Mommy's blood lust (18+)

Cuffs & Chains ⛓️

The night was a restless blur. I drifted in and out of sleep, each time feeling a warm blanket over me but sensing cold eyes watching me. At one point, I felt a cold hand on my chest and warm breath on my neck. I jolted awake, but the room was empty. It had felt so real, but it must have been a dream. My body ached from the events of the previous night, and exhaustion quickly pulled me back into a deep sleep.

When I awoke again, the room was filled with the smell of fresh coffee. I noticed Celeste in the kitchen, preparing for work. For a brief moment, I almost forgot where I was, but then I felt the bindings on my wrists and the panic surged back.

I struggled against the rope binding my hands, making a commotion. Celeste looked up from her coffee pot, a smirk playing on her lips. "Good morning," she said. "You’re sick today. You won’t be showing up for work."

"Untie me," I demanded, pulling at the restraints. "Let me go, Celeste!"

Celeste’s smirk widened, but she ignored my pleas, continuing to get ready for work. She finished her coffee, grabbed her coat, and left without another word, locking the door behind her.

Left alone, I searched my surroundings, looking for anything that could help me escape. Despite the darkness, the house was beautifully decorated in deep reds and blacks, giving it a gothic elegance. Heavy curtains blocked out any natural light, making the place feel like a luxurious tomb.

I made my way to the kitchen, still tied up. I struggled to open a drawer with my bound hands and managed to pull out a knife. After some fumbling, I sliced through the bindings, finally freeing myself. I rubbed my sore wrists and began searching the house for a way out.

Every door was locked, and the windows were either boarded up or covered with thick drapes. The realization of my situation hit me hard: I was a prisoner in a vampire’s home, a vampire who had tried to kill me.

Desperation clawed at me as I searched for any technology—a phone, a computer, anything to call for help. But there was nothing. The house seemed deliberately stripped of anything that could be used to communicate with the outside world.

Frustration and fear threatened to overwhelm me. I slumped to the floor, my thoughts racing. I needed a plan. I needed to get out of here. I picked up the knife again, holding it tightly. I didn't want to hurt Celeste, but I needed to find a way to make her let me go.

I took a deep breath and decided to wait by the door for her return. The knife in my hand was more for comfort than for defense; it was a reminder that I wasn't entirely powerless. Hours passed, each one dragging slower than the last. I thought about the blood bond Celeste had mentioned, the strange connection that tied us together.

Finally, I heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. My heart raced as the door opened and Celeste walked in. She looked surprised to see me standing there, knife in hand.

"Rose," Celeste said softly, taking a step forward. "What are you doing?"

"Stay back," I warned, tightening my grip on the knife. "I won't hesitate to use this."

Celeste's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t stop. "Put the knife down, Rose. You don’t understand what you’re doing."

"Don't come any closer!" I yelled, my heart pounding in my chest. "I just want to leave. Please."

Celeste sighed, her expression pained. "You’re not thinking clearly. Put the knife down, and we can talk about this."

But before I could respond, Celeste took another step forward. Panic surged through me, and I lunged forward, attempting to stab her in the chest. But Celeste was faster. She grabbed my arm with surprising strength, her grip like iron.

"Enough," she said, her voice cold and commanding. With a swift motion, she disarmed me and sent the knife clattering to the floor. Then, without a word, she dragged me to her bed and secured me with cuffs and chains.

I struggled against my restraints, my heart pounding with fear and frustration. Celeste ignored my protests, her expression unreadable as she fetched a bowl of food from the kitchen. She placed it on the bedside table, taunting me with the aroma of freshly cooked food.

"I brought you something to eat," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But after that little stunt, I'm not sure you deserve to eat."