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Vampire Master: Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis, Page 1

Joey W. Hill

  Big and bad enough to be any girl’s nightmare—or her best dream ever…

  Beyond your grasp. Those are the three words that come to mind, every time Ella sees Wolf at Club Atlantis. He earns the term Master, in and out of scene, yet there is something deeper and darker about him. She wants to dive into that abyss.

  Wolf sees the yearning. But the submissive he ultimately claims will become his servant, soul-bound to him for all eternity. Ella is a natural submissive, with an endless desire to please. She’s perfect for the role, really. Except Ella is a gift he doesn’t deserve.

  However, vampires are wired one way—to take what they want, no matter what their conscience tells them. Even Wolf isn’t strong enough to resist his nature…or the salvation Ella’s love offers.

  Vampire Master

  Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis

  Joey W. Hill

  Vampire Master

  Vampire Queen Series: Club Atlantis

  A Vampire Queen Series Novel - Book #16

  Copyright © 2019 Joey W. Hill


  Cover design by W. Scott Hill

  SWP Digital & Print Edition publication December 2019 by Story Witch Press, 452 Mattamushkeet Dr., Little River, South Carolina 29566, USA

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Story Witch Press, 452 Mattamushkeet Dr., Little River, South Carolina 29566.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. ( Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  The publisher and author(s) acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks, service marks and word marks mentioned in this book.

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Reader discretion is advised.

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-942122-99-9

  Print ISBN: 978-1-951544-00-3



  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Vampire Queen’s Servant

  Chapter 1


  Ready for More?

  About the Author

  Also by Joey W. Hill


  Authors find inspiration in so many places. The conversations and revelations of others often enrich our work, providing us direction. This is the case with Ella’s view on a life of abundance. I send a tremendous thank you to LK for opening my mind to that viewpoint, so Ella could express her core identity in such a powerful way.

  Also, gratitude to the Muse, who I do not thank as often and fervently as She deserves. Thank you for taking me down the paths of all these stories, introducing me to unforgettable characters, and helping me share them with readers. If there are any shortcomings in the telling, the fault is mine, because you certainly give me treasure. No matter when this current life journey ends, you have offered me something tangible to leave behind, each book intended to be a celebration of the many ways love can be expressed.

  Author’s Note: In my mind, my Muse is a She, though I expect creative AND divine energy are far beyond our understanding of gender or species. Thank heavens for that, because the mystery and wonder of it all make for many, many amazing stories.

  Chapter One

  She’d made herself a promise that she’d stop getting these obsessions. They were too painful, and embarrassing. But she kept coming back to this one. To him.

  He scared her like walking the narrow ledge collaring a tall building. That thrilling fear of being so close to the line between the known and unknown.

  She wanted to walk that path all the way around, see the view from every angle. Then, opening her hands and letting go of fear, she’d stand at one corner, position her toes over the edge. She’d raise her arms above her head, and tip her face up to the wind and moonlight. Totally trusting, she’d feel joy when he laid his palm in the center of her back, giving her the heat of his touch before he gently pushed her into space.

  He’d do it, knowing she could fly.

  At that moment she would finally know what life was supposed to be, not simply long for the frustratingly nebulous sense of it. She was sure it was there, just past a boundary she needed to step across. The point of no return.

  She'd stepped across a lot of lines, looking for it. While that worried people who cared about her, it wasn’t the jump she sought, but what lay beyond it. She didn’t know how to explain that.

  Any more than she knew how to explain her feelings about Wolf, since the sum total of their meaningful interactions was less than the time it took to tell a child a favorite bedtime story.

  She grimaced. If she was at home in her bed, she might argue the whole “time is a relative construct” thing with herself, but fortunately she was at Club Atlantis. Too much good stuff was happening tonight. Time to lock the obsessive part of her mind in a closet and focus on the here and now.

  “When the Lights Go Out” by Five was pummeling the air, giving it a heated edge and sparkle, for those with the eyes to see it. It was just before midnight, the best time to wander through the club. People were settling into their scenes, and those who couldn’t lock into anything had left, so that swirling, heavy energy could permeate every corner of the club without disruption.

  Entering the club from the outside world at this time of night was like stepping into a fairy circle. She’d dance until her heart was exploding, but she wouldn’t want to stop. Even if, when the night ended, she found a hundred years had passed, everything she once knew as her life left behind.

  That would be okay, because the people she loved best in the whole world were here, in the place where she felt most at home.

