A Creative Eruption

They’d chained her.
Silver shackles on her ankles and wrists.
They’d chained her spread-eagle on the dais, stripped naked and exposed for all to see.
In’ari R’Orq stared at the ceiling, the blood in her veins feeling very much like liquid heat coursing through her body. How dare they!
She pulled at the chains, the silver burning her flesh like a concentrated beam of sun-like – scorching, scalding. Branding.
Rage surged through her and she snarled, the sound cutting the thick silence. How dare they!
She closed her eyes and drew in a slow breath, focussing on her core. She needed to think if she was to survive, and she didn’t plan on dying just yet. Not after three hundred years of defying her enemies. She was too young.
Pulling the freshest memory into her mind, she narrowed down on it, another wave of fury rolling through her at the vivid image.
That deceptive, blood-sucking nightwalker!
The vamp had lured her from the club. The vamp with the black eyes and white hair who’d been in her dreams for what seemed like a lifetime. Had lured her from the club where she’d been staring into an untouched margarita, into the open night, his tongue and lips and hands driving her wild with a lust she didn’t know existed. Never had she felt so aware of her body, of the pulsing muscles between her thighs, of the tiny nub of flesh buried in the slick folds of her cunt. She’d thought he was a dream until his teeth sank into her neck. A dream brought on by loneliness and vigilance and denial. A dream of the forbidden. Then his fangs had punctured her flesh and she’d felt warm liquid gush from her jugular into his masterful mouth, felt the velvet rasp of his tongue lapping her blood, felt the painful yet oh, so exquisite pressure as he suckled her life-force.
Her mind had screamed. Her cunt had constricted. She’d cried out – in livid rage and perfidious rapture - and that was when the other vamps closed in. Three of them. Oozed from the shadows of the moonless night like pale phantoms and took her. Their hands joining his on her body, squeezing her pleasure-swollen breasts, cupping her ass-cheeks, mauling her fluttering, sodden pussy.
She couldn’t fight them all.
Even as the wolf inside her roared for release, the lead vamp – that black-eyed, fallacious bastard – sank his fangs in deeper. Locked her to him as surely as the silver shackles held her to the dais now.
Locked her to him in more than one way.
A chill rippled through In’ari. Pinched her nipples into rock-hard, painful tips. They were creatures of opposite species – she and the black-eyed vampire – but she knew his species well. Knew them, hunted them. Killed them. As all Master-Hunters did, she knew everything about them, which meant, the second his fangs punctured her neck and he began to feast on her oxygen-rich blood, she knew he was not after her life. He was not killing her. He was binding her. To him. Owner to property. Master to Slave.
Fuck.
She’d been caught by a Master and now she was the property of his nest.
And with the silver shackles on her wrists and ankles, there was nothing she could do to stop them doing whatever they wanted to her.
Her cunt fluttered at the dark thought. Fluttered with even darker greed.