Bleed Me Gently-an erotic vampire short story

*Hello and thank you for checking out my story. First let me explain what this is. This is part of an erotic short story by me, C. Harrison-Lane - a sampling of a published work. It is intended to be erotica and is not recommended for readers under 18. The chapters posted here have been kept simple, but if you're interested, you can purchase the full version on Kindle or Smashwords. I've included the information and links at the end.*

Thank you for stopping by and I hope you enjoy it. I'm sure you will. ;)

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Bleed Me Gently

text copyright C. Harrison-Lane 2012

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I’d heard about the party in passing whispers.

Only the most beautiful people are invited.  They’re all rich and outrageously posh.  They’re sex fiends.  They’ll eat you alive.

It’s the most extravagant party imaginable, with some of the most attractive people in the world – or so it’s been said.  I don’t know anyone who has even been to the Midnight Masquerade, even though all seem to be fascinated by it.  It’s exclusive and irregular.    

That’s why I’m surprised when I get the invitation.

It’s in a black envelope, silky to the touch.  When I open it, the card is red, addressed to me in curling letters with my full name that I didn’t think anyone around me even knew.  Jessica Annakel Harper.  Virtually no one knows my real middle name.  It's unusual – a mixture of old family names as one.  How did it get on this card?

I open it up to read the rest, intrigued.

You are cordially invited to attend the Midnight Masquerade on August 29th. 

There is an address, and the dress code is described as ‘masquerade lingerie’ – body must be displayed but face is to be hidden.  That idea alone excites me.  I’m not ashamed of my body, but there is a tiny worry that if I show up in my bra and panties, I could be the only one.

At the bottom of the invitation, there is a web address in very small print, and I am surprised.  I look it up, and I instantly see that it appears temporary.  It’s all text, no pictures.  There are very few details, but I do at least find some specific rules about the dress code.  Men are instructed to wear formal suits and masks, but there are some pretty detailed requirements for women.

Masks are to at least cover the eyes and may hide more of the face, but not the mouth.  Lacy or leather lingerie is to be worn beneath black dresses that cannot be longer than mid-thigh.  Cleavage is to be exposed at least in part.  Stockings may or may not be worn…  It goes on.   

This party does seem to be what they all say: it’s a sex fest.  But I know that I have to go.  Like I said, I’ve never known anyone who has been to this party, and though my heart beats with anxiety just to hold the invitation in my hand, I know there’s a story waiting to be told. 

That’s why I buy the tight little black dress that hugs all my curves and rides up my thighs.  I couple it with a sleek, satiny mask that surrounds my eyes and crosses the bridge of my nose.  I put on stockings up to my thighs and secure them to my thong with garters.  I put on my highest heels and I am ready to go.

I’ve told everyone that I was invited, and they could only stare at me in awe and wonder, trying to figure out what is so special about me.  Is it my creamy skin?  My long legs?  The way my breasts seem to always become a subject of conversation among men?  They’re skeptical – they’re jealous.   I haven’t decided whether or not I will tell them what happens at the party.