  Ella let the music take hold of her, twisting and rolling her body, dropping her head back so her long hair brushed her backside. The blood red waist cincher she wore tightened its hold. The white gauze shirt beneath the laced garment had a scoop neck and flowing sleeves, looking like something a pirate woman would wear. The thin fabric reveale
d and caressed the soft smudge of her nipples, and strained over her full breasts.

  Her staff sub service collar and a pair of black latex shorts completed the look, the points of the shirt loose and fluttering over her hips and backside. A temporary ink tattoo of a flight of birds crossed her sternum, a few fluttering up the side of her throat.

  As she danced, she threaded her way through the groups of people milling in the social areas, sometimes rubbing up against the ones she knew. She was rewarded with smiles, an affectionate touch in return.

  Mistress Chantal was leaning against the divider between two booths, twirling a gleaming red carbon cane deftly over her scarlet painted fingernails. She wore a black form-fitting dress printed with a gold and red dragon. The whiskered creature wound its way over her breasts, waist and hips, enhancing those curves and making her even more enthralling than usual. Her hair was swept up and held with gold pins tipped with scarlet porcelain flowers. The look accentuated her delicate features and sharp eyes.

  Ella had seen physically powerful men stay at Chantal’s feet in whatever position she demanded, no restraints necessary, for impossibly long stretches of time. Cocks stiff with agonizing levels of need, bulging muscles straining, but heads bowed. As if they’d wait for her command until hell froze over. When she finally let them come, the experience was so overwhelming that some of them blacked out.

  It was hugely arousing to watch, but Ella’s favorite part was the aftermath. Chantal might kneel, cradle the male in her arms, his head against her breast and her arm around his wide, rounded shoulders. She’d ground him with sips of water and soothing words, as gentle then as she’d been ruthless before.

  The dress looked fabulous with her glossy black knee-high boots. When Ella reached her, the Mistress looped her toned arm around Ella’s waist, the two of them moving into a playful bump and grind. The music had moved on to the primal drumbeat sounds of Gloria Estefan’s “Don’t Let This Moment End,” the Hex Hector club mix.

  Don’t let this moment end…

  Ella felt that way every night here. She never wanted the sun to rise. When she worked at Atlantis, morning was her least favorite time of day.

  They adjusted the steps of their fluid dance as needed to protect the male Chantal had stretched out on the floor. His arms were out to his sides, his chin lifted and body frozen. Since he wore belted jeans and nothing else, a woman could appreciate the broad shoulders, the cut abs, the arousal straining against denim. He had a beard and a mane of coarse dark hair, a few strands scattered over the gleaming hair on his broad chest.

  He had an intimate view of the two women dancing over him, because Chantal hadn’t commanded him to close his eyes. Ella noticed his avid blue-gray gaze tracked the Mistress like a tiger ready to hunt for his dinner.

  As the music segued into “Dancing Machine” by the Jackson 5, Chantal laughed, her white teeth flashing. On the horn section, she and Ella raised their arms above their heads and bumped hips, this way, that way, stepping left and right over the male, precise and graceful. As they kept it going, others joined in around them.

  Using a flourish of the cane, Chantal moved everyone back, cutting a wider swathe around her captive. With a provocative serpent-like roll of her upper body to her hips, she spun down to a seated position on her submissive’s chest.

  She arched, rubbing her ass in slow circles against that furred terrain. Ella watched his eyes course up her body, following the upward tilt of her breasts. Chantal reversed direction, curving forward to press a kiss to his forehead. Her command for stillness meant he couldn’t reach for anything, with mouth or hands. His lips parted as if he had muttered a curse, while hers curved against his flesh in response.

  The Mistress stood again, one foot planted by his elbow, the other heeled boot propped on his chest. She reached under the stretched fabric of her dress, bringing a pair of black lace panties into view. With admirable balance, she worked them off, shifting her stance, then draped them over the edge of the carbon cane.

  “Open your mouth,” she said, gesturing to her own since she didn’t care to shout over the noise. He read the command, his lips parting.

  She brought the panties down, dropping them on the lower half of his face. His chest expanded as he inhaled deep. Chantal’s eyes glowed at his response. Using the tip of the cane, she pushed the panties into his open mouth, balling them up.

  Ella had seen her do the same maneuver with a violet wand. Chantal would never activate it while it was near a sub’s mouth, but the suggested threat added to the sub’s experience for that night’s scene. As the cane did for this male.

