. Nod if you understand.” I again nodded. I swear I could almost HEAR the smile he gave. “Now then… The only noise I want to hear from you is the sound of your ragged breath. Any more than air and it will go badly with you, my dear.” I held my breath for just a fleeting moment then, before I felt the sting of his teeth on my inner thigh. He had bitten the femoral artery, and it was all I could do to not destroy my resolve and lose right then. It wasn’t a gentle, seductive bite. It was one of his many-toothed nightmarish gouging bites that he tore into enemy’s necks with. Red burned into my darkened eyelids and I shuddered everywhere. But not one shred of my voice bled into my breathing. I could feel the many little pinpoints of penetration he’d put into my leg, and the muscles twitched involuntarily. He began to drink, and the pain faded into an ecstatic bliss that I hadn’t felt before. The waves of that strange pleasure (from being bitten- why I never understood), so close to the target, seemed to enhance the usual sensation. My pussy quickly grew warm and wet.

            When he removed his teeth from my flesh, it was agony. He didn’t take any pieces out of my leg, of course, but he had bitten me deep and very hard. A few quick swaths of his tongue, and the wound vanished. Not even the sudden flow of relief broke me. But I knew he hadn’t even begun yet.

            “I am impressed, police girl. You restrained yourself just in time. But I suppose that was not very nice to start with. However, I think you’ll agree that neither one of us is interested in being delicate.” I gave one downward tilt of my chin to show my agreement, and he seemed to direct his mind off hurting me. Instead he traced all my curves and the lines of each limb, my stomach, my throat, and my face with his fingertips. Not a single inch of exposed skin missed his touch. I shook, and my body writhed against my wishes, but nothing more than a few sharp breaths and long-held lungfuls of air escaping me made a single noise. Just to have his hands roving me was beautiful torture. I forced my voice into submission. Even the smallest squeak would ruin me.

            Done tracing every line of my body, bound up, Master’s hands left me. I heard the hum in his throat that meant he was pleased.

            “You look breathtaking like this, my slave. So… exposed, and helpless, and tense. Are you aware of how you’re trembling?” I nodded. My whole body was twitching minutely. It was like a gentle vibration from the nervousness of all my muscles. “Relax, police girl. Release some of your tension. You, after all, chose this.”

            I took a deep breath, and as I let it go slowly, I tried to let my limbs droop into the support of the rope network holding me. It stopped most of my tremors, but when your body is forced into one pose for too long, it still tends to shake for strain and discomfort. His strong hands met my flesh again, and held me still. I felt his hips come between my splayed thighs, and he unabashedly let me feel how stiff his cock had become under his silken pants. He pressed against my dampening panties, and just ever so slightly let himself rub me in the right spot. It had been so long since we’d fucked, and even that slight contact with my crotch sent painful waves of pure lust all the way to my womb. I bucked my hips against him a little, but didn’t make a sound. He grabbed my ass firmly and obliged me by thrusting himself hard into the thin, cotton barrier that covered my hole. His hands roughly squeezed large portions of my round ass, and his nails caused several little pains across my skin. I relished it.

            Remaining between my legs, Master moved his hands to my shoulders. One of them then idled to my throat, and the other, to my cleavage. I felt a sharp, unpleasant pain as he tweaked and twisted my nipples in succession, and it made me squirm. I took breaths, held them, and let them out slowly to prevent myself from squealing. The hand at my throat began to squeeze the breath out of me, and that made me freeze up. The pressure on such a vital area and the inability to use breath to steady myself sent my body into a panic. My vocal cords strained against my willpower to burst free. I felt Master pull back from me and drop to his knees. His tongue created a long wet streak from the bottom of my breast, around the ripe curve; he latched onto my nipple with tongue, teeth and lips. The hand on my throat increased its pressure, now choking off the possibility of any vocalization escaping me. I couldn’t move at all. The hand that had been playing with my tits descended and tore away my panties at last.

            Master’s fingers filled me and I started to lose myself in the sensation immediately. My head was swimming from pain, choking, and pleasure as he battered my g-spot. His thumb began to stroke my clit. I felt my lips loosen around my gag, and I felt the thrum of a moan start, and I bit my own tongue in the back of my mouth. I think he felt my own determination not to fail, and the output of pleasure and pain increased dramatically. My head tilted frantically into a whirl of these blended sensations. Each one defined the shape, edge and reaction of the other. The pain, sharp and burning cold in feel, was rounded and softened by the sweet, melting and warm rush of pleasure, in turn made stronger and more intoxicating by the blade’s edge that was his teeth in my breast. As I started to orgasm, I don’t think I could have made a sound had I wanted to. All my outer body was still as stone, but my insides quaked and lurched, and heat radiated from me; I was molten within and erupting hard.

           Master felt these vibrations clench his fingers, and increased his deft finger-work until I was senseless and taut. Every muscle was clenched into place, my lips were breathless and I could make no physical, vocal or mental objection. My body jerked occasionally and I felt like an electrical wire that had been severed and touched down. I was wild, streaming raw power, flailing- and when he stopped the motion of his fingers, I went limp and dead, drawing languorous breaths, my current of energy gone. I felt my juices dripping steadily, and leaving me. In the silence I could even hear the droplets strike the stone floor. Master licked the wound on my chest and let it heal. Then I heard his distinct boots step backward.

            “Did you enjoy that, police girl?” My chin dipped. I started to shake, like someone coming in to a roaring fire from the snow. I hadn’t noticed the cold until I’d gotten into the heat. Master laughed. “I hope that satisfied you somewhat, my slave. Right now I’m going to leave you, trussed as you are, to think upon two questions. The first is the question you have as of yet failed to answer me. The second is why you are this way. Why, police girl? Why would you submit to this?” I bowed my head as low as physically possible. I felt his fingertips graze my cheek, and he left me in silence.

            To a certain point, I already knew why I was like this. His voice crowds out the nasty things in the darkness of my mind. It’s easy to follow, it’s hard to lead. If I let the echoes of his strength reverberate in my head, then I gleaned some of it. But one of my own oxymorons perplexed me. Why did I refuse to drink blood? Well, I imagined that if I drank blood, I’d become as terrible and uncontrollable a monster as my Master is. As bloodthirsty, disconnected, and heartless.

            And that in turn sparked a new channel of thought. Was he heartless? The eager way he tore foes and human obstacles apart cast him that way. But… his fondness and puppy-like love of the Queen, and his deep respect for Integra, even the way he treated me, almost like his wayward but beloved child… It all showed him to carry things deeper than just bloodlust. Sometimes… he was [i]sad.[/i] Suddenly it seemed to me that the weight of his years and the pain he must carry were worse tortures than being whipped, or bitten, or hung from the ceiling. Hell, all the times his body’s been ripped to literal shreds by gunfire; even THAT pain must get tedious after the 50^th time. What does physical pain matter when you’re just going to heal up and come back as strong as before? It occurred to me then that Master must be hundreds of years old, and obviously he’s been through a lot of shit. From what I knew of him as Vlad Tepes, he’s got a lot of bad memories to relive, every single say.

           My parents’ murders will never leave me. I’m going to live hundreds of years too. Maybe thousands. Will I have to relive the pain of losing them long after they would have died naturally? What I witnessed that day as a child HAS stuck with me all these years. All my steps have been in the wake of their deaths. What I’m terrified of is the anger and hate that boils in the bottom of whatever soul I may have left. I just assumed that I’d grow to love being angry and hateful when I ascended to what Master calls “Nosferatu.” But had I been looking at it all the wrong way? Could becoming a full vampire mean having total control over the things inside myself that I fear?
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The Joys of Submission: by Seras Victoria