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The Joys of Submission: by Seras Victoria	By : MedeaDemonblood Category: Hellsing > General Views: 9089 -:- 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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Hello, fellow smut-fans and Hellsing lovers. I've returned with another piece of work, and my, it's a lengthy piece. In fact, it's still going, so for now, please enjoy the first leg. This little narrative will be ripe with many titillating encounters and maybe a little soul-searching as well. Please, enjoy.

The Joys of Submission

by

Seras Victoria

            Why didn't I drink the blood, he asked me. At the time I really wasn't quite sure- I wasn't! I didn't take it because I thought it would mean the end of "Seras Victoria" as I knew her. It meant I would no longer be someone I recognized. That terrified me, like my voyage into adulthood had. Like how recovering from my childhood had. But I realize now, after everything I've been through, all that wasn't my real answer. I just didn't know at the time.

            I didn't drink so someone else could do my thinking for me, for awhile. In my early stages of vampirism, my will was coerced by Master's. His word was my duty, and it was easy. It came naturally, as if nothing in the world was wrong with some man having total control over my actions. His voice, his will in my mind shut off the bad things. He shut out and shut up the memories I didn't want. It was no longer a struggle for me to fight so hard to uphold my idealistic notions of duty. I had fought to rise from that awful orphanage to play the hero, and I didn't really want to… I just wanted to find peace with the memories of my parents.

            The first moment I saw him, he filled me. My thoughts, my emotions, even my body was full of him, though in that final case, not literally. I simply felt that his presence was like nourishment and rest. I felt whole, and lively again. It became easier and easier to smile. It was so easy to chime my voice like some little church-bell, "Yes Master!" and follow his heavy boots wherever they pointed. But I never thought of it this way, until we'd been through some hard battles.

            It started simply, I guess, with following orders on missions. His voice and wishes were all to train me, to get me used to my new body and its capabilities. It was all so new, like I'd been just born and yet, not a helpless infant. I was an adult given an entirely new crack at life, so just learning to move again and temper my strength was a challenge. To shake Walter's hand when we were introduced took a force of willpower I had to actually concentrate on, lest I accidentally snapped his fingers. All the while, Master was in my head, somehow guiding me through every step without saying a word. I could smell him on me after awhile. He smells like earth and death and blood and fire, with just a trace note of forgotten exotic perfumed silk and sweet spilled wine. And yes, SPILLED wine smells different than just a standing glass.

            The first time I went feral, I felt Master's approval in my bones. It was so warm and tingly when I went under that time, in the creaking old halls in Badrick. A little voice had sung at the back of my mind, urging me to destroy, and languish in blood and my own power. Before I could even ask myself why I wanted to, it had already happened. The voice sang exultations of joy as I took pleasure in the speed in my legs, and how easily I tore the shambling bodies apart. Master has since told me how much he enjoyed watching me like that, and I recognize it as the first time I felt so good from letting go of my own free will.

            Rudely interrupted as that was, later Master made me remember by asking me why I had not drunk his blood. As you already know. I thought about it every day after that. I didn't drink it because the thought of being alone and independent was more than I could bear. He said "Never again will you be treated like a slave." That was the first time the idea that I was enslaved had even crossed my mind. I WAS enslaved, by virtue of our blood-bond. He'd taken my life and my body and transformed it, allowing me to continue to exist. I OWED him my very life and soul. That payment was taken without my conscious participation, but never once did I ask for a refund. That was apparent when I could not free myself of his control.

            Controlled slave. That is me. And I love it.

            I must have looked the fool for following him like a lost puppy. But for all of his twisted actions and his eagerness to tear people apart I could not help but do it, driven by the blissful silence of my past. Indeed, there was no pressure on me to be anything but what I was. Even if, at that point, I was a vampire's fledgling. No joy could have eclipsed mine when Master told me to follow him into the dark. No one could be happier than I when he calls me to his side. I think, even if he called me to clean his boots with my tongue, I'd do it, for the sake of seeing his soft smile.

            At some point, things got a bit more twisted than I ever expected. But with every mounting layer of our strange relationship, I only grew more devoted and more in love with that infuriating, sadistic, lonely, haunting creature. Sometimes his heartache is a palpable taste. I long so deeply to heal it.

            Sometimes Master is like a father, and sometimes he is only my mentor, I his fumbling but dedicated protégée. He's also sometimes my best friend and closest confidant (by default, I suppose). And most of the time, when we are alone in the wee hours and awake with the stars and moon, he is my lover. In those times, he is more than any other time, my Master, and I, his slave.