  Chantal had one boot sole pressed against his sizeable erection. As she rocked toe to heel and back, applying a quelling pressure, she touched his arms with her cane. “My legs,” she said, loudly enough to be heard by him this time. “No higher than my knees.”

  His large hands left the floor. Ella gave him credit for not grabbing Chantal like a sailor seizing a mermaid. He molded his palms over her calves, just above her ankles, slowly, each finger pressing into the thin layer of boot so she would feel the strength in his hands.

  Chantal’s eyes glittered, her lips parting. An expression that said Nicely done. This man was focused on giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him.

  The spontaneous scene space the Mistress had created had drawn a watching crowd. Ella didn’t think he was aware of that, even if his subconscious was feeding on the wave of voyeuristic energy.

  When Chantal glanced at Ella, Ella fanned herself and did a little “go girl” spin with fist pump that had Chantal’s lips curving. Then Ella leaned close enough to speak in her ear.

  “You didn’t tell me you’d caught Aquaman.”

  Chantal shot her a wicked look. Combing her fingers through Ella’s thick locks, she wrapped the strands up in her fist and gave them a firm tug. “Looks a lot like him, doesn’t he? There’s no fish I can’t hook, little one. You know that.”

  After a few more pleasant moments, Ella left her to it, moving onward. Next stop was the largest public play area in the club. She stopped in the wide archway, hugging the right side to stay out of the flow of foot traffic.

  Point Blank’s rock and roll "Great White Line" had started up. Never going home… Ella recalled the scene from Pink Floyd's The Wall, where the fan girls overran band security. The age of metal bands and their groupies. Latex and body glitter, long hair and hungry eyes.

  She should propose a Rock Star night to Anwyn, Club Atlantis’s owner, and see how that played out in their world. While she expected most of the Doms would go the rock star route and the subs would take a groupie or roadie role, she could imagine some who would flip it. A rock star wanting to be under the command of a devoted Dominant fan. Or maybe a Dom roadie punishing his rock star boss for acting like a spoiled diva.

  She grinned. Anwyn called Ella her official Minion of Play. Gideon, who belonged to Anwyn and was part of the club’s executive management staff, had nicknamed Ella “Julie,” after The Love Boat cruise director. Ella wore both names with pride.

  The first time she’d approached Anwyn with her ideas, she’d been so nervous. But Madelyn and Chantal, both Mistresses on staff, had encouraged her to do it. They’d told her to pitch it to Anwyn the same way she’d pitched it to them, spoken straight out of her well of love for the club.

  “New members or guests might want to play, but at first they’re not sure. They want to watch, get into the flow gradually. We also have a lot of people who come just to watch, because that’s all they need or can do. We’re already doing demos, which are great, but theme nights would show the application in a fun, interactive way. Then the more self-conscious people start to feel comfortable.”

  "Like getting people out on the dance floor, so the more bashful ones can join in," Anwyn had said.

  "Exactly. And the bigger the voyeur crowd, the more energy it gives the public scenes.”

  Bringing in guest DJs had been another of Ella’s ideas. She v
isited the clubs and raves where the DJs showed their stuff, listened to what they put together, and brought her recommendations back to Anwyn for vetting.

  Ella’s attention landed on her latest find, surrounded by sound equipment, stationed on a raised platform. Ed was an unassuming-looking guy, with curly brown hair, golden-brown eyes, and a shy smile. He was putting together some unusual and ambiance-creating pieces, perfect for the mood of the club. That was part of the fun of having the DJ; seeing how the moods he evoked altered whatever might happen, spontaneously or planned.

  If he wasn’t totally freaked out by what he was seeing inside the exclusive Club Atlantis, he’d hopefully become a regular. Since he was laughing in a relaxed kind of way at something a couple dressed in nothing but cuffs and chains were calling up to him, the signs were encouraging.

  He was back to Gloria Estefan, the hot fast Latin rhythm of Oye, a duet with Pablo Cortez. Ella glanced back to see even more people crowding onto the dance floor, a mix of writhing bodies, glinting metal and rippling, colorful fabrics.

  Hey boy, I see you looking, I know you're watching…

  But you won't make that move.

  The line fit Chantal and her Aquaman. Except for the “boy” thing. That sub was a hundred percent knee-weakening grown man, head to toe. She bet Chantal had moved him to a private room, the preliminaries over. The overflow area around the dance floor perimeter was getting too crowded to safely keep him there.