Page 9 of Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me
She puts the cash into a hidden drawer, then throws her arms out like she’s presenting the world to me.
“Welcome to The Corbin. Make yourself at home.”
4
Autumn
Iused to enjoy visiting the Altera Public Library with my mom, when I was a kid. We didn’t go often during the school year, but during summers when we weren’t traveling, we’d make a trip once a week. Partly to stock up on books, and partly to join in on various community activities they hosted.
Mom would wander through the stacks, her sleek brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, her long, flowy “hippie skirt” as Dale called it trailing behind her. I loved watching her looking lost in dreams as she touched the books’ spines, her fingertips delicately stroking the text.
When I went to UC Davis, I spent most of my studying time in Shields Library, curling up in window seats and drowsing in between classes. I loved the cool air during blazing late spring days, especially.
But The Corbin? It’s like nothing else I’ve ever seen, either in person or in television or film. Mom would have lost her mind in a building like this. The two of us would probably break down in giggles, imagining how we could cosplay a certain animatedmovie character and fling ourselves along the wall on one of those rolling ladders.
When I first lost my mom, a fantasy like this would make me sad. Right now, though, all I feel is joy. She would want me to be happy here.
The receptionist gives me an indulgent smile as I hurry to the welcoming doorway behind the reception desk. The room past this one leads to a wide set of stairs. I have no plan, just a drive to explore.
“The library closes at six,” she says after me.
“Okay, thanks,” I say over my shoulder, giving her a thumb’s up. Six o’clock is hours and hours from now. I have a library to explore.
A wooden sign hanging from the high ceiling in this large, rectangular room readsSupernatural Phenomena. Holy shit, I found the mother lode in one fell swoop. Several tables, propped by large, heavy-looking cabinets, display everything from statues, to glass vials containing special “potions,” to relics proclaiming to be tufts of fur from Bigfoot, to stones with acid marks reportedly from a lamia’s venom.
“This is unbelievable,” I murmur, transfixed by a larger-than-life painting of a female vampire locking her jaws on the neck of a man who appears to be in the throes of ecstasy.
I want to take every book from the shelf and read it cover to cover. But there’s more library here. The building looked to be three stories from the outside, and the stairs are before me, beckoning.
There’s no map. I don’t know what any particular room will hold until I come upon it. I wander through the second floor where I findMusic Biographies,Historical Linguistics,Midwifery,European History,Contemporary Indian Film, and1800s San Esteban. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the subjects chosen, but each appears to be morethan thoroughly curated, with props on display, and large illustrations and paintings.
“Absolutely incredible,” I say quietly.
The library isn’t empty—I find other patrons, too, many of whom give me strange looks. I’m not sure if it’s because of how I’m dressed, or because they know I’m not a member. Or maybe it’s because I’m practically fucking skipping through the building like a puppy let off its leash at the seaside.
I venture to the third floor and find things likeJapanese Fashion,Horse Breeding,True Crime, and, then, the room where I finally park myself:BDSM.
I’m not an experienced woman in matters of the bedroom. I’m also not a virgin, after a few forgettable nights with a bland college boyfriend Dale set me up with. And as someone who has spent more than thirty minutes on the internet, I know about kink. I’ve always been curious, but I’ve never allowed myself to fully indulge in that curiosity.
And this room.This room. It has everything. A set of two large wooden display cases contain a variety of floggers, whips, and paddles in addition to all kinds of restraints.
I glance around. The room is empty, which is a relief, because I feel like I’m having a very private moment with the photograph opposite me. It depicts a woman with two men. The image itself is tastefully done, with attention to shadow and light, and an angle on the subjects which makes it feel more like art and less like porn. Still, it’s arousing. The men are sucking on the woman’s neck, their hands all over her body—breasts, pussy, mouth. Her eyes are closed and her forehead is wrinkled in what looks like pleasure or pain but is probably a combination of both.
I want to be her. I want to be her so badly, I ache between my legs, and my heart pulses with longing.
Then I laugh to myself. I could barely keep that one dude in college satisfied; what makes me think I’d ever be woman enough fortwoguys?
Reluctantly, I turn away from the photograph and march to the shelves. If I’m paying a hundred dollars to be here, then I am going to spend my time in the most fascinating part of any library I’ve ever visited. My gaze skips from book spine to book spine as I take in the titles.
Classic Discipline in BDSM: A Primer for the Inexperienced. That title sounds promising. I pull the book from its shelf and sit at one of the tables in the room.
The things I read get my blood pumping, and the focus of that insistent pulse is at my pussy. I’m getting drenched simply from reading a clinical description of what punishment or “funishment” can be in a power exchange relationship.
I know there are other books, other rooms. I know that my time in the library is running out. It might be ages before I can afford to return. Yet I can’t make myself move on from these pages.
Xander
A flowery, girlie scent fills my nose when I step through the front doors of the library. My first thought is that Izzie is trying out a new perfume, but when I get closer to her to say hello and ask about the day, I realize the heavenly scent isn’t coming from her.