            It really began the first time I ever raised my doubts and tender heart against his actions. That hotel, in Rio. When he slaughtered and ate and gutted all those men. Simple, stupid, unprepared humans. I just didn't understand why. How could he kill them? They were just humans. Innocent of all involvement with Millennium, and totally unaware of exactly what, not whom, they were supposed to be eliminating. And I protested, from the moral remains of my conscience. I couldn't kill an innocent man under orders who had come to protect civilians from me. He wasn't going to be able to. Master understood though, better than anyone, that those men were casualties of war. It didn't matter why they had come; they would be statistics. They were the first unfortunate soldiers in a devastating, vicious, bloody shithole war that claimed thousands upon thousands of lives in one goddamned night that had yet to come.

            I dared to raise my voice, marking my first true defiance in my short vampiric career. Master's eyes were so enraged then, and his actions carried nothing short of it. I can still feel his hand at my throat, and hear the snarl of anger and frustration in his voice. It was almost sexual, like he'd been dissatisfied by a woman he dearly desired. And I cried before him, unable to do anything more than sputter.

            Furious, he lifted me up. Had I known at that moment he was going to rape me, I probably would have screamed. Instead, I could only stare dumbly as he bound me, using his weird power to spread my ankles apart. To make sure I wouldn't be able to close my thighs, he added black tendrils to hold my knees wide as well. He left my legs bent, proceeded to secure my waist, and finally my arms and throat. This all happened in a blink, and what precisely he attached all those liquid-like snakes to I couldn't see. All I knew was that I could not struggle, and he had me suspended in mid-air. Before I could even croak a protest, his mouth was on mine. His tongue flitted deep between my lips, and I could taste the blood he'd taken since. While I was reeling from that kiss, the first my lips had ever tasted, Master had my uniform buttons undone, and my skirt pushed up. He tore through my panties easily and pressed his fingers to my virgin warmth. Terror must have crept into my face then, because he suddenly smirked with the most wicked expression I've ever seen. He molested my exposed breasts with the free hand, and began to stroke my clitoris. A tremor ran through me from the crown of my head to my knees.

            “Master!” His fingers filled me, stroked me, drove me insane. I'd touched myself before, but it was never like this. Never like heat and lust so powerful it took my voice away. I began to moan and call out, my mind a torrent of confusion and wild desire.

            “Can’t hold your voice, police girl? Can’t take my fingers inside you and my mouth on your breasts?” I felt the surge of wetness coat my insides. I shuddered, knowing his intent.

            “No-o! Master, why?”

            “You must taste my fury, police girl. Your hesitance and weakness have delayed your transcendence to Nosferatu." The next moment, he stood disrobed before me, placed so perfectly between my quivering thighs. I was taut and trembling, wanting him to not, wanting him to do it... To rob me of my virginity. I felt him, hard and warm, pressed against my now- ready slit, and as he forced himself inside, I screeched a little, and he let go a hiss through clenched teeth. At some point my eyes slid closed and in the darkness behind my lids I could see the colors of my pain, sharp at first, and vivid, gradually dulling and melting into the rising pleasure as he fucked me. Really, fucked is too consensual a word yet. He did rape me, I just never asked him to stop.

            “Does it hurt, police girl? To take my cock for the first time?” It DID hurt. But my body had already begun to cope. Still I had to tell him the truth.

            “Y-e-s-s!” He'd gotten into a smooth rhythm by then. His cock was deeply inside me, going rapidly back and forth, driving me into a state of mind I couldn't fathom. The sensation, the idea of him inside my body like that consumed my every thought.

            “Beautiful… You feel warm inside, Seras. The way you envelop me is marvelous. I’d think you were created for me.” I no longer spoke, I just let him go. The rising pleasure filled me, called to some animal deep inside my mind. She howled like a wild thing upon the night moors and the moon. I forgot my surroundings, forgot the battle, and even that I had been forced into this pose and harshly deflowered by the one I held most dear. But somewhere I perceived that the heat inside my now-ravaged cunt had stopped its lava-like engulfment of my whole body and mind. He'd stopped thrusting.

            "Seras, are you enjoying this?" His voice broke into my thoughts and caused me to return to my senses. My eyelids crept open, slowly, and I saw him standing between my legs still. His breath was heavy, and he had one hand on each of my knees, for balance. The tone of that gravelly-velvet voice had become a bit baffled. "Your eyes have gone the color of blood." There was a bit of pleasure mixed into the surprise.

            "Master, why did you stop?" I twisted against his body, desperate for the sweet pain to return and engulf me.

            "You were frantically yet perfectly bucking your hips to meet mine. I was... taken aback at your enthusiasm." My body begged me for more of his cock and his fury. And so I uttered something without thinking, and thusly entrenched myself in this way of living.

            "Why should I object to your desires? Am I not your slave?" My voice came out not as I intended. I meant to be calm, yet firm and serious. I wound up with a quivering, excited, yet pleading voice, louder than I meant, clearly begging him for more abuse and wrath. I saw his eyes widen slowly, as if he were finally understanding something that had been perplexing him.

            "Is that it? You've resigned yourself to being my slave?" He chuckled softly, still inside me. As he shook with laughter, I shivered when he moved. I moaned, begging him with my eyes. His next movement was too quick- his hand came down across my cheek. I gasped. The force of the blow was only enough to sting, but I felt the intent of it. I had been greedy, and naughty. Immediately I quelled my overwhelming desire and waited for him to satiate his. "That's better." I had to silence my whine of protest as he pulled out of me. His naked length glistened with my juices, and he brought himself toward my head. Master brandished his cock like a sword and bobbed my lips with it. Obediently I parted them and relinquished the use of my mouth to him.

            "Listen well, police girl. If you do not wish to walk the night on your own feet, you WILL obey me in every respect. You WILL be my slave, in every respect. Do you understand the typical, human 'Master-and-slave' relationship?" All the while he spoke, he used my mouth to pleasure himself. I obliged him by minding my teeth, and caressing him with my tongue as he thrust lightly into my throat. To answer his question, I simply put it into his mind.

            Somewhat. I know that some couples like to use dominance play in the bedroom. I understand the difference between them and my creation by you, and my blood-debt to you.

            "Yes, there is a difference in how you use the title, and how they do. But you would make them one and the same. Therefore, I shall make them one and the same, until you learn how important it is to be your own Master. In time, police girl, you will accept independence." I shivered, and Master used me until he came. He made sure I swallowed every bitter drop of his seed. When he was done he unbound me, and told me to put myself in order. I was forbidden from sating my own desire, no matter how badly I ached inside. After all, he said, we were declaring war. I cleaned myself up as best I could, and my pussy burned for him to fuck me again. I throbbed and oozed sticky, clear juice. My flesh was hot inside and out. As badly as I wanted to, I did not find my own orgasm. Master had forbidden me.

            The mission in Rio ended, as you well know. Shit hit the fan, Master was hurt, but ultimately had his fun and made his point. After we'd escaped, he waited until Captain Bernadotte had gone to sleep until he came to me.

            "If you make one sound, even the tiniest little whimper, I shall punish you severely, Seras." He then pulled me into his lap and pulled away my panties. My desire had cooled to a manageable state by then, but he stoked it again easily. I clenched my teeth and lips shut as his fingers tirelessly worked me to orgasm. I came so quickly, and so hard, that I have no idea how I stayed silent. It seemed to go on for several minutes, my body rolling and spasming with intense pleasure. Perhaps I made no sound because I forgot to breathe. Heat was in my loins, and in my head. I couldn't see; I heard nothing but the sound of his heart and breath. My body was an inferno.

            At last, he slowed and stopped his fingers' work and pulled his hand away. I collapsed into his chest, panting heavily. Suddenly I realized how tense my body had been, and how breathless. He caressed my hair softly and rewarded me with a deep, possessive kiss.

            "You did well, and obeyed me. Now I will outline my intentions for you, my enslaved fledgling. From now, until the moment you choose to Master yourself, you are bound to EVERY command I give and whim I have. You will be subject to punishment and rewards as I see fit to give. My sexual appetites will be sated on you. If you fail me, you will regret it. I will demean you, insult you, and hurt you. If you will willingly submit to me, give me your word and then you will be collared, by me. However, if you will not consent, then you will drink my blood right now- and be free, whether you will or no. Am I understood, Seras Victoria?"

            "Yes, Master. I understand."

            "Do you consent... or do you drink?" The speed at which I answered surprised me more than him.

            "I consent fully, Master. My body, mind, and soul, are yours." Scarcely had I uttered the words than did Master's collar take shape and form around my neck. It was of black leather, and by the art of his power, all one piece that could not be removed. Thick, metallic red embroidery decorated the leather, and the design of delicate curls was centered around the vertical steel ring that rested on the exact middle of my throat. The ring itself was engraved with the word "slave." Master allowed me to view myself in a mirror. I had never thought myself so beautiful.

             I stood admiring myself, and suddenly I heard a terrible, low growl rend my Master’s voice. A snap of pain, and I yelped. He had struck me again and had not held back his hand. My knees buckled somewhat as I nursed my tender cheek.

            “Do NOT become vain, slave. You have no cause to take joy in yourself while in my thrall.” My chin twanged as he took hold of my jaw with one hand and pulled me upward, to once more find my balance. Then his mouth met mine and my knees went weak a second time. My tongue danced with his, and from the first moment of dissolving into him, those few seconds seemed eternal. When at last he released me, I quivered, lowered my gaze in subservience, and spoke.

            “I apologize, Master. I will not do it again.” He drew his hand back.

            “Good girl.”

            That has been going on for some time now. Even this journal is a reflection of my servitude, both in the story I’m trying to tell here, and that Master instructed me to keep a daily record of my thoughts. He wants me to keep it, in the hopes that when I free myself, I’ll be able to reflect and learn from my mistakes. Oh, he needs me now.
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The Joys of Submission: by Seras Victoria